From the Literary Gazette. THE OTHER DAY. It seems, love, but the other day Since thou and I were young together: And yet we've trod a toilsome way, And wrestled oft with stormy weather. I see thee in thy spring of years, Ere cheek or curl had known decay; And there's a music in mine ears, As sweet as heard the other day! Affection like a rainbow bends Above the past, to glad my gaze, And something still of beauty lends To memory's dream of other days; Within my heart there seems to beat That lighter, happier heart of youth, When looks were kind, and lips were sweet, And love's world seemed a world of truth. Within this inner heart of mine A thousand golden fancies throng, And whispers of a tune divine Appeal with half-forgotten tongue : I know, I feel, 'tis but a dream, That thou art old, and I am grey, Not as the other day-when flowers Shook fragrance on our joyous track, When Love could never count the hours, And Hope ne'er dreamt of looking back; When, if the world had been our own, We thought how changed should be its state,Then every cot should be a throne, The poor as happy as the great! When we'd that scheme which Love imparts, The fellowship of human hearts, And though with us time travels on, As some flowers, when their spring is gone, Alas! 'mid worldly things and men, Love's hard to caution or convince ! And hopes, which were but fables then, Have left with us their moral since; The twilight of the memory cheers The soul with many a star sublime, And still the mists of other years Hang dew-drops on the leaves of Time. For what was then obscure and far Still onward, though it slow appear, All time, alas! if rightly shown, The sorrow wastes away in tears. Then, though it seem a trifling space The sands which hourly fall and climb Husи, hush, he sleeps! Oh! softly tread, Oh, watch the roseate tints that play Have they now stray'd to that land where Or, doth her spirit hover round, That in a mother's heart is found; Oh may thy heart in after years, From thee, her baby boy! When all was brightly round her beaming, Meekly that angel soul obey'd, Sleep on, sweet babe! the child of prayer From the Eclectic Review. HYMN. E. C. M'C. What though the vain and worldly deem The way of God a desert rude, Green pastures and the tranquil stream Are found in that sweet solitude. There the good shepherd loves to lead, In noontide heat His little flock: There they repose and there they feed, Beneath the shadow of the Rock. Fearless of harm, to that clear spring The dove descends, her wandering o'er, Laves in the stream her weary wing, Nor leaves the quiet shelter more. Thou God of grace, and peace, and love! AN EVENING HYMN. BY THOMAS MILLER, BASKET MAKER. How many days, with mute adieu, Have gone down yon untrodden sky! And still it looks as clear and blue, As when it first was hung on high. The rolling sun, the frowning cloud That threw the lightning in its rear, The thunder, trampling deep and loud, Have left no dark impression there. The village bells, with silver chime, Come softened by the distant shore; Though I have heard them many a time, They never rang so sweet before, And silence rests upon the hill; A listening awe pervades the air; The very flowers are shut, and still, And bowed, as if in silent prayer. The darkening woods, the fading trees, The grasshopper's fast feeble sound," The flowers just wakened by the breeze, All leave the stillness more profound. The twilight takes a deeper shade, The dusky pathways blacker grow, And silence reigns in glen and glade, And all is mute below. Now shine the starry hosts of night, Gazing on earth with golden eyes; Bright guardians of the blue-browed night, What are ye in your native skies? I know not! neither can I know, Nor on what leader ye attend, For whence ye came, nor whither go, Nor what your aim or what your end. Yet there ye shine, and there have shone, Through boundless space and countless time. Aye, there ye shine, the golden dews, That pave the realms by seraphs trod; Gold wears to dust-yet there ye are ; Enshrined an everlasting soul! And does it not-since your bright throngs Could men but see what you have seen- The glance how rich! the range how vast! The birth of time, the rise, the fall Of empires, myriads, ages flown, Thrones, cities, tongues, arts, worships-all The things whose echoes are not gone. And there ye shine, as if to mock The children of a mortal sire, The storm, the bolt, the earthquake's shock, The red volcano's cataract fire, Drought, famine, plague and blood and flame, Not only doth the voiceful day Before thee bend the willing knee, Oh Holy Father! 'mid the calm And stillness of this evening hour, We here would lift our solemn psalm To praise thy goodness and thy power! And worlds beyond the furthest star Whose light hath reached the human eye, Shall catch the anthem from afar And roll it through immensity! Kept by thy goodness through the day, "HAVE FAITH IN ONE ANOTHER." BY J. E. CARPENTER, I. HAVE faith in one another When ye meet in friendship's name; In the true friend is a brother, And his heart should throb the same; Though your paths in life may differ, Since the hours when first ye met, Have faith in one another, You may need that friendship yet. II. Have faith in one another, When ye whisper love's fond vow; It will not be always summer, Nor be always bright as now; And when wintry clouds hang o'er thee, If some kindred heart ye share, And have faith in one another, Oh! ye never shall despair. III. Have faith in one another, And let honor be your guide, And let truth alone be spoken, Whatever may betide; The false may reign a season, And oh doubt not that it will, But, have faith in one another, And the truth shall triumph still. MISCELLANEOUS. ence in controversy; while there is a depth, a fulness, a cogency in the arguments of Edwards which we think it would not be possible for the unbiased understanding to resist,-Quart. Rev. A BRITISH OPINION OF JONATHAN EDWARDS. -The most elaborate treatise on original sin is, confessedly, that of President Edwards, of Ame- BURYING ALIVE.-The custom of premature rica. It is not only the most elaborate, but the burial in France-or rather the law, for we bemost complete. There was every thing in the lieve it is matter of police regulation-whatever intellectual character, the devout habits, and the arguments of sound policy it may have to recomlong practice of this powerful reasoner, to bring mend it, is opposed by one of such overwhelming his gigantic specimens of theological argument force, that the continued maintenance of the as near to perfection as we may expect any hu- practice, in defiance of that, is one of those curiman composition to approach; unless we except, ous social problems, our satire against which is and even this exception is not in all respects a only disarmed by remembering how many such disadvantage to so abstract a reasoner, his compa- obstinate errors there are amongst ourselves. rative deficiency in theological learning. We There is in this neglected argument an analogy, are not aware that any other human compositions which seems to us terrible and striking, with that exhibit, in the same degree as his, the love of which we have always held to be the one unantruth, mental independence, grasp of intellect, swerable reason (supposing there to be no other,) power of consecrating all his strength on a diffi- against the infliction of death as a punishment for cult inquiry, reverence for God, calm self-posses-crime-the uncertainty of human testimony, the sion, superiority to all polemical unfairness, be- fallacy of human inference, and the irrevocable nevolent regard for the highest interests of man, nature of the penalty if a wrong be done at the keen analysis of arguments, and the irresistible instigation of the one or of the other. One sinforce of ratiocination. He reminds us of the scene gle discovery of the kind should have been described by Sir Walter Scott, between Richard enough to arrest the sword in the hand of the exand Saladin, uniting in himself the sharpness of ecutioner for ever after-a number such, make the scimitar with the strength of the battle-axe. every subsequent execution, in a doubtful case,To the doctrine of original sin, he brings his ex- surround it by what rules and formalities you perience as a polemical writer, sanctified by his will-a murder. So, when we consider the many ripening devotion as a Christian. With the ac- cases in which life puts on the temporary aspect complishments which have won the admiration of death-brought prominently before the public of the greatest philosophers, he has, in this trea- notice, too, as the instances have been by recent tise, joined the comprehensive survey of facts, discussions-it might be supposed that the Frenchthe facility in reducing these facts to a general man would shrink from the mere speculative principle, and the dignified sobriety in explain-chance of being buried alive; but if the speculaing and applying texts of Scripture, which place tion were borne out by a single fact, we can him high in the first order of Christian theologians. scarcely conceive of any sanitory or other arguHis piety is so exalted, his reasonings are so lucid, ments strong enough or inevitable enough to that we feel, in studying this production, that we maintain the practice for a day longer. What, are dealing with a man whom it is hardly possi- then, by those who know how men's fears and ble to charge either with an unsound principle, tenderness ordinarily operate, shall be said of or with a fallacious argument. His style of lan- its continued assertion in the face of such fearful guage, indeed, though not wanting in perspecuity statistics (official) as the following? The numand fitness for his purpose, is cumbrous, involv-ber of living interments that have been interrupted, and far from being elegant; but what he wants in gracefulness, he more than compensates by vigor; like the statue of Hercules, that strikes our feeling of strength rather than of beauty. ed by accidental circumstances alone, in France, since 1833, amounts to 94! Ninety-four attested cases, in which the living have narrowly escaped being laid amongst the dead!-the wrong of the His one simple object is, to convince: with this premature death being nothing to the horror of that object nothing interferes-neither feeling, nor inconceivable awakening in the grave! In the learning, nor fancy. He seems to live in a re-eye of common sense, judged by the rules of the gion where there is no element but light, and no most ordinary inference, each one of these cases, enjoyment but the perception of truth; the light not so escaped, would have been a murder; beis felt to be from heaven, the truth relating to cause the plea of non-intention cannot be allowed God and man and immortality. It is the genius to a law which risks it against such evidence as of philosophy in the temple, laying the richest this. Of these ninety-four cases, 35 persons reoffering of intellect on the altar of God, confess-covered spontaneously from their lethargy at the ing in the name of all humanity the common sin, moment when the funeral ceremonies were about and adoring the Holy One as the spring, not of taking place; 13 were aroused under the stimulus being only, but of goodness to his creatures. We of the busy love and grief about them; 7 by the know not whether it be possible to select any fall of the coffin which enclosed them; 9 by the other human writing of the same length, in which | pricking of their flesh in sewing up the shroud; the proposed object is so steadily kept in view, 5 by the sense of suffocation in their coffins; 19 and attained by stages so natural, and so logically certain with nothing superficial, nothing irrelevant, nothing obscure, nothing to disturb the calmest intellect, or to shock the purest heart. Comparing it with the works of Jeremy Taylor on the same subject, we should say the flowing eloquence of the learned bishop cannot conceal his shallowness from the reader of any experi by accidental delays which occurred in the interment (how significant is this item!) and 6 by voluntary delays suggested by doubts as to the death! These, then, are they who have escaped: now, think of the whole numerous family of trances and epilepsies, and remember that the population of France are habitually huddled into their narrow homes within four-and-twenty, or at most eight |