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such a selection, had it not been for the accomplishment of this grand event. There was nothing happened similar to it before, nor has any thing like it existed since; and the event has shewn, that though the Jews have remained, even to the present times, a distinct people, yet their distinction is not of that kind which could now promote the end for which they were at first selected. They are still distinguished as a people, it is true, but jumbled together as to tribes; so that, supposing the Messiah not to have come, it would be impossible now to distinguish him in the ordinary, and, of course, the most satisfactory way, when he does come. He was to come of the tribe of Judah, and of the family of David; but not to mention the predictions of the time, as given by Daniel, even the family and the tribe can never be ascertained as the accomplishment of prophecy, without regular registers and records being kept for this purpose, from the earliest to the latest period. If the Jews in the present day, therefore, have nothing of this kind to produce, it forms the strongest presumption that the Messiah has indeed come, and that it is in vain for them to look for his advent as future. Still, however, not to insist here on the prophecies of the time of his advent, we maintain, that down to the period in which we assert he did come, such registers and records were regularly kept; and whenever they came to fall into disuse, it was the clearest demonstration that Providence had no occasion for them, and therefore permitted them to fall to the ground, like the other peculiarities of their system; which, we say, were first appointed for the sake of bringing forth the Messiah, and received in general their completion in his advent.

in customs, manners, and religion, &c. do the Jews yet differ from them all, and are one among themselves, scattered as they are in all regions of the earth? This fact is so striking, that you may know a Jew to be a Jew in any region of the world; for what they are, as it respects their distinguishing peculiarities in any one place, that they are all the world over. Hence they are to be considered, though not designing it themselves, as a witness for God,-as a standing testimony to the truth of his word,and as a miracle daily performed, so to speak, in the face of the whole world, which all the cavils of scoffers and infidels will never be able to overturn.

THE

(To be continued.)

CAMERA OBSCURA. (Continued from col. 436.) "Oh yes! that sunken eye with fire once No. XIX.-Joseph Scott.

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And rays of light from its broad circlet stream'd, gleam'd, But now neglect has stung him to the core, And hope's wild raptures thrill bis heart no HENRY KIRKE WHITE. He was a young man with many accomplishments, he was remarkably handsome in person,—had received a good education,-possessed an excellent understanding, with a fertile imagination,-he was far above the generality of men in most respects,his station was respectable, and his future prospects cheering,-he was beloved by his intimates, and of a very sanguine temper; and being fully acquainted with his intellectual powers and talents, he had formed high ideas of his future success in life;-enthusiasm was the principal characteristic of his disposition. I have to add, that, at the age of twentyfive, I saw this individual return a As there are many things recorded beggar to his native town, and die, of the natural descendants of Abra- three months after his return, in abject ham subsequent to this era, however, misery. Of some men, it is to be said so a few words respecting them may that they were born in a higher stanot be improper. The scriptures say, tion than that in which they died; that they were cast off because of un--of others, that they were born and belief, but that when they shall turn to the Lord their God, and worship him with a true heart, they shall be received in again. But it is worthy of inquiry, Why do they still remain a distinct people? Why, though scattered through so many different nations, which differ so much from each other

died in the same station, with little variation;—and of some, that they were born poor, and died rich ;-and these three classes compose the whole of mankind. But, it will be my object at present, to trace poor Joe Scott's progress through the latter part of his life.

He had served his apprenticeship | ing that his wounds (which had been to a surgeon, and went up to London inflicted by a blow with a poker) were to attend lectures at one of the hospi- | not so bad as appearances indicated, tals there. he dressed them as well as he could, and having seen him put to bed, and promising to call again the next day to see how matters went on, walked home to his lodgings.

He performed his promise. And the first thing which struck him, when he came to the house again, was the extraordinary beauty of the female whom he had seen the preceding evening. He had not observed it before. She was not tall, but her figure was perfect symmetry, her skin was trans

hair were raven black. The tale she told to him, about the affair which had first caused his appearance, and the circumstances in which she was placed, does not at all matter to our subject. I have forgotten it. The wounded man was her brother; the other her father. Joe's admiration of her person, all at once filled his heart. He knew not what to do. His soul was taken by surprise. He began to love,-to love all at once,-instantaneously. The fury of the flame had spread itself all over him, before he knew there was fire in the case,-it spread, and burnt and destroyed all that came in its way. She was a bad woman,―need I tell the rest?

As he was one night returning from a lecture, and coming through a narrow street in an unfrequented part of the city, he heard a great noise proceeding from a house just as he passed it. The voices of men in high altercation with each other, became louder and louder, and horrid imprecations were mingled with their words; and the screams of a woman were plainly distinguishable. Presently, (for he stayed to see the end of the matter,) he distinctly heard blows,-parently white, and her eyes and her some metal article appeared to be thrown against the wall, that rang when it came in contact with it, and also when it fell to the floor, and then another sound was heard like the sound of a violent blow, which was smothered from the compliant nature of the object which received it,--and a voice said, in a painful hurried tone, "Oh God d-n," and then it seemed as if a lifeless carcase dropt upon the ground. All now was silent, except the noise which arose from a suppressed sobbing, for more than a minute. Joe stayed no longer, but placing his foot against the door, (after having first tried the latch, by which he could not open it,) with a violent effort, drove it furiously off its hinges,-he strode forwards, and, in far less time than I can describe it, found that he was admitted into a cheerless uncomfortable apartment,-very few articles It is a rainy, uncomfortable night. of furniture were in it,-and the only All without doors is drizzle and cheerthing which, in other circumstances, lessness; and this is the same street could have enlivened the scene, was a into which we came with Joe on his fire, which burnt in a large grate, all journey from hospital lectures,―this, over rust. At the front of this grate, too, is the same house, whose door he with the side of his head leaning pushed open, here is the apartment against what might be termed the man- where the father, son, and daughter tle-piece, stood a man, with his hat were quarrelling, and on one side of off, a dark, scowling, envious, ha- the fire-place, sits a woman in rags, tred-like looking man, who, in the looking vacantly at the grate,-on the cold, moveless posture in which he other is a fellow with his elbows reststood, might have passed for a statue ing upon his knees, and his hands of Satan. His forehead projected for- supporting his head, nothing but the ward as it heightened,-his eyes were back of which can be seen. It is all almost hidden by his brows, and his silence-all misery,-and the man is lips were so pressed together, that Joe Scott. His father had died innothing of them was seen. Upon the solvent; but there were still plenty of ground lay a man, whose head was modes of procuring a livelihood. He bleeding profusely, and who lay in- might have been supported by his sensibly; and a few feet from him, a friends through his course of studies woman sat sobbing and wailing. Joe as a surgeon,-but he followed the raised up the wounded man, and find-guidance of his false mistress,—and

I must now pass over some months of time,-no matter how many. Perhaps a picture will best convey this part of my tale to the reader.

there he sits. He rose,-strode across | fected him. He had not an idea of the the room,-put his hat on, and pulled real scenes which war presents;-the it over his brows,-opened the door, horrid confusion that seems always to and walked out, to the gambling- rest upon a field of slaughter,-few, I table, or perhaps worse. may say none, but those who have seen it have. And then, when I say that his wounds were dreadful, his pains excruciating, and his body now totally disabled for life, I have drawn a picture of some months of his existence.

When I either tell a tale, or hear one told, or read one, I always love to lose sight of the steps or means by which the characters of the tale came into the situations there related, and only notice the prominent situations themselves. The changes appear more really what they are, and, in short, I am going to adopt the same plan at present.

The situation which I shall next notice, as being occupied by our hero, is a very different one from the last. The apartment in which he is now, instead of being small and confined, is large and roomy. Instead of being comfortless, it has every benefit which an apartment could have; and although it is night, the multitude of wax tapers in the room make it as light as day. There are but two men in the place. One is sitting with his arm on a table, whilst his body is turned away from it, as a posture of perfect ease; the other is reading to him, from a manuscript that lies on the same table. The latter is Joe Scott; the former is a great political character. Joe has been employed to write on the side of the politician, and this is an examination of one of his productions. When the reading was finished, a few alterations were commanded,- -a sum of money was paid,-and Joe made a servile bow, and went his way.

It was at the close of the battle of Talavera, in the year 1810, that a poor private, in one of the English regiments of foot, was taken to the hospital desperately wounded. His left leg and right arm were shot off, and he was huddled away in company with several others, all groaning, and sighing, and bleeding together. The poor man's life (he was Scott) was, for some time, despaired of,-but after inconceivable pain and misery, his situation began to improve. Distress and despair had driven him into the army. The life of strict discipline which privates are obliged to lead, being contrary to his habits, afflicted and perplexed him. His spirit was broken by his situation; he became humble and desponding,-and, to crown all, the battle in which he had been wounded, had wonderfully af

He returned to his native country a mere beggar; and determined, (for pride and haughtiness had given place to-what shall I call it?-despairing moodiness,) to go back again to his own home.

He traced his way through part of England, begging for his support,encountering the laughs of the merciless, the refusals of the covetous, and whatsoever else is offered to the indigent and distressed. He had, all the way along, to compare his present journey with the last he had made through this self-same path. Hope was then helped on by youth and joy,

now, at least, the bright feelings of youth were past, and joy was succeeded by a mellowness of tearful sorrow. From town to town he went,-along frequented and unfrequented roads,his right leg helped his wooden stump to limp on, and the right sleeve of his coat hung unoccupied down his side. At last he came within about a mile of his native place. He there went from the road to see if a pool of water were yet remaining, in which, when a boy, he had many times, in the cool of a summer's evening, bathed with other boys. The next object that engaged his notice, was a field in which he had played at cricket many and many a time; and then came the castle which was seen in the distance,an old, romantic, ruined castle, which stood upon a high hill at one end of the town. It kept in view all the remainder of his way. This, and the grounds around it, in childhood, were the places in which he had daily walked. He had climbed the ruinous walls; explored all the nooks and corners about them,-nutted in the trees, and gathered blackberries from the bushes. This was interwoven with his very existence; and whenever his native town had presented itself to his recollection, this had pushed itself forward as a prominent feature in the picture. When he came

within the boundaries of the place, he turned from the straight road, and walked over the grounds and through the ruins, before he entered the town, determined to indulge his feelings in the natural picturesque objects he had known and loved so long, and to vent his tears in ruinous solitude.

As he walked through the town, the church, the streets, the shops, even the men, struck upon his feelings, and made them return a musical sound. The days of youth came up for a moment to chase present misery, but it was sorrow, and not joy, that brought them. I will not go on regularly to the end.

He died with a-no, it could not be a broken heart, and yet it was like a broken heart-his mortal disease was a kind of composition of moody joy and acute misery-he was slain with a keen, but a woful instrument.

Why have I told this tale? Why lengthened out Joe Scott's history? I cannot tell. Perhaps pity prompted the action. Perhaps it was a recollection of incidents that happened 'lang syne,' that moved my pen. I remember him a very enthusiast,-when his laugh was louder than any one else's, when his anticipations were stronger, when he had an open generous heart, a tear for the distressed, and then, when he was lamed, and his figure stooped, and his eyes were sunken, and his face. He is dead; and his life may teach a lesson.

(To be continued.)

REMARKS ON CONVERSATION.

THE noblest corporeal faculty, and that which most obviously marks the superiority of man over the brute crea tion, is that of speech. Animals having neither ideas to communicate, nor emotions to express, other than those produced by mere sensation, find a language sufficiently copious in the few simple, and, to us, incoherent sounds they are enabled to utter. But man, who reflects and reasons, who, in addition to mere sensitive feelings, has a mind formed for powerful exertions and high attainments, requires and possesses a capability of utterance suited to the dignity of his nature. By this he speaks his wants, his fears, his sentiments, his hopes; by this he can instruct the ignorant, warn the

unwary, and pronounce the solemn services of the sanctuary.

But the tongue was long ago found to be an unruly member; like every thing human, speech has too often been exercised for the worst of purposes. Who has not heard the voice of the swearer? Who has not detected the lying lip? And slander, calumny, and detraction have proceeded out of the mouth. The seat of these evils is deep, it is in the heart. Cleanse this fountain, and its streams will be more pure. Reason, if unbiassed by strong prejudice, and conscience, if not seared by long continuance in vice, will both in their measure rectify the evil. The swearer will be deterred by remorse. The liar will expect his duplicity to be discovered, and the slanderer will expect to feel the arrows of mischief pierce his own reputation.

The faculty of speech is important with respect to its bearings upon the social nature of man. Our father Adam found it not good to be alone, and we, his posterity, inherit the dispositions and feelings of our great progenitor. Hence, individuals and families are associated together into societies and communities, all deriving benefit from the union, and each contributing his quota to the general good, by an exchange of kind offices, and an interchange of ideas; and the more improved the state of society becomes, the greater is the necessity of a polite and refined conversation. Considering the pleasure and advantage resulting therefrom, it is not a little surprising, that to the art of discoursing well, so little attention is paid. To almost every thing else, an unwearied application is given. Hours of study are devoted to the attainment of comparatively useless languages. Accomplishment is added to accom. plishment, except that charming one of uttering our thoughts in an elegant and graceful manner. Nature may do much, but she requires assistance; care and assiduity will greatly make up her deficiency; to attempt improve ment, is to succeed.

If we inquire into the cause of that want of interest so often discernible in the social circle, it will be found principally to originate in a deficiency of general information, an habitual disinclination to think, and an absorption of the mind into self and selfimportant affairs. Thus the time we

A great preventive to conversation is, that constant, yet perhaps unintentional, reserve observable in many persons, and frequently in those who are much esteemed for the urbanity of their manners and the excellence of their moral character; who possess arelish for intellectual enjoyment, and whose mental attainments are great. These persons, even if induced to speak, arc apt to deliver themselves in a dignified and sententious manner, which is discouraging, especially to those not well acquainted with them, or who feel their own inferiority either in outward circumstances or endowments of mind. A reserved disposition is most contagious. Silence soon engenders silence. Even our kindred and acquaintances, those who are bound to us by the ties of consanguinity or intimacy, at length imbibe the infection.

desire to spend in pleasant relaxation | told tale?" He should have a comat the friendly visit, instead of being municative disposition, a generous employed to our comfort, is wasted to heart, a pleasing address, a considerour regret; instead of having partaken able share of self-denial, and be cauof an intellectual feast, our mental tious in the display of that rare and appetite is left unsatisfied, or vitiated splendid, but dangerous quality, wit. by impure and unwholesome food. Certainly, those who lead the conversation of parties are not expected to enter into elaborate disquisitions, or to discuss knotty points of theology; but instead of the too common chitchat, might not something be said of what is now taking place in the political or the religious world?—of recent discoveries and improvements in science? The merits or demerits of celebrated personages might furnish a theme, if carried on with temperance, in a proper spirit. Comparison might be drawn between them and their predecessors in office and honours, now amongst the illustrious dead. The characters of our neighbours and acquaintances should, however, but rarely come under discussion in mixed company; our encomiums may flatter their vanity and increase their pride, whilst our censures will probably produce petulance and anger, without effecting any reformation in their principles or conduct, for but few are disposed to edify by the strictures of their equals and contemporaries. Perhaps it would be better to dwell less upon persons than upon things. And here an ample range of intellect presents itself. The fair volume of nature is continually open to our view; its delightful study will fill the mind with energy and the lips with eloquence. The historic page, rich with the spoils of time," is also open to our research; and, above all, the book of heavenly truth, which contains knowledge in its purity, will furnish unfailing resources for conversation.

Perhaps but few persons accustomed to travel, and mix with those wholly unknown to them, have not sincerely regretted the reserve, the timidity, the suspicion, or the indescribable something, that has prevented the enjoyment of mutual conversation till almost about to part. After the usual salutations, the sentences have been few and far between, or even a vacant silence has ensued, until some fortunate accident has afforded an opportunity to speak. But why is this? Are there not neutral topics, on which the veriest strangers might converse? Whilst it is admitted that great caution, especially on the part of the young, is necessary, (for alas! the fairest countenance is sometimes worn by the possessor of the foulest heart, and the most allur

It should be remembered, however, that a well-stored mind is not all that is requisite to enable a person to suc-ing winningness of manner is frequentceed in this pleasing art, there are ly but the instrument to accomplish other qualifications, without which he the basest of designs,) yet it must be will fail to please. The ideas must maintained, that the majority of civinot only be good, but clear and un-lized mankind are not so depraved, confused, that he may express them luminously. His sentences should be well formed, and free from ambiguity, and his language such as will not offend the ear of taste. A retentive memory is desirable, that he may not be guilty of tautology and repetition; "for what is so tedious as a twice78.-VOL. VII.

but that we might with prudence enjoy the temporary society of those we know not, and occasionally derive a keen, because unexpected, gratification from a tête-à-tête with an amiable and intelligent stranger.

Yet if taciturnity be an evil, great loquacity, with its attendants, egotism,

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