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SCRIPTURE ILLUSTRATIONS.

(Sel. Mag.)

SLEEPING ON THE TOPS OF HOUSES.

SAMUEL ix. 26. "And it came to pass about the spring of the day, that Samuel called Saul to (on) the top of the house, saying, Up, that I may send thee away.”

"It has ever been a custom with them, equally connected with health and pleasure, to pass the night in summer upon the housetops, which for this very purpose are made flat, and divided from each other by walls. We found this way of sleeping extremely agreeable, as we thereby enjoyed the cool air, above the reach of gnats or vapours, without any other covering than the canopy of the heavens, which unavoidably presents itself in different pleasing forms upon every interruption of rest, when silence and solitude strongly dispose the mind to contemplation." WOOD'S BALBEC.

"At night all sleep on the tops of their houses, their beds being spread upon their terraces without any other covering over their heads than the vault of heaven. The poor seldom have a screen to keep them from the gaze of passengers; and as we generally rode out on horseback at a very early hour, we perceived on the tops of the houses, people either still in bed, or just getting up, and certainly no sight was ever stranger. The women ap

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"Among the hurtful animals that Egypt produces, those that we call gnats ought not to be forgotten. If their size prevents all apprehension of dangerous accidents from them, their multitudes make them insupportable. The Nile water which remains in the canals and the lakes into which it makes its way every year, produces such a prodigious quantity of these insects, that the air is often darkened by them. The night-time is that in which people are most exposed to receive punctures from them, and it is with a view to guard themselves from them that they sleep so much on the tops of their houses, which are flat-roofed. These terraces are paved with square flat stones, very thin; and as in this country they have no apprehensions from rain or fogs, they are wont to place their beds on these roofs every night, in order to enjoy their repose more undisturbedly and coolly than they could any where else. Gnats seldom rise so high in the air. agitation of the air at that height is too much for them: they cannot bear it." MAILLET.

THE FIGURATIVE STYLE.

The use of figurative language is often supposed to be a departure from the simplicity of nature. But this supposition is the result of a superficial view of the method in which thoughts are obtained and communicated. It appears very plausible to say, "A simple thought will naturally express itself in as few words as possible, and without any of the ornaments of language." And it may without difficulty be inferred from this, that all amplification and all adoption of figurative language is the result of second thoughts, and is, in the mind of the writer, a labour independent of and posterior to the original view of the subject which presented itself to him.

The

This, however, is by no means a satisfactory method of accounting for the use of ornamental language. A little closer inspection of the subject will convince us that speakers and writers were driven upon this method by mere necessity,-that it was the pancity of language which first made them use one word instead of some other more appropriate term with which their vocabulary was not yet enriched. In the infancy of arts the difficulty of finding words expressive of the various inventions which were gradually made, threw them upon an improper and accommodated application of such words as they already knew to things with which they had been hitherto un

acquainted. And afterwards, when suitable terms were devised, they still found a force and beauty in the accommodated application of other language, which made them persevere in its use when it was no longer absolutely necessary, and they soon perceived that to be an excellence which at first appeared to be a defect.

The beauty of figurative language consists chiefly in this. It gives a kind of living representation to the thing described. The reader seems rather to see than to hear of it; and as a picture of a man gives a far more correct idea of his form and aspect than the most accurate verbal description of his features can do, so a truth presented in a well-chosen figure, impresses upon the mind a more lively conception of its just proportions and its true beauty than it would be able to produce by the most plain & clear demonstration made in the set terms of logical precision.

That the Scriptures should abound in figurative language will not appear surprising to any who are acquainted with the Asiatic style of thinking and writing. And it would have been an internal evidence against their truth, had this great characteristic of Eastern composition been wanting. This consideration would be of itself sufficient to account for and to justify the adoption of a style much more ornamented than that which prevails with us. There is, however, a reason for the use of figures in Scripture which does not apply with equal force to any other composition whatever. The great subject on which it treats is one which no human language can reach. It is a revelation from God, and of God. He is at once the Author and the Subject of it; and therefore when he speaks to ignorant man he lowers the theme to their capacity by presenting heavenly things in earthly language. Thus, when God speaks of himself as seeing, hearing, walking, or manifesting any of the human passions, he speaks after the manner of men, and tells us, not what actually takes place, but figuratively represents himself to us in such a language as most nearly conveys to us the right impression of his conduct. And how, we may ask, could he other

wise give us any knowledge of himself at all? Our language has no words for this high subject, our minds have no capability of entering directly into it. We must therefore be contented with such a glimpse of it, as may be obtained thro' the veil of natural things.

It is true, after all, that our conceptions of God, thus obtained, must be imperfect, but it is necessary that they should be so. And it may serve to humble the intellectual pride of man, to know, that he can only acquire his knowledge of the things that are above, by the aid of the things that are beneath. How scanty then are the materials of his knowledge!

Yet it is wonderful how great impression may be made upon the mind by a right use and disposition of these materials. Of this the Sacred Writers were well aware. Hence, do they wish to convey a deep impression of the majesty of God? they look round on all that is awful and sublime in nature, and press it into the service of their description of God. If he speaks, he speaks in pealing thunders, and the earth trembles at the sound of his voice. If he descends from heaven, he rides upon a cherub, and flies upon the wings of the wind; He touches the mountains, and they smoke, the tempest roars, the devouring flame is his precursor, clouds and darkness are round about him, and every thing that is terrific to the human heart is accumulated around the throne of Majesty to present some notion of dazzling splendour.

Is divine love the subject which they would explain? whatever is tender and affecting is brought from the storehouse of natural imagery, to give us some conception, however inadequate, of this great theme. As a shepherd, He gathers the lambs with his arms, and carries them in his bosom; as a father, He pities his children, knows their frame, and remembers that they are dust. How affecting is such an exclamation as this in reference to rebellious sinners, I have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against me. Take the figurative language from it, and all its force is gone, all the affection that glows in it is lost.

We are indebted to the figure for all that is tender in the expostulation, and for all that is affecting in the reproof that it conveys.

Christ is called The Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. The designation of lamb is used to convey to us the idea of atonement by sacrifice-and how forcibly it is thus conveyed! What other term could be substituted which would mean so much, and which would so deeply impress the mind of the reader? It represents the character of Christ in unspeakable loveliness; the innocence, meekness, and patience of Christ all

rush upon the view; the value of his sacrifice is implied in his being called the Lamb of God-God's chosen and approved victim; the depth of his sufferings; the efficacy of his death; and our consequent obligations to him; are all placed before us in a single sentence, which owes its chief beauty and its greatest force to the figure employed in it.

It is not however to be concealed, that there are figures in Scripture which do not strike us as being so appropriate to the subjects which they are designed to represent, as those to which we have just alluded.

PREDICTED DESOLATION OF BABYLON.

ISAIAH XÏÏÏ. 21. “But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there.”

"In my second visit to Birs Nimrood, while passing rapidly over the last tracks of the ruin spread ground, at some little distance from the outer bank of its quandrangular boundary, my party suddenly halted, having des cried several dark objects moving along the summit of the hill, which they construed into dismounted Arabs on the look out, while their armed brethren must be lying concealed under the southern brow of the mound. Thinking this very probable, I took out my glass to examine, and soon distinguished, that the cause of our alarm were two or three majestic lions, taking the air upon the heights of the pyramid. Perhaps I never had beheld so sublime a picture to the mind as well as the eye. These were a species of enemy which my party were accustomed to dread without any panie fear; and while we continued to advance, though slowly, the hallooing

of the people made the noble beasts gradually change their position, till in the course of twenty minutes they totally disappeared. We then rode close up to the ruins, and I had once more the gratification of ascending the awful sides of the Tower of Babel. In my progress I stopped several times to look at the broad prints of the feet of the lions, left plainly in the clayey soil; and by the track I saw that if we had chosen to rouse such royal game, we need not go far to find their lair. But while thus actually contemplating these savage tenants wandering amidst the towers of Babylon, and bedding themselves within the deep cavities of her once magnificent temple, I could not help reflecting, how faithfully the various prophecies had been fulfilled which relate in the Scriptures to the utter fall of Babylon, and abandonment of the place-verifying in fact the very words of Isaiah, Wild beasts of the desert shall lie there."

(Lon. Mag.)

SIR R. K. PORTER.

THE SECOND ADVENT OF THE SAVIOUR.

The Lord shall come! but not the same

As once in lowly shape he came ;

A silent Lamb before His foes,

A weary man and full of woes.

The Lord shall come! a dreadful form,

With rainbow wrath, and robe of storm;
Os cherub's wings, and wings of wind,
Anointed Judge of human kind.

19 ATHENEUM VOL. 1. new series.

Can this be He, who, wont to stray
A pilgrim in the world's highway;
Oppress'd by power, and mock'd by pride;
Can this be He-the crucified?

Go, tyrants, to the rocks complain,

And seek the mountain's shade in vain!
But saints, ascending from the tomb,
Sball shouting sing. "The Lord is come !”

BIOGRAPHY OF A CENTENARIAN.

(Mon. Mag. March.)

ACCOUNT OF MARY NOBLE, OF PENRITH, IN THE 107TH YEAR OF HER AGE;

ture.

BY THOMAS BARNES, M.D.

MARY NOBLE was born at Harresheugh, in Cumberland. Her parents were poor labouring people, and were chiefly employed in agriculBoth of them lived to be very old, and had ten children; several of whom, also, reached a very advanced age. She was brought up with plain and simple food; and was accustomed, from her youth, to industry and hard labour. At thirty years of age she married to William Noble, a miller, by whom she had three children; all of whom died of acute diseases in their infancy. Mary Noble is a very short and small woman; and, at present, would not weigh more than between four and five stone.

Old age is strongly marked in her countenance and general appearance. Her forehead and face are much wrinkled; her eyes are clear, but her eyelids are partially everted and affected with lippitude; she has had no teeth these twenty years, but her gnms are so, firm, that she can masticate a piece of hard bread with comparative ease; her hearing began to fail about three years ago, and has since gradually declined; for the last three months she has been very deaf, and at present can scarcely hear any thing; her sight is still good; three years ago it was so good, that she had no occasion for glasses, and could thread a small needle; her hair, which is flaxen, of a leaden cast, is thick and long, and has undergone very little change; it has been a source of profit to her, as she has frequently sold a crop of it for 10s., 15s. and even 20s. She had always a retentive memory; when 106 years old, it was perfect, and she used to relate an account of the second rebellion; she said she remembered it well; at that time she resided at Stockbridge as a servant, and saw some of the rebels hung on Penrith Fell. Mary Noble can read a little, and occasionally reads her bible. For the last four or five years she has used a stick in walking;

but walks perfectly upright. There is no contraction of her limbs. Her pulse is regular, of good strength, and beats about ninety in a minute. Her respiration is easy and uniform. She sleeps much, has a good appetite, and generally has an alvine evacuation twice or three times a-week; but sometimes only once.

She has led an active and industrious
life; and in general has enjoyed good
health. She never had any blood
drawn, nor took any medicines, ex-
cepting once an opium pill, for a cough,
which made her so sick and ill, that
her life was almost despaired of. Her
husband rented a corn-mill at Melmer-
by, and she was then in the habit of
rising at three o'clock in the morning,
and going with carts to Alston, a dis-
tance of eleven miles, over one of the
wildest, coldest, and most dreary parts
of Cumberland. When she was seven-
ty-two or seventy-three years of age
her husband died, and she was after-
wards employed as housekeeper to a
farmer at Old Town.
She then regu-

larly drove ponies laden with corn, to
Carlisle and Penrith markets; each
place being about nine miles distance
from her residence.
When ninety

years of age, she used to reap during
the harvest; the person with whom
she is now living tells me, she would
walk a mile to the field, carry her
ridge with the other reapers, and walk
home at night. From her youth her
chief employment has been spinning
and working in husbandry; and she
has been very active and laborious.

Her diet has been of the plainest kind; she generally lived abstemiously, but did not object to drink a little spirits or ale occasionally. For some years past she has lived chiefly upon tea, which she likes strong, and takes with cream, but without sugar. Sometimes she has a little milk or broth, but tea is her favourite food; and she has often taken it three times a-day. She

began to drink tea about sixty-five years ago, when she had a present of some made to her by Mr. Pattinson, of Melmerby. She used, at that time to boil it in the kettle. She has always been accustomed to a warm dress, and generally wore flannel next her shift. Within the last three years she rose early in the morning, cleaned the fireirons, put on the fire, and wrought all kinds of house-work. Until three months ago, she spun linen-yarn with a spinning-wheel, which is a common occupation among the peasantry of Cumberland. The yarn she spun was fine, and of a good quality. I lately saw a very handsome table-cloth that had been made of it; and it is worthy of remark, that this table-cloth was spun by her when 106 years of age, and woven by a blind man.

Notwithstanding the many circumstances that abridge life, it is not at present a very rare thing, to meet with per sons upwards of 100 years of age; and it is a mistaken notion to suppose, that men do not live so long now as formerly. When the population of Great Britain was taken in 1821, there were in England fifty-seven men and 111 women, of 100 years of age and upwards; in Wales, there were three men and eighteen women; and in Scotland, forty men and sixty-two women; making a tol of 291 persons. But the ages of one-ninth part of the population were not obtained, nor is the exact age of any individual mentioned; so that we cannot ascertain, from the returns, how much some of them might exceed a century. It is stated, that many of

them were upwards of 100; but as no question was proposed by the returning officers, respecting the age of any person above 100, so no answer has been made to that effect. The counties of England, in which the most cases of longevity were met with, in proportion to the number of inhabitants, were Durham, Northumberland, Cumberland, Monmouth, Hereford, and the North Riding of York. In Scotland, the shires of Ross and Cromarty, and Inverness, furnished the greatest number of instances; and in Wales, the counties of Brecon and Pembroke. The results of the population-acts afford satisfactory evidence, that our ancestors did not enjoy the same degree of health and longevity that we do at present. The annual mortality has decreased nearly one-third in forty years. In 1780, the rate of mortality was taken at one in forty; in 1795, at one iu forty-five; in 1801, at one in fortyseven; in 1811, at one in fifty-two; and in 1821, the results of the census show a mortality of one in fifty-eight. The limits of human life are the same now as formerly, and will probably always continue the same; but more persons live now to an advanced age in former times.

than

This country has become more favourable to health and longevity, since more attention has been paid to the cleanliness and ventilation of our houses and large towns; and since warmer clothing, und a more nourishing and more easily digestible diet, have been employed.

SONNET. TO AN ÆOLIAN HARP. Sweet harp, as onward flow'd thy plaintive strains I felt within each sacred passion move, My soul, exulting, long'd to burst its chains, And soar to worlds of harmony and love. Methought it was my sainted motber's hand Which rov'd so sweetly o'er thy vocal string, Waking some strain of that celestial land

Where angel-choirs their hymns of glory sing. Hail, harp Eolian, may my soul like thee

Be form'd for sweetness, melody, and praise; Let not the summer breeze alone from me Draw songs of gratitude and heavenly lays, But may the wintry blast, adversity,

Cause sweeter notes, sublimer harmony!

(Sel. Mag.)

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