is not a declaration of the Bible respecting the glories of the heavens, the grandeur of the universe, the wonders of the human frame, the divine wisdom illustrated in his works, or the operations of the mind, which does not cover, as if originally designed to express it, all that is now or will hereafter be known. To a mind imbued with the science of modern times, these expressions convey far more than they could do in the obscure views of the times of Moses and David; and one of the principal achievements which remains for the intellect of the world to accomplish, is, to make use of modern science, and the laws of mind, as now understood, and the developments of providential purposes, as Cuvier has done in fossil remains, in illustration of the principles of the Bible. Butler, Paley, and Dick, and the authors of the Bridgewater Treatises, have laid the foundation of what is yet to open to the human mind, views of truth on which the fathers never gazed, and of that train of argumentation which is yet to call into the service of Christianity the profoundest intellect of the world. Hitherto, talent and learning have extensively prided themselves on being dissociated from the Christian system. Here may yet be found the cementing link, which shall bind the talent of the earth to the services of Christianity, and compel the advancing and somewhat proud and independent sciences, to become willing handmaids and allies in the spread of the gospel to all na

tions.

Piety calls forth the active powers. The experiment has never yet been fairly made, to see how much pure and ever-burning piety might accomplish, in calling forth the active powers of man. What mighty energies, ambition and sin might summon into being, has been exemplified; and, unhappily, when we wish to gauge the powers of man, we are compelled to resort to some such melancholy exemplifications. History is little else than the record of such disastrous achievements; in contemplating which, we stand almost equally amazed at the exhibition of gigantic intellect and fiendish malignity. Alexander, Cæsar, and Napoleon, have amazed the world with their daring exploits, and by the mighty powers which they exhibited in the service of ambition; Nero, Cæsar Borgia, Richard III, have shown to what prodigious efforts unmingled sin may summon the human powers; and D'Alembert, Diderot, and Voltaire, have evinced to what almost supernatural feats of intellectual strength the mind may be summoned, in a united effort to corrupt a nation, and dethrone religion from the hearts of men. Here, talent has been controlled by sin; ambition or crime directs all the powers

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on a single object, and the world trembles before the amazing intellect of fallen `man.

But when we contemplate the influence of religion upon the human mind, we see it in broken, irregular, and disjointed efforts. Among men, merely, we cannot point to a single instance, where the powers have been as entirely controlled, and called forth by holy efforts, as they have been under the control of ambition or infidelity. A few, indeed, have approximated to it; and we refer to them, as rare exceptions to the common laws of holiness over men. The energies of Paul were brought into action under the influence of piety; and Baxter and Edwards seemed disposed to make trial of what that mind could do, under the operation of Christianity; and Howard is said to have pursued his object with an intensity which the nature of the human mind forbade to be greater. But why do we refer to these instances, as standing like far distant lights in the darkness of the past? It is because the power of holiness has not been applied to the mass of the Christian world.

There are two melancholy facts which stand forth in the past history of the world. One is, that talent, which might have made itself felt, in shaping the destiny of men, has slumbered, and been lost. At any single period of the world, there has been talent enough for all its great purposes of im provement. Who can believe that Luther was the only man who ever dwelt in a cloister, endowed with native powers to effect a revolution in nations? Who can believe that there is not power enough in the church, to carry the gospel to all the world? The other fact is, that genius is often wasted, or burns and blazes for naught. Now, splendid talent is called forth by some daring scheme of ambition. Smitten and foiled in its designs, it shrinks back on itself, and withers, and is lost to the world. Now, it is excited by some wild, utopian plan for the philosophic improvement of men. Life is exhausted in the scheme, and the misdirected talent falls useless to the dust. Now, splendid genius seems to be drawn out simply by the love of intellectual exerciseby the mere fondness of its play, and a useless poem or novel is all the memorial which is left to tell that the man once lived. And yet again, talent, just adapted to all the hardy enterprises of making the race better, expends itself in some wild and devious plan of wandering, like that of Ledyard; or in exploring the memorial of ancient folly, like that of Belzoni.

Now the same mighty energies of mind, which are summoned into action by ambition, the love of gold and of sin; or the very energy that seeks employment adapted to its nature, in traversing

THERE was an idle lyre

'Mid Heaven's choral band; A messenger was summoned

To hear his Lord's command, That from among earth's children Some favored one he bring, Who had a skillful finger

To sweep the golden string.

Oh! high and holy honor!

Whose shall the glory be,
To wake a music fitting

The ear of Deity!
What mighty minstrel, laurelled

With wreaths which Fame has given,

Shall now be counted worthy

To join the ranks of Heaven?

No master mind whose spirit
Might lift itself to hymn
The praise of the Eternal,

With burning seraphim;
Nor one who long had lingered
Till age had dimmed youth's fire,
Is from earth's myriads chosen
To touch that silent lyre.

A little child was playing
Beside his mother's knee,
Unconscious of the honor
That was his destiny.
The angel bent above him

And breathed the low command;

And ere another morning
The lyre was in his hand.

Ah! is the mother weeping

Because her darling boy
Is tasting purer pleasure,

And feeling holier joy,
Than she could ever yield him,
Even with her winning tone,
While his dear, thrilling bosom
Was pillowed on her own!

We know that she will miss him,
His books unopened lie;
And every way she turneth,

There's something meets her eye
That marks his painful absence;
And on his vacant chair,
His brother looks and wonders

Why he no more is there.

Mourn we that he is taken

Where every tear is o'er, Where not a throe of sorrow

Shall swell his bosom more !

Oh! could we hear the sweetness

Of his angelic strain,

Not life's best gifts would tempt us, To call him back again.

Though transient was his visit

To this bleak world of ours,
The brilliant buds of promise
Gave sign of early flowers.
We yet shall see them blooming
When it to us is given
To join as kindred spirits
The choristry of Heaven.

PARIS has for ages been one of the largest and most splendid cities in Europe. It is one of the chief centres of civilization and refinement. With the exception of London it is the largest city in Europe. The capital of France is situated on the Seine, at the distance of about seventy miles from the sea, in a country more generally level and less diversified than the vicinity of London. For beauty, public buildings, gardens, art, and such things, Paris is superior to London, but inferior in the bustle of men and horses, and the more stern and practical proceedings of life. Independent of its being the centre of attraction and gaiety, and the potent influence it exerts on art and fashion, it is memorable for its historical associations, for the political struggles which have taken place within its boundaries, for the many great men who were born, who lived, and who died there, and for the great influence it has exerted on the destinies of Europe.

Though this city is so contiguous to London that travellers can go with ease from the one town to the other in a day; though they have gradually grown up side by side; though the arts and sciences have flourished and prospered in them simultaneously, jealousies have existed between their respective populations, and great obstacles have prevented their intercommunication. These jealousies and obstacles are, happily, fast dying away, and the inhabitants of these two great cities are getting closer in interest and sympathy by the increase of commercial transactions, the progress of intelligence, and multiplication of friendly visits.

Paris contains a population of 912,000 inhabitants, 42,000 houses, 1,922 public ways, 57 gates,

37 quays, 20 boulevards, 37 avenues, 133 places, or squares, 37 bridges, 105 courts, cloisters, &c.; 9 palaces, 23 notable edifices, 6 public gardens, 4 triumphal arches, 5 columns, 1 obelisk, 35 public libraries, 15 museums, 28 monumental fountains, 38 churches, 25 convents, 26 hospitals, 24 theatres, 39 barracks.

Like all other great cities, Paris has some parts beautiful and attractive, and others disagreeable and dirty. If the tourist enters it on the Neuilly road, and passes under the triumphal arch, and walks right on, he will discover many fine buildings, and when in Lonis XV.'s square, will see before him the palace and garden of the Tuileries; and on both sides the brilliant edifices which surround the place. Those rich colonnades, huge and ingeniously formed lamp-posts; those allegorical and gigantic statues; those fine and lofty fountains, cannot fail to produce on the spectator's mind a deep impression. But should the tourist, on the other hand, enter the town through the Faubourg Saint Marceau, or almost any other entrance to the old city, instead of magnificent edifices and fluted columns, he will see narrow streets, dirty people, and disagreeable sights.

Let us suppose the excursionist stationed somewhere in the centre of Paris. He has taken apartments in some hotel near the Palais Royal, or, as it is now called, the Palais National, which is in the form of parallelogram, and is one of the most unique buildings of modern architecture. The parapet is adorned with stone vases of great beauty, and the whole extent of the circuitous galleries is nearly half a mile. There are nearly two hundred arcades lighted at night by as many lamps. Here may be seen some of the most cel

This building has been the theatre of many political scenes. It was here Cardinal Mazarine compelled the regent, Anne of Austria, to form resolutions which failed to deprive her son of the crown. In 1789, the first revolutionary meetings were held in the garden and galleries. In the circus, which at that time was situated in the middle of the garden, the Jacobins held their first meetings. On the 3d of May, 1791, the exasperated people burnt the Pope's effigy in this place. A little more than a year afterwards a

similar ceremony was performed on that of the Marquis de Lafayette.

The centre is an enclosed square, in which is a garden contain containing about six acres of land. In the middle of the garden is a large pond with a beautiful fountain continually playing. The garden is enclosed, on one side, by the Gallery d'Orleans; and on the other, by symmetrical piles of elevated buildings. All around the fountain are gravel walks, flower beds, shrubs, and trees, interspersed with beautiful statues.

ance than in the smaller details of its architecture. The scene in front of the Tuileries is truly grand. The gardens of the palace stretch immediately before it. Trees, water-spouts, and statues give variety to the scene

Further on is seen the Place de la Concorde, one of the richest and most beautiful parts of Paris. Then we come to the spacious Champs Elyseés, on side of which is the Elysees Bourbon, the residence of the President; and on the other the noted Jardin d'hiver. And further on still, may be seen L'arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile, one of the most splendid pieces of architecture in the world. Of the many palaces of Paris the palace of the Tuileries is the most beautifully situated. It was the residence of Louis Philippe. It suffered more during the revolution of February, 1848, than any other building in Paris. It was from thence the ex-king escaped during the revolutionary storm. He went away with other members of his family, in a one-horse cab, with voices ringing in his ears-" do not hurt him," "let him go." The inside of the palace is at present in a shattered state. The rich furniture is injured, and in many places altogether destroyed; mirrors and pictures are sadly perforated with bullets and bayonets. The theatre of the palace is all a wreck; but the chapel is as perfect as before the revolution. Such is the reverence which the French have for places of religious worship.

Connected with the palace is the Triumphal Arch, which was erected by Napoleon in 1806. It is forty-five feet high, sixty feet long, and twenty feet broad. It is designed after the architecture of the arch of Septimus Severus, at Rome. It cost 1,400,000 francs. Near to this is the Place du Carrousel, so celebrated from its historical associations. The revolutions of 1789, 1830, and 1848, were principally transacted

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there. In 1662, Louis XIV. held there the famous tournament, by which it obtained its present name of Carrousel. It was also here that Napoleon reviewed the formidable army with which he hoped to have conquered Europe; but the unlucky fate which the soldiers met with in Russia, did much to prepare that great and ambitious man for his final overthrow.

In this neighborhood is the far-famed Louvre. This is one of the most remarkable places in Paris, both for its architectural beauty and the artistic wealth it contains. Here may be seen some of the finest pictures which the great Italian artists ever produced, and some of the most valuable remains of Grecian sculpture, and Roman and Egyptian antiquities. The Louvre may be compared to our National Gallery and British Museum unitedly. Here the student or the man of pleasure may pass days and weeks without being satiated. The different halls are called after what they contain. One division is appropriated to sculpture, another to painting, another to designs, and others to antiquities.

The Jardin des Tuileries, which is bounded by lofty trees and studded with antique vases of white marble and statues, the subjects of which are taken from the mythology of Greek and Roman story, is bounded on the one side by the quiet, transparent Seine, and on the other by the Rue de Rivoli. We need say no more of this splendid street, than give the annexed graphic representation of it.

Branching out of the Rue de Rivoli is the Rue de Castiglione, another of the most noble streets of the capital. It opens into the Place Vendome. The form of the place is an elongated octagon. In the middle formerly stood an equestrian statue of Louis XIV. in bronze. In the same place now stands the triumphal pillar, erected by Napoleon to commemorate the success