Scheme. He began his career in Paris by establishing a bank, which aided in restoring the drooping commerce of France to some measure of activity. Success in one enterprise prepared the way for another, and Law devised the scheme which has given such bad notoriety to his name, and was the occasion of a ruin so wide-spread, that only Omniscience knows it. A French colony at the mouth of the Mississippi occupied lands which were supposed to teem with gold; and, on that supposition, men who knew of no better riches than those of earth, rushed into a wild and visionary scheme. The Regent sanctioned the undertaking, and notes were issued to the amount of one thousand millions of livres. One hundred and twenty per cent. of profit were promised upon all investments; and the baseless proposal so captivated men who were willingly fascinated, that at least three hundred thousand applications were made for fifty thousand shares. The titled, from the right hand of royalty downward, engaged in the scramble; and their equipages blocked up the streets from day to day, as they waited in feverish anxiety to know the result of their application for a chance of sharing in the fabulous wealth. It is known that when one maniac has committed suicide in any particular way-for example, by precipitation from the summit of a towerothers morbidly follow his example; and one is irresistibly reminded of that development of mania while tracing the history of the Mississippi Scheme.

But, after all, it was still only in its infancy. The Regent created three hundred thousand additional shares; and so grasping were even the coroneted gamblers of Paris, that three times that number would have been purchased, had the scheme been extended so far. The pressure for shares became so great, that a number of persons were crushed to death in the crowd. Property suddenly rose in value, till it was worth twelve or fifteen times as much as it had been a brief period before; and so unwearied were these devotees of mammon, that the streets had to be cleared at night by the soldiery. For a time, even the gaieties of Paris were suspended; and all the energies, the earnestness, and ardour of its people were turned into one absorbing channel, the passion for gold lying buried, they believed, in the lands around the mouth of the Mississippi!

So ceaseless was the murmur of these speculators, and so loud, that the Chancellor of Paris, whose court was in the neighbourhood of the bank, could not hear the advocates as they pled. About five hundred pavilions were in consequence erected at some distance, for conducting the business. The ingulfing tide rolled on. Peers and Peeresses continued among the suitors for Mississippi stock, and sometimes stood for six hours in succession, waiting for an in

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terview with an agent. In truth, all classes were seized with a mania similar to that which reigns paramount in the mind of a gambler, and which often goads him on to ruin. Amid the excitement, society became more and more distempered. The ignoble, who had become suddenly rich, purchased alliances with the titled. Robberies and murders took place, and a Count D'Horn was tried and condemned to be broken on the wheel for one of these deeds of blood. Such was the influx of strangers into Paris, that houses could not be found for their accommodation. Tents and stables were transmuted into dwelling-houses, and an artificial prosperity was produced, which quadrupled the cost of some articles. In a word, it appeared that Louis XIV. had been succeeded by Midas, a Prince who turned all that he touched into gold.

But this bubble also burst. The Scheme was too baseless, and the prosperity too artificial to last; and again it was seen in one of the greatest nations of the earth, that "he who makes haste to be rich shall not be innocent," as he certainly is not safe. To all the golden visions of France there succeeded a period of confusion, of bankruptcies, of beggary and ruin, deep and piteous in proportion as the excitement had been high. Those who were trembling on the verge of ruin, or actually precipitated into it, surrounded the palace of the Regent, and holding up the worthless bills of Law, which were now all the property they possessed, exclaimed against the injustice with the vehemence of beggared men. The projector of the scheme was exiled to Pontoise. A few realised wealth by the speculation, but it is computed that millions were utterly beggared: many "laid violent hands upon themselves, and sought a doubtful refuge in the grave."

And thus, by another providence, did the only wise God protest against the burning passion for gold which had eaten into the pulse of multitudes. Men

"Abrogate as roundly as they may The total ordinance and will of God," but, in spite of their attempts, He accomplishes all His purposes, and all His pleasure stands. He who loves silver shall not be satisfied with it. He who says to the fine gold, "Be thou my confidence," sooner or later finds that he has pierced himself through with many sorrows. Wherever the will of God is violated by nations or by individuals, a day of retribution comes, as surely as rivers which have burst their banks carry devastation wherever they rush.

It is well known that the channel of the Po, as it approaches its embouchure, is considerably elevated above the surrounding country. The earth which it washes down from the Alps is gradually deposited where the river runs more slowly. The banks, in consequence, require to be periodically ele

SITTINGBOURNE.

THERE is scarcely any place where you reside, where there is not some object of interest; and is it not interesting, even in a country town or village, to trace its origin, to pursue its history, and, either from ancient manuscripts, old books, or conversing with old people, to collect a short account, at least and perhaps no part of England has furnished more materials for short histories of places than has the county of Kent, in which stands the little town of Sittingbourne.

According to authentic records, Sittingbourne was anciently written Sedingbourne, and in Saxon, Sædingburna, the hamlet by the bourne, or small stream. It is said that in the year 893 the Danes landed at the neighbouring town of Milton, and built a castle near the spot on which Milton church now stands; and that King Alfred, on receiving intelligence of this, marched his forces towards Kent, and, reaching this spot, built, about a mile from the Danes, a fortification on the eastern side of the creek. Sittingbourne lies in the great road from London to Dover; and prior to railroad

days, was particularly celebrated for its large hotels; but these are now turned into shops. It was at the Red Lion that King Henry V. was entertained by John Northwood, Esq., on his triumphant return from France, wine being then sold at twopence per pint, and other articles in proportion. At a house once the residence of the Tomlyns, and subsequently belonging to the Lushingtons, King George I. and King George II. constantly lodged when they travelled through Sittingbourne, in their way to and from their German dominions. Queen Elizabeth showed favour towards the place, by granting a charter in her sixteenth year, conferring certain privileges, even to the sending two Members to Parliament; but it does not appear that this charter was fully accepted, or that the people availed themselves of the Queen's kindness. For many years the inhabitants depended for employment on the travellers passing through in conveyances. Now very extensive brickfields are found round the town, and vast quantities of bricks are shipped at Crown Quay, situated on the creek.

But the most attractive object is St. Michael's Church, represented by the engraving at the head of this article. It is a handsome building, of three aisles, two chancels, and two transepts; a tower at the west end, with a steeple, a clock, and six bells.

A very serious accident happened to the church on the 17th of July, 1762: the whole of the interior was burnt, the bare walls and tower only remained. The fire broke out on the roof of the church, occasioned by the plumbers, who were repairing the leads, leaving their fire burning during their absence at dinner. By this great calamity, the ancient monuments on the walls were destroyed, and most of the gravestones broken by the falling of the timbers, so that no very ancient records can be gathered from any inscriptions, the present monuments being of late date. This occurred in the time of Archbishop Secker, who gave £50 towards the rebuilding. It is now in good repair, and has an excellent organ, the gift of Mr. Vallance.

Originally the church of Sittingbourne

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belonged to the Benedictine nunnery of Clerkenwell, to which it was appropriated before the eighth year of King Richard II.; and it continued as part of the revenues of that nunnery, till its dissolution in the thirtyfirst year of the reign of King Henry VIII. Queen Elizabeth granted it to Archbishop Parker; and since that time its patron has been the Archbishop of Canterbury.

The vicarage, a very pleasant residence, is situated not far from the north side of the church.

There are two other places of worship in the town; one belonging to the Independents, the chapel bearing the name of Latimer Chapel; the other a Wesleyan-Methodist chapel. There is also an excellent Wesleyan school-room at the east end of the town. Other places of worship are likely soon to be built.

Sittingbourne is the native place of Mrs. Elizabeth Harvard, whose Memoir is so generally known as the wife of a Wesleyan Missionary to Ceylon.

REFLECTIONS ON LEAVING ROME. (From a Communication from the late Rev. W. O. Croggon.)

I HAD spent eight days in the imperial city, and had occupied the time in visiting the chief objects of research. The evening before I left, I walked to the ruins of the palaces of the Cæsars; and, standing on the hill above the Forum, my mind was deeply impressed with the spot on which I stood, and reflections like these occupied me.

Here rose the Dictators who successively decided the fate of the republic; and from yonder farm was Cincinnatus repeatedly called to rescue his country from ruin. From these plains issued the armies who overran the whole known world, destroying Carthage, conquering Egypt, subduing Greece, defeating Gauls and Germans, and invading Britain. Here reigned the Cæsars, whose palaces are crumbling to dust. Rome arose, shone, declined, fell, until the Government was transferred to Constantinople, and the crescent was placed on the dome of St. Sophia.. It was here that Cicero spoke, and Virgil sang; and from deeds done here Shakspeare has brought forward the acts of Coriolanus, and the death of Julius Cæsar.

But what do I behold now? One who is called the head of the church drives his chariot through the modern street, attended by dragoons, guards, hired Swiss with halberts, and troops of Cardinals, Bishops, Clergy, Monks and Friars; which motley group presents a perfect contrast to what

W. O. C.

Rome must have displayed when the legions stood in ranks around.

Whilst reflections of this kind arose in my mind as I stood on the Palatine Hill, others of a more painful character followed.

once *

Beneath these dwellings were found the dungeons of the Inquisition, stained with the blood of many a martyr, and dyed from year to year with the gore of many a saint.

From yonder palaces, the thunder of the Vatican was hurled against even Emperors and Kings, who trembled on their thrones. But the cannon of St. Angelo is harmless now it only fires on the creation of a saint, or the election of a Pontiff. True, superstition rears its head, and infidelity laughs at the scene, whilst Jesuitical craft strives to save the falling idols, and to put far away the day of destruction.

With God's word of prophecy in his hand, the Christian sings, "Haste,

"Haste, happy day! that day I long to see, When every child of Adam shall be free."

In this city, the great Apostle to the Gentiles proclaimed the truth of God with great success here arose the Christian church. The names of some of the mem

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bers are recorded in the Epistle to the Romans; others only in the Lamb's book of life.

From this city the Apostle wrote the epistles to the Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, the second to Timothy, and the interesting letter to Philemon. Beyond the church on yon road, the Apostle suffered martyrdom; and within the walls of yonder Colosseum, Ignatius was devoured by the wild beasts. Would that persecution had been confined to the Hea

thens of that distant day! but, alas! if walls could speak, many an awful tale of woe would be heard all around me. But the day of retribution comes; and though the retributive justice of God may not fully appear in this world, yet the great day will bring all things to light. O that the time might soon arrive, when again, in this city, the living word might be proclaimed in language understood by the people!

CRIME IN POPISH COUNTRIES. WHEN a Bible or a religious tract is given away, or the slightest degree of Christian influence exerted, but especially

if a sinner is converted from the error of his way, in a Popish country, the Priests look sanctimonious, and implore the civil authorities to grant protection against the inroads of what they call heresy. Not yet content, they vilify the messenger of truth, and raise an outcry of impiety and immorality. The Protestants, they say, demoralise the people. Let us see, then, what is the comparative effect of the Protestant religion and the Popish, where they respectively prevail.

At the last annual meeting of the Protestant Alliance, in London, the Rev. Hobart Seymour gave the result of his own examination of authentic returns, made by public authority in nearly all the so-called Catholic states of Europe, as to the single crime of murder. We merely extract the numerical statement from a report of his speech, and leave readers to their own conclusion. the plain question be put: "How many persons in every million of population are taken up and prosecuted for murder every year?" In order to answer this question Mr. Seymour has examined the judicial returns, in each country, for several years, and struck the average. This done, he answers thus:

IN PROTESTANT ENGLAND, there are prosecuted every year for murder, in each million of the population

(It is gratifying to hear him say that only one out of the four is convicted.) In IRELAND, before the great emigration there were

In IRELAND, after so many Romanists left the island, and the proportion of the Protestant population became larger, the number fell to .

In BELGIUM, least immoral of Po

Let

4

45

19

In NAPLES, where they have a taste for blood, and publicly exhibit the blood of one St. Januarius every year, there is made an exquisitely careful classification of murder into parricide, husband-murder, wife-murder, murder of other relatives, infanticide, poisoning, murder premeditated, murder intentional, assassination, murder with robbery, and murder with adultery. Of all sorts of murder the dreadful proportion to each million in Naples is no less than

But in ENGLAND, let it be once more noted, only

100

90

200

Considering that all crimes flourish together under the Papal shadow with correspondent luxuriance, but, for the present, only setting the scale by murder, we ask the advocates of Popery to account for this vast difference in favour of Protestant England.

pish countries

18

A MOTHER'S LOVE. You, who have lived all your days in Britain, can scarcely, even in imagination, form an idea of the dreadful state into which travellers are often brought by heat and want of water. But there are sufferings produced by the coldness of our climate, fully as severe and trying as those which in the East arise from heat, and they have often proved as fatal to the luckless travellers who have encountered the rigorous exposure to frost and snow. I am going to relate to you a story of a mother's love, the scene of which was the Highlands of Scotland; and the subject of which was the sufferings of a poor child amid the overwhelming rigours of a snow-storm, such as a northern region is frequently subject to.

A Highland widow left her home early one morning, in order to reach, before evening, the residence of a kinsman who had promised to assist her to pay her rent. She carried on her back her only child, a boy two years old. The journey was a long one. I was following the same wild and lonely path when I first heard the story I am going to tell you. The mountain-track, after leaving the small village by the seashore where the widow lived, passes through a green valley, watered by a peaceful stream which flows from a neighbouring lake; it then winds along the margin of the solitary lake, until, near its further end, it suddenly turns into an extensive copse-wood of oak and birch. From this it emerges half-way up a rugged mountain-side; and, entering a dark glen, through which a torrent rushes amidst great masses of granite, it at last conducts the traveller, by a zig-zag ascent, to a narrow gorge, which is hemmed in upon every side by giant precipices: overhead is a strip of blue sky, while all below is dark and gloomy. From this mountainpass the widow's dwelling was ten miles off, and no human habitation was nearer than her own.

She had undertaken a long journey indeed! But the rent was due some weeks before, and the sub-factor threatened to dispossess her, as the village in which she lived, and in which her family had lived for two generations, was about to be swept away, in order to enlarge a sheepfarm. Indeed, along the margin of the quiet stream which watered the green valley, and along the shore of the lake, might even then be traced the ruins of many a hamlet, where happy and contented people once lived; but where no sound is now heard, except the bleat of a solitary sheep, or the scream of the eagle, as he wheels his flight among the dizzy precipices.

The morning when the widow left her home gave promise of a lovely day. But,

before noon, a sudden change took place in the weather. Northward, the sky became black and lowering. Masses of clouds rested

upon the hills. Sudden gusts of wind began to whistle among the rocks, and to ruffle, with black squalls, the surface of the loch. The wind was succeeded by rain, and the rain by sleet, and sleet by a heavy fall of snow. It was the month of May; for that storm is yet remembered as the "great May storm." The wildest day of winter never beheld flakes of snow falling heavier or faster, or whirling with more fury through the mountain-pass, filling every hollow, and whitening every rock! Weary, and wet, and cold, the widow reached that pass with her child. She knew that a mile beyond it there was a mountainshieling, which could give shelter; but the moment she attempted to face the storm of snow which was rushing through the gorge, all hope failed of proceeding in that direction. To return home was equally impossible. She must find shelter. The wild cat's or fox's den would be welcome. After wandering for some time among the huge fragments of granite which skirted the base of the overhanging precipices, she at last found a more sheltered nook. She crouched beneath a projecting ledge of rock, and pressed her child to her trembling bosom. The storm continued to rage. The snow was accumulating overhead. Hour after hour passed. It became bitterly cold. The evening approached. The widow's heart was sick with fear and anxiety. Her child -her only child-was all she thought of. She wrapped him in her shawl. But the poor thing had been scantily clad, and the shawl was thin and worn. The widow was poor, and her clothing could hardly defend herself from the piercing cold of such a night as this. But whatever was to become of herself, her child must be preserved. The snow, in whirling eddies, entered the recess, which afforded them at best but miserable shelter. The night came on. The wretched mother stripped off almost all her own clothing, and wrapped it round her child, whom at last, in despair, she put into a deep crevice of the rock, among some dried heather and fern. And now she resolves, at all hazards, to brave the storm, and return home, in order to get assistance for her babe, or to perish in the attempt! Clasping her infant to her heart, and covering his face with tears and kisses, she laid him softly down in sleep, and rushed into the snowy drift.

That night of storm was succeeded by a peaceful morning. The sun shone from a clear blue sky, and wreaths of mist hung along the mountain-tops, while a thousand