and religion, and condemned to six months' imprisonment, with a fine of 500 francs and costs.

Since that time, nothing of Rose Tamisier has been heard from priest or bishop; but her life, written by Abbé André, and containing no mention of Colignon's discovery, continues to be circulated among the peasantry, with whom she is still the saint of the marvellous cabbage and the bleeding picture.

LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. LAW, though framed for the protection of society, for the individual benefit of its members, often admits of a construction adverse to the designs of its legislators; and in its application frequently defeats the object which it was intended to sustain. We have, however, numerous instances wherein honest juries have given their verdicts conformably to the promptings of justice, and happily, when such decisions have not been too widely different from the expressed rule, they have escaped from the appeal.

We take pleasure in relating an incident, which greatly enlisted our sympathies, held us spell-bound by its interest, and finally made our heart leap with joy at its happy termination.

In the spring of 184-, we chanced to be spending a few days in a beautiful inland country town in Pennsylvania. It was court-week, and to relieve us from the somewhat monotonous incidents of village life, we stepped into the room where the court had convened.

Among the prisoners in the box we saw a lad but ten years of age, whose sad and pensive countenance, his young and innocent appearance, caused him to look sadly out of place among the hardened criminals by whom he was surrounded. Close by the box, and manifesting the greatest interest in the proceedings, sat a tearful woman, whose anxious glance from the judge to the boy left us no room to doubt that it was his mother. We turned with sadness from the scene, to inquire of the offence of the prisoner, and learned he was accused of stealing money.

The case was soon commenced, and by the interest manifested by that large crowd, we found that our heart was not the only one in which sympathy for the lad existed. How we pitied him! The bright smile of youth had vanished from his face, and now it more expressed the cares of the aged. His young sister-a bright-eyed girl, had gained admission to his side, and cheered him with the whisperings of hope. But that sweet voice,

which before caused his heart to bound with happiness, added only to the grief his shame had brought upon him.

The progress of the case acquainted us with the circumstances of the loss, the extent of which was but a dime-no more.

The lad's employer, a wealthy, miserly, and unprincipled manufacturer, had made use of it for the purpose of what he called "testing the boy's honesty." It was placed where, from its very position, the lad would oftenest see it, and least suspect the trap. A day passed, and the master-to his mortification, not pleasure-found the coin untouched. Another day passed, and yet his object was not gained. He was, however, determined that the boy should take it, and so let it remain.

This continued temptation was too much for the lad's resistance the dime was taken. A simple present for that little sister was purchased by it. But while returning home to gladden her heart, his own was made heavy by being arrested for theft a crime, the nature of which he little knew. These circumstances were substantiated by several of his employer's workmen, who were also parties to the plot. An attorney urged upon the jury the necessity of making this "little rogue' an example to others, by punishment. His address had great effect upon all that heard it. Before, I could see many tears of sympathy for the lad, his widowed mother, and faithful sister. But their eyes were all dry now, and more looked as if they cared for or expected aught else but a conviction.

39

The accuser sat in a conspicuous place, smiling, as if in fiend-like exultation over the misery he had brought upon that poor but once happy trio.

We felt that there was but little hope for the boy; and the youthful appearance of the attorney who had volunteered his defence gave no encouragement, as we learned that it was the young man's maiden plea, his first address. He appeared greatly confused, and reached to a desk near him, from which he took the Bible that had been used to solemnize the testimony. This movement was received with general laughter and taunting remarks, among which we heard a harsh fellow close by us cry out,

"He forgets where he is. Thinking to take hold of some ponderous law-book, he has made a mistake, and got the Bible."

The remark made the young attorney flush with anger, and turning his flashing eye upon the audience, he convinced them it was no mistake, saying,

"Justice wants no other book."

His confusion was gone, and instantly

he was as calm as the sober judge upon the bench.

The Bible was opened, and every eye was upon him as he quietly and leisurely turned over the leaves. Amidst a breathless silence, he read to the jury this sen

tence:

"Lead us not into temptation."

A minute of unbroken silence followed, and again he read :

"Lead us not into temptation."

We felt our heart throb at the sound of those words. The audience looked at each other without speaking, and the jurymen mutely exchanged glances, as the appropriate quotation carried its moral to their hearts. Then followed an address which, for its pathetic eloquence, we have never heard excelled. Its influence was like magic. We saw the guilty accuser leave the room in fear of personal violence. The prisoner looked hopeful, the mother smiled again, and, before its conclusion, there was not an eye in court that was not moist. The speech was affecting to that degree which causes tears-it held its hearers spell-bound.

The little time that was necessary to transpire before the verdict of the jury could be learned was a period of great anxiety and suspense. But when their whispering consultation ceased, and those happy words, "Not Guilty!" came from the foreman, they passed like a thrill of electricity from lip to lip; the austere dignity of the court was forgotten, and not a voice was there that did not join the acclamations that hailed the lad's release.

The lawyer's first plea was a successful one. He was soon a favourite, and now represents his district in the councils of the nation. The lad has never ceased his grateful remembrance; and we, by the affecting scene herein attempted to be described, have often been led to think how manifold greater is the crime of the tempter than that of the tempted.

THE ARITHMETIC OF WAR.

It is very difficult to credit or adequately conceive even the well-attested statistics of war. When such a philosopher as Dick, or such a statesman as Burke, brings before us his estimate of the havoc which this custom has made of human life in all past

time, it seems utterly incredible-almost inconceivable; and still more are we staggered by the formidable array of figures employed to denote the sum total of money squandered on human butchery. Baron Von Reden, perhaps the ablest statician of the age, tells us, in a recent work of his, that the continent of Europe alone now has full four millious of men under armsmore than half its population --between the ages of twenty and thirty; and that the support of this immense preparation of war, together with the interest and cost of collection and disbursement on the aggregate of its war debts, amount to more than one thousand millions a year.

Let any man try to form an adequate conception of what is meant by either of these sums, and he will give up the effort in despair. The Baron estimates the war debts now resting on the states of Europe at £1,583,600,000! How shall we estimate what this enormous sum means? Shall we count? At the rate of sixty pounds a minute, ten hours every day, for three hundred days in a year, it would take more than two hundred years to count the present war debt of Europe alone. Let us look for a moment at what England wasted for war from the Revolution, in 1688, to the downfall of Napoleon, in 1815. The sum total, besides all that she spent upon her war system in the intervals of peace, was £2,030,000,000; and if we add the interest on her war debts contracted in that period, the grand total will reach nearly £3,400,000,000. At sixty dollars a minute, for ten hours in a day, or thirtysix thousand dollars a day, and three hundred days in a year, it would require more than one thousand five hundred and seventy-five years to count it all. Add an average of £12,000,000 a year for the current expenses of her war establishment since 1815, an aggregate of £560,000,000 in these thirty-five years, and we have a sum total of nearly four thousand millions.

No wonder that Great Britain is reeling and staggering under the burden of such an enormous expenditure for war purposes. Four thousand millions of pounds! It is nearly thirty times as much as all the coin now supposed to be in the world; and if these twenty thousand millions were all in silver crowns, and placed in rows, it would belt the globe more than one hundred and sixty times.

The Russian Shores of the Black Sea, in the Autumn of 1852; with a Voyage down the Volga, and a Tour through the Country of the Don Cossacks. By LAURENCE OLIPHANT. Second edition. Blackwood and Sons, London.

We are not surprised that this very interesting and instructive work has reached a second edition already. Passing events add to its interest; but its own intrinsic value alone will make it an extensivelyread volume. The author traversed Russia from Petersburgh to Moscow; thence to the great fair of Nijni Novgorod; after which he embarked on the Volga, and only quitted that giant stream to hasten to the Don, to the sea of Azov, the Crimea, the Black Sea, and then to steam it again up the Danube.

The traveller eems to write with very great candour indeed. His descriptions, however, of the condition of the country, physically and socially, show that the Russian Bear, instead of seeking to add to the range within which he roams, would be doing good service to humanity if he would only put into decent, civilised order, the den in which he is ever growling, and which presents fearful evidence of the savage spirit of policy which prevails through that extensive region. The despotism of the Czar will often remind the reader of the delinquencies--to compare great things with small-of the Wesleyan Conference.

A Naturalist's Rambles on the Devonshire
Coast. By P. H. GOSSE, A.L.S., &c.
A charming volume. The production of a

man of science, who knows how to write a popular and yet philosophic book. Our readers will not the less appreciate the work because its author shows himself a devout admirer of the Creator, and a sincere believer in the only-begotten Son of God. He observes of the Pholas dactylus:

"This contrivance, or rather this series of contrivances, for the health and comfort of a poor shell-fish, that spends its whole life buried in a sepulchre of stone, may seem to some but an insignificant affair. It seems less difficult to conceive of the tender beneficence of God exercised towards an angel, or towards man, who was made in His own image; but that the mind of the High and Lofty One that inhabiteth eternity should occupy itself about the feelings of such a worm as this, is marvellous indeed.'

The spirit of this Christian philosopher may be gathered from the following sentiment, found in page 436 of his work:

"It has indeed been delightful to read page after page of God's book of Nature; and though I am conscious that the study has not been, so much as it might, a pathway to Himself, yet the impress on all of His hand, who is our Father and our Saviour, has added a keener edge to the enjoyment. It is sweet to feel no stranger to the great Architect: to feel the friendship of a blood-redeemed and reconciled sinner with that glorious Being, the Maker and Sustainer of all things; to be able to come into His presence, to speak to Him, to anticipate a yet far deeper acquaintance with Him, to know that this God is one God, for ever and ever.' Blessed revelation, that has opened such springs of sweet and lasting joy in the wilderness of a sinner's heart!"

A Letter to the Rev. George Steward, &c. By the Rev. NATHAN ROUSE, Wesleyan Minister.

Forty-five pages of low, coarse, priestly scurrility.

THE RELIGIOUS

THE Committee of the Society for the Liberation of Religion from State-Patronage and Control invited a large number of their influential supporters to a soirée on Wednesday the 8th March, at the Whittington Club, London. A considerable number of ladies were present, and among the company were Mr. Bell, M.P., Mr. Crossley, M.P., Mr. Heyworth, M.P., Mr. Miall, M.P., Mr. Murrough, M.P., Samuel Morley, Esq., Charles Gilpin, Esq., and several ministers. Letters explaining the cause of their unavoidable absence were also stated to have been received from Mr. Barnes, M.P., Mr. Kershaw, M.P., Mr. Peto, M.P., Mr. Milligan, M.P., Dr. Stowell, Dr. William Smith, Rev. J. Sherman, Rev. Philip Smith, and other well-known gentlemen. Dr. Harris, of New College, who

WORD AND DEED. "Our acts our angels are, or good or ill." WORDS flow in solemn march,

Rules piled by line on line; Thoughts build their glowing arch In form and fashion half Divine: Yet, how seldom act and deed Spring of words, as fruit of seed; Oh! how oft the purpose spoken, By temptation's first blast broken; Promise-bud and perfume-flower, Lie wither'd ere the harvest hour! Soft strains may float around;

Bright objects charm the eye; Fancy's forms on earth abound, Fair as float in upper sky. Yet, how seldom he who brings Purest draughts from Genius' springs, Finds the path his spirit wanteth, Lives the life for which he panteth; Half uprisen now to heaven, Grovelling then 'mid earthly leaven. List ye the thrilling chime,

Quaff deep the nectar'd thought, Bright, sparkling, chord and rhyme, With such lore the prophets taught. Joyful that thy brother man All so far the deep may scan; Mourn ere while that mighty thinker, Proves so oft the duty-shrinker; Folly's race all madly speeding, His golden rules himself unheeding. Word, tone, and Genius' hue,

Precious are ye unto men; Yet how far one action true,

Outshines the fame of lute or pen! Hands all pure from dastard deeds; Earnestness that no lure heeds, Shine as gems the man adorning, Like heavenly dew the flowers at morning; Sure the noblest poet-teaching Is the living, not the preaching! Edmund Teesdale.

"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN."

OH! deem not they are bless'd alone Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep; The Power who pities man has shown A blessing for the eyes that weep. The light of smiles shall fill again

The lid that overflows with tears; And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happy years. There is a day of sunny rest

For every dark and troubled night; And grief may hide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light.