remarks of an elegant writer on War, that we could not forbear culling them for our use.

1

"Two facts are cheering. 1st. Peace now scarcely differs more from ar, than modern warfare does from ancient. We see in barbarous states what war must have been originally. It is men slaughter. No quarter is given. All advantages are taken. Among the New Zealanders, and Aboriginal Americans, there is nothing like the openness and honour of European conflict. To lie in wait and rush unawares upon their prey; to fire upon him from unsuspected ambush; to steal in the dead of night, set fire to the huts, and massacre the inhabitants as they fly naked and defenceless from the flames; these are their deeds of glory. In Greece and Rome the vanquished had only the alternative of death or slavery, What would be thought now of the insulting ceremony of leading princes and nobles through the streets, chained to a triumphal chariot, for the mob to gaze at-and then dismissing them to menial attendance on their victors? The proportion of the numbers slain to those engaged, is trifling now, in comparison with the battles of antiquity; to say nothing of wars of cold-blooded massacre, and complete extermination. The improvements in the art of war have pretty uniformly tended to make it more a matter of calculation and less of force and slaughter. Perhaps, too, the advance of physical science may lead to discoveries and inventions which will have an unexpected and happy influence. At first brute strength alone decided contests. Discipline took off part of its superiority; and the use of gunpowder almost equalized the weak with the strong. May not some future invention level the many with the few, or at least produce defence, which will baffle an immense superiority of numbers? Destructive machinery seems peculiarly adapted for this purpose. The torpedo may be improved so as to protect the fishing-boat from the man of war, and secure the coast from desolation. However we shudder at such instruments, they may, perhaps, be brought to an infernal perfection,

which will secure the cause of humanity, by infinitely multiplying the perils of encroachment and attack. However this may be, it is obvious that there is more of mind in the conduct of war, and of humanity in its operations. Half the horrors of ancient warfare have vanished. What is to stop the progress here?

"2nd. The tendencies of society have been, and are, to limit war, and consequently to abolish it ultimately. It cannot take place now in numerous situations where it used to rage. The The formation of society stops individual hostilities. Private war, once so general and destructive, is abolished. In England once, Baron warred upon Baron, and castle against castle hoisted the flag of defiance. Those combats have ceased, and for ever. What rivers of blood have Scotch and English shed in desperate struggles! From all appearance, they have waged their last war with each other. Had the United States of America been, by different formation and circumstances, disunited kingdoms, or republics, what incessant and bloody conflicts would have deluged that continent! In this respect, the tendency of small states to coalesce with larger, and of larger ones to a sort of federal union, is auspicious to mankind. At present all the great powers of Europe are in alliance: this may be only the coalition of governors. Supposing all those governors to become the faithful guardians of free nations, that union might remain-the arbiter of national disputes, the congress of peace and justice."

Cheering, however, as these facts may be, Christians have yet higher hopes and surer grounds of dependance. The increasing progress, and predicted universal triumph of their religion, whose true banners bear the sweet motto of PEACE, and whose true followers are distinguished by their deeds of CHARITY, are facts on which they can dwell with still purer delight, and from which they can derive yet stronger hope, in regard to the ultimate cessation of all hostility and war between the different nations of the earth.

The precepts of Christianity are

directly opposed to the maxims of War. The fundamental rule of the first is to do good; of the latter to inflict injuries: the former commands us to succour the oppressed; the latter to overwhelm the defenceless: the former teaches men to love their enemies; the latter to make themselves terrible even to strangers. The rules of morality will not suffer us to promote the dearest interest by falsehood; the maxims of war applaud it when employed in the destruction of others. The Bible says, "Thou shalt not kill"; war enjoins, kill-the greater number the more glorious: the Bible commands, "Thou shalt not steal"; plunder is of war both cause and consequence, and indissoluble companion: the gospel says, "Overcome evil with good"; but war exhorts to subdue evil by greater evi!, and more tremendous malignity: the one says, " Bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you"; and the other, carry outrage, misery, and murder, amongst those who have excited no anger, inflicted no injury.

If this contrast be correctly drawn, the supporters and encouragers of war must be diminished, as the votaries of pure Christianity increase. It will be too truly objected here, that the appellation CHRISTIAN and WARRIOR are not considered incompatible with each other. We leave those who assume both characters, or who encourage both systems, to show if they can, their compatibility. There have been times when Christians would not disgrace their religious profession, by engaging in the unholy work of warfare, The case of Tarachus the martyr, was not, in the early ages of Christianity, a solitary one. "When I was a soldier," said he, "I was called Victor;-because I was a Christian, I renounced the service."

We hesitate not to adopt the following assertions. "Were governments Christian, they would not violate the repose of Countries. Were people Christian, they would not hire themselves out to kill without knowing why the military profession would be at an end. There would not be less courage in the world. The first Christians

dared die, but not fight. They would not kill at Cæsar's command, but they submitted to be killed, and, dying, overthrew the altars of his Gods.

And if there be truth in prophecy, both governments and people will be Christianized: for it points to a period, when the kingdoms of the earth shall be all brought under the peaceful dominion of him who gave light to the beautiful and ennobling system called Christianity. And when this takes place, the happy era will have arrived, when men will beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning-hooks, for nation will no longer lift up sword against nation, neither will they learn war any more.

We feel rather disposed to rest here, than even to hint at the time that may possibly, and even probably elapse, before the rising of that sun, which will shine only on the peaceful inhabitants of the earth, though it fling its illumined beams to every part of the habitable globe. It is not for us to know the times and the seasons when many other of the divine designs are to be accomplished; yet it would be unwise, ungrateful, and impious, to doubt their fulfilment when the voice of revelation predicts their certainty. In this case there is room for trust, and we will endeavour to cherish it, as being the only means of preserving us from doubting or despairing of the arrival of universal and everlasting Peace, and of stimulating us to exer tion in promoting its benignant interests.

THE WEATHER-GLASS. THE Bishop of Worcester having some friends at his Palace, a Gentleman requested the sight of a curious aud excellent Weather-Glass that was in the Library: the servant was immediately desired to bring it, who in the act of delivering

it to the gentleman, let it fall! and of course it was broken to pieces. The company were naturally deranged by the misfortune, particularly the friend who had asked to see it." Be under no concern Sir," (said the good Bishop with a smile) "We ought always to have christian hitherto had much dry Weather, and I hope now patience, and it is rather a lucky omen; we have

we shall have some Rain, for (pointing to the ground) I really do not remember to have seen the Glass so low before."

A MISANTHROPE Is a sour philosopher, or ill humour personified, and as great a tormentor of himself, as he is of all those who have the misfortune to be about him: all your endeavours to please, if they have any effect, serve only to make him more crabbed.

'As heaven's blest beams turn vinegar more sour' He is sore all over, and the slave of endless disquietudes, he sees nothing but the dark side of men and things, and the most effectual way of punishing him for his peevishness, is to appear gay and cheerful in his presence.

The Misanthrope professes to be, not what Johnson calls a good-hater, but on the contrary, a hater of all that providence in his goodness has bestowed as sweeteners of our existence. He abjures the vanities and follies of the world, not from a sense of religion or morality, but because he has no relish for them; and as to all the charities of social intercourse, love and friendship, he is as dead as a stoic

Of all the Ills with which mankind are curs'd, Their own ill tempers surely are the worst. A spoiled child has frequently become the Misanthrope, the fretful peevishness of his early days, for want of a due application of the rod, at length has settled into a morbid irritability, destructive of his own happiness, and all around him: strangers, and such as are not obliged to bear with his humours, either pay him in kind, or shun him as a nuisance.

As the Misanthrope contributes to nothing but the miseries of human life, there can be no reason for lamenting his departure. P.P.

Penzance, Sept. 1826.

Some fretful tempers wince at ev'ry touch,
You always do too little, or too much
You speak with life, in hopes to entertain;
Your elevated voice goes through his brain;
You fall at once into a lower key,
That's wore!-the drone-pipe of an humble bee!
The southern sash admits too strong a light,
You rise and drop the curtain-now tis night
He shakes with cold, you stir the fire, and strive
To niake a blaze- that's roasting him alive,

With sole, that's just the sort he would not wish.
He takes what he profess'd at first to loath,
And in due time feeds heartily on both;

Yet still o'erclouded with a constant frown
He does not swallow but he gulps it down:
You hope to please him, when on ev'ry plan,
Alas! his efforts double his distress,
Himself should work that wonder if he can;
He likes yours little, and his own still less.
Thus always teazing others—always teiz❜d,
His only pleasure is-to be displeas'd!

COWPER.

MADEMOISELLE C- á sa MAMAN.

Oh! maman, je viens à toi
Comme à ma meilleure amie,
Te dire de bonne foi
Tous les secrets de ma vie.
Si je suis vive, étourdie,
Songe que je n'ai qu'onze ans;
Et crois moi, mère chérie,
Tout ça passe avec le tems.

Lorsque je prends mes leçons
Avec Monsieur Alfeston,
Quelques refrains de chanson
Seuls fixent mon attention;
Ce n'est pas, fort à ma gloire,
Mais ces défauts, je les seus;
Et, maman, tu peux m'en croire,
Tout ça passe avec le tems.

Je ne suis qu'à l'imparfait,
J'ai lu ça dans ma grammaire;
Mais le futur me promet
Qu'un jour je saurai te plaire.
Inconstance, humeur légère
Et désirs trop pétulens,
Quand on aime bien sa mère,
Tout ça passe avec le tems.

Je suis distraite souvent
Par une mouche qui vole;
A me voir en mouvement,
On me croiroit un peu folle;
Inattentive et frivole,
Joner est mon élement;
Enfiu chaque âge a son rôle;
Mais tout passe avec le tems.

Ainsi qu'un petit caton,
Un jour tu me verras sage;
Comme defunt ciceron,
Je t'écrirai mainte page.
Je ne serai plus volage;
Science, grâces, talens,
Me vaudront plus d'un hommage;
Tout arrive avec le temis.

A.

No. 10.
PALESTINE, OR THE HOLY LAND.
THE MOSQUE OF OMAR.

(From the Modern Traveller.)
(continued from Page 140.)

"A little within the door of the Bab el Jenné, or west door, there is a flat polished slab of green marble, which forms part of the floor. It is about fourteen inches square, and was originally pierced by eighteen nails, which would have kept their places, but for the amazing chronometrical virtues with which they were endowed. For such is their magical temper, that they either hold or quit, according to the times; and on the winding up of each great event, a nail has regularly been removed to mark its completion; and so many of their signal periods have already rolled by, each clenched by an accompanying nail, that now only three and half remain, fourteen and half having been displaced in a supernatural manner. I was anxious to know what great event had drawn the first nail, the second, the third and so onwards in succession; but on these points I could learn nothing; neither could any one inform me when the last half nail took its flight, nor when the other half was expected to follow. It is an equally recondite matter, known only to the wise in wonders, how the nails got into the stone, as how they got out of it.

"The well at the inside of Bab el Garbé, the reading desk, and the ancient copy of the Koran, have been already mentioned.

"There are twenty-four columns in the first row, placed parallel with the right sides of the building, three opposite to each side, so as to preserve the Octagonal form. They are all of the same kind of marble, but rather of a darker hue than that of the exterior of the building. Eight of them are large square plain columns, of no order of architecture, and all placed opposite to the eight entering angles of the edifice; they are indented on the inner side, so that they furnish an acute termination to the octagonal lines within. Between every two of the

square columns there are two round columns, well proportioned and resting on a base. They are from eighteen to twenty feet high, with a Corinthian capital. A large square plinth of marble extends from the top of the one column to the other, and above it there are constructed a number of arches all round. The arches are slightly pointed to support the inner end of the roof, or ceiling, which is of wood plastered, and ornamented in compartments of the octagonal form, and highly gilt; the outer end of the roof rests upon the walls of the building. Not so the inner circle of columns; they are about two paces from the outer row, and are only sixteen in number. There are four large square columns, one opposed to each alternate angle of the building, and three small round columns between each of them. Their base rests upon an elevation of the floor, and they are capitalled and surmounted with arches, the same as in the outer row: this inner row of columns supports the dome. The intercolumnial shape is occupied by a high iron railing, so that all entrance to the holy stone, or centre of the mosque, is completely shut up except by one door, which is open only at certain hours for the purpose of devotion.

"This central compartment is eleva ted about three feet above the outer floor and the ascent to it is by a flight of foar steps. On entering it along with the Turks, we found there several rather shabbily dressed ill-looking people engaged in their devotions. One of them was a female, of a mean rustic appearance, and so extremely stupid that she was praying with her face to the west, which so provoked one of my conductors, that he went up and roused her from her knees, and having given her a hearty scolding, turned her round, and made her pray with her face to the south, which she very obediently did without demur. Within the row of columns the floor is also paved with marble, and the blue and white columns are so mixed as in some places to form a sort of mosaic. Proceeding on the right we came to a round flat stone of polished

marble, which is raised high, and attached to the side of one of the square columns. This stone, I was informed, the prophet carried on his arm in battle. It is a ponderous and very unlikely shield. It is broken through the middle probably from a blow aimed at its master by an infidel's hand. Opposite to this, and in the end of the holy stone, which I am about to describe, there is a high, square wooden box, with an opening on one side of it, large enough to admit the hand to feel the print of Mahomet's foot, which he left there either when he prayed or when he flew up to heaven. I put in my hand and touched it, to stroke my face and beard, as I saw the Mussulmans do. It is so completely covered that it cannot be seen.

"But that to which this temple owes its name and existence, is a large irregular oblong mass of stone that occupies the centre of the mosque. It is a compact limestone, as that of the rock on which the city stands, and of the other mountains about Jerusalem; and if I had not been told it was a separate stone, I should have imagined it a part of the native rock that had been left unmoved, when the other parts were levelled down for the foundation of the building. It rises highest towards the south west corner, and faces abruptly at the end where are the prints of the prophet's foot it is irregular on the upper surface as when it was broken from the Quay. It is enclosed all round by a wooden railing, about four feet high, and which in every place is nearly in contact with the stone. I have already mentioned there is a large cover of various ly coloured satin suspended above it, and nothing can be held in greater veneration than the Hadjr.el Sakhara, or the locked-up stone. Under it there is an apartment dug in the solid rock, which is entered by a stair that opens to the south-east. But into this excavation I never was admitted, although I was four times in he mosque and went there twice with the express assurance that I should be shewn into it. However, when I arrived, the key was always wanting;

and when the keeper of it was sought for, he never could be found. They assured me, however, that it was very small, and that it contained nothing but robes.

"However, this stone has other weighty pretentions to the veneration of the Mahomedans than the print of the angel Gabriel's fingers or the prophet's foot; for, like the Palladium of ancient Troy, it fell from heaven and lighted on this very spot, at the time that prophecy commenced at Jerusalem. Here the ancient prophets, sat, and prophesied, and prayed; and as long as the spirit of vaticination continued to visit the holy men in the holy city, the stone remained quiet for their accommodation; but when prophesy ceased, and the persecuted seers girt up their loins and fled, the stone, out of sympathy, wished to accompany them; but the angel Gabriel interposed his friendly aid, and, grasping the stone with a mighty hand, arrested its flight and nailed it to its rocky bed till the arrival of Mahomet; who horsed on the lightning's wing, flew thither from Mecca, joined the society of 70,000 ministering angels, and having offered up his devotions to the throne of God, fixed the stone immoveably in this holy spot, around which the Kalif Omar erected the present elegant structure.

Having satisfied ourselves with the interior and lower part of the mosque, we ascended the narrow and comfortless wooden stair to the top of it. The roof of the mosque is covered with lead, from the wall to the dome. It slopes gently, so that we walked along it with ease. The walls rise about seven feet, so that no part of the roof is visible from the ground below. The wall of the dome is round, and the sides of the perpendicular parts of it are faced up with blue, green, white, and yellow painted tiles, the same as the upper part of the building. Blue is the prevailing colour. It is divided into alternate compartments of close and reticulated work; and is covered in at the top with lead, the same as the roof of the building. It was then undergoing repair. The workmen were taking