English literature is the great safeguard of character. A young man who feels pleasure in studying Wordsworth, or pondering Coleridge, or reading Southey, would hardly feel himself at home in a public-house, or derive satisfaction from lounging at the corners of our streets. Let those who teach the young strive to impress on their minds that good books are great blessings; that poetry can expand and elevate the soul; that science and philosophy can enlarge the boundaries and quicken the impulses of the human mind; that history can revive the past, and impress on the memory the lessons and experience of by-gone ages. All these studies are good, eminently good, in their places; they exalt the human faculties and ennoble human nature; they kindle enthusiasm, and lift the soul above the sordid pleasures of the world. I do not say that they are everything in the education of the human mind, or in building up the human character. God forbid that I should do so. These things cannot satisfy all the cravings of the immortal soul. I look upon them as helps to religion, and not substitutes for it. The religion of the Bible is the great indispensable need of every accounta ble being. Christ alone can fill up the chasm in the human heart made by sin. Christ is our life, our only source of hope, and the only fountain of spiritual joy. Literature without Christ is like the heavens without the sun. Stars shining with a twinkling lustre, but all below cold and dead. My desire and prayer, then, shall be, that you, my readers, may all share the blessed experience of the Christian life; that you may have Christ in you the hope of glory, and that around Éim as the eternal centre there may revolve the lesser orbs of human light; and that taking with you in your future course something of the meditativeness of Wordsworth, the thoughtfulness of Coleridge, and the industry of Southey, you may burst from the trammels of a narrow conventionalism, rise into the enjoyment of that which is pure in thought, rich in fancy, and splendid in imagination; and that, after having shared in the toils of life and participated in the pleasures of hope, you may finally and eternally rejoice in the society and employments of those glorious spirits who gaze upon the eternal light without a cloud, sing the everlasting song without a jar, and rest upon the bosom of unchangeable love without a doubt or a fear. REVELATIONS OF LIFE IN LONDON. BY THE REV. G. W. MCCREE. WE have given some attention for years This is what took place. We found ourselves in a private house (admission one shilling) with fourteen others, and waited the advent of the medium. There were two rooms, one dark and the other light. In the dark room was a small raised platform covered with green cloth, and a small chair placed upon it. In the light room were the visitors. Why was the other room dark? Are "the spirits" afraid of the light? At eight o'clock the president, a ruddy, bearded Scotchman, took his seat at a small table placed close to the green platform. Writing materials and a glass of water were beside him. The medium followed, ascended the platform, and sat down on the chair. He was a small, thin, sharp featured person, rather like a city clerk. He seemed shy, slightly nervous, and did not seem to like to face his audience. The president explained that neither he nor the medium knew what would happen. External intelligences acted before the medium, and might say through him things either good or bad, and they should decline praise or blame of any kind. Silence. A pause. The medium appeared to fall asleep. Then his face, arms, and limbs began to twitch, shiver, and start nervously. He made grimaces. He looked like a man trying to catch flies or wasps. He made snatches at his own arms as though insects were annoying him. In fact, he seemed excited, cold, startled, and anxious. Suddenly his contortions ceased, and, rising from his chair he planted it before him, and said, "Mr. Chairman, we are now ready to answer any questions." We were to understand, of course, that not the medium, but the "spirit" spoke. So we waited to hear the spirit. Who was it? Thomas Paine. Here, then, was the spirit of Tom Paine, the infidel. "Was Moses," asked the president, an actual or a mythological person ?" The medium, or rather Mr. Thomas Paine, replied, that his investigations had led him to the conclusion that he was an actual person, but that many "theories" had been associated with his name. Mr. Thomas Paine was then asked whether he could explain the composition of "the luminous balls" which had appeared in Mrs. A.'s circle," and he gave a reply which would have convinced Professor Faraday that celestial chemistry is a very queer thing. After a few moments of consciousness, and a great deal of shivering, shaking, and catching flies, another "spirit" possessed the medium. "I am astonished," he said, "to be here: I am. I am surprised to find myself alive; I should not have felt surprised to find myself dead-not at all. This is the first time I have come back. I do not feel quite comfortable; you know I have not got quite adjusted to my return: no, not quite. I used to live in London; aye, and not far from here: up at Islington. Well, I was always in a muddle about a future state. I sometimes thought I should live in another world; sometimes not. Well, but here I am you see, and alive: that astonishes me. Well, this world is like the world I left -very. It is all a process of education. You have to learn many things, and the best thing to do is to make yourself comfortable in the new world." Not much more did this spirit tell us. He added that he, having a bad memory for figures, could not remember how old he was when he died; nor the year in which he died; nor the number of the house in Lonsdale Square in which he lived. So he left us, and let us hope he is comfortable. No spirit came without making the medium shiver like a beggar on a cold day, and, this having been done, a nameless "strolling player" began to speak through the medium. He thought proper to weary us with a long tedious lecture on "helping the lame dog over the stile." We were not to crush any one. We were to help everybody. Then he indulged in puns-poor puns. He talked about children stealing sugar, and servant maids stealing away to meet their lovers. Oh! it was child talk-so dull that even the president asked him whether he could not put a pinch of snuff into his sermon. Unfortunately he had plenty of sermon, and very little snuff. So after a mock eulogy on "The Devil as a very useful person," and a little more about lame dogs, and he then went off the stage. We were told that the strolling player came every night, whereupon a visitor said that must be because he had no engagement. It seemed to us, however, that his coming every night must be rather troublesome, and a new version of Much ado about nothing. as More shivering. A great many flies snatched at and missed. Then the medium began to speak, or rather lecture, on The laws of health! Four propositions were laid down and forgotten. A very long lecture was given on lamb's wool, the Turkish bath, fresh air, and so on. It was though "the spirit" had read Combe on the Constitution of Man; Graham, Trale, Fowler, and others, on their favourite topics, and then hashed them all up into the mess of physiological pottage which was placed before us. It was a queer lecture for a spirit to orate, because there was so much of the flesh about it. It was of the earth, earthy. Not a hint of heavenly life did it contain. Are we to believe, then, that spirits come from Hades to tell us what to eat, what to drink, and wherewithal we are to be clothed? Can we think that Samuel and all the prophets would come back to teach us to wear lamb's wool and take Turkish baths? It may be said that he was not a prophet. Just so. He was not a prophet. We were told that we had been listening to a Chinese philosopher who had studied "these matters" for one hundred and thirty years! Some of us wanted to know how it was that the philosopher had such a knowledge of books published since he died? how it was that he spoke in "Cockney English?" and how it was that there were no traces of Chinese modes of thought in what he said? but we could not obtain any satisfaction. To our surprise, however, the strolling player began to speak once more through the medium, and indulged in some impertinent remarks on the mental incapacity of the objectors, and, as it had got late, and was time for both spirits and mortals to go home, we took our departure, feeling that we had lost a shilling and a night, and not at all disposed to renew our acquaintance with such miserable representations of the multitudes who people the great spheres beyond the grave, awaiting the glorious coming of the Divine King. is We must not leave the subject without stating that "spiritualism spreading in London, and has its centres of propagandism, its mediums, lecturers, magazines, and, we might almost add "church." It supplants the Bible. The medium is declared to speak what the unseen spirits wish to reveal, and Moses, David, and Paul, are not regarded as authorities when revelations contrary to Scripture are made, or asserted to be made. Nevertheless it is written: Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world." THE DOWNFALL OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON.* "And there fell a great star from Heaven."-Rev. viii. 10. AN eminent Nonconformist minister preaching the other day upon the war is reported to have said, "I find almost as much food for thought and reflection in the daily newspaper as in the books of the Kings or Chronicles. In the historical books of the Old Testament I see the course and conduct of God's Providence in the past; in the daily newspaper I see the working of the same Providence in the present." A statement to which I fully consent when we add this limitation,-that in the Old Testament history the veil of mystery overhanging all God's providential procedure is, at least partially, uplifted even by the Divine hand; whereas in the daily newspaper no divine hand is present, either wholly or in part, to uplift the veil, while occasional attempts of this kind, made by human hands, are often ill-advised, presumptuous, and profane. Especially do we feel the weight of this consideration in relation to the present subject. For firmly as we believe that "the Lord reigneth," that He is in all and above all and over all, and that in the most troubled and mysterious events of the world He is working out His wise and gracious plans, it is nevertheless difficult, nay, impossible to interpret the meaning of every event in the providential chain, or to perceive the harmony and blending of all in God's universal and eternal plan. There are some, indeed, who profess to have an insight into passing events which we, at least, do not presume to enjoy. The Book of the Revelation is their key to every perplexing and mysterious eventit contains for them the solution of every mystic page in the history of the world. We confess it is not so with us. No! For, although our text is selected from that book, we cannot say that it has any distinct reference to this event-that Napoleon is this great star which falls from heaventhat Napoleon is the "Wormwood" of this chapter and of this book. We have not inquired what commentators say about it, for we are heartily weary of men who are for ever pouring out the vials and unsealing the seals! Enough for us that you will admit that Napoleon was a star-a great star-shining in heaven; that is, the firmament of eminence, power, and glory. Then, during the last few days, he has fallen-the world has seen him fall; and everywhere, in the Christian world most of all, the question arises, "What meaneth it? What shall we say?" What are the facts with which we have to deal? Simply these. That Napoleon III., two months ago, apparently firmly established as the monarch of one of the greatest nations of Europe; still more recently the popular commander of a valiant and seemingly invincible army, is this day *Notes of a Sermon preached at Swadlincote, Sept. 11, 1870. an Emperor no longer-Commander-inchief no longer-but decrowned and dethroned, and denounced by army and nation, is exiled to a foreign land, a prisoner of war at the mercy of those with whom he needlessly quarrelled, and whose best and most valiant blood he madly spilt. I. Perhaps, as we think of this downfall, so sudden, so startling, and so momentous, RETRIBUTION is the very first word which issues from our lips. We cannot be wrong, I suppose, in laying very much of the blame and wickedness and guilt of this war, to the weakness and the vanity and the folly of Napoleon. Such being the case, his responsibility becomes immense, overwhelming. Heavy, indeed, must be the burden resting upon the author of a war so causeless, so bloody, so prodigious! He may be pitied-part of his punishment is the pity of which he is now the object. But it cannot be forgotten that it was he who proclaimed the scourge of war-who impelled armies to the conflict-who strewed the battle field with the dying and the dead. To him must be assigned "the infinite fierce chorus, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade, Far be it from me to rejoice in his downfall, or to withhold the slightest commiseration from him in his reverses. As the staunch ally of England, as the faithful friend of Britain, we may have a " a warm side" for him even now. But not slightly can his last and most frightful error be condoned. Blood has a voice! The tears of widows and of orphans numberless thick as rain-drops fall! Hell from beneath is glutted with the slain! And shall not God arise? Shall He not search this out? Can this foul crime escape unpunished? It cannot be! And already it would seem that Nemesis is abroadthat retribution unsheathes its swordthat vengeance is God's, and that He does recompense! For where is now Napoleon's crown-Napoleon's throne-his army-his rights! Vanished-vanished for ever before the blast of the avenging angel of the Lord! 66 Verily there is a reward for the wicked-there is a God that judgeth in the earth !" II. Perhaps, too, in the downfall of this great star we ought to see another illustra Y 64 tion and confirmation of our Lord's words, They that take the sword shall perish by the sword." Literally Napoleon has not so perished. Although long in the hottest and thickest of battle, he was denied the death some say he even courted and desired. Shot and shell fell about him thick as hail; death dealt his blows on every hand, but, as though bearing a charmed existence, he was unharmed, he was untouched! Fatalism has been ascribed to him. "Man," so says his supposed creed, " is immortal till his work is done." The field of Sedan, then, has taught him, we fain would think, that his work is not yet done; that though decrowned, dethroned, captive, exiled, a work remains for him yet-and that is to seek peace with Him more bitterly wronged by him than his royal conqueror, even the King of kings and the Lord of lords; and to attempt what ever feeble reparation lies within his power for the gigantic evil and scourge he has let loose upon the world! Otherwise we must hold, in the fullest sense of the words, that taking the sword he has perished by the sword. The war was to glorify and perpetuate his name and dynasty-it has disgraced and ruined both. Yes, By the sword he has perished. perished more fully, it may be, than as though the German sword had pierced his heart. For that had been a speedy, an easy death, compared to the prolonged death of a despised exile, anathematized by the widow's groan and the orphan's tears, preyed upon by the gnawings of anguish and the worm of remorse, the beginning of the second death! Another victim of human glory is added to the long roll of those who taking the sword have perished by the sword. Oh that rulers were wise; that they and all nations would see the defiance breathed by war to Him who is the Prince of Peace and Lord of all. May he arise! May He hush and rebuke the storm! Speak now, mighty Lord, and say, "Peace, be still !" "Peace!' then no longer from its brazen portals The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies, But beautiful as the songs of the immortals The holy melodies of love arise." III. Nor is it possible to observe the falling of this great star without being reminded of the worthlessness and vanity of human greatness. What an unsubstantial thing it is! Made up of what accidents-sustained at what risk-overthrown how suddenly and without warning! Even when a man has achieved it for himself, as Napoleon in a large degree did (though by what means it is best not to say), how fickle and uncertain is his continuance therein! Human English literature is the great safeguard of character. A young man who feels pleasure in studying Wordsworth, or pondering Coleridge, or reading Southey, would hardly feel himself at home in a public-house, or derive satisfaction from lounging at the corners of our streets. Let those who teach the young strive to impress on their minds that good books are great blessings; that poetry can expand and elevate the soul; that science and philosophy can enlarge the boundaries and quicken the impulses of the human mind; that history can revive the past, and impress on the memory the lessons and experience of by-gone ages. All these studies are good, eminently good, in their places; they exalt the human faculties and ennoble human nature; they kindle enthusiasm, and lift the soul above the sordid pleasures of the world. I do not say that they are everything in the education of the human mind, or in building up the human character. God forbid that I should do so. These things cannot satisfy all the cravings of the immortal soul. I look upon them as helps to religion, and not substitutes for it. The religion of the Bible is the great indispensable need of every accounta ble being. Christ alone can fill up the chasm in the human heart made by sin. Christ is our life, our only source of hope, and the only fountain of spiritual joy. Literature without Christ is like the heavens without the sun. Stars shining with a twinkling lustre, but all below cold and dead. My desire and prayer, then, shall be, that you, my readers, may all share the blessed experience of the Christian life; that you may have Christ in you the hope of glory, and that around Éim as the eternal centre there may revolve the lesser orbs of human light; and that taking with you in your future course something of the meditativeness of Wordsworth, the thoughtfulness of Coleridge, and the industry of Southey, you may burst from the trammels of a narrow conventionalism, rise into the enjoyment of that which is pure in thought, rich in fancy, and splendid in imagination; and that, after having shared in the toils of life and participated in the pleasures of hope, you may finally and eternally rejoice in the society and employments of those glorious spirits who gaze upon the eternal light without a cloud, sing the everlasting song without a jar, and rest upon the bosom of unchangeable love without a doubt or a fear. REVELATIONS OF LIFE IN LONDON. BY THE REV. G. W. MCCREE. WE have given some attention for years This is what took place. We found ourselves in a private house (admission one shilling) with fourteen others, and waited the advent of the medium. There were two rooms, one dark and the other light. In the dark room was a small raised platform covered with green cloth, and a small chair placed upon it. In the light room were the visitors. Why was the other room dark? Are "the spirits" afraid of the light? At eight o'clock the president, a ruddy, bearded Scotchman, took his seat at a small table placed close to the green platform. Writing materials and a glass of water were beside him. The medium followed, ascended the platform, and sat down on the chair. He was a small, thin, sharp featured person, rather like a city clerk. seemed shy, slightly nervous, and did not seem to like to face his audience. The president explained that neither He |