mail (nearly the last of its tribe) arrives, and wends its way at its accustomed pace to the Post-office, the sleepy guard rolling in his seat. The plot thickens; every moment the streets are becoming more animated. Crowds of mechanics, labourers, warehousemen, shopmen, etc., are hurrying into the city to their daily avocations. The sleepy shop-boy slowly unbars the shop-door, and sluggishly proceeds to take down the shutters. About nine o'clock the tide increases: girls are hurrying to the shops or establishments of their employers, and welldressed clerks are bustling citywards from all quarters to the public establishments or private counting-houses, some with a choice handful of flowers, home-grown specimens, to be produced in rivalry against those of fellow-clerks. Newsvendors, with their damp newspapers under their arms, are shuffling onwards with the account of last night's debate, to their impatient customers. The postboys mercilessly spur their miserable horses, and omnibuses filled with postmen leave. the Post-office, to facilitate the early distribution of the letters. Now the shopkeeper is busily engaged dressing out his windows, and exhibiting his wares in the most attractive manner. Pleasure parties are hurrying to the steam-boat, or the railroad station, with carpet bags and cloaks, while others, fearful of being too late, are posting eagerly along in the cabriolet, anxious lest, being five minutes too late, their plans should be disarranged, and the pleasures of the too infrequent holiday marred by disappointment. Another hour elapses, and omnibuses and stages arrive, laden with tradesmen, merchants, and principals of firms, from their suburban residences. All is now bustle: the lately solitary streets are filled with passengers. The liveried postman is busily delivering his letters; the crook-legged dustman goes from house to house to collect the ashes; the baker shoulders his unwieldy basket; and the old bearded clothesman is going home, ceasing his singular cry of Clo, clo; old clo." These are the principal features of the morning. It is noon. The swelling tide of human life pours along restless and hurried. What a confusion of gaudy carriages, rumbling wagons, rickety cabriolets, and lumbering omnibuses, thread their intricate way along the too narrow street! What anxiety and calculation are visible in the countenances of the many-with some because they have too little, with others . because they have too much! How many of the passers-by evidently "eat the bread of carefulness," and expend a fearful amount of thought and energy in the pursuit of mere earthly gains and pleasures! On all sides what comparing of watches, what anxious glancing at clocks, what fears expressed of being too late for engagements! Here a crowd loiters before a print shop, to the annoyance of the bustling passer-by. Here a gaping countryman is gazing about in perplexed wonder, and inquiring the way to some of the "lions" of the metropolis. Here a timid female is hurrying with ludicrous haste across the street, though no danger is near, or hesitatingly waiting on the kerb-stone till her opportunity is lost. Here is a swarthy sailor, with his frank, manly bearing, but showing by his awkward walk he has been more accustomed to the deck of a ship than to thread the mazes of a crowded street. Here is a servant girl, out for a holiday, with her handkerchief in her ungloved hand, bustling along, flushed, and evidently embarrassed by her unaccustomed finery. Here a file of men obstruct the foot-path, bearing huge boards, puffing, in colossal letters, some newspaper or cheap shop. Here a mock auction obtrudes itself on the notice of the passer-by, with the noisy auctioneer surrounded by his decoys, bidding with well-dissembled earnestness for the valueless trash manufactured only to glitter and to sell. Here touting conductors of rival omnibuses annoy the distracted passenger with their solicitations and their persevering cries of "Paddington," "Black wall,' sea," "Hammersmith," etc. In contrast to this excitement and bustle, the patient Irishwoman sits placidly at her fruit stall; and the cheerful countenance of the penniless Italian boy, as he quietly plods his way through the crowd to some less noisy spot, seems to rebuke the fierce struggle and din around him. Well would it be for the many if they were as habitually contented and as easily satisfied as he. To the eye nothing can be more monotonous than so many persons in black coats and hats hurrying to and fro, yet how various are the hearts beneath! Here is the philanthropist, whose thoughts are busy about mighty plans for ameliorating the condition of the human family; here is the sharper, in the dress of a gentleman, with eagle eye searching for a dupe; here is the mere man of money, calculating interest and planning Chel speculations; here is the Christian, seeking for opportunities of doing good, and serving himself best when he can serve his Master. How different are the hearts of men who pass each other with such similarity of exterior! If here are congregated some of the vilest, here also are to be found many of the most excellent of the earth. "Ten righteous would have saved a city once, And thou hast many righteous. Well for thee- the Post-office, fearful of being too late. The shops glitter with tastefully-arranged finery and trinkets, rendered still more dazzling by the brilliant gas, in the light of which the poor half-naked wretch stands begging. The merchant has long since returned to his suburban residence, and even his clerks have left their high stools and dispersed, and now the welcome hour arrives which, to the mass of the labouring classes, closes the toils of the day. Artizans, boys, girls, now emerge by dozens from the warehouses and large establishments, and wend their way homewards from the city in all directions. The pale, exhausted shopman, however, is yet behind the counter, condemned to toil still longer in the close atmosphere of the brilliantly lighted shop, harassed and vexed at the needless trouble the votaries of fashion and frivolity awake wantonly inflicted by the fastidious. Now, to the excitements of their unnatural day. Vehicles are hurrying along, conveying their occupants to the ball-room, drunkard reels for his accustomed glass the concert, or the theatre. Now the into the favourite gin-shop, which shamelessly rears its impudent head above its worthier neighbours, and the degraded daughter of infamy proceeds in her guilty Here is little respect of persons. Among the motley crowd of passers-by the beggar may take the wall of the prince, and nobility be jostled by rags. The hour of lunch has arrived, and the chop-houses emit their savoury odours, significant of the soups and hot joints which are ready within. Some are refreshing themselves with the tempting luxuries of a pastrycook's shop, while others, more economical of their time and money, content themselves with a more wholesome biscuit, discussed on their route. The obsequious shopkeeper is busily engaged in suiting his fastidious customers, and the wandering vendor of petty wares stands on the kerb-stone noisily proffering his articles to the passing crowd. Yet, even in the noontide bustle of the city streets, the heart may be self-possessed, and the mind calm and collected, and even here set its affections on things above. If the quiet of the country, where we are surrounded with God's works, be more favourable to religious meditation than such scenes as these, yet even here the mind may wing its thoughts heaven-image-seller, placing his image-board in ward, for "Not in the solitude Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see And sunny vale, the present Deity: Or only hear his voice Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. Thy steps, Almighty !-here, amidst the crowd, Through the great city roll'd, It is evening. The setting sun flings his last rays upon the higher windows, and the grey twilight rapidly gathers round the city, but the. active lamp lighter hurries round his district to supply, as far as feeble art can do, the loss of the great lamp of day. Lads are running with letters and bags of newspapers to course. and the glaring light over the entrance The gambling-house is lit up, announces to the initiated that "play" has commenced. All the haunts of folly and vice are opening their doors, with the returning darkness, to their degraded devotees. The potato-vendor, with his light to supply the needy with a cheap steamy apparatus, stands under the gasand wholesome supper, and the Italian some safe spot, rests himself awhile previously to his return to his comfortless lodging, while some belated brother of the organ makes the quiet bye street re-echo with his tinkling melodies. The streets are again lonely, even the later shops are closing, lights are extinguished below, and anon their re-appearance in the upper room is significant of rest and to the bedside of his relapsed patient. | Scarcely a vehicle is to be seen in the lately crowded street, except some ponderous creaking cart laden with vegetables for the morning markets. All is silent as a city of the dead; the inhabitants are wrapped in slumber; all the windows are in darkness, except where a solitary feeble light betrays the chamber of sickness, or the unseasonable hours of some late homecomer. The red lamp glares afar off, betokening the readiness of medical skill, even at this hour, to attend upon the sick. Scarcely an echo is awakened, except when the various-toned bells from a hundred steeples proclaim with iron tongue the hour of the night, while with an overpowering deep bass the bell of the domed cathedral booms forth, as with the voice of a deep-mouthed giant, his solemn warning of the departure of time. What a mass of prostrate, helpless life, of unconscious immortality, is reposing in the mighty city! Thanks and praise to Him who wraps us round with the dark curtains of night, shutting out for awhile the garish light, making work difficult, and limiting the cupidity of the hard taskmaster and the toil of the willing labourer; whose paternal eye is never closed, but watches sleeplessly over the safety and well-being of his creatures. Even here, in the soundless street, we may read the mercy of our compassionate Father; even its hushing silence praises him "It breathes of Him who keeps The vast and helpless city while it sleeps." LOSS OF SIGHT COMPENSATED BY OTHER "THERE is something extremely remarkable," says Dr. Abercrombie, "in the manner in which the loss or diminution of one sense is followed by increase of the intensity of others, or rather, perhaps, by an increased attention to the indications of the other senses. Blind persons acquire a wonderful delicacy of touch; in some cases, it is said, to the extent of distinguishing colours. Two instances have been related to me of blind men who were much esteemed as judges of horses. One of these, in giving his opinion of a horse, declared him to be blind, though this had escaped the observation of several persons who had the use of their eyes, and who were with some difficulty convinced of it. Being asked to give an account of the principle on which he had decided, he said it was the sound of the horse's step in walking, which implied a peculiar and unusual caution in the manner of putting down his feet. The other individual, in similar circumstances, pronounced a horse to be blind with one eye, though this had also escaped the observation of those concerned. When he was asked to explain the facts on which he formed his judgment, he said he felt the one eye to be colder than the other. "Dr. Rush relates another instance, not less extraordinary, of acuteness in the sense of hearing. Two blind young men, brothers, of the city of Philadelphia, knew when they approached a post in walking across a street by a peculiar sound, which the ground under their feet emitted in the neighbourhood of the post, and they could tell the names of a number of tame pigeons, with which they amused themselves in a little garden, by only hearing them fly over their heads."* Many similar well-authenticated instances of the same merciful provision for the supply and alleviation of this distressing calamity have been related by other authors. Dr. Saunderson, who was totally deprived of sight by small-pox, when only one year old, was remarkable for the celebrity which he attained in mathematical science, and, it is said, he acquired most of his ideas by the sense of touch. He was able, with the greatest nicety and exactness, to perceive a very small degree of roughness or polish on a surface, so that in a set of Roman medals he was able to distinguish the genuine from the false, though they had been counterfeited with such exactness, as to deceive a connoisseur, who had judged by the eye. His ear was also equally exact; by the quickness of this sense, he could distinguish the fourth part of a note, and could judge of the size of a room and of his distance from the wall. Sir Kenelm Digby relates the case of a blind man, who could feel in his body, and chiefly in his head, (as he himself affirmed,) a certain effect whereby he knew when the sun was up, and could discern a clear from a cloudy day. He frequently told this without any mistake, when for trial's sake he was lodged in a close chamber, into which the sunshine had no admittance; nor did any body come to him, to give notice of the state of the weather. * Abercrombie on the Intellectual Powers, p. 52, Mademoiselle de Salignac, à French lady of the last century, was capable of reading a book printed in the usual manner, if printed on one side only, and had some books prepared for her use in this manner. On being asked as to the clearness of her conceptions on the arts of drawing, engraving, and painting, she replied, "If you were to trace on my hand the figure of a horse, a moth, a man, a woman, a tree, I certainly should not be mistaken; and if you were to trace the profile of a person I knew, I should not despair of naming the individual, if the likeness were exact; my hand would become to me a sensible mirror. If the skin of my hand equalled the delicacy of your eyes, I should see with my hand as you see with your eyes, and I sometimes figure to myself that there are animals that are blind, and are not the less clearsighted." In James Mitchell, who was deaf from birth, as well as blind, the sense of smell was sufficiently acute to distinguish one person from another, and he was able clearly to recognize the entrance of a stranger. viduals and families to whom he thought them likely to be useful. He died in great peace on the 16th of December, 1809, in the thirty-third year of his age. W. D. ILLUSTRATIONS OF SCRIPTURE. THE following oriental illustrations of Scripture are taken from the entertaining and instructive "Sketches of a Missionary's Travels in Egypt, Syria, Western Africa," etc., by Mr. Macbriar : "The town of Beyrout is mean and confined, and surrounded by walls, and contains a motley group of inhabitants. Its environs, however, are pretty. I was much struck with the narrowness of the high roads, and the shocking state of disrepair in which they are suffered to remain; and several passages of Scripture came to my mind, as being here finely illustrated. Foremost was that of Balaam and his ass. Many, like myself, have wondered how a public way could be so narrow as not to admit of a man passing by an ass; as it is written, 'But the angel of the Lord stood in a path of the vineyards, a wall being on this side and a wall on that side; and the angel of the Lord went farther, and stood in a narrow place where there was no way to turn either to the right hand or to the left,' etc., and the ass fell down (see Numbers xxii. 24— 27). But in this neighbourhood a complete picture of such a place was frequently brought before my view. The gardens and orchards are embanked so as to prevent the soil from being washed away by the heavy rains, which fall twice a year; and the path between them is generally only a few feet wide, but in some places so narrow that two asses could not pass each other: and much less could a loaded beast have passed a man standing in the middle of the path. These paths are full of stones; no care whatever being taken to clear away those hindrances which the rain washed down into them; so that the greatest circumspection is requisite for a foot passenger, lest he stumble and John Kay, a blind mechanic, in Glasgow, was accustomed not only to walk alone in that and neighbouring towns, but to be the guide of any one who might accompany him. Walking one day in the streets of Glasgow with a friend, who warned him of being near a horse, he said there was no need of that, as he could perceive it himself. Being asked how, he replied that he found a difference in the current of the air on his face, when near any particular object, and that from this feeling he could always avoid a lamppost when he approached it, which he was frequently observed to do when walking alone. But what was better than all in this case, the true light had effectually shined in this poor man's heart, and he had his senses exercised, in a spiritual sense, to distinguish between good and evil. He took a most active part in Sunday-school instruction, and was accustomed every Wednesday evening to meet his more advanced pupils for religious in-fall; a circumstance which gives much struction. If any were inattentive, and appeared to disturb the rest, he would quickly perceive it, and say, "I cannot see you, but remember God sees you, and will not forget what you do." He was, likewise, a zealous friend to the Religious Tract Society, and was in the habit of taking every opportunity to distribute tracts, and to get them conveyed to indi force to the promises given in Psalm xci. 12, that God's angels' shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.' The ways are frequently so steep, that flights of steps are made in them; and the beasts have to go up and down the steps with burdens upon their backs; and as the whole country is very mountainous and destitute of level THE TALE-BEARER. SOLOMON said, by Divine inspiration, that, "where no wood is, there the fire goeth out: so where there is no talebearer the strife ceaseth," Prov. xxvi. 20. And again, "The words of a tale-bearer are as wounds, and they go down into the innermost parts of the belly," Prov. xxvi. 22. The mischief, indeed, which a talebearer is calculated to inflict upon society was expressly provided against among the Hebrews under the Levitical law. Among the many admirable injunctions in that law, delivered by Moses to the people from the lips of the Almighty, in order to ensure right moral conduct, we read, "Thou shalt not go up and down as a tale-bearer among thy people," Lev. xix. 16. roads, horses are rarely used, in compa- | had oftentimes entertained strangers; and rison with asses and mules; the latter, having rested during the greatest heat of which are of a superior breed, being much the day, we set forth briskly in order to more sure-footed than the former. This reach Damascus before sunset, when the fact accounts for the prophets and great gates of the city are closed." men always riding upon what we should esteem an inferior kind of animal, though actually more highly prized in such rugged districts. Fine-horses are, however, used by grandees in their cities and plains. "In proceeding from Lebanon to Damascus, we journeyed through long passages and defiles between majestic mountains, ever hoping to reach a watering place that had been pointed out to us upon the top. At length the sun arose, and beat upon our heads with his scorching beams; for not a breath of air was stirring, and languor seized upon man and beast. After travelling for some hours, we reached the expected spot, when we found the well was dried up by the summer's heat! Onwards we went to a stream at a short distance farther; but this, likewise, was dry. In vain we searched for a little water that we thought might be left in any pool of the rivulet; and again we travelled many miles along its dry channel: in vain did I cast my longing | eyes again and again towards the smooth pebbles that lay in its empty bed. With what force did those passages of holy writ come to my mind, where its spiritual blessings are likened to refreshing waters and to springs in a desert! And how did I not understand something of the feelings of the psalmist, when, in his longing after God's favour, he says, 'As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God!' When quite exhausted, and scarcely knowing what would become of me, I saw an Arab at a short distance, with a tin canister in his hand; and I immediately despatched my servant to learn what it was that he carried. Upon inquiry it proved to be leben, or sour milk, being intentionally made sour, in order to keep it in that state for several days; and I gladly paid for a draught, which was as enlightening to my eyes, as was the honey-comb to Jonathan's after his fight with the Philistines. With strength renewed, I pushed forward and soon overtook the rest of our company, who had gone ahead; and at length we reached a living stream, the very sight of which gladdened the heart. Man and beast being here invigorated, we proceeded to a village called Deemas, where we obtained refreshment and repose in a comfortable little cottage which Although Scripture has thus denounced tale-bearing as mischievous to society, and Christians are aware of the fact, perhaps there is no sin more prevalent among all ranks of people, and less generally considered as an evil. Move in whatever circle we may, there we meet with a tale-bearer, revealing the secrets of our very neighbours and friends by way of amusement. A remarkable character of this kind once lived in our village circle, whose real name I shall veil under that of dame Tomkins. Dame Tomkins was a woman who obtained a livelihood by the sweat of her brow. She was what might be termed an industrious person, but her love of talebearing was far more strong in her than her love of work. Often have I seen her tall gaunt frame pass from the house of one neighbour to another; that lixivium of soap and water commonly called suds, streaming down her bony arms as she passed along, and bespattering each door as she opened it to reveal a secret. And dame Tomkins did not confine her talebearing visits to those of her own grade. Often have I heard her more respectable neighbours complain that she would, whatever they might say to the contrary, obtrude herself upon them for the purpose of relating the affairs of her neighbours. They could not, they have |