to facilitate the making peace, by the substitution of one acting upon his principles, but not so committed as himself to the continuance of the war. Whether this was the case, and the emancipation question was merely used as a pretext, is not clear;-in this, as in many other matters, there may have been a mixture of motives. It was evident that Pitt was not in opposition to the new ministry, or to their negotiations for peace with France. Many of those detained in prison under the suspension of the Habeas Corpus act were now discharged, but martial law was continued in Ireland. The desires of the British Government for peace were forwarded by the altered state of affairs in the north, which alone was enough to incline Buonaparte to a short interval of rest. This was also furthered by the successes of the British army in Egypt, to which country the troops, so long beating about in the Mediterranean, had now proceeded, under the command of sir Ralph Abercromby. This force was the best yet sent out from England, and considerable improvements had been made in the discipline of the soldiers, and especially in the training of the officers. The landing was well managed, though in the face of the enemy; and the army, in the whole about 15,000 men, advanced towards Alexandria. A severe but partial action was fought on March 13th, and if followed up, the English might have entered Alexandria; but the general was cautious, for as yet the English land forces had been usually unsuccessful in this war. The French general, Menou, now arrived with his main body from Cairo, and attacked the British on the 21st. The contest was severe, but the French were thoroughly beaten; one body, named the Invincibles, was almost wholly cut off. The forces in the battle were about 10,000 on each side; but the French were veterans of the army of Italy, and nearly all concentrated against one part of their opponents, who were as yet untried, or unsuccessful in the field. Abercromby was mortally wounded, and died in a few days after. The command then devolved upon general Hutchinson, who proceeded with steadiness and great caution. He was now joined by a Turkish force, and leaving a part of his army before Alexandria, he moved towards Cairo, taking Rosetta and some other places while on the way. On June 27th, Belliard, the commander there, agreed to surrender, on condition that the French with him, 13,000 in number, should be conveyed to France. The English army was soon after joined by Baird, from India, by the Red Sea, with an army of about 5,000 men, who much surprised the other forces by the extent and _magnificence of the equipments of an Indian army. On Hutchinson's returning to Alexandria, the French there, after some attempt at bravado, agreed, also, to evacuate Egypt. Those who survived to return exceeded, in the whole, 24,000; thus proving that the French in Egypt had been overcome by an inferior force. It is worth noting, that the French generals agreed to surrender many antiquities and articles of scientific research; but their savans threatening to destroy these rather than give them up, the British commander, desirous they should not be lost to the world, consented to their being retained—a striking contrast to the practice of late constantly pursued by the French invading armies. One memorable article, however, was taken possession of by the British, as a trophy of the campaign—it was the sarcophagus in which the body of Alexander the Great had been originally deposited, though long since removed. This interesting relic of antiquity is now in the British Museum. The final result of the Egyptian expedition was not known in England till some time after; but the successful progress had much influence in promoting peace. Twice did Buonaparte send forth Gantheaume and a squadron, with orders to throw succours into Alexandria, at any hazard; but each time the French admiral avoided the result of an action, when he found he could not otherwise communicate with the besieged force. The important results to Britain from the successes in Egypt may be given in the words of Alison:-"Nothing but the recollection of this decisive trial of strength could have supported the British nation through the arduous contest which awaited them on the renewal of the war, and induced them to remain firm and unbroken amidst the successive prostration of every continental power, till the dawn of hope began over the summit of the Pyrenees, and the eastern sun was reddened by the conflagration of Moscow. The continental neighbours, accustomed to the shock of vast armies, and to regard the English only as a naval power, attached little importance to the contest of such inconsiderable bodies on a distant shore; but the prophetic eye of Napoleon at once discerned the magnitude of its consequences, and he received the intelligence of the disaster at Alexandria with a degree of anguish equalled only by that experienced from the shock of Trafalgar." He never allowed those around him to know the extent to which he was afflicted by this reverse. To one, however, he said, My projects, alike with my dreams, have been destroyed by England." He had indeed dreamedforgetful that he was only an instrument in the hand of the Most High; and though repeatedly shown that his power was limited by the Divine permission, he proudly persisted in his arrogance. In the Mediterranean, sir James Saumarez attacked a French squadron at Algesiras in July, but only a part of his ships could get into action, and he had to retire, leaving a ship of the line to surrender. But the enemy, having been joined by a Spanish squadron, sailed from Cadiz in a few days. The British commander followed, though with only half the force of his opponents. A desultory action followed, in which two Spanish ships, of 112 guns each, took fire and blew up, and another ship of the line was taken. France now stirred up Spain to invade Portugal. England was unable to aid her ally, and the latter submitted to a disadvantageous peace-but this was not enough for Buonaparte. He caused a body of his troops to enter Portugal, and reluctantly allowed peace to be purchased. Prussia was offered Hanover, but honourably declined the proposal. The preparations for an invasion of England were now made on a very large scale, all along the Dutch and French coast, Boulogne being the chief place of rendezvous. Nelson was put in command, to attack the flotilla in that port. He made the attempt, though not heartily approving the measure; but the French vessels were chained to the shore, and to each other, and surrounded by strong netting, which prevented the entrance of the assailants, and the enterprise failed. By this time negotiations for peace were nearly completed. They were conducted in London through a French agent, named Otto, who was there ostensibly to negotiate an exchange of prisoners, and begun in March, but the preliminaries were not signed until Oc tober 1st, when the London public displayed joy in no measured degree. It was not less in Paris. The terms were advantageous to France, as they not only gave Buonaparte an opportunity to strengthen himself, but in several repects to weaken his enemies. His promptness was shown by his sending a large fleet and army to the West Indies for recovering St. Domingo from the negroes, who then possessed it, under the government of one of their number, Toussaint l'Overture. The treaty of peace was finally signed at Amiens, by lord Cornwallis, on March 27th, 1802, after protracted negotiations. By it England consented to restore all her colonial conquests-Guadaloupe, Martinique, St. Lucia, St. Eustatia, Surinam, the Cape of Good Hope, Pondicherry, Minorca, and Elba. The only concessions from France were, that her forces should be withdrawn from Portugal and Naples, and some compensation made to the prince of Orange. Malta was to be restored to the knights, under the guarantee of some neutral power, afterwards intended to be the king of Naples. This was a peace, of which, as Sheridan said, "every one was glad, but no one proud." So far as such humiliation goes it cannot be objected to-and peace, under any circumstances, is preferable to war. It was, however, but too apparent, that this could not be a lasting peace; and that while Buonaparte's rapacity was notorious, he would be the great gainer, by repossessing the French colonies, and having an interval to consolidate and increase his strength; but it gave a great moral lesson; the result showed the impossibility of satisfying or keeping quiet, one "Who enlargeth his desire as hell, And is as death, and cannot be satisfied, But gathereth unto him all nations, And heapeth unto him all people." It also was now evident that a great political as well as a moral mistake had been made by Britain, in joining the unprincipled efforts and designs of the first coalition, instead of contending only for her own integrity, with means strictly lawful, on Scripture principles. Still the remarks of Alison appear to be just;— they are to this effect: "Such was the termination of the first period of the war, and such the terms on which Great Britain obtained a temporary respite from its perils and expenses. The government of the first consul, compared to any of the revolutionary ones which had preceded it, was stable and regular. It seems indisputable that it was the duty of government, if it could be done without dishonour, to bring to a conclusion a contest, of which the burdens were certain and immediate, and the advantages remote, if not illusory, and put the sincerity of the first consul's professions of moderation to such a test as might relieve them of all responsibility, in the event of their being obliged, at a subsequent period, to renew the contest. England lost none of her means of defence during the intermission of hostilities, and she avoided the heavy responsibility which otherwise would have lain upon her to the latest generation, of having obstinately continued the war, when peace was in her power, and compelled Napoleon, although otherwise inclined, to continue a contest which ultimately brought such unparalleled calamities on the civilized world." During this memorable war, from 1791 to 1802, the trade of Great Britain had prodigiously increased: its imports were one-half more, its exports were doubled. Notwithstanding the constant demands of the navy, the shipping and merchant seamen had increased considerably. The navy had 135,000 seamen, while the merchant service employed 121,000. The army was 197,000, exclusive of 78,000 militia, 31,000 fencibles, and many thousand volunteers. The annual national expenditure had increased from sixteen to sixty-nine millions of pounds. Land was much increased in value, and the profits of commerce so that those classes could well afford their proportion of the public burdens; but the agricultural labourer, as we have seen, had been defrauded of his due increase, and the rise of prices pressed heavily upon him and on the fundholder, as well as on all persons of fixed and small income. The national debt was augmented from two hundred and fortyfour millions of pounds to four hundred and eighty-four-the annual charge of which was 21,661,000l., including four millions for the sinking-fund. It is to be remarked, that the resources of England had increased during the struggle, and her efforts at the conclusion were on a scale which, if put forth at the commencement, would have at crushed the opponent, if we may reason after the manner of men. But, as Alison observes, "Like an extravagant indivi once dual, who squanders in the profusion of a few years the savings of past centuries, and the provision of unborn generations, the government of England threw a fleeting lustre over its warlike administration, by trenching deep on the capital of the nation, and creating burdens little thought of at the time, when the vast expenditure was going forward, but grievously felt in subsequent years, when the excitement of the moment had passed away, and the bitter consequences of the debt which had been contracted remained. But this was not all. England, during those eventful years, drank deep at the fountain of paper currency, and derived a feverish and unnatural strength from that perilous but intoxicating draught." MEMORY. MANY are discouraged from studying the Scriptures, because, as they say, their memories are so treacherous and unfaithful, they can retain nothing. More pains will supply this defect. Memory is the soul's steward; and if thou findest it unfaithful, call it the oftener to account. A vessel set under the fall of a spring, cannot leak faster than it is supplied. A constant dropping of this heavenly doctrine into the memory will so keep it, that, though it be leaky, yet it never shall be empty. If Scripture truths do not enrich the memory, yet they may purify the heart. We must not measure the benefit we receive from the word according to what of it remains, but according to what effect it leaves behind. Lightning, you know, than which nothing sooner vanisheth away, often breaks and melts the hardest and most firm bodies in its sudden passage. Such is the irresistible force of the word: the Spirit often darts it through us-it seems like a flash and gone, and yet it may break and melt down our hard hearts before it, when it leaves no impression at all upon our memories. I have heard of one, who, returning from an affecting sermon, highly commended it to some, and being demanded what he remembered of it, answered, " Truly, I remember nothing at all; but only while I heard it, it made me resolve to live better, and so by God's grace I will." To the same purpose I have somewhere read a story of one who complained to an aged holy man, that he was much discouraged from reading the Scriptures, because he could fasten nothing upon his memory which he had read. The old hermit (for so, I remem ber, he was described,) bid him take an earthen pitcher and fill it with water; when he had done it, he bid him empty it again and wipe it clean, that nothing should remain in it, which, when the other had done, and wondered to what this tended: "Now," saith he, "though there be nothing of the water remaining to it, yet the pitcher is cleaner than it was before; so, though thy memory retain nothing of the word thou readest, yet thy heart is the cleaner for its very passage through."-Bishop Hopkins. APPEARANCES OF NATURE. 66 NOVEMBER. "AUTUMN is dark on the mountains," says a writer, the sombre imagery of whose style is peculiarly applicable to the season; grey mist rests on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and strew the grave of the dead." To use the words of Bryant : "The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere; Heap'd in the hollows of the grove, the wither'd leaves lie dead, summer glow; But on the hill the golden rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn's beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was lost from upland, glade, and glen." The trees now rapidly lose their leaves; the walnut begins; mulberry, horse-chestnut, sycamore, lime, ash, follow; and then, after an interval, the elm, beech, and oak, and apple and peach-trees cast their foliage; but this may not be till the end of the month. Pollard oaks and young beeches retain their withered leaves till they are pushed off by their new ones in spring. Towards the end of the month, the leaves begin to collect in heaps in sheltered spots, and rustle to the foot of the passenger; and there they will lie till the young leaves are grown overhead, and spring comes with all its benignant influences. As the sapless branches spread out their innumerable ramifications against the cold grey sky, they show perhaps the ivy which has mantled over, and which forms a pleasing contrast to the bare objects around. The furze now displays its flowers, like little gleams of sunlight, on the broad cold common; the moles ply their night-work in the meadows; the green plover" whistles o'er the lea;""the snipes haunt the marshy grounds; the wagtails twinkle about near the spring heads; the larks get together in companies," and seem to talk, instead of pouring forth their notes, as is their wont; the thrush occasionally utters a plaintive sound, as if half afraid of its own voice; while the hedge-sparrow and titmouse appear as if they were trying to sing, to keep up their drooping spirits. So true is it, that "Congregated thrushes, linnets, larks, And each wild throat whose artless strains so late Swell'd all the music of the swarming shades, Robb'd of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock, With not a brightness waving in their plumes, And nought save chattering discord in their note." Though the swallow no longer "twitters on the straw-built shed," the sparrows are chirping on the eaves, and the twitterings of a thousand birds in the hedges remind us that there are many of the feathered race who will not forsake us during the winter months. Our old friend the robin, too, who had forsaken us when he could support himself on the produce of the field and garden, returns to the farmhouse for the winter, with his lively and clear song, "And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is," while his full dark eye, his "scarlet stomacher," his confident, sidelong, and sprightly turn of the head, makes him a favourite with all. His trustiness is, however, one reason why he is regarded as a friend; for, when we desire the welfare of the different members of the feathered family, we do not like to have our intentions unreasonably suspected. His whole deportment displays a confid ence in himself and in others, as is sufficiently indicated by his rapid hop, the quick intelligence of his eye, and the quiet tossing of his head. His courage has been apparent during his whole history; for though, when building his nest he selected some lonely copse or lane, or a cavity in the bark at the root which would defy a steady search, yet the behaviour of the parents was never indicative of timidity. They were generally flitting about the nest, and, though careful enough to be out of the way of danger, they did not appear agitated, nor did they fly away when observed, but were ever satisfied with the screen of a hedge between themselves and that by which they were disturbed. Nor must the wren be forgotten, though his modesty prevents his intrusion on our notice, a tendency which his plain garb is only calculated to encourage. Yet the most illiterate do not fail to admire the beautiful contrivance of a wren's nest. With this month the sport of woodcock shooting begins. The woodcock is a nocturnal bird, seeking its repose by day in the dry grassy bottoms of brakes and woods, and seldom or ever moving unless it is disturbed. Towards night it sallies forth on silent wing, pursuing a wellknown track through the cover to its feeding-ground. These tracts, or open glades, in woods are sometimes called cockshoots, and it is in them that nets were formerly suspended for their capture, for which the gun has now been generally substituted. A few may still be caught with nooses of horsehair, set up about the springs or soft ground where the birds leave the marks of the borings of their beaks in the pursuit of worms. This bird appears in the greatest numbers in hazy weather, with little wind, and that blowing from the north-east, and it is probable that it then finds the upper region of the atmosphere, in which it flies, freer from counter-currents of air than in more open weather. After a night of this description, woodcocks have frequently been met with in great numbers on the edges of plantations, in hedges, and even in turnip-fields; but on search being made for them on the following day, not a single bird has been found, the whole having taken flight during the night. They are supposed to come from Norway and Sweden, a continued flight of eight or ten hours being sufficient to accomplish the transit; and the good condition in which these birds arrive confirm this belief, as a long flight would be indicated by proportionate wasting consequent on the exertion. The snipe is also a bird pursued by the sportsman, and it may be described as indigenous to this country. It breeds in small numbers in most of the counties along the southern line of the coast of England, but goes higher in the breeding season. In addition to the native birds, however, great flights come annually from Norway, and other parts of northern Europe, arriving in Northumberland in the greatest numbers at the commencement of this month. They seldom remain long in one place, moving from spot to spot, according to circumstances. The nest consists of the simplest materials, and the young have some resemblance to the chicken of our poultry yards, but the long beak of the snipe prevents any mistake. The brooks are now brimful, and the waters hurry along the courses, laden with masses of foam, or pour their waters over the meadows on either hand :— "Then comes the father of the tempest forth, Wrapt in dark glooms. First joyless rains, obscure, Drive through the mingling skies with vapour foul, Dash on the mountain's brow, and shake the woods, That, grumbling, wave below. Th' unsightly plain Warton's translation of the antiquated Scotch verse of Gawain Douglas, the bishop of Dunkeld, gives so good a description of the season, that we cannot refrain quoting from it : "The fern withers on the miry fallows, the brown moss assumes a barren mossy hue; banks, sides of hills, and bottoms grow white and bare; the cattle look hoary from the dark weather, the wind makes the red reed waver on the dike. From the crags and the foreheads of the yellow rocks hang great icicles in length like a spear. The soil is dusky and grey, bereft of flowers, herbs, and grass. every hold and forest, the woods are stripped of their array. Boreas blows his bugle horn so loud, that the solitary deer withdraws to the dales; the small birds flock to the thick briars, shunning the tempestuous blast, and change their loud notes to chirping; the cataracts roar, and every linden-tree whistles and brays to In |