our benevolence; we are apt to stigmatise such conduct, in common people, as meanness and fraud; yet in this great man an instance is afforded that all intoxication, whether on alcohol or opium, blunts the moral sense and deadens the lofty feelings of the finest as well as the humblest mind. No man, let his capabilities be what they may, can tamper with any species of inebriation without desecrating the temple of the mind, and defying the "Deity within him." Coleridge was so sensible of his humiliating infirmity that he himself wished, at one time, to be placed in a private mad-house to effect his cure, from what was become a disease of frightful strength.

The following letter, written in all the agony of remorse, to his first pub. lisher and friend, "Cottle," is sufficient, one would think, to set at rest for ever all the pleaders for indulgence in dangerous stimulants. What man can dare to think himself safe in their use, when such a man as Coleridge thus expresses their effects and his remorse?

"BRISTOL, June 26, 1834.-Dear SIR-For I am unworthy to call any good man friend-much less you, whose hospitality and love I have abused— accept, however, my entreaties for your forgiveness and your prayers.

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Conceive a poor, miserable wretch, who for many years has been attempting to beat off pain, by constant recurrence to a vice that produces it. Conceive a spirit in hell, employed in tracing out for others the road to that heaven from which his crimes exclude him. In short, conceive whatever is most wretched, helpless, and hopeless, and you will form as tolerable a notion of my state as it is possible for a good inan to have. I used to think the text in St. James, that'he who offendeth in one point offendeth in all,' very harsh; but now I feel the awful, the tremendous truth of it. In the one crime of opinion, what crime have I not made myself guilty of! Ingratitude to my Maker and to my benefactors, injustice and unnatural cruelty to my poor children!

By great effort and rigid abstinence from the tempting snare that had trammelled and tortured him so long, he freed himself from the bondage of opium many years before his death. There can, however, be no doubt that the lingering sufferings which marked the close of his life, are attributed to the debilitated state of constitution engendered by his fatal propensity.

REFLECTIONS AT THE SEA SIDE, ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED BROTHER.

To share a burden merely to ease another is noble,

To do it cheerfully is sublime." KIND reader, whether thou art one of the sterner sex, who are generally denominated the lords of the creation, or thou art one of the gentle sex who are the fair daughters of our highly favoured land-I would ask the important question, hast thou ever in thy journey through this life seriously considered, "Who is my brother that I should be mindful of him?" If you can give the answer in the affirmative and say, "I have been mindful of my brother," happy art thou in being able, through divine assistance, to fulfil this duty to a near and dear relative, in particular, when we call to remembrance that we are all brethren, and ought to dwell together in harmony and love. When thou layest thy head down to rest, thy conscience will be clear and void of offence, joy will take possession of thy heart, and that love which descends from above will cheer thee on thy journey through this dark valley and vale of tears, and guide thee in the narrow path which leads to eternal life.

Gentle reader, has it been your privilege to have a brother whom you have tenderly loved for many years, and whose footsteps you have watched with an eye of tender pity and compassion; also, when he was afflicted in mind or body, you were ever ready to aid and assist, and your kindness has continued towards him until there is a summons from above, and the messenger of death enters your dwelling, and the beloved one, whom you have attended with such tender care for years, breathes his last, in the prime of life, and resigns his spirit into the hands of his Creator? Oh grief, we cannot recall his blessed spirit to earth again. In this sudden bereavement we have this great consolation in the day of trouble and heavy affliction, and can safely say, he was a dutiful son, a kind brother, an affectionate friend, and died sincerely regretted by a large number of sorrowing friends.

In the inspired volume we read, "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might, for there is no work or device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave, whither thou goest." He has run the race which was set before him; and he is only gone, it is to be sincerely hoped, a short time before us, to another and a better world in heaven, where the weary are at rest, and where neither sorrow nor trouble enter, and where there will be one eternal day.

Sterne, the well-known sentimental writer, relates the following interesting interview he had with a female during

his sojourn in Italy. This weary pilgrim said, "I have travelled the flinty roads of Savoy, without either shoes or stockings. How I have borne it," she said, "God only knows;" and wisely observed, "but God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." To which this man of feeling exclaims, in similar language, Shorn, indeed and wast thou in my own country, I would wait upon thee, and tenderly watch thy goings out and thy comings in." But, alas! how few are there amongst our fellow-men who are possessed of these feelings, and can endorse these heavenly sentiments!

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It is our pleasing duty to say, that we can record many instances wherein our philanthropic brethren have by their timely aid and assistance relieved their poor brethren, who were struggling in this battle of life to obtain a bare living, and who, from unforeseen circumstances, are reduced from a state of independence to abject poverty.

It was a favourite saying amongst the ancients, that to see a man struggling with poverty, and endeavouring to pay his way, was a sight which the gods them selves might look down with pleasure and smile upon. The members of our own families have special claims upon us. To them we are bound and linked together by the strongest ties of human nature, to aid and assist them in the hour of need, and in the day of trouble; and now, my beloved readers, in the language of an able writer, I would say, "Be kind to all. In our intercourse with our fellow-men we should be actuated by a spirit of kindness and love. We have our troubles and trials, and as we pass along through life, they multiply and increase. Life's pathway may be strewn with roses, but the thorns are found there also. How often is the spirit bowed beneath the accumulated burden of sorrow, anxiety, and care, and who, by an unkind word, or an unkind act, would crush the already overburdened spirit, or add another pang to the sad and weary heart? We little dream how delicately organised is the human soul, how much it sympathises with its earthly tabernacle, and how slight an influence will operate on it, affecting it for good or evil, raising it to happiness or delight, or crushing it in misery and despair. Words seem insignificant things, but they often strike hard. Well has it been remarked, that so easily do we wield them, that we forget their hidden power. A harsh or unjust word from one beloved, will often deeply wound the sensitive heart, which yet is not to be shaken by the severest trials of life."

Newcastle, June, 1863.

My object is to exhibit things as I beheld them with my own eyes. Several priests entered from a side-door, within the space in front of the high altar, and at once proceeded to conduct the service. One of them was gorgeously attired. As he stood before the altar, he seemed covered with velvet and satin, and silk and lace. Kneeling, his back presented to the people a large cross, emblazoned upon his vestments. With the attending officials, this priest went through a multitude of attitudes and actions, which, amid the rustling of their robes, the flashing of the gems upon them, and the mummery of the service, made up a strange scene. The few miserable persons present were all reverence, and kept up a continual crossing of themselves. Suddenly, as the chief priest raises his hands, in which is the 'Host," for he was celebrating Mass -a loud discharge of musketry burst upon the ear. I cannot well forget the expression of mortal terror which was depicted upon the faces around me. While that deep fear showed itself in the countenance, I could see an element of power in the accompaniment of High Mass with military display. The minds of the worshippers being at the highest point of veneration and superstitious reverence, the discharge of firearms completes the influence the priest desires to have on his people. Fear comes powerfully as an adjunct of superstition in keeping the mind in subjection. Terror sat on their faces for a moment, as if stamping the full impress of religious slavery upon them. And all the magnificence of the interior, the splendid robes of the priests, the great candles, the grandeur of the sacred altar, and the high service itself, together made such a contrast between the church and the people, that I did not wonder at the awe, and fright, and solemn submission which I saw in the poor crea tures around me.

Upon each side of the main part of the church were several altars. They were the shrines of different saints, whose devotees came to pay homage to their patrons there. The number and variety of the gifts and memorials which hung suspended above the altars, afforded me an interesting employment

for the few moments more I remained in the building. If a Catholic receives any favour from the saint he has chosen as his spiritual and heavenly keeper, he is careful to make an offering of some memorial to the shrine or altar of his tutelar power for the good rendered him. One saint, whose shrine was close by me, must have an intimate, an extensive guardianship. I saw hanging about the altar the queerest assortment of things possible to think of. There were women's dresses; hair, long dark tresses of it; wax figures of feet, hands, arms, breasts, legs, eyes, fingers, noses, and whole faces; ears, too, these representing all ages, from infancy to adult years and old age; knives, daggers, pistols, guns, stilettoes, and rude blades of assassination of every form; crutches, walking-sticks, epaulettes, and what not. Yonder they hang yet, I suppose, as dusty, and motley, and odd as when I scanned them, wondering. A large man, enveloped in a loose brown garment, came round among the people, shaking a dirty tin box, which he held in his hand, in each one's face. He sought money, and with each piece dropped in it, the noise he made with his box more evidently made known his errand.

With a hasty view of the scene, I passed out, and at once directed my steps for a church, whose tower and spire had attracted my notice from the harbour, and now rose in my view, seemingly a few streets off. I soon reached it. Whoever has visited Naples will remember that the most of the churches have domes, and of those which have a spire, one in particular attracts attention by its height. By all odds, it is loftier than any other steeple in the city. I now stood by the entrancedoor of this church-its architecture plain but heavy, its size very large, say two hundred feet long, width in proportion, with its massive tower and lofty spire the structure appeared very noble to me. As I crossed the threshold of the outer door, I found myself in a large and lofty vestibule or entrancehall. I was shocked to meet such evidences of the degraded customs and abominable habits which there stared me in the face. Some of my readers

may visit Naples-such will find one traveller's story correct, at all events. I was within the precincts of a splendid edifice, beneath its roof not a soul was to be seen, but filth and abomination of every sort lay beneath my feet. The interior, as soon as I entered it, impressed me with its great beauty and artistic ornaments. The roof was in panel work, finished in gilt and brilliant colours. In the centre a spacious painting in fresco made up a ceiling of admirable ornamentation. Marble, in mosaic work, composed the floor, upon which, here and there, were groups of kneeling women. Large and beautiful oil paintings adorned the walls, and the farther end of the building was surmounted by a dome, the interior of which presented fresco work of celestial designs, angels, and seraphs, and circling light. All I saw there in the interior of that church was magnificent, and apart from the artistic labour, the precious material employed must have counted immense value.

I crossed the foulsome vestibule and stood again in the open air. I had seen enough of the churches of Naples to want to see more. So, turning away in a new direction, I went through several streets, passing a very large building which, from its grated windows and lofty walls, made me think of the victims of tyranny and cruelty which an irresponsible kingly power might once have incarcerated in such a dreadful prison. Just opposite stood a very oldlooking church. Its walls were, in some places, green with grass and weeds. The interior was very grand in architectural effect-one immense and lofty apartment, adorned with many exquisite oil paintings of scriptural scenes, and the walls were of brown polished marble, while the floor was as smooth as a mirror and rich in mosaic work. The interior of the dome was covered with fresco. The subject, some conception of heavenly things, for angels, and cherubs, and white clouds, and shining light, were drawn out on those curved walls with marvellous grace and skill. But the peculiarity of this old church was not in its splendour. Altars were placed in the side aisles, surmounted with large pictures or pieces of statuary; in each of these shrines there were two or three boxes with glass fronts, containing wax figures of all sizes. The costliest materials composed the entire of the edifice. Some repre

sented the Virgin Mary and the Child Jesus. Others were images of saints. All were profusely adorned with elegant stuffs and tawdry ribbons, with jewellery and what seemed mock diamonds and gems. I was amused as well as astonished to find such figures in so grand a church. Art in all its grace and grandeur, in company with the most ridiculous burlesques of humanity. Those boxes held the veriest caricatures, and pictures of the rudest and most extravagant vulgarity were bung side by side with the works of the great masters! The beautiful in architecture, sculpture, painting, and ceremonial adornments having as company waxeu deformities and coarse daubs; why such together, was a wonder. But there they were. To me the magnificence of the church was belittled by such uncouth and shapeless images. Still, they were doubtless sacred in the eyes of the devotee, and probably were far more valuable than I supposed them to be. Ah! thought I, here is one way to travesty religion. As I wandered over that wide and elegant floor, surveying from different points the stately interior, I suddenly remembered that the bulletin of the "Vatican" announced her departure at half-past one, P.M. The time was now within an hour of this. I had to find my way among the strange ways of Naples, to the Marina, and thence by boat to my ship. What if I should fail to find the way, thought I. So, starting with but little ceremony from the church, I at once set out to reach the shore. After walking for half an hour, I judged myself no nearer the object of my search. I went, as 1 thought, in the direction of the water, but the winding streets did not conduct me to it. I thought of the poor foreigner in America, who, situated as I am now, may be hurrying through the streets of some city, ignorant of his way, and unable to ask of any one, because ignorant of the language. I sympathised with such an one at that time, indeed. But this plight of mine may be serious -the steamer's time is near at hand. Regardless of how ridiculous it might seem, I accosted a passer by with, "Signor, Marina?" A glance showed the gentleman the situation, and he courteously signified that I should follow him. A few turns, and we were at the shore. I bow my acknowledgments and hail a boat which lies very near the street. I reach the "Vatican" in good

time, and find her decks in the stir of readiness. At half-past two she turns her prow seaward. As she steams away I take a parting look at Naples, still I wondering how far from correct I had

been in supposing it to be a beautiful city; while, as we pass Vesuvius, I feel that the half has not been told of its majesty and attractiveness. T. K.

The Lecturer explained his subject as that branch of physical science which treats of the heavenly bodies, describes their apparent and real magnitudes, distances and motions, and the laws by which they are governed. He observed that the subject was commonly regarded as beyond the reach of those who are called the working classes, but it was not so; it was within the reach of any ordinary man's comprehension. Those who are called philosophers may be as narrow-minded and little-informed as any other class; while those who have to earn their bread by their daily toil may associate with their trades accomplishments of the most perfect and exalted nature. His object would be to show what may be comprehended by persons of average mind and ordinary education in the most elevated operations of physical science-how the measure of great things may be referred to the measure of smaller things; how the distance of the sun and moon and planets is ascertained by the yard measure, and how their weight is known by the pound weight avoirdupois; in short, to point out the path on which all who wish to study astronomy may enter, with the certainty of attaining to a general comprehension of that which has justly been named the sublime science. It was natural to begin with our planet, and yet, of all the objects which compose our system, this is the most difficult to know. We cannot get a bird's-eye view of it. Still, by a variety of indirect methods its form, dimensions, weight, and physical constitution had been got with great accuracy. But how had such results been got? He would

endeavour to explain; for it was by the same process that the distances and weights of the sun and moon and stars are determined. All measurements of this kind are done by a system of triangulation. The way is, to measure a short line, which is called the base line, say eight miles in length. It is here where the chief difficulty lies. The ground chosen must be very level and firm. The principal base line in the United Kingdom, and on which the measure of almost every part of the British Isles depends, is one traced along the east side of Loch Foyle, near Londonderry. It might be thought an easy matter to measure a straight line of five or six miles, but there is nothing so difficult. A measuring tape or chain is utterly useless. It is to be measured by the yard. But every measure is affected by temperature. Heat expands it; cold contracts it. You therefore put down half-a-dozen yard bars at a time in a row, with 20 or 30 yards of tent over them to protect them from sun and wind. The temperature of the bars is tested by a thermometer, and it is thus known what length the bars represent under the circumstances in which they are used. The bars must not touch each other, lest the expansion of any one might displace the other. An interval is left between each bar and its successor, and that interval is measured by a microscope. The result is, that a base line is measured of eight or ten miles to within the one-fiftieth of an inch. This is the first application of the yard measure by which the distances of the stars are measured. A theodolite at each end of this base-line observes some distant signal. Knowing the base and two angles of this triangle, the third angle and the length of the two other sides can be computed. It is thus in war, before the shot or shell is thrown, they first measure the distance of the