but yet, like the fallen angel, he must ex- polished steel, whereon Balder, god of the sumclaim, "O, what a vision were the stars When first I saw them burn on high, Of light for gods to journey by!" The mind of man, then, was pervaded with a kind of unreasoning adoration, but the deeper worship that springs from knowledge was yet unknown. Like some massive but deserted cathedral, wherein is the voiceless organ, the unfilled choir, the unlit tapers, the mind, grand in itself, was yet to be illuminated by the light of truth, and become a temple where is sung a song whose theme is sublime as the plan of a universe and the redemption of a world. But as man became more familiar with the external forms of nature, his innate reasoning powers began to unfold themselves. The elements of numbers were discovered, the key-notes to the beautiful science of mathematics, which, in the plastic hands of Galileo, Kepler, and Newton, became the communicating spirits which recalled the secrets of the skies. The history of the world is a history of progress in the discovery of truth. Age on age passed on, each furnishing its quota of great minds-the thinking heroes who have lived far above the turmoil of trade in the clear atmosphere of knowledge. Comparing different periods of time, we can see that each successive era is in advance of the former. The ideal world of the ancients was the shadow of the real world of the moderns. For whether as a rude kind of poetry or the expression of that worship which it is natural for man to pay to some superior power, the powers of nature which now perform the common offices of life were adored as gods. Ideality is the longing for perfection, the yearning of the heart for some better state of existence, or the power of investing the unknown with the misty lights of the imagination. But when the laws which govern the material world began to be understood, the mind turned upon itself, and in its own mysteries found ample scope for thought and discovery. It does not expend itself in ideal dreams of nature, but finds within a mystery unfathomable as eternity. The sun, the wind, and sea, the lightning, and the rushing storm were by the ancients idealized to gods. But now steam, the spirit of the air and water, propels the lone ship across the trackless ocean, while the lightning joins by a flash the thoughts of men hundreds of miles apart. The fine arts, too, are born of the same unfailing source. The lake where the beautiful youth of old pined for his own reflection is changed to a plate of mer suu, imprints in ineffaceable characters the features of humanity. Nature has lost none of her attractions, time has stolen none of her beauty; but as science displays the wonderful harmony and exactness with which the universe is framed, the mind is lost in admiration of the infinite Power which called it into existence. But as time is but the threshold of eternity, so science is but the elements of the great volume of truth wherein is written the soul's destiny. So that in the parallel courses of mind and matter goes thought like a priestess, whose magic key opens the beautiful gates of knowledge. What, then, is thought? It is the soul's appreciation of what is, the power to discover a higher truth from one before known, or the effort of the mind to search out truth both as regards its life here and its destiny hereafter. This, then, is the highest aspiration of thought, to which all the infinite lower grades are made subservient. This great end of thought, to fit the soul for a life hereafter, rises above the dust and turmoil of earth, and forms a solemn psalm in the literature of the world. What is knowledge but our conception of mind, of matter, and of eternity, which is the sum of all truth? "In us alone doth Nature live," sings the poet, and conversely we would say, in knowledge, of which nature is a part, do we most truly live. For we live not so much by years as by thoughts and feelings, and the actions to which those thoughts give rise. Man's unseen ethereal part is his greatest mystery, but taking his mind in infancy as an undeveloped power of receiving knowledge, it then becomes thoughts, feelings, principles-in short, its individual appreciation of mind and matter. And as truth becomes known and appreciated by him, it becomes a part of himself, so that his soul increases by a law as inevitable as that of his physical system. What is the existence of the dwarfed, half-stupefied being who dwells amid the Siberian snows, to that of the man whose spirit's eye takes in as it were the secrets of the earth and sky? Consider the difference between the mind of Newton and that of a savage, and see whether it is not as great as that between an angel and a common man. And is it not probable that the soul's progress will be going on and on through the countless ages of eternity till man also becomes an angel? Yet there is a limit to knowledge even here. Man may eat of the tree of knowledge, but not of the forbidden tree. If he knew all that pertains to the Deity he would be as a god, but he still hears the midnight saying, Can the servant be greater than his lord or man than his Creator? But in eternity the limit of knowledge will not depend on the incapability of the soul to receive more, but on the infinity of the character and works of God. It would be interesting if one could follow out the various ideas of the future world which have pervaded the different ages of time. In Revelation the one is described as a place of endless corporeal torment, while the other is a gorgeous mished cold, ølowing with indescriba And yet the same God made them all—a seeming symbol of his own character so great as to comprehend the infinite extremes of awful wrath and tender love, of lofty grandeur and simple beauty. All true love is founded on our appreciation of the character of those who are loved. The study of nature is the study of the works and character of God. But if their contemplation Scripture here can excite such deep feelings of admira tion, how much more will the freed soul find to LOVE TO GOD." We love him because he first loved adore and love in the unspeakable glories of us." 1 John iv, 19. Religion does not verse the literal. Thus in the literature of the darker ages the tendency to materialize religion is clearly seen, while that of the present age is of a more spiritual cast. Yet whatever heaven may be, it is not a place for inaction or the blind worship of fear. A person is unhappy in any society for which he has no affinity. And so it must be with the society of heaven. We are not to be saved through fear, but by love. It is true our God is a God of sublimity, but he is also one of love. Whether it be that as man was created out of nothing, and has, therefore, a natural love of matter in opposition to nonenity, we know not, but there is certainly something in the nature of size and strength which constitutes the secret of the sublime. There is that in the heart of almost every man which recognizes a sense of overwhelming awe when suddenly brought into contact with the rarer majesties of nature. The poetry of the Old Testament is always sublime because treating of great subjects. Yet it is never more so than when speaking of the Creator of all things, whose unutterable power and grandeur is shadowed forth through some of the most striking images from nature. Thus from the earthquake and volcano-"He looketh on the earth and it trembleth. He toucheth the hills and they smoke." Psalm civ, 32. Perhaps there is no more remarkable feature in the universe than the incessant mingling of grandeur and simple beauty. There is the moaning and inconstant ocean to whose solemn music no one yet has found the fitting words. There is the vast woodland and the mountains capped with perpetual snow. And above all is the mystery of the heavens. But below those mountains and skies is a valley where the warm sunshine speckles the leaves with alternate light and shade, and beneath the brooding eaves of the overhanging rock springs a simple flower. heaven! Yet does not the religion of many seem more like a fear-wrung worship of wordsan attempt to propitiate an offended Deity by humbling themselves in dust and ashes, but of whom they have no true appreciation? The goal of thought in an elevated mind is to draw nearer in character to the infinite Power which gave it birth. God is the embodiment, the beginning, and the end of all virtue, and till our natural faculties for good are developed, till the love of virtue becomes a part of ourselves, we can not hope for happiness here or hereafter. And so far as man advances in true knowl edge and virtue, so far will he have spanned the infinite abyss which separates him from his Creator. So along the endless path of aspiration, like a wanderer returning to his native land through devious scenes of pleasure and of pain, will the soul return to God, its Creator and Redeemer. KIND WORDS ONLY. BY MERIBA A. BABCOCK. "Remember kind words only, and overlook not the sunbeams."-Extract from a letter. How like music o'er the waters, When my life eares make me weary, Full of sunshine every day, They fall not athwart our way. Bright, how bright would be earth's pathways, "THE TRUE LIVING. BY MAGGIE B. STEWART. HE Father of all never put one man or one woman into the world without some visible, tangible end." That some human beings have a particular mission-"a tangible end"-seems to be a fact universally conceded. Yet we must not limit the number to those, only, whom restless ambition or stern necessity urges to do and dare. And our text tells women also have work to do. our souls are starving! Our work is here and пого. We can not live truly till we make our existence one of harmonious development of body, mind, and soul. Every life is incomplete without this. Without this we will not be prepared fully to enjoy the glorious life of that fairer land where sin brings neither discord nor sorrow. Thus let us strive to live, and 'science is but the elements of the great volume of truth wherein is written the soul's destiny. So that in the parallel courses of mind and matThe records of the past and present teem with ter goes thought like a priestess, whose magic the names of those who have won renown. They key opens the beautiful gates of knowledge. may not have done right: at least they did their What, then, is thought? It is the soul's appreciawork. All can not hope for Fame. She is the tion of what is, the power to discover a higher coyest of mistresses, and few prosper in the woo- truth from one before known, or the effort of the ing. We are not sure that it would be desirable otherwise. It is enough that our lives are noble THOUGHTS FOR A CLOUDY DAY. in the sight of God. In the real life of every day there is work to do. If the great Dispenser has so ordered any one's lot that toil is not a necessity, then let those be more careful that their lives be not wasted. The world is full of people who have "nothing to do;" as though God is served and glorified by an existence of selfish ease! Is this living? Day after day goes up to the courts of Heaven, and the recording angel notes down no growth of mind or soul, no sad heart cheered by kind word or loving deed! And there are those who work. Yes! what they call work. But in the fierce struggle for food and raiment, they take no time for life's amenities, no time for the growth of immortal minds. Perchance the Sabbath bell calls them to the house of God; but their physical system is 80 exhausted that the preacher's words fall on heedless ears. Alas, for such lives! Alas, for all who waste God's blessed boon of life in luxurious pleasure, enervating listlessness, or slavish, thoughtless toil! Do none of these remember the sermon of the Preacher who spoke eighteen hundred years ago under the blue skies of Palestine? Listen, as these words ring sweetly out over the dead centuries: "But seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you." Do not the buds of spring-time, summer blooms, and bounteous autumn harvest rebuke our lack of faith? Day after day, year after year the universe goes on in perfect harmony, while our wretched, contracted, aimless lives are but miserable discords! This passing through the world is not living. So many go from day to day without looking for mental or spiritual growth, forgetting also that "to labor and to love is the sum of living." Our bodies are duly fed and clothed, but BY PAMELIA S. VINING. WILL the shadows be lifted to-morrow? And the clouds that are weeping in sorrow Will the forest stand out in its greenness, Ere the tempest their gentle notes hushed? From my spirit so weary and faint, And the soul beam out brighter for being I know that the clouds will be lifted I know that the tear-drops of nature Will smile o'er the farewell of day. EDITOR'S REPOSITORY. Scripture Cabinet. LOVE TO GOD.-"We love him because he first loved | present dependence upon him, and our expectation us." 1 John iv, 19. As we can not remove from this earth, or change our general business on it, so neither can we alter our real nature; therefore, no exercise of the mind can be recommended, but only the exercise of those faculties you are conscious of. Religion does not demand new affections, but only claims the direction of those you already have, those affections you daily feel, though unhappily confined to objects not altogether unsuitable, but altogether unequal, to them. We only represent to you the higher, the adequate objects of those very faculties and affections. Let the man of ambition go on still to consider disgrace as the greatest evil, honor as his chief good. But disgrace, in whose estimation? Honor, in whose judgment? This is the only question. If shame and delight in esteem be spoken of as real, as any settled ground of pain or pleasure, both these must be in proportion to the supposed wisdom and worth of him by whom we are contemned or esteemed. Must it then be thought enthusiastical to speak of a sensibility of this sort, which shall have respect to an unerring judgment, to infinite wisdom, when we are assured this unerring judgment, this infinite wisdom, does observe upon our actions? of future benefits, ought and have a natural tendency to beget in us the affection of gratitude and greater love toward him, than the same goodness exercised toward others, were it only for this reason, that every affection is moved in proportion to the sense we have of the object of it; and we can not but have a more lively sense of goodness, when exercised toward ourselves, than when exercised toward others. I added expectation of future benefits, because the ground of that expectation is present goodness. Thus almighty God is the natural object of the several affections-love, reverence, fear, desire of approbation. For though he is simply one, yet we can not but consider him in partial and different views. He is in himself one uniform being, and forever the same, without variableness or shadow of turning; but his infinite greatness, his goodness, his wisdom, are different objects to our mind. To which is to be added, that from the changes in our own characters, together with his unchangeableness, we can not but consider ourselves as more or less the objects of his approbation, and really be so. For if he approves what is good, he can not, merely from the unchangeableness of his nature, approve what is evil. Hence must arise more various movements of mind, more different kinds of affections. And this greater variety also is just and reasonable in such creatures as we are, though it respects a Being, sim tions are most particularly suitable to so imperfect a creature as man, in this mortal state we are passing through, so there may be other exercises of mind, or some of these in higher degrees, our employment and happiness in a state of perfection. It is the same with respect to the love of God in the strictest and most confined sense. We only offer and represent the highest object of an affection, supposed already in your mind. Some degree of good-ply one, good and perfect. As some of these affecness must be previously supposed. This always implies the love of itself, an affection to goodness. The highest, the adequate object of this affection, is perfect goodness, which, therefore, we are to love with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our strength. "Must we, then, forgetting our own interest, as it were, go out of ourselves, and love God for his own sake?" No more forget your own interest, no more go out of yourselves than when you prefer one place, one prospect, the conversation of one man to that of another. Does not every affection necessarily imply that the object of it be itself loved? If it be not, it is not the object of the affection. You may, and ought, if you can, but it is a great mistake to think you can love, or fear, or hate any thing, from consideration that such love, or fear, or hatred, may be a means of obtaining good or avoiding evil. But the question whether we ought to love God for his sake or for our own being a mere mistake in language, the real question, which this is mistaken for, will, I suppose, be answered by observing, that the goodness of God already exercised toward us, our CITY GATES." And I said unto them, Let not the gates of Jerusalem be opened till the sun be hot; and while they stand by, let them shut the doors, and bar them: and appoint watches of the inhabitants of Jerusalem, every one in his watch, and every one to be over against his house." Neh. vii, 3. In the hot countries of the east they frequently travel in the night, and arrive at midnight at the place of their destination. Probably they did not, therefore, usually shut their gates at the going down of the sun, if they did so at all through the night. Thevenot could not, however, obtain admission into Suez in the night, and was forced to wait some hours in the cold, without the walls. Dubdan, returning from the river Jordan to Jerusalem, in 1652, tells us, that when he and his companions arrived in the val ley of Jehoshaphat, they were much surprised to find that the gates of the city were shut, which obliged them to lodge on the ground at the door of the sepulcher of the blessed Virgin, to wait for the return of day, along with more than a thousand other people, who were obliged to continue there the rest of the night, as well as they. At length, about four o'clock, seeing every body making for the city, they also set forward, with the design of entering by St. Stephen's gate; but they found it shut, and above two thousand people, who were there in waiting, without knowing the cause of all this. At first they thought it might be too early, and that it was not customary to open so soon; but an hour after a report was spread that the inhabitants had shut their gates, because the peasants of the country about had formed a design of pillaging the city in the absence of the governor and of his guards, and that as soon as he should arrive the gates should be opened. TRANSITORY GRIEF." For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favor is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Psa. xxx, 5. The Tamul method of expressing a moment is to move the hand once round the head and give a snap of the finger. Thus they say of any thing which endures but a short time, "It is only as the snap of the fingers." The people of the east have nearly all their festivities in the night; they say it is the sorrowful time, and, therefore, adopt this plan to make it pass more pleasantly away. To those who are in difficulties or sorrow; to widows, orphans, and strangers, "night is the time to weep;" hence in passing through the village may be heard people crying aloud to their departed friends, or bitterly lamenting their own condition. They have, however, some very pleasing and philosophical sayings on the uncertainty of the sorrows and joys of life. In the book Seanda Purana, it is written, "The wise, when pleasure comes, do not greatly rejoice; and in sorrow they yield not to distress; for they judge that pleasure and pain are incident to life. The indigent become wealthy, and the wealthy indigent; and inferiors are exalted. Can wealth or poverty, pleasure or pain, be regarded as permanent to the soul? The phases of the moon remain not in one state; they diminish and increase: so your afflictions will one day terminate." "There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night: PROVING OXEN.-" And another said, I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to prove them: I pray thee have me excused." Luke xiv, 19. This was not such a trifling affair as some have supposed, for it should be remembered it is with oxen only the orientals perform all their agricultural labors. Such a thing as a horse in a plow or eart. among the natives, I never saw. A bullock unaceustomed to the yoke is of no use; they, therefore, take the greatest precaution in making such purchases, and they will never close the bargain till they have proved them in the field. Nor will the good man trust to his own judgment, he will have his neighbors and friends to assist him. The animals will be tried in plowing softly, deeply, strongly, and they will be put on all the required paces, and then sent home. When he who wishes to purchase is fully satisfied, he will fix a day for settling the amount and for fetching the animals away. Notes and Queries. CORONATION, WHEN FIRST INTRODUCED.-What is the earliest mention made of crowning as an act of royal consecration? We find this ceremony expressly recorded 2 Kings xi, where Jehoiada places the crown on the head of the young King Joash. But though frequently employed in holy Scripture as a symbol of royalty, no notice occurs of its actual use in the consecration of the earlier Jewish monarchs. Saul was not crowned in the ceremonial sense: Psalm xxi, 3, would imply more than its figurative adoption. Solomon was made to ride on the royal mule, was duly anointed, and his accession proclaimed by sound of trumpets, accompanied by the usual salutations. In a programme arranged by David at such a crisis nothing was likely to be omitted which could give legal effect to the succession; yet, though the above details of ceremony are specified, coronation is not even indirectly alluded to: and Solomon was not prince regent, but the duly-elected king. Perhaps it was contrary to state etiquette to transfer the crown in the life-time of the reigning monarch. The crown worn by the King of Ammon was taken "from off his head" and "set on David's head." 1 Chron. xx, 2. It was customary, therefore, to wear this as well as other regal insignia—on state occasions only, Query. It was not laid aside in war: when Saul fell in Gilboa, the crown was removed from off his head, and brought by the Amalekite to David. Even the mock election of a king was deemed by the soldiery-Matt. xxvii--incomplete without coronation. F. P. [Our correspondent has anticipated the reply to his own query. The holy Scriptures undoubtedly contain the earliest mention of the practice of crowning | as well of common people as of priests and kingsconf. Deut. vi, 8; Isa. Ixi, 10; Cant. iii, 11; and Ezek. xxiv, 17, 23. The crown of Ammon was not set upon, but suspended over the head of David-1 Chron. xx, 22; 2 Sam. xii, 30-for it weighed a talent. The practices of crowning and anointing a king are of the very highest antiquity, and the Jews probably borrowed both from the Egyptians; whose temples, and more particularly those of Memnonium or Remesseum, and Medeenet Haboo, contain to this day pictorial representations of the pomps and eeremonies common to such occasions, which agree, in the most remarkable particulars, with the several de |