a small glass of sea water, this apparently inert mass soon gives signs of its vitality. The multitudinous pores by which its surface is perforated, imbibe the fluid in which it is immersed, and which thus permeates the whole substance; but, as may be seen on examining a piece of common sponge, it is traversed by large canals, and through these canals, the water imbibed by the pores is perpetually discharged in streams, a continual circulation being thus carried on; the effect of this is evidently the nutriment of the animal; but it remains to be discovered, by what means the influx and expulsion of the surrounding fluid is effected, as no contraction of the walls of the canals, nor any other movements have been detected, nor can any cause be assigned, on which this curious operation can depend. The sponge, as we know, is a fixed mass, attached to submarine rocks, from which it depends, covering their projections like tufts of moss; but at the commencement of its existence, the sponge is an oval gemmule, which passing through the canals of its parent, with the efflux of the circulating fluid, is free; and being covered with vibratory cilia of great minuteness, but yet by their action capable of producing currents in the surrounding water, the gemmule propels itself along at pleasure, till at length attaching itself to a suitable object, it becomes fixed and motionless; the cilia disappear, the skeleton begins to be deposited, it assumes the form peculiar to the species, grows, and gives birth to other gemmules, which undergo a similar change.

To this digression, on the nature of zoophytes, or rather polypes, have we been led, by suggesting to the inquiring mind, a source of interest and instruction, in an examination of the exuviæ of the sea, among which various species of these plantlike beings are often abundant, beings the history of which is still imperfect; animals, the simplest of all in organization, but varying in form, and in the results of their existence. To the labours of some, indeed, reefs and islands in the southern ocean are owing: silently and slowly does the work proceed; millions of labourers, connected by a living thread into one being, a compound unity, ply the unceasing task, and build a rocky fabric rising to the surface of the water. In due time, they perish, but the structure remains; sea birds repair to it as

their home; the winds and the waves carry seeds and throw them on it; they germinate and grow, their decay clothes the surface with a rich mould, a more luxuriant vegetation springs up; and at length comes man, and claims it as his territory. Islands either in part thus formed, or wholly so, the fabric of coral polypes, now resound with the praises of the God of all goodness and glory, whose power is displayed in the coral island, as in the granite mountain; in the zoophyte, as in the colossal elephant, or the soaring eagle. Summer and winter, as they succeed each other, bring with them proofs of His wisdom and benevolence: the land, clothed with trees and plants, and tenanted by living beings, diversified in their natures and habits, proclaims his praise; the teeming ocean, with its submarine forests, and its countless living things, from the huge leviathan to the coral polype, proclaims his praise: and shall not we, who in all the operations of nature, in all the mysteries of organic life, in all the phases of being, behold God in all— shall we not proclaim his praise, and "speak well of his name !" M.

KNOWLEDGE.

SAGACITY and knowledge are then only truly useful when joined with grace, meekness, discretion, and benevolence. The serpent's eye does best in the dove's head.-Gurnaйl.

THE POWER OF CHRIST.

WHEN we contemplate the might of Jesus as a Saviour, our thoughts are first arrested with the events of his personal career; and from them we learn to estimate the greatness, and to rely upon the certainty of all that yet remains, whether of the deliverance of his church at large, or of the salvation of every individual believer.

We are first led to ponder the strange yet surpassing glories of Calvary and of the cross. We watch the unfoldings of his life, and the wonders of his mortal hour. We then read his triumphs, though in lines of blood. If when he suffered, fainted, and expired, he could still rise superior to the powers of death and hell; if, even in that scene of shame and sorrow, he could both bestow the blessings of immortality upon his fellow sufferer, and insure, by his

A fierce and fiendlike joy would animate the breast, and flash across the countenance of the great enemy, when the Saviour expired: it would awaken a dire response in peals of infernal laughter from all the spirits of the deep, light up the regions of death with a strange and unnatural brightness, and cause those arches of impenetrable night to resound with echoes of unwonted acclamation. For then the triumph of hell appeared complete and final. The momentous crisis was past. The last stratagem had proved successful. The hitherto unconquerable Redeemer was smitten by his foe, and he had bowed his head in death. During the lapse of hours, which appeared to them like ages, he had still been permitted to languish, as one unbefriended of Heaven. His dying prayer had seemed to be unheard; and when he uttered the last cry of agony, no other portents were visible than those which spoke not of pity, but of wrath. And now the darkened sun broke forth again in all his evening splendour; the rocks had ceased to tremble; the voice of the earthquake was stilled; the sepulchres, which lately cast forth their pale and shrouded inhabitants, and scared the living world with the ghastliness and horrors of the tomb, now yawned and heaved no longer; the night dews were descending in all their wonted softness; the moon rose calmly on high; and the footsteps of the sentinel, treading his solitary path amidst the gardens, or answering to his companions as they watched around, were the only sounds that arose, where all was so recently filled with the mingling cries, and shouts, and brutal execrations, of a multitude countless as the sands, and agitated and raging like the sea. But still no sign was given that should arouse within the breast of demons the apprehension of approaching disaster. The Prince of Life still lay in mysterious slumber. Those seraph guards, that before looked on in such amazement, were stationed now beside his bier, and mutely waiting around, as if to celebrate his strange and melancholy obsequies. There lay the

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predicted conqueror of death and hell! There the appointed Restorer of this ruined earth! Heaven's last and mightiest Captain was there stretched out in powerlessness and silence, his arms cast uselessly away, and the regal standard of Omnipotence itself torn, stained, and trampled in the dust beside him. thunder broke, no lightning blasted them, no celestial falchion was gleaming from afar, while the powers of vengeance mustered, and the cloud of battle rolled on. Not a breath, a flash, a throb of unextinguished life, stole over the countenance, or thrilled a fibre, or heaved the sunken breast. What more could they desire? Their utmost hope was realized, and infinitely surpassed. The struggle of four thousand years was more than recompensed in this single and decisive conflict. They had dared to count only on the conquest of mankind; but now, behold the Son of God himself worsted and overthrown. Oh what a triumph was there!

Yes, brethren, it was a triumph; one that shall never cease to be the theme of admiration and delight throughout eternity. But that triumph was his, not who so hastily exulted, but who so meekly fell. Those scornful defiances of the fierce wrath of the Almighty, which vaunted of a ruined universe, and a dethroned Creator-how soon were they exchanged for lamentations such as the proudest spirits of the deep alone could utter, when they saw, too late, that this last victory was fatal to themselves, their acclamation the death knell of their glory, and their short-lived transport everlasting despair!

For then was laid the basis of that reconciliation, whereby the guilty race of men should be restored to the favour and love of God. Thence arose that most perfect and ineffable_acceptance in presence of his Father, whereby he has become invested with a power to obtain by his intercession every variety and the last extent of blessings, on behalf of his people. Then was erected that empire of love and gratitude over the hearts of men, by which is secured to him a final and unlimited command. They shall read the story of his sufferings. They shall ponder the greatness of his compassion, and the instances of his condescending and mysterious mercy, till their deepest sympathy is awakened, and their strongest affections summoned into exercise. Thence it is alone that,

as over heaven and hell, so over all that is holy, all that is divine, all that is imperishable in its beauty and deathless in its grandeur on earth, he is invested with an undisputed and universal dominion.

It would be presumption to set limits to the resources of Divine supremacy, and we are, therefore, not permitted to affirm that the renovation of mankind could not have been effected in some other method. But we may surely say, without impropriety, that nothing in the order of means, as far as human thought is capable of being extended, could have been of equal directness of efficiency in subjugating all that is within the breast of man to the authority and the love of God. We must ever remember, when speaking on such subjects, that the process we describe is spiritual; that the powers which must accomplish it can be those only of a moral nature; and when, therefore, adaptations of such a kind are witnessed as those we thus refer to, it is surely no irreverence, but rather the elevation of our minds to the true character of this inquiry, if we assert that such means were, in a moral sense, necessary to its production.

And what we should thus anticipate from the contemplation of the case considered in itself, is confirmed and carried out by all the records of the past, and not less by all the experience of the present hour. The name of Jesus, and the history of his salvation, have never ceased to operate, with a resistless and a growing energy, upon the hearts of men, even from the period of their earliest proclamation.

Ages rolled on. The might of empire, and the monuments of martial glory yielded in their turn to the ravages of barbaric violence, or the silent agency of time. The night of deepest oblivion, and the silence of utter desolation, enwrapped the proudest cities, palaces, and temples, entombing a second time the conquerors of the world; till not a vestige was left of all that once boasted so vauntingly the perpetuity of its duration. All was forgotten, as if it had never been. As if those masters of the globe had formally bequeathed their honours and possessions to an entire and universal destruction, they ceased at once to be, and to be remembered. Their hope, their works, their name, their whole existence, was no more. And many a trophy is sunk

into the dust, and many a pile laid prostrate, or razed from its lowest base; and many a deed of military prowess, or of civic glory, is left without a place amidst the annals of mankind. The same cloud of darkness and of overspreading night is still advancing onwards, to cover with its mantle all that yet remains of the great, or the mighty, or the noble, in this vain and ephemeral scene. And we that now are, shall be ere long like those that have departed before us. Like us, they delighted themselves for a little while, in all the eagerness of enterprise, and the ardour of pursuit. They toiled, suffered, studied, died, like us, for immortality. And we, like them, shall soon descend into the same silent and solitary regions; and our name and memory shall perish, ingulfed at length, like theirs, in the abyss of desolation.

But this name endureth for ever. The narrative of the Saviour's sufferings and death has, it is true, waxed old, and is the remembrance of ages and centuries long since passed away : but not the minutest circumstance is yet forgotten; and its effect is witnessed at this very hour, with an increase of directness, and a growing energy, that nothing can withstand. Unlike all other names, this, while it has become the loftiest in celebration, is also the highest in endearment. It is not that of one who was, but of One who is, who ever liveth, and is ever near to us, to whom we look, not merely with the eagerness of historical inquiry, but the fondness of fraternal regard. It is the name, not only of the noblest and the holiest, but of the most lovely, and the most beloved. A name, which gratitude cannot utter without benedictions; nor piety, but with veneration and delight. It is thus cherished and revered, not by one class of mankind rather than another. The most lofty and the purest minds prostrate their powers before it, with the profoundest sense of their own impotence and folly; while the most weak and dependent rejoice to lose in it their wants, and infirmities, and sorrow's. The fearful find it their refuge and their hope; and those bowed down with the deepest consciousness of sin, the renovation of happiness and glory. Whether we contemplate the homage with which it is regarded, or the unspeakable and boundless blessings it ceaselessly diffuses, we shall rejoice to

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a name above every name, whether of those in heaven, or of those on earth."-M'All.

ANTIQUITY AND NOVELTY. A pair of Portraits. ANTIQUITY.

"NONE of your new-fangled notions for me, was the uniform reply of old Mr. Dormer, to every proposal for the adoption of any sort of modern invention or improvement. Mr. Dormer was a man of good property, residing on an estate of his own, situated three or four miles from that of my uncle, with whom he was on terms of greater intimacy than with any other of the neighbouring gentlemen; for my uncle discerned and appreciated his real excellences, and treated his little peculiarities with a greater degree of forbearance and candour than the rest. The old gentleman was fond of my uncle's society, and was not in fear of being ridiculed by him. It is remarkable, however, that he would listen with calmness, if not with approbation, to remarks from my uncle, which, if they had been made by any other person, he would have deemed highly offensive; and the few instances in which he, in the least degree, deviated from his long-adopted systems, were all at my uncle's suggestion.

An estate, contiguous to that of Mr. Dormer, came by marriage into the possession of Mr. Kennedy, a man whose taste and habits were the very antipodes of those of his neighbour. It may be supposed that this dissimilarity precluded all intercourse between the two gentlemen and their families. Such, however, was not the case. They frequently met, spent an hour or two in friendly altercation, and separated, each with an increased sense of his own superiority, and a growing contempt for the understanding and the taste of his antagonist: sometimes with a resolution to meet no more, but more frequently with either the censorious, or the benevolent determination of shortly making another visit, with the view to pry out and ridicule the foibles of his neighbour; or in the hope of making a convert of him to preferences and pursuits more in unison with his own. According as these dispositions prevailed, they were, for the time, the best friends imaginable, or the bitterest enemies-no, that is too harsh a

"A

bours. And they spoke of each other with pity or with contempt, as good sort of man, with a few oddities;" or, "A man given up to most perverse and preposterous notions and practices." The two gentlemen sometimes met at my uncle's; not frequently, and scarcely ever by appointment: for my uncle exceedingly objected, on principle, to such a selection of guests as would be, in effect, setting two men against each other, to render themselves ridiculous for the amusement or the annoyance of the company; and he knew human nature too well to suppose that such set encounters, in the presence of others, had any tendency to bring the combatants nearer to each other, or to cure or soften down the peculiarities and prejudices of either. Sometimes, however, it happened, that one of the two dropped in accidentally, when the other making a visit. On these occasions both were under the salutary restraints of the laws of courtesy. Each, however, was evidently on the watch for an opportunity to throw out some remark on his neighbour's hobby; and indeed almost every topic afforded some such occasion. The conversation generally commenced playfully, but would sometimes have terminated angrily, but for the shrewd and good-humoured interposition of my uncle, who, without seeming to do so, acted as moderator on these occasions, and generally extorted, from each of the parties, such concessions in favour of the other, as sent them away mutual friends,

was

Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy were one afternoon at my uncle's, with a few other friends, when the former, who happened to sit near a window which commanded a view of the avenue, suddenly exclaimed, "Here comes the president of the antiquarian society, my worthy friend Stephen Dormer, Esq., with his oldfashioned daughter, and his old-fashioned dog! Did ever any mortal behold such a hat, and such a waistcoat ?"

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Oh, yes," replied uncle, "I have often seen your good father dressed in exactly the same style. If your own recollection does not confirm mine, the admirable portrait in your drawing room does."

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If

My father!-yes; but that portrait was taken at least thirty years ago. my father had lived to the present day, it is not to be supposed that he would have retained that ridiculous costume."