ancients; but there is no evidence that it was applied to the purposes of navigation until the beginning of the twelfth century. It is now yery generally believed that electricity and magnetism differ only in their mode of operation, inasmuch that precisely the same effects may be produced by both. For these interesting discoveries we are indebted to an entirely new department of experimental research, namely, electro-magnetism. We But important as these principles are, and impossible as it is to have useful science in any matter unless we understand their modes of working, we are in utter ignorance of the principles themselves, as no analysis, that is, no process of decomposition, or separation, with which we are acquainted, can obtain us any one of them in a separate state, so that we can examine it, and say what it is. cannot even say that they are material things at all; for they neither admit of being measured or weighed. We are familiar with them only as phenomena, or appearances of matter; and though in thought we generalize them, and in language express them by nouns or names, as if they were things having separate existences; yet we know them only as qualities of other substances, properties superadded to matter, and their names are in reality adjectives. Hence it is most rational to believe, that however we may designate light, heat, electricity, and magnetism, they are but different modes of one single energy. Still we are in no worse condition with regard to them than we are with regard to anything else: for all our knowledge is only the knowledge of qualities; and when we explain anything, we merely mention all the qualities of it.—Readings in Science. MINISTERIAL RECOLLECTIONS. (To the Editor of the Youth's Instructer.) RETURNING home from a visit to the metropolis, on what had been anxious and important business, after a fatiguing journey, which did not close till between nine and ten at night, as soon as I reached my own house, I was told that I had just before been sent for to see a young woman who had been married some twelve months previously, and who, it was feared, was in very imminent danger; that, in point of fact, it was thought that she would not live to the morning. Under these circumstances, I did not delay a single moment, but went at once to what was thus likely so soon to be the "house of mourning.” For the sake of convenience, I will call the young woman Rachel. She was the child of religious professors. She had, herself, made a profession of religion, and united herself to the Wesleyan-Methodist society; but she had become careless. Her religious profession was not thrown aside altogether; but the fervour of religious feeling was lost, and there was no longer either a frequent or an exact attendance on religious duties. Rachel, in this way, and to this extent, had become a religious trifler. I saw little of her. Twelve months before, she had married a young man in a state of mind no better than her own; and thus, instead of acknowledging God in the commencement of their household life, they practically forgot him. They were soon, however, to be aroused, and aroused most fearfully, from this state of spiritual lethargy. Rachel had been confined—of her first child-for a few days, and appeared to be doing very well. Suddenly, however,—in the morning of the day on which I returned at night,—some unfavourable symptoms presented themselves; and disease extended so rapidly, that her medical attendant, in the course of the evening, told her, he was himself one who feared and served God,—that before morning all would be over. The real character of her present condition now presented itself, and she was filled with the most alarming apprehensions. She felt she was not fit to die; and yet she saw that die she must, and that in a very few hours. Her father was with her, and prayed with her. Her medical attendant prayed with her, and endeavoured to soothe her mind. And between ten and eleven o'clock I reached the house; and was taken up to what was so soon to be the chamber of death. On entering, I was most painfully affected by the scene. The father, kneeling at the foot of the bed, was praying for mercy for his dying child; and poor Rachel herself was almost screaming, in the anguish of her spirit. As soon as she saw me she exclaimed, "O, Sir, I cannot die, I am not ready. I am a backslider, I have trifled, I have trifled. Pray, pray !" I first sought to calm her almost violent apprehensions, and her medical attendant added his valuable aid. I feared she would hasten her own death by her vehemence. We persuaded her to listen to us; and told her prayer should not be omitted. We read portions of Scripture, and spoke plainly and pointedly as to her present duty. We did not palliate her sin. We dwelt on the offensiveness to God of this lukewarm state in which so many were dwelling, and into which she had fallen. But we told her that as to amendment, we could not speak of it. Her hours were few. Her very minutes were numbered. And the only two questions to be answered were,-Is salvation possible? and, if possible, how is it to be obtained? I need not state the particulars. We endeavoured to show her, distinctly, that she was a sinner; and to bring her to such a sight of this, as to lead her to say,-using the words to express her own thoughts and feelings,-" God be merciful to me a sinner." And then our care was to show her that God's mercy was revealed in Christ, and bestowed for Christ's sake. During these conversations, prayer was frequently made to God on her behalf, and she seemed to be somewhat encouraged. After a time, I found myself too fatigued to continue any longer. She was much more calm than she had been. I told her husband, therefore, that if any unfavourable change should take place, he must come for me, and I would return with him; but that I must, if possible, have a little rest, as it was then past midnight. I counselled herself, and advised her husband and father; and having again prayed with them, I went home. But I had scarcely reached my own house, when the husband overtook me, and begged I would return. Rachel appeared to be worse, and was very unhappy. I did not hesitate; but, leaving word at home that I should not return till all was over, I again went. Rachel was indeed changed. Death was in her countenance. It was evident that she was going, though slowly. I took my place by her bed-side. She was calm, but full of selfcondemnation. "It is all dark," she said; " but I have deserved it." She was too weak now even for strong feeling. "All dark!" I said: "surely not, while Christ is at the right hand of God, making intercession for you. Look at your Saviour, not at yourself. You deserve all you suffer, all you fear; but By grace ye are saved,' is the positive saying of the Bible." It pleased God to apply the word. She was encouraged. She looked to God through Christ. "O, Sir," she said, "I believe he will save me." We knelt down once more; and when we arose, she said, with the tremulousness of death, yet with plain decision, and with a countenance from which the expression of anguish had passed entirely away, "Not a cloud doth arise To darken the skies!" All was peace. I read a few verses of Scripture, told her to direct her mind to God, through Christ, and, resting on his mercy, to pray to him while recollection lasted. Occasionally, we repeated a passage of holy writ; and occasionally we knelt down to commit her to God's mercy. She said little; but once, when taking hold of my hand, and looking very earnestly at me, she said, "The Sunday after I am buried, Sir, meet the society in the evening, and speak to the young folk. O, tell them from me never to trifle in religion." She then praised God that she felt a peace she could not describe." It is mercy indeed, mercy indeed," she said, " that has thus saved me at the last." She then became apparently unconscious of surrounding objects; and the only sign of life, besides breathing, was, that she repeated the expressive lines, once fully, and then a few words only,— "Not a cloud doth arise To darken the skies, Or hide for a moment my Lord from my eyes." Her breath actually went away in this consoling testimony. "Not a cloud,-not a cloud,-not a cl-—,—not,— not."-And all was still. We had been commending her passing spirit to Him who had redeemed it. We paused for a moment or two. Not even the short, thick breath could we hear. I put my ear to her face; but all was still. I passed my hand over her face,-pressed down her eyes,―closed her mouth. Having prayed with the family, I returned, meditating on her dying charge. I did meet the society; and exhorted both young and old, as I now exhort all the readers of this paper, NOT TO TRIFLE WITH RELIGION. THE LIFE OF FAITH, AND THE LIFE OF SENSE. THE life of faith, and the life of sense, are the two ways that all the world do walk in, to the two extremely different ends which appear when death withdraws the veil. It is the ordination of God that men's own estimation, choice, and endeavours, shall be the necessary preparation to their fruition. Men shall have no better than they value, choose, and seek. Where earthly things are highest in the esteem, and dearest to the mind of man, such persons have no higher nor more durable portion. Where the heavenly things are highest and dearest to the soul, and are practically preferred, they are the portion of that soul. Where the treasure is, the heart will be. The sanctifying Spirit doth lead the spiritual man, by a spiritual rule, in a spiritual way, to a spiritual, glorious, durable felicity. The sensual part, with the sensual inclination communicated to the corrupted mind and will, doth by carnal reasonings, and by carnal means, pursue and embrace a present, fading, carnal interest; and therefore it findeth and attaineth no more. "The flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; and these are contrary the one to the other." As a man is, so he loveth and desireth; as he desireth, he seeketh; and as he seeketh, he findeth and possesseth. If you know which world, what riches, a man prefers, intends, and lives for, you may know which world is his inheritance, and whither he is going, as to his perpetual abode.-Richard Baxter. |