THE

No. 8.

Advertisements.

JOHN HILTON,
(LATE C. CARLEY)

BEDDING, CARPET, & CABINET UPHOLSTERER,

AND

GENERAL FURNISHING WAREHOUSEMAN, WHOLESALE, RETAIL, & FOR EXPORTATION. 7, Bolingbroke Row, Walworth Road.

Established Thirty Years. Terms, Cash on Delivery

HOLLOWAY'S PILLS,

Remarkably efficacious in curing a confirmed case of Dropsy. Extract of a letter from Mr. David Simpson, of Collingham, dated March 14th, 1854:-" TO PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY: Sir, I feel it my duty towards you and the public to inform you of a most remarkable cure of Dropsy by the use of your Pills. My daughter was a sufferer for years, and when under Medical treatment ahe had upwards of thirteen pints of water taken away without obtaining relief, since then she has commenced taking your Pills, which, I am satisfied, has been the sole means of effecting a lasting cure, as she is perfectly well."-Sold by all Druggists, and at PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY'S ESTABLISHMENT, 244, STRAND, LON

DON.

In Cloth, 8vo, 10s. 6d. BIDEN'S TRUTHS

MAINTAINED.

"This gentleman thinks for himself, and, much as we differ from many of his positions, we are yet satisfied that he has not unfrequently "hit the right nail on the head." All that he says is worth considering, for even when most wrong, he is never without having reasons to allege on behalf of his theory, which at all events look strong. There is no good done to the Established Church by underrating the opposition of thinking, reading men like Mr. Biden. Much may be learned from what he has written, and we recommend his books to attentive perusal."-Church of England Quarterly.

"His volume contains deep truths, which it is necessary for man to know."-Bucks Chronicle.

LONDON, JUNE 1, 1854.

JUS

UST published, the First Number of the BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES of some of those Preachers whose labours contributed to the origination and early extension of the Primitive Methodist Connexion. BY GEORGE HEROD,

MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL.

The work will contain Ten or Twelve numbers, Crown Octavo, 32 pages in each number, price 3d. In the above work there will be an account of the introduction of Primitive Methodism into Belper, Derby, Nottingham, Leicester, and Hull; also of some of the great revivals of religion that took place in the early period of the Connexion.

Those who wish to become subscribers, are particularly requested to certify the same to any Primitive Methodist Minister, by the first week in July. A few copies of number one are on hand. Number two will be ready for the August book parcels.

INSURANCE

AND ITS PROSPECTS.

WE live in an age of progress and advancement. In nothing has this onward career of civilisation marked its marvellous advance more strikingly and effectively than in the developement of the principles of Insurance, and in the varied application of that great principle to every species of contingency, as well as risk, heretofore wholly unprovided for.

Life Assurance is no longer limited to the single circumstance of providing a money payment on the death of the insured. The living can now participate, and can see their children participate, in the benefits secured by their own prudent and praiseworthy foresight. Policies are issued, too, in connection with loans, so as to cover the liabilities of business requirements, or other ordinary trade transactions. Again, guarantees are granted to those who shrink with becoming delicacy from imposing the onerous burden of suretyship on private friends. Diseased lives, and persons called on to encounter the increased risk of climate or of active service in actual war, are equally assured at proportionate rates. In short, there is no species of provision to be made for others, no species of risk or contingency, no hapless accident, no disabling disease possible to befal oneself, for which the Actuary of a first-class modern Assurance Office will not suggest a ready and satisfactory remedy, so far as money can provide what is

UNSTAMPED, 2D. STAMPED, 3D.

being the judges, that there is no one thing in the history of modern invention, or in the progress of modern ingenuity, which, in a social point of view, is of greater importance than the astonishing improvements of institutions of this nature; calculated, as these institutions are, to win the best and worthiest to thrifty and provident habits, by presenting an easy and admirable method of making provision for themselves and for those dear to them.

THE LONDON MUTUAL LIFE AND GUARANTEE SOCIETY.

Chief Offices, 63, Moorgate Street, London.
TRUSTEES.
George Brown, Esq. (Morrison, Dillon, and Co.,) Fore
Street.

Stephen Olding, Esq. (Rogers, Odling, and Co.,)
Clement's Lane, Lombard Street.
Edward Swain, Esq. (Swaine and Adeney,) Piccadilly.
Henry Tucker, Esq. (Baker, Tuckers, & Co.,) Gresham
Street.

DIRECTORS.

Peter Broad, Esq., Tavistock Street, and Shepherd's Bush.

Thomas Chambers, Esq., M.P., Temple, and Great Cumberland Street.

Joseph Davis, Esq., Stock Exchange, and Woodford. Benj. Wigg Hickling, Esq., 9, Noble Street, and Norwood.

George S. Hinchliffe, Esq., Wardour Street, and Acton. John S. Margetson, Esq. (Welsh, Margetson, and Co.,) Cheapside, and Peckham Rye.

George Moore, Esq. (Moore and Murphy,) Holborn Hill, and Brixton.

Charles Reed, Esq., F. S. A., Paternoster Row, and
Hackney.

Joseph Tucker, Esq. (Baker, Tuckers, and Co.,) Gres-
ham Street, and Pavenhambury, Beds.
George Wilson, Esq., Westminster, and Clarendon
Villas, Notting Hill.

MEDICAL OFFICERS.
Thomas Bevill Peacock, Esq., M.D., Finsbury Circus.
E. Pye-Smith, Esq., F. R. C. S., Billiter Square.
AUDITORS.

Henry Brett, Jun., Esq., Old Furnival's Distillery,

Holborn.

Edwin Fox, Esq. (Sanderson, Frys, Fox, and Co.,) St.
Helen's Place, Bishopsgate.

J. Parrington, Esq., 16, King Street, City.
COUNSEL.

Robert Lush, Esq., Inner Temple.

Chas. James Foster, Esq., LL.D., Lincoln's Ina.
SOLICITORS.

Messrs. Finch and Shepheard, Moorgate Street.
Joseph Muskett Yetts, Esq., Temple Chambers, Fleet
Street.

BANKERS.
Messrs. Rogers, Olding, and Co., 29, Clement's Lane.
SECRETARY.

S. L. Laundy, Esq., A.I.A.
AGENT.

Mr. T. Church, 41, Gresham Street, London.

SIN AND DEATH.-Sin formed the volcano, the earthquake, the hurricane, the pestilence which mows down the population of cities and empires! Sin inflicts every pang! Sin nerves every death-throe! Sin stains and blanches every corpse! Sin weaves every shroud! Sin shapes every coffin! Sin digs every grave! Sin writes every epitaph! Sin sculptures every monument! Sin feeds every worm! The waste and havoc of centuries that are gone, and the waste and havoc of centuries yet to come, all reverberate in one awful voice, "Death hath passed upon all men, for that all have sinned."

LIVING FOR OTHERS.

ON a frail little stem in the garden hangs a beautiful flower. Go ask it, "Why do you hang there, beautiful flower?" "I hang here to sweeten the air which man breathes- to open my beauties, to kindle emotion in his eye, to show him the hand of God that pencilled every leaf and laid it thus carefully on my bosom. And whether you find me here to greet him every morning with my open face, or folding myself up under the cool curtains of evening, my end is the same. I live not to myself."

Beside the highway stands an aged tree, solitary and alone. You see no living thing near it, and you say, "Surely that must stand and live for itself alone." "No," says the tree, "God has not made me for a purpose so small. I am old. I have stood here for hundreds of years. In the summer I have spread out my arms and sheltered the panting flocks which hastened to my shade. In my bloom I have concealed and protected the brood of young birds as they lay and rocked in their nests. In the storm I have more than once received into my body the lightning's bolt, which had else destroyed the traveller. The acorns which I have matured from year to year have been carried far and wide, and groves of forest oak can claim me as a parent. I have lived for the eagle which has perched on my top-for the humming bird that has paused and refreshed its giddy wing ere it danced away upon the air-for the insect that has found a home within the folds of my bark. Though hundreds of years old, I am strong. I shall be cut down by the hand of man, and be fashioned into beams and planks to build or strengthen the ships which proudly ride on the bosom of every ocean, and which bear to our own country the products of every clime. I live not for myself."

From the mountain side comes the brook, in the distance resembling a riband of silver, running and leaping as it rushes joyously down. Go ask that leaper, "What are you doing?" "I was born high up in the mountain, but where I could do no good; I am, therefore, hurrying down, running where I can and leaping where I must, but hastening to reach the sweet valley, where the thirsty cattle may drink-where the birds may sing on my margin -where I may drive the mill for the conveniences of man, and then widen into a great river to float the steamboats and the shipping, and, finally, to plunge into the ocean, from which to rise again in vapour, and, perhaps, to come back in the clouds to my own native mountain and live my short life over again. Not a drop of water comes down my channel on whose bright face you may not read, 'I live not for myself.""

Speak to that solitary star that hangs in the far verge of heaven, and ask the bright sparkler, "What are you doing?" "I am a mighty world. I was stationed here at creation, and had all my duties marked out. I was among the morning stars that sung together when all the sons of God shouted for joy. Here I hold my place, and help to keep other worlds balanced and in their places.

I send my

bright beams down to earth, and the sailor, as he takes the helm, fixes his eye on me and finds his way across the great ocean. Of all the countless hosts of my sister stars, who walk forth in the great space of creation, not one lives or shines for herself."

And thus has God written upon the flower that sweetens the air-upon the breeze that rocks the flower upon its stem-upon the raindrop that refreshes the smallest sprig of moss which lifts its head in the desert-upon the

ocean that rocks every swimmer in its dark chambers-upon every pencilled shell that sleeps in the caverns of the deep, no less than upon the mighty sun which warms and cheers millions of creatures that live in his lightupon all His works He has written,- We live not for ourselves alone. And probably, were we wise enough to understand these works. we should find that there is nothing, from the cold stone in the earth, or the minutest creature that breathes, which may not in some way or other minister to the happiness of some living creature. How reasonable, then, that man to whom the whole creation, from the lovely flower up to the spangled heavens, all minister,-man, who has the power of conferring deeper misery or happiness than any other being on earth,—is it not reasonable that he should live for the noble end of living, not for himself, but for others.

Usefulness, usefulness; to get good and to do good should be the aim of every Christian; to communicate the largest amount of happiness in his power, to strive to resemble that Being who pours his rains and his dews upon all, and whose tender mercies are over all his works. He loves a cheerful giver, and is himself a cheerful giver. On the desert where no man is found He sends His dews, though the arid sands drink them up. On the lofty mountain, where human footsteps never trod, He hangs His mantle of light, and paints the icy summit with a pencil dipped in His warm sunbeams. In the ocean bed, so deep and low that no human being has ever found a grave, there has He walked, as he arranged the shells and painted them in heaven's own colours. In the heart of the lamb, and in the heart of the insect, has He poured the vial of joy and gladness, and made creatures happy which will never know or praise their benefactor. In the wilderness has He been and planted the flower, and taught the feathered songster to whistle its wild notes of joy. We might have had a sun less in magnitude, and shedding less light and glory, and we could have lived. We might have had no moon to traverse the sky at night and pour her soft silver-light over the earth, and we might have lived. But God, in all he does, delights in giving us an example of cheerful beneficence. Over innumerable myriads of creatures He pours, from generation to generation, the rich expressions of His benevolent heart; and that man who would enter into joy the highest joy in the whole creation-must imitate Him, and live to do good. Brierley Hill, April 29, 1854.

AP.M.

WHAT IS POETRY? Poetry is the music of the soul. And little music is there in a soul for which poetry has no charms. As in the outward, so in the inward ear, a great variety of capacity and discrimination is discoverable. But within the extremes of low, vulgar, tasteless incapacity, at the one end, and lofty, refined, and exquisite taste, and power of appreciation, and origination, at the other, there is comprehended

an innumerable host of human minds of an almost infinite diversity of shades of difference in their relish for poetry, and delight under its influence. And who is there of any sentiment of ideality that has not attempted poetry at one time or another ? All do not succeed; but to know this, in to know that many wish to do. And what harm in the wish? Let

the endeavour be encouraged; the time might be worse spent. If one fail, another may not, and society, as well as the respective, may be somewhat the better for it. But what is poetry? The question though often asked,

and often attempted to be answered, may be mooted again. Not rhyme, not jingle, not words, constitute poetry. Many a rhymist, poetaster, amateur, connoisseur, has been dubbed a poet, without much rhyme or reason. Perhaps they have adopted the poetic maxim of a great Poet ::

"For rhyme with reason may dispense, And sound has right to govern sense." Let them have the full benefit of this interpre tation; but let us in the mean time expound our idea of poetry. We hold that genius to some extent is essential to true poetic ability. There must be originality of conception, vigour, elasticity, power of thought. There must be sentiment, fire, feeling, all flowing through, aye, flooding the soul. The afflatus must be down on the genuine poet. He must have the necessary bumps, developments, and what not, in the head, o'er the temples, eyes, or elsewhere. The sanguine or nervous temperament, or a compound of both, should be possessed. He must feel poetry springing up, bubbling, welling, irresistibly in his deepest soul, or we query if he ever will deserve the name of a poet. Any boy may string words together so as to make a tinkling, jingling sound; but your true poet will not find this meet his taste; he will ask for feeling, senti ment, real living poetic heat. There may be poetry pure, powerful, profuse, without rhyme; but so also may there be (alas! we see enough of it,) rhyme without poetry. We like to see both.-Vide "Antliff's Life of Morgan."

A MARTYR TO TRUTH.

THE Daily Argus (Madison, Indiana) contains the following harrowing recital. The facts are said to have been established by judicial inves tigation, and were related by the presiding judge. -A beautiful fair-haired blue-eyed boy, about nine years of age, was taken from the Orphan Asylum in Milwaukie, and adopted by a respectable farmer of Marquettee, a professor of religion, and a member of the Baptist persua sion. A girl, a little older than the boy, was also adopted into the same family. Soon after these children were installed in their new home, the boy discovered criminal conduct on the part of his new mother, which he mentioned to the little girl, and it thereby came to the ears of the woman. She indignantly denied the story to the satisfaction of her husband, and insisted that the boy should be whipped till he confessed the falsehood. The man, poor weak bigot, impelled by a sense of religious duty, proceeded to the task assigned him, by procuring a bundle of rods, stripping the child naked, and suspending him by a cord to the rafters of the house, and whipping him at intervals for over two hours, till the blood ran through the floor, making a pool upon the floor below; stopping only to rest and interrogate the boy, and getting no other reply than "Pa, I told the truth-I cannot tell a lie;" the woman all the time urging him to "do his duty." The poor little hero, at length released from his torture, threw his arms round the neck of his tormentor, kissed him, and said, "Pa, I am so cold," and died. It appeared in evidence upon the trial of this man and woman for murder, that the child did tell the truth, and suffered death by slow torture rather than tell a lie. The age of heroism and martyrdom will not have passed till mothers cease to instil holy precepts into the minds of their offspring. The man and woman who murdered this angelchild are now in the penitentiary at Waupan, to which they were sentenced for ten years.Sent by P. M. P.