views of time and eternity seem to have changed? and how, in the deep solemnity of that moment, he has cast aside the poem, or the novel, or the book of science, or of travel, and has taken up his Bible? Perhaps he turns to it vaguely, almost despondingly; perhaps hopefully; but at the very moment of his life when he has been most in earnest, at that moment he feels the worth of God's word: and oh! how quickly now he seems to be learning that lesson of Holy Writ, "The world passeth away, and the lust thereof; but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever. When the mist of the world was about him, he saw not God's truth; but the opening realities of eternity remove the veil, and happy is it indeed for him, if lengthened days give him time now to ponder on the once-slighted promises.

But though this grand testimony to the truth of the Bible is often exhibited, yet there are cases when men go out of the world and learn it not. When the poet said,

"Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die !" he was contradicted by the daily experience of multitudes, who either sink into death in unconcern or ignorance, or feel as if it were too late now to receive God's promises. The psalmist, in his day, spoke of some, and many like them have died, in all periods of the world: are no bands in their death: but their strength is firm," Psa. lxxiii. 4. Alas! they have not learned the value of the Bible in this world; and in that awful day of final retribution, the words of that Bible must condemn them.

"There

Many times, through the winter, did the visitor go to see the poor people who dwelt in the cottage near him, and he frequently explained to them the truths of Scripture. The woman, especially, spoke humbly and penitently, and seemed to be thankful for the sacrifice made by the Saviour of mankind. We cannot read the hearts of others, we can judge only by their words and actions; and he who had so much interested himself, to supply both the temporal and spiritual wants of his sick neighbours, hoped that their hearts might be truly changed. The danger of the disease had passed away; but both long remained in that weak condition of health which often follows violent illness, and both expressed themselves humble and thank

ful to their friends, and to the God of all mercies.

The winter and its snows were gone, and again the flowers on the hills and plains came out to smile among the grass and trees. The stream was running peacefully through the valley, the sun again brightening the cottage window, and the healthful breezes were daily invigorating the weakened frames of those who lately lay in sickness. Where were the humility and penitence now? Alas! in their agony and dread of death, the invalids had deceived their visitor,perhaps deceived themselves! There had been no real sorrow for sin; there was no thankfulness now that they had escaped its punishment. All the promises made when they lay apparently dying, were scorned or forgotten now. Their last estate seemed worse than their first. They were seldom sober enough to listen to remonstrance; and when they heard it from their friend, it was received either in sullen silence, or with some expression of impatience and contempt: and so they lived, and so, it is to be feared, they died

There

And this was the issue of what seemed a death-bed repentance; and this, in some of its details, is probably similar to the results of thousands. We say not that a death-bed repentance must be insincere. Many have been led by sickness and by the thoughts of approaching death, to call upon God humbly and heartily; and we may bless God for some who have gone down to the grave hopefully, and for others who have been raised up from the sick-bed to live their lives anew. is one case recorded in Scripture, of a sinner who sought God in the hour of death; and, as was said by an old writer, one was set before us that we might not despair in the eleventh hour; and but one, lest we should trust too much to that hour. The dying thief, on the cross, confessed, with sincerity, his guilt. He acknowledged that he received the due reward of his deeds, and hailing Jesus as the Lord of glory, entreated his compassion. The sincere penitent never asked this in vain: and the Saviour said, “Today shalt thou be with me in paradise," Luke xxiv. 39-43. There then is hope for the dying sinner-hope for the sad survivors of any who failed to seek God till death was coming. But narratives such as that recorded on these pages, should be to us all a voice of warning.

I CANNOT but remark how strikingly influential, on national character, the fatalism of the Koran has ever been. "Allah is great-Allah is good-Allah has unalterably fixed every event and circumstance in which his creatures are concerned. From his predetermination there is no appeal-against it there is no hope. The chain of fate binds the universe." Such is the fatalism of the Koran; and it presents a melancholy picture of a right principle wrought out in error. It is an unrevealed predestination. It is the "natural man's" view of the sovereignty of God: a view which resolves itself into the notion of a mere despotism. But however erroneous-however opposed to that revelation of himself as the moral Governor of the universe, which God has been pleased to bestow upon man, yet it does actually and effectually influence the followers of the false prophet; and the charge which they bring against the professors of the true faith is, that their avowed principles have but little bearing upon their outward conduct. "You profess allegiance," they say, "to God as your Sovereign; but you seek to resist him by your will. We recognise his will as manifested in his acts, and submit." Hence the Turks never commit suicide under distressing affliction or reverses of fortune; such a thing is never heard of. They never mourn for the dead; they do not even murmur under the heaviest burden of existence. "Allah is great-Allah is good," say they. An intelligent gentleman, Mr. La Fontaine, long resident in Constantinople, and familiarized with everything Turkish, once mentioned to me a remarkable instance of this. A Pasha, with whom he had long lived on terms of intimacy, was possessed of an immense, a princely revenue, and was, moreover, the favourite of the sultan.

Under one of those sudden reverses of fortune so commonly connected with Turkish despotism-the result of caprice or intrigue the pasha was disgraced, and despoiled of every piastre. He was no longer the favourite of the sultan-the world was no longer his friend. A few days after his misfortune, instead of flinging himself into the Bosphorus, or blowing out his brains with a pistol-as many a nominal Christian, under similar circumstances, would have done he was seen, with an unperturbed countenance, selling a few lemons at the corner of the bazaars of Constantinople. Mr. La Fontaine saw him so employed, and actually purchased some of his little stock. He inquired whether he did not keenly feel "Not at all," this sad reverse of fortune? said he. “Allah is great-Allah is good. He gave me all that I once possessedhe has taken it again; and he had a perfect and indisputable right to do so. I am well content.' Mr. La Fontaine assured me that this was no singular instance of the powerful activity of the principles in which the Turkish mind is disciplined. Would that the pure and eternally true principles which revelation has set before our christianized population, were as practically influential upon national and individual conduct.—Rev. G. Fisk.

DIVINE GOODNESS.

ing letters of advice and counsel from DIVINE goodness was in all ages sendclosed. It was goodness that revealed heaven, till the canon of Scripture was anything of his will after the fall; it was would add more cubits to its stature; and a further degree of goodness, that he before he would lay aside his pencil it grew up into that bulk wherein we have preservation: he hath triumphed over it; and his goodness is further seen in its the powers that opposed it. He hath maintained it against the blasts of hell, and spread it in all languages against the

obstruction of men and devils.-Charnock.

SCEPTICS.

Ir often happens that men who arraign religion have often been arraigned by it; and their defence of truth is only a refusal upon conscience.—Bishop Warburton.

PARIS.

"PARIS," it has been said, "enjoys the unextorted homage of the world's admiration." London is unrivalled for her gigantic extent, countless wealth, and as the seat of a far more extended commerce; but the palaces, gardens, and galleries of art of the metropolis of France, her varied and scarcely terminable avenues, her transparent atmosphere, and her cheerful suburbs, are such as a great nation may well delight to Occupy and enrich.

The extraordinary variety and beauty of the edifices of Paris attract the admiration of the stranger. The taste for architecture which has been cultivated by successive monarchs, and the durable materials of which its piles are erected, have conspired to form a collection of public and private buildings, which are not only for the most part exceedingly imposing, but highly interesting from their historic associations, and the picture they present of the gradual modification of manners, habits, and taste, during many ages of the past. From the stately remains of the Baths of Julianrecently the humble scene of a cooper's warehouse in the Faubourg St. Germain, -to the magnificent structures projected by Napoleon, and executed by the BourJUNE, 1849.

bons, an unbroken series of buildings appears still entire, erected during fifteen centuries, and seeming, as it were, to span the dark gulf of the middle ages, connecting together the ancient and modern world. "The towers of Notre Dame," says Mr. Alison, in his eloquent. History of Europe, "which amidst the austerity of Gothic taste, were loaded with the riches of Catholic superstition; the Hotel de Ville, the florid architecture of which recalls the civil wars of the Fronde and the League; the Marais, with its stately edifices, carrying us back to the rising splendour of the Bourbon princes; the Louvre, which witnessed the frightful massacre of Louis Ix.; the Pont Neuf, which bears the image of Henry IV.; the Tuilleries, recalling at once the splendour of Louis xiv., and the sufferings of his martyred descendant; the Place Louis xv., which beheld in succession the orgies of royalty and the horrors of the Revolution; the column of the Place Vendôme, which perpetuates the glories of Napoleon-present a series of monuments unequalled in interest by any other city in Europe, and which may possibly, to future ages, exceed even the attractions of the "eternal city" itself. Every step in Paris is historical; the shadows of the dead arise on every side; the very stones breathe."

R

This city was originally divided into four quartiers; but as it increased, new allotments were necessary, though the old name was retained, and there are now no fewer than forty-eight. Paris, however, is divided as well by its manners as its laws, and the various districts differ as much in their views, habits, and the appearance of their inhabitants, as in the size of their buildings, or the width and cleanliness of their streets. The Chaussée d'Antin is distinguished as the site of the Bourse, and the commercial influence which it produces on the neighbourhood, and the Palais Royal, (as it was formerly called,) is the district of bankers, stockbrokers, officers of rank, and the richer tradesmen, and is most remarkable for change, progress, elegance, and animation. The quartier St. Germain presents a different appearance. The long and silent street, the meagre repast, the large garden, the capacious courtyard, the broad staircase, manifest no signs of change, and display but few of those characteristics which are usually associated by the stranger with the streets of Paris. Farther eastward, on the same side of the Seine, is the district of the students, at once "poor and popular," and inhabited by those professors whose genius has thrown so much light in various departments of literature and science on their country and the world. The Faubourg St. Antoine is the residence of those masses which have exerted so extraordinary an influence on the politics of France and Europe, but of whose character in general, the less that is said the better.

Many of the best streets of Paris are parallel to the Seine; and the open spaces and quays, which stretch along its banks, are an improvement, in this respect, over the metropolis of Britain. A few of the newer roads are wide, and lined on each side with trottoirs; but, in general, they are more narrow and less regular than those of London. The houses are very high, and many of them comprise seven stories including the ground-floor, there being none beneath. All the tenements have rich heavy cornices, one story below the roof; the fronts are invariably coated with plaster, and occasionally repainted. Though the houses have in some respects a more gay and handsome appearance than those of London, they are internally destitute of many of the comforts and conveniences which are found in English houses. They

are also frequently inhabited by several families, and are sometimes built round internal courtyards, accessible by entrances or porte-cochères.

Though some of the principal streets are lighted with gas, yet many of them are illumined only by the feeble glimmering of the oil-lamp, which is frequently suspended, by means of a cord stretching from one house to another, in the middle of the road. They are destitute of that essential requisite for safe and comfortable peregrination—a footpath; and the causeway being the common property of pedestrians and vehicles, the process of perambulation is in many districts anything but satisfactory, especially at night. The stones often used for paving are about ten inches square, each presenting a wet and slippery convex surface; while the street inclines from both sides towards the centre, in order to form there a sort of diteh, in which flows a black and fetid stream. From the absence of a proper system of drains, this receptacle is generally sufficiently replenished, even in the driest weather, to keep the whole street wet and dirty; while carriages, having usually one wheel in the midst of the kennel, dash the offensive mixture in all directions. The mob, in the Revolution of 1789, were accustomed to employ the ropes which support the lamps as halters for their enemies, and hence the famous, or rather infamous, cry, " à la lanterne," as the victims were dragged to execution.

Adjoining houses often form a complete contrast to each other in height, workmanship, and almost every other respect; and it not unfrequently happens that the habitation of one of the humbler orders is situated beside a splendid edifice, the residence of one of the noblest or richest families of France. The old stone piles, some of which were contemporary with the Crusades, "seem to frown with contempt on the modern passenger." It was in these narrow streets, the focus of the Revolution of the past century, that the great bulk of the inhabitants, estimated in all at that period at 600,000 souls, resided. The beauty of architectural monuments is proportionate to the interest of ancient associations. "The colossal proportions, and yet delicate finishing, of the arch of Neuilly; the exquisite peristyle of the church of the Madeleine; the matchless façade of the Louvre; the noble portico of the Pantheon; the lofty column of