magnet moves, so as to subject the magnet to the multiplied deflecting force of the electric current.

The battery is the motive power of the machine, occupying the same relative position to it as the boiler does to the locomotive; for though it does not produce any immediate result on the works, yet the part it performs in the undertaking is essential. It is the fountain of that subtle stream, which, under the guidance of man's intellect, is now doing so much of the nation's work, popularly known as "the electric fluid.' Under the successive superintendence of Galvani, Volta, Cruikshanks, Davy, Wollaston, Roget, and others-of which an interesting account is recommended to the reader in a work on electricity, published by the Religious Tract Society-the electric generator has reached its present perfection, with which the public are familiar, the whole of which has undergone great improvements in its adaptation to the purposes of electric communication under Mr. Cooke and others. While travelling, this gentleman found great inconvenience to result from the spilling of the acid solution used in Smee's batteries, and from this he was led to consider whether the substitution of fine white Shanklin sand, saturated with the diluted acid, would not avoid this difficulty. Experiments having confirmed the truth of these conjectures, the change was permanently arranged, and it was subsequently found so advantageous, that the same method was tried in the permanent batteries, and in like manner the result has proved satisfactory. At present the generator resembles in its principal features the one known as Wollaston's trough, and it is so arranged that the series of plates of copper and amalgamated zinc, arranged for the evolution of the electric fluid, admit of being placed in a corresponding series of cells, filled with well-washed and dry sand. The United Service Gazette states that all that is necessary in order to use the instrument is slightly to moisten the sand with diluted sulphuric acid. These generators are stated to be very constant in their action, having been found to work during periods varying from two to five months, with only occasional small additions of the acid solution to supply the waste occasioned by evaporation and chemical absorption. The sand, too, appears to check injurious rapidity of action, and at the same time to prevent the sepa

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The property possessed by the wires of rendering iron magnetic when subject to the galvanic currents may be illustrated in a simple manner, by passing copper wire a few times round a glass tube, so as to form a coil like a bell-spring, taking care that the turns of the wire are nowhere in contact; if the ends of the coil are then connected with the poles of a battery, and a small sewing-needle is placed in the glass tube, it will be immediately drawn to the centre, and, if examined, will be found to be permanently magnetic. If, on the other hand, a piece of soft iron wire had been introduced into the glass tube in the place of the steel needle, it would be found to be only magnetic solong as it remained under the influence of the exterior coil of wire,-proving that it is to the magnetising property of the electric current, under a certain form of arrangement, that we owe our motive power, and it is to the varied motions or vibrations of the needles on the face of the dial-plate, produced by this agent, that a form of alphabet has been adopted, which shall rapidly explain what is intended to

into the ship. The only way left to us to extricate ourselves from this awful and appalling situation, was by resorting to the hazardous expedient of a stern-board, which nothing could justify during such a gale, and with so high a sea running, but to avert the danger which every moment threatened us of being dashed to pieces. The heavy rolling of the vessel, and the probability of the masts giving way each time the lower yard-arms struck against the cliffs, which were towering high above our mast-heads, rendered it a service of extreme danger to loose the main-sail; but no sooner was the order given, than the daring spirit of the British seaman manifested itself-the men ran up the rigging with as much alacrity as on any ordinary occasion; and although more than once driven off the yard, they, after a short time, succeeded in loosing the sail. Amidst the roar of the wind and sea, it was difficult both to hear and to execute the orders that were given, so that it was three-quarters of an hour before we could get the yards braced by, and the maintack hauled on board sharp aback-an expedient that perhaps had never before been resorted to by seamen in such weather: but it had the desired effect; the ship gathered stern-way, plunging her stern into the sea, washing away the gig and quarter boats, and with her lower yard-arms scraping the rugged face of the berg, we in a few minutes reached its western termination, the under tow,' as it is called, or the reaction of the water from its vertical cliffs alone preventing us being driven to atoms against it. No sooner had we cleared it than another was seen directly astern of us, against which we were running, and the difficulty now was to get the ship's head turned round and pointed fairly through between the two bergs, the breadth of the intervening space not exceeding three times her own breadth. This, however, we happily accomplished, and in a few minutes after getting before the wind, she dashed through the narrow channel, between two perpendicular walls of ice, and the foaming breakers which stretched across it, and the next moment we were in smooth water, under its lee.

The Terror had escaped from this disaster with the loss only of two or three more spars, and was found in safety exhibiting her light round the corner of the chain. A cluster of bergs was now seen to the windward, forming such an unbroken line, that the small opening by which

the ships were compelled to escape now seemed to have been their only safe path, and that the collision which forced them backwards, prevented them from being entangled in a labyrinth of heavy bergs from which they might never have escaped.

ORIGIN OF THE TERM PENNY.

IN German, pfennig. Perhaps belonging to the same class of words as the Latin pendere, to pay. I would observe, however, that, in Welsh and Breton, pennig means a little head (dimin. of pen, the head), and this seems a very simple and natural name for a small coin, with the head of the king stamped upon it. This conjecture is confirmed by the name of another small coin, the tester, from old French teste, the head. That a coin much used in Britain should have a Celtic origin is not improbable, since the Britons coined money even before Cæsar's invasion, bearing the legend of their king Segonax.-F. H. Talbot.

THE WORD "US."

rather surprised.

AN Athenian once said to a Hebrew lad, "Here, my boy, is some money; bring us some figs and grapes." The boy went and purchased the fruit, and giving half of it to the stranger, kept the other half for himself. "Is it customary here, for a messenger to take half of what he fetches?" said the Athenian, No," answered the boy; "but our custom is to speak what "But," rejoined the stranger, "I did not we mean, and to do as we are desired." desire thee to take half the fruit." " "Oh," couldst thou mean by saying, bring us? replied the boy, shrewdly, "what else Does not that word include the hearer as well as the speaker?" The Athenian smiled, and was contented. Medrash Echoh.

GOD THE FOUNTAIN.

WERE God to withdraw from me, I should be as weak as water. All that I enjoy, though it be miracle on miracle, would not support me without fresh supplies from God. The thing I rejoice in is this, that God is altogether full; and that in the Mediator Christ Jesus is "all the fulness of the Godhead," and it will never run out.-T. Halyburton.

SANCTIFIED AFFLICTION.

THE Holy Spirit is the author of all true religion. Without him it has no existence; it can have none. It is never superinduced by natural causes. A Christian is a new creature; he is created in Christ unto good works, which God hath before ordained that he should walk in them. All those principles which essentially belong to spiritual religion are vital, and are of God; and, having produced them, he opens before them an appropriate sphere of action, giving them the authority and power of law, and then subjecting them to the purposes of practical Christianity. Thought settles down into habits of meditation; contrition, into habits of repentance; love, into habits of obedience; and which habits, as they indicate life, so they adorn it. "Ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light: for the fruit of the Spirit is in all goodness and righteousness and truth," Eph. v. 8, 9.

The work of the Holy Spirit in the conversion of men being great, both in its nature and results, the creation of the world, the resurrection of the dead, the miracles of our Lord, and those wrought by the apostles for the confirmation of his truth, are employed to illustrate it; and as the typical representation of a thing is less glorious than the thing represented, the change produced in the heart of the regenerated sinner is more marvellous than any physical miracles the world ever saw. The understanding is enlightened with the light of life; the conscience is aroused from its slumberings to feel and plead for God; the will is renewed, and influenced to choose the narrow way; the affections are weaned from earth and set on things above; the whole man—the body, the soul, and the spirit-is brought into cheerful subjection to the King of Zion; the life of God takes possession of the heart, and the creature, once a rebel and an alien, becomes a child. "That ye put off concerning the former conversation the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; and be renewed in the spirit of your mind; and that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness," Eph. iv. 22-24.

This change is frequently effected in the season of affliction. Thousands of Christians bless God for the adversity

"In

which led them to reflection, and then to repentance; for they never prayed till they were brought into trouble. their affliction they will seek me early," Hos. v. 15. Outward trouble, when it is sanctified, awakens inward anxiety about the sin that has occasioned it; and as the heart is then more tender, more susceptible of impression, such a retrospect is taken of life, as leads to some fearful forebodings of the second death. The season of trial, too, is a period when the heart sometimes sickens with disappointment; when the fair scenes upon which the eye has been wont to rest with delightful anticipation, all vanish like a dream of the night, and give place to shadows, about which not even a ray of light is seen to fall. All now appears desolate, and he is forlorn and sad. The artificial dress of life is laid aside. The world is seen in its true character. The heart is left without any of those fictitious modes of obtaining satisfaction to which it often resorted, and delusive opiates are no longer administered to the conscience. Character is left, and character is all that he can call his own. Property is gone. Health has fled. Comforts have vanished. Friends are dead, or they have withdrawn from their afflicted companion, to whose wounds they can apply no balm, and whose calamities have been increased by their treachery and folly.

Thus desolated-thus undone, where can he go for comfort?-to whom can he apply for solid, permanent relief? Has he no counsellor? Is he friendless? Is no hand stretched out to his rescue? To which of his former associates can he turn for succour? The arrow of conviction is lodged in his conscience, his sins are brought vividly to his remembrance, and he is oppressed with the burden of his guilt. Look in which direction soever he will, he catches the eye of his offended Creator and Judge; and though he moans piteously, as in dust and ashes, and cries loudly for help, refuge fails him. He now begins to reproach himself for having rebelled against God, and for having trampled upon the blood of the everlasting covenant, counting it an unholy thing, and doing despite to the Spirit of grace. Thus convinced of sin, and self-reproached, "the troubles of his heart are enlarged," and he inquires not so much for temporal as for spiritual deliverance. The cares of this Îife are felt, as they ought to be, but they are secondary in point of importance now.

G

His

great concern is to enter the refuge set before him in the gospel, if, indeed, he may be permitted to do so-for of this he has some doubt. His own delinquency and danger having been pressed upon his attention, he inquires, with an awakened and an alarmed conscience, "What must I do to be saved?" The refuges of Ilies in which he trusted have been destroyed, and having no longer any confidence in the flesh, he seeks deliverance at the cross of Christ. He confesses his guilt, and implores mercy.

At length a degree of light springs up in his mind, and he as certainly knows that Christ is a Saviour, as that he himself is a sinner. He cannot, indeed, rejoice before God as a pardoned, accepted sinner; for almost the only thing he can do is to feel after God. This, however, he does; and though he does it with a trembling hand, he at length lays hold on the hope of eternal life, embraces the gospel that efficacious remedy for all the ills of a soul that sin hath stricken, rises into spiritual health, enters into peace, and enjoys, as the result of the Spirit's witness, a calm consciousness that all his sins are forgiven him, through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus. He is now a happy man-happy in the exercise of faith upon the person and work of Christ, in the possession of a good hope through grace, and in the assurance of being at last received to glory. The prodigal son has returned home, and has received from his father a kind and cordial welcome; a feast is prepared for him; angels in heaven rejoice in his restoration to happiness and honour; Christian friends greet his arrival; the best robe is thrown around him; by kind gratulations and by Zion's cheerful songs he is taught the felicity which he may enjoy, and the delight which his return has occasioned in other minds; while the everlasting God, with infinite satisfaction and complacent love, declares, "This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found," Luke xv. 24.

But does the restored child, now pardoned and purified, lament the affliction which led him to reflection, to repentance, and to prayer? Lament it! No. He blesses God for sending it, and for making it the means of his conversion; and had it been a thousand times heavier, so great is the misery he has escaped, so pure is the happiness he has obtained, that even then he would look back upon it as one of the most merciful events of

his life, and one which would deserve to be celebrated by the loftiest note of a seraph's song. Whatever may be his loss, his gain is infinite. His lost soul is found, and is safe for ever.-Mannering.

A VISIT TO CARCASSONE,

No. I.

ON a bright sunshiny morning, when the sweet sky of the south of France shone clear above me, I bent my steps from the cheerful and flourishing new town of Carcassone,* towards the lofty eminence where yet stand, in the greatness of feudal strength, the walls and battlements of ancient Carcassone.

To this the modern town was once only a suburb, and a part of its old dark walls are to be seen amid the new white buildings to which our peaceful times, and I believe its trade with the now French town of Algiers, have given rise.

The picturesque and frowning fortress before me-one, I believe, of the most unchanged of the feudal fortresses of France, occupied my eyes and thoughts. Those old dark walls and mighty battlements, which, though not formed for our ordnance times, appear strong enough to secure a town for ever, had for me, though never seen before, all the charms of memory. I visited them as a well-known scene; I gazed upon them as if my friends had lodged within them.

Nor were it any marvel if I so felt; I told the Roman Catholic friend, with whom I afterwards surveyed them, that from a child my heart had thrilled at the name of Carcassone. And now I had just come from Toulouse, the name of which place, anciently called Tolosa, "ought," says a Romish historian, "to be called Tota Dolosa, because it was never totally exempt from the pest of heresy, which fathers had transmitted to their children even from its foundation." And there I had been seeing the statue and picture (the latter rather a gaudy one to be sure) of "La belle Clemence," the queen of the " gay science" of ancient Provence; I had been thinking of the politeness, the awakening learning, the love of music, poetry, and song of the poor Provençals, a people in advance of a barbaric age: and "woe," says a clever writer, "to the man who lives before his age." There uprose before me, the

*Now in the department de l'Ande, anciently in Languedoc.