60 gamitg eirtit, THE ANSWER. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER Spare me, dread angel of reproof, And let the sunshine weave to-day Its gold•threads in the warp and woof Of life so poor and gray. Spare me awhile: the flesh is weak. These lingering feet, that fain would stray Among.the flowers, shall some day seek The strait and narrow way. Take off thy ever-watchful eye. The awe of thy rebuking frown ; The dullest slave at times must sigh To fling his burdens down; To . diop his galley's straining oar, AO press, in summer warmth and calm, The lap of some enchanted shore Of blossom and of balm. Grudge not my life its hour of bloom, My heart its taste of long desire ; This day be mine; be those to come As duty shall require. The deep voice answered to my own, Smiting my selfish prayers away: "Tkrrnorrow is With God dlone, And man bath but 'to-day. ' "Say not thy fond, gain-heart within, ThelVtber'rerms 'Ann still be wide, When frow.theee pleasant ways of sin Thou turn'st at eventide." " Cast thyself down," the tempter saith, " And , angels shall thy feet upbear," ...a *bids thee make a lie of faith, A blasphemy of prayer. No word of doom may shut thee out, No wild of wrath may downward whirl, No swords of fire keep watch about The open gates of pearl. A tenderer light than moon or sun, Than song of earth a sweeter hymn, May shine and sound forever on, And thou be deaf and dim. Forever round the Mercy-seat The guiding lights of Love shall burn ; But what if, habit-bound, thy feet Still lack the will to turn? What if thine eye refuse to see,. Thine ear of Heaven's free welcome fail, And,thou a willing captive be, Thyself thy own dark jail? 0 doom beyond the saddest guess, As the long years of Gild unroll To make thy dreary selfisli-ness The prison of a soul I To doubt the love that fain would break The fetters from thy self bound limb; And dream that God can thee forsake foriakest Him ! GRACE ROOESIS, LEGACY. CHAP. V.—VII. By the Author or Margaret and her Friends. Sally, what do you think ?" said, letra Price,las he entered theTarm-house liftbhen, where many of the farm laborers were eat ing. their supper. " Geoffrey Roche has got all of old Grace's money 1" , torott doxiat say so!" burst from a chorus ofd voices. " But is she dead, then ?" asked Sally. " Not yet, but she's dying. Dr. Clay says 50.. , haptjpet come from the cottage. I went to take something to Missus; and I heard Grace Roche say the very words, that she'dkef,teall to Mr. Geoffrey. She said the alriii'ree times, so that there should be no mistake!' " And has Frank got nothing ?" V Not , a- penny ; those were her very wordii, too:" "Then all I' can say is, that it's a great shame," said Sally, indignantly. " And how does poor Mr. Frank seem to bear it ?" " llodoesn't seem to care anything about the matter; indeed, he looks far more On tented like than Geoffrey." "I tell yon`'what it is," said an old man who was sitting in the chimney corner, and who passed for a kind of oracle in the vil lage. "I tell yon what it is; not much good will come of Grace Roche's money, let who will get it. It was ill-gotten, and will carry a curse with it. Will carry did I say? It has carried one already. Who could look at Grace Roche's face and not feel that it had done so.? Frank Roche is right; he's better without it nor with it; and Geoffrey Roche may live to rue the day he ever heard of Grace Roche's legacy." CHAP. VI. There was no change whatever in Grace Roche When Dr. Clay saw her later in the -) Frank and Geoffrey were still wkthlier, : and expressed their intention of remaining until late that night; and the doisuesaid he- would come up as early as hg,tot4d the following morning. As, he retitrneit towards the village, he called at the meorillge to, let "Mr. Kelly'know how Grace we:Ei. • "What doionthink of her state?" asked the pastel.: ' O 4 isk3get one of those strange cases up on will& you cannot reckon with any de gree of certainty," said the doctor. " She must have a wonderful constitution to have withstood so severe an attack; and, hav ing done so, it is possible she may recover altogether. The chances are, I should say, rather- against her than otherwise ; but I shall be able to speak with more certainty after I have seen her tomorrow morning." The.pastor then told Dr. Clay the strange scene he had witnessed in the cottage that evening; expressing his fears of the bad effect it wAuld hAve r on t ereoffroy Roche. " The. old- passioh--is only sliimisering, I fear. I remarked' the restless expression which,„has,„ ,4,44,,t sn- e long, re)civd in a m'oniertir'o&Ahilt fat:44l:4le listiMecrto' his aunt' wade., lfear % that this one evening willAgelifaiMeifards undoifig THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1863. all that his uncle has effected with so much trouble. If Grace Roche should recover after all, why—" " In that case, Geoffrey Roche stands a chance of being 'a ruined man." After a few more words, Dr. Clay wished his friends good evening, and proceeded through the village towards his home. The usually quiet little place seemed quite in a commotion. Groups of people were assem bled at the doors of the houses, and all were talking in excited tones. " Oh, here's Dr. Clay ; he will tell us," cried a voice from the midst of a larger group than the others. - The doctor found himself suddenly, sur rounded, and came to a stand-still from necessity. The speaker was a shrewd-look ing, bald-headed little man, a retired tax collector, who had scraped together a small "independence," and had bought a cottage and a feiv acres of land at Woodthorpe. "What is it you want to know, Mr. Fla mank ?" said the doctor, quite unsuspect ingly. " How many thousands is it that Mr. G-eoffrey Roche has come in for ?" asked the little man, laying a great stress on the word Mister, which, it was remarkable, he had never before used when speaking of the young wheelwright. The news had, indeed, spread like wild fire from, _the ,farm-house kitchen, and had received various additions on the way. " What are y„Ou talking about,?" said the doctor, angrily,;, and trying to force his way through the• group; but he found him self seized by the button-hole. " What is the total amount of the pro perty left by Mrs. Grace Roche to her nephew ?" asked the ex-tax-collector, in an insinuating tone. " Grace Roche is not dead, my good man, and_" " Not dead !" echoed several voices. "No," cried the doctor; and you are all, I suppose, acquainted with the old pro verb, He that waits for dead men's shoes, may go long enough barefoot.'" As he said these words, Dr. Clay freed himself, by an effort, from Mr. Flamank's grasp, and contrived to reach his home without further interruption. Later in the evening, Frank and Geoffrey walked together through the now quiet village, on their way home. Their dint had shown no further sign of consciousness during the evening; but had fallen into a heavy slumber shortly before they: left the cottage, and Nanny Wilkes had expressed her opinion that heepatient would recover. The cousins walked for some time in silence; each' busy with his own thoughts. "Strange I" said Geoffrey, at length; "you had as much right to a legacy-as I had, Frank." a " Don't let that trouble you, Geoffrey ; I have long since ceased to think anything about Aunt •Grace and her money—if, in= deed, I ever did so ; and, I belive," he,added, earnestly, "that I have been all the hap pier for so doing." Geoffrey Roche replied only by a deep sigh. "Any one not in the secret would set me down for the heir, instead of you, Geoffrey." '• All is so uncertain, you know, Frank." "Nay, nay; nothing could be plainer "than Aunt Grace's words." " Yes, I know that," said Geoffrey " bat " But then, what ?" Geoffrey was silent. He was ashamed for Frank to knowwhat was passingin his mind —ashamed to own that the wild feeling of pleasure he had felt on the first announce ment of his aunt's intentions towards him, made when he believed her at the point of death, had changed into something very like disappointment, now that there seemed a chance of her recovery. "Aunt Grace isn't a woman to change her mind," continued Frank, never suspect. ing the true cause of his cousin's uneasiness. ".You saw how she remembered the old grudge she bore father. No, no, you're safe enough; and it will be all the better for you to wait awhile. Yon and Milly will love one another all the more for having helped each other up the hill of life, instead of riding up it in a carriage-and-four." CHAP. VII • Grace Roche slept soundly all night; and when Dr. Clay went to see her in the morn ing, was in a fair way for a speedy recovery. She was quite sensible, and - made no allus ions whatever to the events of the previous evening. Her only anxiety seemed to be 1 "Io get rid of Nanny Wilkes; as she feared " the expense of a nurse wonld ruin her !" But the doctor told her Nanny must stay for another day or so ; and, very much against her will, Grace was obliged to con sent. She never mentioned her nephews' name; and when Dr. Clay cautiously alluded to their having both been there the pre vious evening, she said, " Folk were ready enough to conie 'when they tbeitht any thing was to be got ;" and that she " wanted no one to come asking after her." As Dr. Clay was , going home; he met Geoffrey and Frank 011 their way, to their aunt's cottage. ,He told them all that had passed, and advised them not to go to see her; as she was quite out of danger, and their visit would only have the effect of exciting her ill-feelings against them. ".And you think she, be sure tO cover, sir ?" said GeCfl l iey; and it mast be owned, 1:63 tone expressed anything but in tense happiness at the prospect. ' ~" I see nothing whatever to prevent it— all bad symptoms have disappeared, and she is as sensible as you or I." Geoffrey sighed ; 'and he and Frank; turning round, walked iv the side ,of the doctor's pony, towardS the village. "They met the clergyman, who was going out to see how Grace was, and told him of the wonderful improvement in the old woman's health ; and of the probability of h s erpeedy recovery r it z Mr. Kelly ohserved iflealkey!sgloomy r •.) comfit slice, and, inorOaccustomed to study character and read people's hearts than Frank _Roche was, he formed a shrewd guess of what was passing in Geoffrey's mind. He laid his hand kindly on the young man's shoulder— " Will you take the advice of your clergy man, Geoffrey?" He waited for an answer " I'm sure, sir, you'd only advise me for my good," stammered the young man ; " and I'd be very much obliged to you." " It is not only the advice of your clergy man, Geoffrey; it is the advice and expo rienee of an old man, whose race is nearly run, and wbo has seen a great deal of the world, and whose daily pri*er is for grace and wisdoM to guide his flock, in the right way—, You must strive to banish from your mind All thoughts of the events a last evening. If, in chie time, your aunt - Should fulfil= her prorniee; and leay - e you her motley when shedies, may Gbd enable pinto make a good use use of ,it; but all so uncertain, that,it belle, height of folly, for you to allow any expectations of that money to turn* tour thonglits' sway from the life of healthy itiduatry before' you:. You are ,under the .shadow of. A great temptation, Geoffrey. The.present may be an important turning point in your life, either for much good or much evil. Take my advice, then ; "—go home' and. Apply yourself industrioutily to your business; and forget, if possible, that you have ever-heard of such a thing as Grace Roche% Legacy. And, above all," added the ;old` clergyman, solemnly, "pray to God that. , yott may, net .be , tempted to truskin riches.' . " Thanklyou, sir,",said Geoffrey; "I will try and follow your advice." The..pastor,proceeded to Grace's cottage, and Geoffrey and Frank parted at the en trance to the village. " Como and spend the evening with us, Geoffrey;" paid his counsin ; "father's com ing home this afternoon, and Maggie and I are going to drink tea at the cottage. I know they'll all be glad to see you." " I won't promise, Frank—l will if lean." Geoffrey Went to ha shop, but he could not settle to work. " I shall do better to morrow," he though; so instead of trying to rouse himself and act up to the pastor's advice, he left,home again and strolled into the village. The reception he met with there was> not calculated to strengthen_any good resolutions. Congratulations to Mr. Geoffrey, met him on. every,side. " I wish you joy, Mr. Geoffrey," said the landlord of, the Half-.MoOn, touching his hat, respectfully as he spoke. " I wish you joy, of your new prospects, sir,—although it's only what you had a right to expect after all. Will, you let me have the plea- sure of ,drinking your: health, Mr. Roche ?" Geoffrey lwas;' 'generally speaking, a very steady young man; but the landlord's flatteltYithrided 'So swept in his ears, that ho could, not renset'hii request. He went, in; one glassof ale folldNied another- 7 --One neighbor„ after another dropped in,,guite'ily chance, Mr. tlamank amongst "the' number, who out-did all, the the rest in paying court to Geoffrey and thus it happened, that, excited by the ale, and , scarcely knowing what he saiPmr•did,'he was persuaded to order a " quiet dinner,"loithat evert ing, to celebrate his' new prospects. Mr. Flamank invited himself. It was Astonish ing to see.the warm interest he had suddenly begun to feel in Geoffrey Roche; indeed, that young man's friends seemed to have increased irrnamber to a'wonderful degree within the last .twenty-four honrs. The dinner was ordered for ten,:at four o'clock. And, with aching head. and stupefied brain, Geoffrey Roche left the Half-Moon, .and' staggered, rather than Walked, towards his home. It ia,"needless To say he had nlit thoughts of inviting his, cousin_ Frank Something within him told him that Frank would refuse. " Why,. Geoffrey, what is the matter ?" said a sweet .gentle voice; " are you not well ? I'm sure you are' not; you fatigued yourself too much, last evening." Geoffrey ha 4 staggered against Milly Northway, who was coming in an opposite direction.. "I'm all right, Milly; lot me pass, will you ?" cried Oeoffrey, as Milly would have detained him. Something in his tone and manner caused ily to turn very pale. " Let me come with you," he said ; " let me see you home." " Let me pass, will, yon ;" eclaimed Geoffrey,' roughly pushing the young girl aside. " What right have you to stop me ? —l'm the heir now, you know; and laughed a drunken hiiigh.ae he spoke. . Milly shadddered. He passed by her without another wood k and,• as she watched his reeling forth, she felt that' allark shadow had fallen between her and her bright dream of happiness. , Geoffrey reached ,his home somehow or , other, and flung himself on the, bed •;' where, after a couple of ,houre' fever, ish, disturbed slumber; he awoke with a' splitting headache; and , ; the consciousness that that in little, more than Ni'hoUr's time he must be at the Hale Moon to receive his guests. That evening, as Andrew Roche rode. through ,Wo(kittiorpe r An his way hoMe from Oldfield, he was Startled by the unusual sound of,hoisterilus;.Matwitaent, which pro ceeded som the. Half-litoon, as he passed. The lou4:l4:inging .of glasSes on the table— the hip, hip,,hurrehing, and other sounds of drunken revetry, jarred on. his ear, as he the' generally quiet little village;:, d e. t : l4 HT u ni g e h t old ,friend at the And of the lane leading down to his Cottage, and checked his hor,se'for a moment to: to him.. ' " What is*the meaning , of that noise at the Half-.14g0n ?" asked , Andrew - ; 7 , 1 " You'yenot •heard 'the ws,,tken," said his friehtl. -."4:11d- - Grace Roche' was nearly saull hag dee:fared Geoffrey her Sole heir, and the ' foolish fellow is treating. all hiafrierTdi.oh the strength of hii.expected• lega4Y t, will ;,p ore ;a t bad ( I ,4 l iliehim that hp ever hearii , lof.it7.7mitrk myiwords." i Andrew Roche hastily bade his_ friend good evening, and quickened his horse's pace towards his home. There all was affectionate welcome to the loved husband and father, Frank and Maggie were amongst the group; a weight seemed taken off Andrew's mind as he recognized the cheerful countenance of his son. " We're all here, father," cried Frank. " asked Geoffrey to come up to tea with us; but we have seen nothing of him as yet." There was much to tell on both sides as they sat at tea together. Frank told his father all about Grace's sudden illness, and almost as sudden recovery; and of the an nonncement she had made that Geoffrey was her heir. " Poor, fellow !" exclaimed Andrew, when his, eon had finished; . " it will be his ruin." And he related what he had heard whilst passing through Woodthorpe. " Will you go to him this evening, father ?" said Frame . " No, my boy • I'll wait till to-morrow. I could do no good to-night. He may feel dif ferent to-morrow morning." ' Late—very late—that night, the land lord of the Half-Moon, assisted by two or three of Geoffrey's new friends, almost car ried the young heir to his house, where they laid him on his bed, in a state of per fect insensibility. How true it is that " every drunkard clothes his head with a mighty seOrn." - [CONCLUSION NEXT WEEK.] SCULPTORS OF OUR OWN FACES. [The following, frora.the Atlantic, is beau tiful, but covers only apart of the truth, as is the case with many of the best things in that JOurnal. We can trust our readers to supply the great beautifying power, 'vhich all may possess, but which the writer has not named.] The human face is a sublime, a beautiful, a mysterious revelation. The life expe rience traces itself upon the living clay, and for a brief. moment the soul lookis through a splendid mask of time, transfi gured or disfigured by bodily habits, vices, or passions. It is a great misfortune to be preoccupied with vulgar or trival things ; they cannot make the heroic face. The reason that poets have such beautiful faces, in spite of habits like Burns's and Poe's, is that they contem plate beautiful things and think grand and generous thoughts. All the great painters have been handsome and remarkable look ing men ; Titian, and Raphael, and Rubens, and Vandyke readily illustrate my state ment. Tintoret had a scilemn .and,:grand face; Da Vinci, a noble and beautiftll face; Rembrandt, a; saga.cious,. honeat, ,profound face. Our fine sculptors, Brown, Ward, Palmer, and Thompson, have something Continental about their'faces, and -461 not foOk nerrOW, but as it iliuMinated by a ray of - bye 'ideal. The finest faces 'in ,BUrepe were the faces of Shakspeare, Moliere, and Goethe. Their faces prove to us that just in the measure that we escape sordid thoughts and material cares, and occupy our minds with the beauty (if nature, the wit of men the poetry of life, iwe set to wcirk. F skilful sculptor, ',who day by day models, with an imperceptible and sure hand the heavy, expressionless clay ;• 'and in-time the rude features become almost grand with goodness like Lincoln's, beautifil with tran quillity like Washington's; or Titanic like Welbater's. gtinitifix. GEOLOGICAL CHRONOLOGY. Rev. Rob't Patterson, D.D., is continuing 'his very bold, readable, but (from 'alecientific point of view) somewhat skeptical - articles on geology. 'We give extracts from that in the last number df the Family _Treasure : Leading geologists, indeed, are, becoming ashamed of • the extravagant - detkands of their 'brethren 'upon time, or rather upon eternity; perceiving plainly enough that their inflated figures must spbedily fall by their own bulk, if they, escape the, torches of the witty critics who argue that to judge of the formative period of our earth by its ob served rate of present progress ' is much as if one should measure a youth of six feet high, and finding that he grew half an inch last year, should conclude thence that he was a hundred and forty-four years old. Philips, in his address to the geological so ciety, therefore, begs them to moderate their millions somewhat, as it is unpleasant to become the-world's laughing-stock. The rapidity of many geological forma tions, formerly assumed to have `been: very slow, is, now demonstrated. Peat bogs, in whichlraMait remains have been. :found' at the depth of twelve feet, whence' an immense antiquity was inferred, have been found to grow a foot in five years. In thirtysiX hohis a green tree is converted a fossil iu Caltfor t firp t and' into lignite in a week - While before' your , eyes you • behold the hardest, -porphyry converted into potter's clay, and the hardest granite so sAftenedby the acidulaied -atmosphere that-itoir can crush it with your hand, or cat it with a knife, as easily unbaked bread; , I have seen this, metamorphic action affecting all the strata of the Napa Oh the coast of England •flints have` been found, the stony covering of which has .so completely, the aspect of ancient rick as to warrant the conclusion that they .Were the• growth.of countless ages, but on removing the flinty' matrix you find a coin , , bearing the head of an Edward, a James,' 'Si even ,a George; or a bolt or an anchor bearing -the mark of some existing 'firm. We have.had, men oduntinu. the successive thin layers of delta and se i' dinientarYldetioisits as indica tiond Of so thilihy, floods; tymr"ive, now. that - these ,give 'no such traodi,'lta' a of fine clay deposited in quiet water will strat ify, in fen' h9hr 3 , , ipto.,dozettis laYers. Colonel 'Foster, in • a lecture .before: the ChicagoMadAnly - -reporteil fszT the beiiefif of the 'goo,ooo readers or' Chicago daily papers, informs us that in e x _ cavating the ground for the New Orleans Gas Works the laborers discovered the skel eton of a man at the depth of 1G feet; an d that scientific men have pronounced it 50,- 000 years old, basing their assertions upon the known deposits of the delta of the Mis sissippi. But the actual survey of the Uni ted States engineers proves that the whole ground on which New Orleans stands to the depth of forty feet, has been deposited within 4,000 years. Indeed, one may see cotton-wood saplings of six or seven inches diameter, with two or three feet of sediment above their original roots. The, process of constructing the deltas of rivers has; also been wonderfully accelerated by simply ta king notice of a number of facts which: the Lyell school conveniently ignore. Yet, in the face of repeated corrections, they go on publishing their blunders, year after year, as scientific facts. Dr. Andrews thus ex poses Lyell's enormous blunders about the age of the delta of the gississippi,: " Sir Charles Lyell has repeatedly pub lished his famous calculation of the age of the delta and alluvial bottoms of the Missis sippi River, notwithstanding that almost every datum of his estimates has been proved to be false by. the - " United. States Army engineers, in their laborious and care ful survey. Sir Charles concluded, as the result of his hasty visit to the Mississippi many years ago, that the delta and bottom lands had an age of above 100,000 years. From information picked up here and there, he adopted the following false data :. Area of the delta 13,600 .1 v. miles. " " " Alluvial plain above, Depth of the delta ........... Annual am't of sediment brought , down by the river 3,702,758,400 ealiie feet. > .. Time required to bring earth enough for the whole delta and alluvial, plain above Almost every iteni. here. is a huge blunder. Brig. Gen. Humphrey, Chief of the United States Army Engineers, with all the re- Sources of the War Department to sustain him, has made a most thorough and ex haustive survey of the bliseissippiol.work of years of toil. It will suffice o put the re sults of the two men beside each other for comparison tY P. 14 .11 • .4 E. c, - o o o •-• 1:1 - IP, m' o or" . e° O Mt ao F.,' t r ta cr• ri• a ° g•sl 2 ,. 54: . .g" • 8 - Fr • c° aEr 2. -, as 6 P - •X ; `'LF `;, •= 1 ,•1' °I 6* •-•ar 1 a f r s ay PP—it t E.' 1. • •—• I er. • .1. .40 O . ~ . 0,, ..? S* 04 0. 1P e:. I- , 0, c, 0, e, e. b 0 et, W. 0 , 0 0 0 CO 0 • - C di • O Ot. ts, Cla b. - It will be seen t hat Gen . Humphrey's sur vey. shows the- &anus' amount of sediment brought down by the river to be above five thousand times greater than Lyell stated it. It is curious to observe that the age of the delta, as calculated by. the United States survey, corresponds: pretty closely with the age which we calculated for the peat beds of the. Somme and ,other cotemporaneous deposits of Europe. Thus , we mighvgo-on assaulting in detail almost every geologiCal computation of time, and proving the error of the computa tion. In some cases, these calculations prove so preposterously absurd that they become,standing jesta. Lyell, and a score of other sevens, gravely cite the researches of Herner, who bored down 70 feet into the soil of Egypt for bits of brick and pottery, and calculated that the Nile had been de positing that seventy feet of mud over them during the last 30,000 years. The , matter was solemnly reported to the British Asso ciation; the French Instktute, and not one of these learned men had common sense enough to put the question in its proper form, viz.: How longwill'a brickbat re quire to sink seventy feet i nto a mud bank ? All Egypt is only a vast mud bank every year during the inundation;. and the brickbats probably reached theirhbe.d. in one season. At any rate bricks orthe .reign of Ilitifiam med Ali have been fel:in& deal* thin Her ner's. BAIT OF OREM:F.OAL ORANGES, Mr. A. Vernon Harcourt of London closes a paper "On the rate at which Chemical actions take place," with the following pro positions which embody the principal con clusions to which an examination of the cited cases of gradual Chemical change has led : 1. The rate at which atchemical change proceeds is constant ; underconstant condi tions, and is indepundent of the time that has elapsed. since the : - .,change. commenced. 2. When any subitanee is undergoing a chemical change,- of 41iich xio condition varies, excepting - tlinlinution of the changing sub Stance,, the amOunt . pf: change occurring at any moment is directly pro portional, to ,the quantity of the substance. 3, When two or more substances act ono upon another, the amount of action at any moment is, directly propolrtioned to the quantity of each of the Substances. 4 . When the rate of any chemical change is affected by the presence 'of, a substance, which itself takes pOPS:4` the change, the acceleration or !witariisitioxi.. produced is directly proportional to the.quantity of the substance.. 5. The- :relation -between the rate of a chemiCall, chaitige occurring in a solution, and' the teliiikvittira of the Bola thlush 11:iatSofOirery degree e number expresaini the: rate is . tO be multiplied by a constant quantity. 16,000, 508 feet. 100,500 years. 0 Cel t 4 en 0 0 0 1 0 s a ;it E. N. co co al
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