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for his victims. Had Colonel Pelissier been an English commander, we tell you that his fame, his position, his very life, would have been sacrificed before the shout of indignation which would have arisen from every English heart. We know you Frenchmen to be brave—you have been proving it for centuries. Reprobate the Dahra massacre to prove that you are not cruel. If fight you will, fight like civilised soldiers; not like lurking savages.

Mow down your enemies (if you must have war) in the fair field. Face them foot to foot, and hand to hand; but for the sake of your fame; for the sake of the civilisation you have attained : stifle not defenceless wretches in caverns-massacre not women and children by the horrible

agency of slow fire. DOUGLAS JERROLD. Dahra, in Algiers in Africa. In 1827 the French, ostensibly

to punish an insult to their consul, but really with the intention of making a new conquest, fitted out a powerful armament, having above 34,000 soldiers on board, and after some fighting gained possession of the city of Algiers. The progress of their arms was long resisted by the Bey of Massara, the celebrated AbdelKader, who, placing himself at the head of the Arabs, kept the French at bay for upwards of fourteen years. It was during this struggle that the disgraceful incident

in our extract occurred. Sleuth-hounds.-Blood-hounds, from the old noun sleuth,

meaning the track or mark of a man or beast, known by

the scent. Uig.—The name of a parish in the Island of Lewis, which

forms one of the group of the Hebrides or Western Isles

of Scotland. Atlas Mountains.-A large range of mountains in Morocco

and Algiers in the North of Africa. La Grande Nation.--French for “ the great Nation," a

name which the French arrogate to themselves. Colonel Pelissier.-Colonel Pelissier, afterwards Duke of

Malakhoff, and Marshal of France, was born 6th
November, 1794. He commenced his career in Algeria,
and on the 18th of June, 1845, he suffocated 500
Arabs in a cave. He was appointed to a command in

the Crimea in 1855, and on the 8th September of that year he took by storm the Malakhoff tower, from which circumstance he obtained his titles.

THE MOSAIC VIEW OF CREATION. [Hugh MILLER, born in Cromarty, 12th October, 1802, com

menced life as a stone-mason ; but found time to cultivate a taste for letters, and to prosecute the study of geology, to which he was passionately attached. In 1839, he became editor of the Witness newspaper, a position which he occupied until his death, 24th December, 1856. He is the author of several works on geology, which have taken a high place, not merely for their scientific value, but for their style, which has been pronounced by competent critics to be one of the purest in the whole range of English literature. Overwork produced temporary insanity, during which he

shot himself.] Such a description of the creative vision of Moses as the one given by Milton of that vision of the future which he represents as conjured up before Adain by the archangel, would be a task rather for the scientific poet than for the mere practical geologist or sober theologian. Let us suppose that it took place far from man, in an untrodden recess of the Midian Desert, ere yet the vision of the burning bush had been vouchsafed; and that, as in the vision of St. John in Patmos, voices were mingled with scenes, and the ear as certainly addressed as the eye. A “great darkness” first falls upon the prophet, like that which in an earlier age fell upon Abraham, but without the

» and as the Divine Spirit moves on the face of the wildly troubled waters, as a visible aurora enveloped by the pitchy cloud, the great doctrine is orally enunciated, that “in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” Unreckoned ages, condensed in the vision into a few brief moments, pass away; the creative voice is again heard, “Let there be light,” and straightway a gray diffused light springs


“ horror;

up in the east, and casting its sickly gleam over a cloudlimited expanse of steaming vaporous sea, journeys through the heavens towards the west. One heavy, sunless day is made the representative of myriads ; the faint light waxes fainter-it sinks beneath the dim undefined horizon ; the first scene of the drama closes upon the seer; and he sits awhile on his hill-top in darkness, solitary but not sad, in what seems to be a calm and starless night.

The light again brightens-it is day; and over an expanse of ocean without visible bound the horizon has become wider and sharper of outline than before. There is life in that great sea-invertebrate, mayhap also ichthyic, life; but, from the comparative distance of the point of view occupied by the prophet, only the slow roll of its waves can be discerned, as they rise and fall in long undulations before a gentle gale; and what most strongly impresses the eye is the change which has taken place in the atmospheric scenery. That lower stratum of the heavens occupied in the previous vision by seething steam, or gray, smoke-like fog, is clear and transparent: and only in an upper region, where the previously invisible vapour of the tepid sea has thickened in the cold, do the clouds appear.

But there, in the higher strata of the atmosphere, they lie, thick and manifold- -an upper sea of great waves, separated from those beneath by the transparent firmament, and, like them, too, impelled in rolling masses by the wind. A mighty advance has taken place in creation; but its most conspicuous optical sign is the existence of a transparent atmosphere—of a firmament stretched out over the earth, that separates the waters above from the waters below. But darkness descends for the third time upon the seer, for the evening and the morning have completed the second day.

Yet, again, the light rises under a canopy of cloud ; but the scene has changed, and there is no longer an unbroken expanse of sea. The white surf breaks, at the distant horizon, on an insulated reef, formed, mayhap, ages before, during the bygone yesterday; and beats in long lines of foam, nearer at hand, against a low, winding shore, the seaward barrier of a widelyspread country. For at the Divine command the land has arisen from the deep-not inconspicuously and in scattered islets, as at an earlier time, but in extensive though flat and marshy continents, little raised over the sea-level ; and a yet further fiat has covered them with the great carboniferous flora. The scene is one of mighty forests of cone-bearing trees—of palms, and tree-ferns, and gigantic club-mosses, on the opener slopes, and of great reeds clustering by the sides of quiet lakes and dark rolling rivers. There is deep gloom in the recesses of the thicker woods, and low thick mists creep along the dank marsh or sluggish stream. But there is a general lightening of the sky overhead: as the day declines, a redder flush than had hitherto lighted up the prospect falls athwart ferncovered bank and long withdrawing glade. And while the fourth evening has fallen on the prophet, he becomes sensible, as it wears on, and the fourth dawn approaches, that yet another change has taken place. The Creator has spoken, and the stars look out from openings of deep unclouded blue; and as day rises, and the planet of morning pales in the east, the broken cloudlets are transmuted from bronze into gold, and anon the gold becomes fire, and at length the glorious sun arises out of the sea, and enters on his course rejoicing. It is a brilliant day; the waves, of a deeper and softer blue than before, dance and sparkle in the light; the earth, with little else to attract the gaze, has assumed a garb of brighter green; and as the sun declines amid even richer glories than those which had encircled his rising, the moon appears full-orbed in the east—to the human eye the second great luminary of the heavens and climbs slowly to the zenith as night advances, shedding its mild radiance on land and sea.

Again the day breaks; the prospect consists, as before, of land and ocean. There are great pine-woods, reed-covered swamps, wide plains, winding rivers, and broad lakes; and a bright sun shines over all. But the landscape derives its interest and novelty from a feature unmarked before. Gigantic birds stalk along the sands, or wade far into the water in quest of their food; while birds of lesser size float upon the lakes, or scream discordant in hovering flocks, thick as insects in the calm of a summer evening, over the narrower seas, or brighten with the sunlit gleam of their wings the thick woods. And ocean has its monsters ; great tanninim tempest the deep, as they heave their huge bulk over the surface, to inhale the life-sustaining air ; and out of their nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a “seething pot or cauldron.” Monstrous creatures, armed in massive scales, haunt the rivers, or scour the flat rank meadows; earth, air, and water are charged with animal life ; and the sun sets on a busy scene, in which unerring instinct pursues unremittingly its few simple ends—the support and preservation of the individual, the propagation of the species, and the protection and maintenance of the young.

Again the night descends, for the fifth day has closed; and morning breaks on the sixth and last day of creation. Cattle and beasts of the field graze on the plains; the thick-skinned rhinoceros wallows in the marshes; the squat hippopotamus rustles among the reeds, or plunges sullenly into the river ; great herds of elephants seek their food amid the young herbage of the woods; while animals of fiercer nature—the lion, the leopard, and the bear—barbour in deep caves till the evening, or lie in wait for their prey amid tangled thickets, or beneath some broken bank. At length, as the day wanes and the shadows lengthen, man, the responsible lord of creation, formed in God's own image, is introduced upon the scene, and the work of creation ceases for ever upon the earth. The night

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