at the school he attended, although his master taught him to read and write and cast accounts, he taught him nothing else. As is too often the case with schoolmasters, he seemed to think that reading was education; but it is not; it is only the means of education-the tool people are to use in cultivating their minds. If a man took the trouble to make a plough and a harrow, and, after having made them at the expense of much labour, dragged them to a field and left them standing in a corner doing nothing, would the field be a bit the better for all the pains he had taken? Or if one who had a street to sweep expended a great deal of time in constructing an excellent broom for the purpose, who would be the better for the bom if he never used it? And what are people the better for being able to read, if they do not make use of their attainment to acquire knowledge? And then, only fioure to yourself, my dear reader, how foolish we should think any body who, having had a nice bit of gardengrond given to him, and proper tools to cultivate it with would yet persist in letting it lie barren-useless to himself and every body else-instead of enriching at with good seeds and plants, that should grow up into al manner of pretty flowers, and nice vegetables and Baits, that would contribute to the pleasure and profit of the owner, and of all connected with him. And only think again, how we should laugh at any body who, having good stout arms and legs, fit to work with and to walk with, yet never exercised them. And why let your mind remain unemployed, any more than your legs or aims, or your garden? We have all got minds, some better, some worse; but there are few indeed that, with a little cultivation, cannot be brought to produce both good fruit and pretty flowers. But, as we were saying, William's schoolmaster had never considered these things any more than his pupils. He had never given them agreeable books, nor sought to awaken their minds to reflection; and thus, though William had much better tools than Arthur (for he could read a great deal more fluently, besides being able to write and cast accounts), yet, somehow, the stories of the birds had given birth to more thought in the mind of the latter, than had yet been awakened in that of the former, though he was much the older of the two. But now they were in a situation to exchange the advantages they each possessed. William, besides improving him in reading, taught Arthur writing and arithmetic; and Arthur communicated to William the various ideas that had arisen in his mind from the perusal of his book; for, by this time, he had learnt not only that birds have feelings and faculties he had never dreamt of, but also how wonderfully they are formed, and how admirably their frames are adapted to their mode of life; and as they talked over these things, again the question occurred to Arthur, 'Who taught them to build their pretty nests?" I've heard say it's instinct,' replied William; the same that makes bees gather honey, or a Newfoundland dog take the water.' But what is instinct ? asked Arthur. " I don't know,' returned William; and he might have added, neither does any body else. However, having promised to procure the necessary information for his friend, he took the first opportunity of asking his father what instinct was. 'It's what makes dogs hunt game and cats catch mice,' replied the father. Ay, but what is it ? inquired William. It's something that God Almighty teaches them, I suppose,' replied the father; and this answer William conveyed to his young friend; and then came Arthur's inquiry of Who is God Almighty ? for, except as an oath, it was a name he had never heard mentioned. from authentic information we have procured, we have The old woman, although she was poor, had yet a de- There were two things, however, that occasioned him some uneasiness. One was, that his brother Bobby, now a child of four years old, was still in the workhouse, and that he saw no prospect of getting him out of it; and the other was, that his friend William, who had contributed so much to his good fortune, did not seem likely to turn out very well. He had got acquainted with a bad set of young lads; and there seemed great reason to fear he would be led into mischief by them. Arthur ventured sometimes to advise him; but William, being much the elder, laughed at his advice; and the father and mother, though they meant very well, did not know how to influence their son. They had let him have his own way till he had outgrown their authority; and now, when they tried to pull him in, they found it was too late. However, Arthur hoped that time would show him his error; and, in the meanwhile, his own affairs were in a very improving way; for a lucky chance had brought him in contact with an old friend-no other than the carpenter, the founder of his fortune, who had now a workshop of his own, and who, finding his favourable predictions about Arthur so far verified, and gratified by the consciousness that his own seasonable generosity had probably been the means of rescuing the child from beggary, now felt disposed to complete his good work by taking him into his service, and teaching him his trade. So, from this time, Arthur worked with him daily, till at length he was so good a workman as to be entitled to receive wages from his instructor; and the forlorn child that we became acquainted with when he was eight years old, was now, at eighteen, a respectable journeyman carpenter; Bobby, his brother, whom he had removed from the workhouse, being elevated into the situation of errand-boy and assistant in the same establishment; whilst Arthur's evenings, after work, were regularly devoted to the instruction of the lad in such branches of learning as he himself possessed. Happy days of virtue and industry! But in this world, where the wicked have their inheritance as well as the good, even virtue and industry cannot always prosper. Were all mankind virtous, earth would be heaven, and we should be dwelling amongst angels; for there is no doubt that, either directly or indirectly, remotely or proximately, all the sorrow and suffering that exist, or ever existed, in the world, has proceeded from the sins of its inhabitants. We cannot, perhaps, always trace the links by which the sorrow is brought down to us, any more than we can always trace the stages by which a contagious fever has reached us; but the fact is not the less certain, that every evil that falls upon us is the consequence of either our own errors and ignorance, or the errors and ignorance of some other person or persons: it is true, perhaps, persons far removed from us in time, place, or station; but still, assuredly, the chain that links the error and the suffering exists somewhere, though, it may be, we cannot see it. And let not our readers urge that ignorance is not sin; almost all ignorance is sin somewhere -either in those who neglect to learn, or those who neglect to teach, such truths as human industry and application have amassed for the use and benefit of man kind. 'What's the matter, granny ?" said Arthur to his old friend Rebecca, one morning, looking in as he passed the door, on his way to a gentleman's house to take some orders. I can't see to read my book,' said Rebecca, wiping her eyes; I believe I'm going blind.' Blind" said Arthur, 'don't think that, granny. Why, I never heard you say a word about it before.' No, answered Rebecca; I did not like to speak about it; but it's too true. It has been coming on some time, and it gets worse every day; and who's to take care of me when I'm blind, I wonder! I shall be obliged to go into the workhouse after all.' No, you won't,' replied Arthur; we must get somebody to take care of you.' Take care of me! returned Rebecca; 'who'll do that without being paid for it ?' But we'll pay them. Never fear, granny!" he added, cheerily; you shan't be neglected. There's your son and daughter, and William and I; it's hard if we can't make you comfortable amongst us.' 'William reiterated the old woman, shaking her head. 'Ay,' replied Arthur. Where is William, granny? I haven't seen him this long time.' 'I can't tell you where he is,' she answered, and her head drooped as she spoke; he's sometimes here, and sometimes there; William's a wild lad.' 'I don't think he means any harm,' said Arthur; 'he's just as you say, wild a bit; that's all.' Ay, replied Rebecca, that's just the way mischief comes: people begin by being wild, but they end by being wicked. I'm sure he loves you, granny,' said Arthur, soothingly, for he was surprised to hear the old woman speak so bitterly of her grandson. 'He did, when he was an innocent boy,' she answered; but idleness and bad company have hardened his heart, and he loves nobody now but himself; and he can't be well said to love himself either, for he's his own worst enemy." But if William won't help you, his father and mother will,' urged Arthur. Ay, if they had it,' said Rebecca, shaking her head in a way that convinced Arthur that she knew more than she liked to communicate. So, after assuring her that whilst he had hands to work she should never want attendance, he went on his way, resolving to take the earliest opportunity of ascertaining what William was about. But in the mean time,' thought he, 'she mustn't be left alone in the cottage at night now she can scarcely see; I must contrive to sleep there when I can; and when I can't, Bobby must.' It was on the third night after this, that, being unable to go himself, Arthur had sent his brother to keep the old woman company; and as the boy was sleepy after his day's work, and Rebecca being unable to read, had no means of passing the evening, they both retired at an early hour to bed. How long Rebecca might have slept she did not know, but she was suddenly awakened by a noise in her room, and she just opened her eyes time enough to perceive Bobby getting out of the window; and before she could get up or call to him, he was gone, leaving the window open behind him. Amazed at so strange a proceeding, the old woman arose, put out her head, and called after him, but to no purpose; so fearing to add to her troubles by getting cold, she shut the window and retired to bed, where she lay awake the rest of the night, ruminating in perplexed surprise on her companion's disappearance, and vainly straining her ears for some sound that should announce his return. SABBATH THOUGHTS. MANY and thrilling are the associations which the weekly recurrence of the Sabbath brings. The sun of a Sabbath morn first shed light on a finished creation. When the ball we tread on stood out a complete and lovely thing before its Maker; when Eden bloomed a little heaven below, and man, with his pure and lofty spirit, lived in its bowers; ere yet the trail of the serpent was over all, 'God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it.' The beams of a Sabbath morn first shed light on a ransomed creation. Then it was that the Captain of our salvation, having battled with Death in his own dark domain, shivered his fetters, rose a victor from the tomb, led captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men; so that now, instead of the woe and shame sin had entailed upon the fallen, there is proffered to them the beauty, the brightness of a purchased immortality. The Sabbath is a type, and tells of that rest which remaineth to the people of God-of that hour when the Christian pilgrim shall terminate his long and toilsome march through the wilderness, and cross the threshold of his Father's home -when the Christian mariner shall heave over the last ocean billow, and enter the desired haven-when the soldier of the cross shall lay off his panoply, wear the rich robe and the bright crown. Independently, too, of these grander associations, there is much-much of piety, much of poetry-to make the Sabbath-day to a Christian's soul the very 'best of all the seven.' The image of a grey-haired sire, the family shrine, the domestic Sundayschool, the big ha' bible, once his father's pride,' the music of the church-bell, the house girt round with the graves of his kindred, devotion's lofty peal-Oh! it cannot be that the man is on his way to heaven who loves not as his life this atom of heaven dropped on earth-it cannot be that he is of the peculiar people' who calls not the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honourable' -that he has any claim to the character of a religious being, who allows its golden hours to glide away without some thoughts about that inheritance to which it, points! IMPORTANCE OF THE SEASON OF YOUTH. The value of time and of youth, and the bitter fruits that result from mis-spending them, are truths so simple and obvious, that we fear, like the great tree in St Paul's Churchyard, about the existence of which so many wagers have been lost and won, they are sometimes in danger of being overlooked from their very familiarity. It would be easy, indeed, to invest these topics with a gloomy interest, by proving that the evils resulting from the lost opportunities of youth more or less cling to a man throughout his existence; and that they must be, from their nature, greater in reality than they can be to the eye of common observation. For men do their best to disguise the punishment of a neglected education; or rather, to speak more truly, the punishment disguises them. It hurries them away from our sight to be immolated in secret by mortification-to die in the shade of neglect, and to be buried in the shroud of oblivion. But it is not by appealing to the ignoble principle of fear that we should teach the youthful bosom the value of its golden opportunities. A feeling still more honourable than even anxiety for reputation-namely, the desire of knowledge for its own sake-must enter into the motives of every man who successfully devotes himself to mental improvement; for learning is a proud mistress, that will not be courted for our hopes of worldly profit by her dowry, nor for our ambition to be allied to her family, nor for the pride of showing her in public, without the passion and devotion which we must bear to her sacred self.-Thomas Campbell. THE GRAVE OF FRIENDS. The grave of those we loved-what a place for meditation! There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us, almost unheeded, in the daily intercourse of intimacy-there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene: the bed of death, with all its stifled griefs, its noiseless attendance, its mute, watchful assiduities; the last testimonies of expiring love: the feeble, fluttering, thrilling-oh, how thrilling!-pressure of the hand; the last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us even from the threshold of existence; the faint, faltering accents, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection. Ay! go the grave of buried love, and meditate. There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit unrequited, every past endearment unregarded, of that departed being, who can never, never return to be soothed by thy contrition. If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent -if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth-if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee-if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet-then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul-then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear; more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing.—Washington Irving. WISDOM OF FAITH. Does not every architect complain of the injustice of criticising a building before it is half finished? Yet who can tell what volume of the creation we are in at present, or what point the structure of our moral fabric has attained? Whilst we are all in a vessel that is sailing under sealed orders, we shall do well to confide implicitly in our government and captain. MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS. There be four good mothers have four bad daughters: Truth hath hatred; prosperity hath pride; security hath peril; and familiarity hath contempt. SELFISHNESS. Selfishness is the universal form of human depravity; every sin that can be named is only a modification of it. What is avarice but selfishness grasping and hoarding? What is prodigality but selfishness decorating and indulging itself—a man sacrificing to himself as his own god? What is sloth but that god asleep and refusing to attend to the calls of duty? And what is idolatry but that god enshrined-war worshipping the reflection of his own image? Sensuality, and, indeed, all the sins of the flesh, are only selfishness setting itself above law, and gratifying itself at the expense of all restraint. And all the sins of the spirit are only the same principle impatient of contradiction, and refusing to acknowledge superiority, or to bend to any will but its own. What is egotism, but selfishness speaking? Or crime, but selfishness without its mask, in earnest and acting? Or offensive war, but selfishness confederated, armed, and bent on aggrandizing itself by violence and blood? An offensive army is the selfishness of a nation embodied, and moving to the attainment of its object over the wrecks of human happiness and life.-Dr Harris. LOVE'S NECESSITY. CESAR AUT NULLUS. Two things doth man with earnest instinct crave, Doth not love's aliment, the nursling lost, But load the bosom whence it fain would flow? And what shall soothe, his baby yearnings crost, The nursling's woe? Even so with love, that turns to gall if pent, The breast of man hath God his Father stored; And one it seeks on whom may well be spent The holy hoard. Even so it claims a love pure, passionate, free, Thou liest, Ambition! Thine is vulgar bliss: He brooks no rival, no divided will; Jealous as generous in his beings' good, Such are the terms on which the heart will trust; Happy, if his own bliss he knew, who may On one bright soul unchecked affection shed, Who, from his heart of hearts, can dearest say, And hear it said. Sad is his lot whose love no resting-space Hath found; and sadder his whose love hath won In some few hearts perchance the second place, THE FIRST IN NONE. IMPRUDENCE. Those who, in consequence of superior capacities and attainments, disregard the common maxims of life, ought to be reminded that nothing will supply the want of prutinued, will make knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and dence, and that negligence and irregularity, long congenius contemptible.-Doctor Johnson. FIRST AND LAST THOUGHTS. In matters of conscience, first thoughts are best; in matters of prudence, last thoughts are best. Printed and published by JAMES HOGG, 122 Nicolson Street, Edinburgh; to whom all communications are to be addressed. Sold also by J. JOHNSTONE, Edinburgh; J. M'LEOD, Glasgow W. M'COMB, Belfast; R. GROOMERIDGE & SONS, London; and all Booksellers. No. 4. EDINBURGH, SATURDAY, MARCH 22, 1845. CHAPTERS ON THE VIRTUES. COURTESY. We do not hesitate to claim for courtesy, as Doctor Johnson did for cleanliness, a place among the virtues. It is a virtue, and one which greatly promotes the comfort and happiness of mankind. It is the sugar in the cup of life-the sweetener of domestic and social existence. The very name of this grace is so associated with the stiff, frigid, and, in some instances, ludicrous forms of etiquette, that we are apt to overlook its worth, and to have inadequate ideas of its importance. These forms, unless they be all the more extravagant, are by no means to be neglected; but it should not be forgotten that they are often punctiliously observed by persons who do not know what real politeness is-in whose minds the sentiments that create true courtesy have no place. To be courteous in the best sense, we must have an humble estimate of ourselves and our attainments. Excessive vanity and true politeness will not be found together. When you meet with a person who is on the very best terms with himself, and has a most extravagant idea of his own importance, you need not expect to receive very courteous or respectful treatment from him. It can scarcely have escaped the notice of the least observing, that the artificial manners current in society are constructed in deference to the sentiment of humility. The tendency of pride,' says one of the greatest and best of men, to produce strife and hatred, is sufficiently apparent from the pains men have been at to construct a system of politeness, which is nothing more than a sort of mimic humility, in which the sentiments of an offensive self-estimation are so far disguised and suppressed as to make them compatible with the spirit of society; such a mode of behaviour as would naturally result from an attention to the apostolic injunction, Let nothing be done through strife or vain glory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.' And if even the hollow forms of this virtue be so important that we cannot dispense with them, how much more valuable must the reality be; if the painting be both useful and pleasing, how excellent and charming the original! Humility, then, it should be kept in mind, is essential to genuine courtesy. The really humble individual will not usurp a place to which he has no claim. He will be content with his own share, or rather less, in conversation. Even when conscious of being in the right, he will not express his convictions in that rude and boisterous tone, which creates disgust both at the speaker and what he says; he will not state his views as if they PRICE 1 d. were so many self-evident axioms, reminding wise and sensible listeners of the taunt of a venerable scripture worthy, 'No doubt but ye are the people, and wisdom shall die with you.' He will beware of exalting himself above others; of hinting even indirectly their inferiority to him. He will not take the faults and misfortunes of others as incense to his own vanity-a practice which, though common, is mean and despicable. It is easy to see how an humble opinion of one's self will thus promote genuine politeness. Affectionateness is another of its essential prerequisites. To be pleasingly well-bred, we must have a regard for those with whom we mingle; for its absence no artificial deference will compensate. The great desire of every person when he goes into society, should be to contribute as largely as possible to the general fund of happiness-to impart as well as receive pleasure. Good will towards all with whom we feel it right to associate, must shine through the countenance, flow from the tongue, be conveyed in the cordial grasp of the hand; and in a thousand ways, easier felt than described, be made apparent. Why should we blush to confess that we have a kindly feeling towards our fellow-creatures? Why seek to hide the sympathies that are so honourable to us? Why not circulate as widely as we can, those feelings of brotherhood which are of such advantage to our race? There are some, indeed, who have so degraded themselves that they may be thought hardly entitled to affection. But even when called to mix with such persons, we should remember that kindness has a killing power, and that the best way to make a man respect himself, is to show that others still would fain respect him, would he but act so as to enable them to do so. Affectionateness is indispensable to that kind of politeness which a man with a heart relishes. There is no mistaking cold artificial manners for the genuine courtesy of the heart. Persons with the gloomy and scowling look-the harsh, querulous, and domineering tone-on whose brows you can trace the clouds of the quarrel that was just hushed up as you crossed their threshold, never can be courteous in the best sense of that term. There is no good society, no circle worth spending an hour in, where love is not a guest. Her presence is indispensable to the feast of reason and the flow of soul.' A scrupulous and delicate regard to the feelings of others, is also an essential ingredient in the character of a well-bred person. The most guarded, indeed, may occasionally trespass through ignorance or inattention, but they who do so designedly violate the first law of correct manners, which is to make all around us feel as easy and cheerful as possible. There are some persons PETRA, THE LONG LOST CAPITAL so sensitive and touchy on almost every topic, whose better that they be accomplished in manners too. It is sensitiveness, too, arises from their overweening self-con- a vulgar error that a man will scarcely be a genius and ceit, that one can scarcely be expected so to shape his at the same time a gentleman. speech as not to give them offence; while there are those who have so little regard for the feelings of others, that we almost feel it a duty, when an opportunity occurs, to lend them a pretty hard blow in return. We quite agree with the sentiment of one of the greatest of our moralists They who cannot take a jest, ought not to make one.' These exceptions apart, however, there is such a thing as wantonly tampering with the feelings of those with whom we mingle, which is one of the grossest outrages upon good breeding. If the gentle Cowper was right when he said that he would not enter upon the list of his friends, the man who would heedlessly set foot upon a worm, what are we to say of those who intentionally would crush or wound that sensitive, and sprightly, and loving thing, the human heart? They should be sent to herd alone. They are the kind of natures whom one would be glad to see betake themselves to the cloister or the cave; they are among the nuisances of the social circle, the banes of domestic life. Higher motives apart, self-love should prevent such conduct. Who is altogether invulnerable? Is not that individual singularly fortunate-the rare exception-who has nothing in his personal appearance, habits, profession, past history, present condition, family connexions, and the like, fitted, when an uncourteous and unfeeling allusion is made to it, to stir a sigh or kindle a blush? And every man is aware when such allusions in his own case would be felt cruel, and he should not forget to act towards his neighbour on the golden maxim, 'Do as you would be done to.' By the Rev. J. A. WYLIE, Author of the 'Modern Judea,' &c. Or the many great discoveries by which the early part of the present century was distinguished, not the least important was that of Petra, the long lost capital of the Edomites. Not only did this discovery enlarge and enrich geographical science, it added, moreover, another and a most important fact to the stores of our biblical literature. On the pages of the Bible it shed a new light and a new interest. The unerring precision with which those prophecies which relate to the land of Edom had pointed out the future state of its capital, now began to be understood, though before we had been able only to guess at the meaning of these predictions, and were not prepared to verify, at least in every particular, their accomplishment. Petra, the capital of Edom, after being lost for ages, was discovered by Burckhardt in 1812. Every thing which relates to the manner in which this discovery was brought about is interesting; but, before we can judge of its importance, and the service it has rendered to revelation, we must advert for a little to the early history of the city to which it relates. A dark chain of mountains, whose singularly ragged and broken outline presents to the eye many a romantic peak, stretches between the southern extremity of the Dead Sea and the head of the eastern arm of the Red A prying and inquisitive disposition, too, is incompa- Sea. Here, in ancient times, dwelt the posterity of tible with true politeness. Impertinent curiosity is one Esau. In the very heart of these mountains, occupying of the chief banes of social intercourse. It is easy to see a little plain of less than two miles circumference, stood how it becomes so. You put a question respecting cir- the capital city of the people to whom this region becumstances which you have no right to know anything longed. A few holes hewn in the crags which environed about, and which common sense might tell you the party the little plain all around, formed the rude beginnings of you interrogate is not willing to disclose. The latter this city. Some of these caves were placed so high on must either equivocate, or directly falsify, or, much to the mountain's face, that the early Edomite, whose the annoyance of his own feelings, state distinctly that dwelling they formed, looked forth, like the eagle in his the question is one you have no right to put, and which, eyry, upon the little plain beneath, and the mountains therefore, he does not mean to answer. So that if to summits beyond, glowing, it might be, in the light of preserve tranquillity of mind, to impart as well as re- the morning sun, or tinged, perhaps, with his setting ceive pleasure, be the object of good manners, every rays. By and by, as their knowledge of art increased, Paul Pry in the social circle must be a very offensive and as their wealth enabled and prompted them to carry person indeed. We should keep a sharp look out' on that knowledge into effect, the inhabitants began to emthose whose conversation is chiefly in the question form. bellish the entrances of their rocky dwellings by such True courtesy has other elements on which we do not ornaments as it belongs to the chisel to create. The enlarge at present. There is, for example, purity of con- most beautiful façades began to cover the bottom of the versation that purity which teaches us to shun not mountains, not built, but hewn in the rock; while merely open obscenity, but which is often as dangerous-pillars, arches, temples, and elegant and luxurious covert insinuation. Then there is the propriety of feeling dwellings, rose on the little plain, and entirely covered as much at ease as may be consistent with due respect to its surface. others. Ease,' Lord Chesterfield says, 'is the standard of politeness. We must be courteous to those beneath our own roof, would we practise this virtue with grace in society. We may rest assured that politeness is a grace of no mean order. Some may affect to contemn it: it says the less for their sense, their taste, their virtue. That man has need of far more merit than falls to the share of ordinary mortals, who dares to act in contravention of the established forms and usages of society; and even the most accomplished in mind will be all the Shut in from all the world by a rampart of rocky mountains, beyond which, on the west, lay a sandy desert extending to the Nile, and on the east, a vast plain by no means distinguished for its fertility, one would have thought that Petra would have been rarely visited-that it would have been one of the most secluded cities in the world, and little known. Just the opposite of this was the fact. There was scarce a city of its time of which it could be said that it was a more frequent, or a more general resort. This city amid the hills of Edom |