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cause all mankind are parts thereof, and partakers of the good: they are also involved in its destiny, and have no means of averting any signal catastrophe which may overwhelm such parts as they inhabit; much less those parts which are distant. God, who created the whole, by his providence governs the whole, leaving no portion of his creation to what men call chance or fate.
But although God governs the whole creation, he governs it by laws. The laws which govern matter he created when he erected the universe, and the laws which govern spirit, emanated from himself: they are holy, just, and good-a transcript of the Spirit from which they emanated.
To know the laws by which the Creator governs matter, then, is well worthy the attention of mankind; but to know well the laws by which he governs spirit is of the last importance; because the eternal well-being of spirit depends upon its conformity to these laws. This question, viz. 'What does this portion of the creations of God, which we denominate the universe, or the solar system, contain?' will form the subject of these essays; and in searching for the answer, the revelations of the Selfexistent, and the discoveries of men, must be placed in requisition.
The experiments of men in all ages have afforded light, and an increase of light, to their successors; and during the present age, splendid additions have resulted from investigations of the most patient and laborious cast: these, far from discrediting the volume of truth, confirm the revelation of God as far as they go, in all its parts. The day has more than dawned upon the philosophy of the Bible, and meridian splendours await it: a little while, and we shall behold the wisdom of God in his creation and in his word, as one light from heaven, like the sun at noon, while all that seemed to shine shall hide their diminished heads. Then will it be known, that "In the beginning," Elohim was infinitely more wise than man throughout his generations; and that even in the end, when every discovery of every age is summed up, that it was the foolishness of men which scorned the wisdom of the Bible, and that it would have been wise in them, had they hallowed it with all their powers.
"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep: and the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." Here we behold the Elohim in two-fold action, viz., the creator of and operator
upon matter. The principal atoms of the materials of the whole universe, called into existence by the Creator, are here conglomerated, and the great master builder prepares this mass of raw materials for use. The atoms of matter are so minute, that, individually, they are invisible; even the strongest microscopes fail to render them visible.
The molecules of water, although they consist at least of two atoms, viz., one of hydrogen and one of oxygen, cannot be distinguished amidst the fluid; no, uot with the aid of the most powerful magnifiers. Hence the idea arises, that matter is divisible ad infinitum; because the atoms are so minute, that in a sphere like our earth they approach infinity; and after every division of its particles by the utmost ingenuity of man, these minute particles, individually, contain several atoms.
This immense mass of atoms, when newly created, and while unconnected each with each, would constitute a vast fluid. For if water is fluid, which is composed of molecules, each consisting at least of two atoms, this mass of single atoms being at least twice as rare, if all atoms are of equal size, would be fluid in its primeval state. Sand is often found in fluid masses in the arid deserts of the East, and is acted upon by the winds similar to the ocean, and frequently with as awful destructions to mankind-burying the traveller beneath its billows; yea, even whole caravans. But those sands are composed of particles which individually contain several atoms: this is proved by the ease with which these particles are divided into smaller particles. With what propriety, then, does the sacred volume call the congregated primeval atoms, fluids or waters, and the mass of these, the deep, or the abyss.
The earth in this stage of creation is represented to be without form, and void. The earth, I conceive, here means the whole of the materials previously created; because, although they were at the moment only unconnected atoms, and consequently in a fluid state, they were the actual substance out of which infinite wisdom purposed to form, and subsequently did form the earth, and all the spheres of the solar system. In fact, they then were so many earths as there were different kinds of earthy atoms, and it was only needful to assort, concoct, and connect these atoms, in order to form the various earths which
crown the planet we inhabit, and every other sphere throughout this universe.
This whole mass would be globular; for it invariably occurs that fluids assume
CREATION: NO. I.
that form whenever they are suspended, or fall in space: hence this mass would be equally accessible on every side, and might revolve or be revolved at pleasure by the Creator. Without form.' If this applies to the atoms individually, then, as only crude matter was created, this points us to the necessity of an operation upon each, in order to its being reduced to a specific substance and form; and if it applies to the whole, it refers to the circumstance, that the creation of matter, in the first instance, did not imply the formations which were the result of subsequent operations; such as a sun, primary and secon dary planets, atmospheres, strata, rocks, oceans, earths, &c. &c. "Without form and void.' Void of order and beauty a confused mass-a chaos. Space is an immense, indeed we may say an infinite void; and it is only in those portions of space where the Infinite has created and planted matter or spirit, or both together, that space is otherwise than void.
The creation of the solar system occupies hundreds of millions of cubic miles; this was and is in space, although it abstracts its whole volume from the void of space. While in one mass, and in its primitive atoms, it occupied only a small portion of that area in space which was destined to receive it, probably the centre, and therefore the remainder was yet void. Deity occupies space completely; for he is omnipresent, and of course no place can be found where he is not; nevertheless his creations, in all probability, do not as completely fill space as he himself does; although they are far and wide, deep and high, approaching infinity; but, if they do not completely fill space, then there are portions of space which are void.
'Darkness was upon the face of the deep.' This huge mass of opake atoms had no light in itself, and it appears there was no light afforded by space, or any previously created substance in space; for darkness was upon its face, or exterior. Without form, void, and dark; what a chaos was this-what a work, to induce order and beauty from such a state of things. Who is equal to this? The infinite Elohim, and him alone. It is highly probable, that many stars or suns existed at this moment; for we have a note in the first chapter of Genesis, that "He, Jehovah, made the stars also;" thus, of course, they were in existence, in the beginning of the solar system; but these stars or suns are so immensely distant from that portion of space occupied by it, that darkness would and did reign there, maugre these;
their tiny rays could afford no genial heat, no cheering light, at such a distance, at all equal to the wants of an universe. Every night when the moon is absent, we find the insufficiency of all the stars in the firmament to furnish either the light or genial warmth which the earth, and human wants, require.
What in this exigency of creation is to be done? That which was done, and that alone: The Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." "He brooded over the abyss"-fluttering like the hen over her brood, inducing action in the mass, and concocting the whole. Here the Creator becomes the operator, and from crude matter produces genial substances for the several purposes of his subsequent formations. If human reason were to become the judge in this case, even it would say, taking the omnipotence of the Creator into the account, this was the proper time for such an operation; then, when the atoms of the universe were in one mass, and could be operated upon by one continuous action, then was the proper time to refine and concoct them into substances genial to the worlds that were, in the purposes of the Infinite, to be erected out of them; and not afterwards, when these worlds were formed, to disturb or disrupt the spheres, for the purposes of refining the materials of which they were formed in detail.
In these mighty works, as no assistant or agent is once named, it is fair to conclude, that Elohim was the only being engaged as the creator, and as the operator upon the products of his power. Whatever, therefore, we behold, it is the workmanship of his hands. The minute and exact action of Deity, even when that action is exerted upon the largest scale, points out the perfection of his works. They are not the showy and flimsy productions of a vain mind, but the solid and substantial products of Infinite Wisdom, as well as of Omnipotent Power; and from age to age evince these as forcibly as they did in that primeval day, "when all the sons of God shouted (on beholding them) for joy." But however pleasing it is to view the Creator in his works, the stupendous character of these works induces an awe which language cannot paint, an awe which may be felt, for it is within the scope of every mind, but it cannot be described by the most exalted genius among men; and "the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy," will ever be approached, even in his works, by the truly wise, with that reverence which induces praise.
RESULTS; OR, THE HUNTSMAN'S DEATH. Overleaping every impediment, horses and hounds bounded. One horseman far out
(By The Rev. J. Young.)
"How vast and endless the results which flow,-
THE sun was not high in the heavens; only some of the loftiest hills in their highest altitudes had yet caught its first bright beams. Morning's grey still hung like a curtain of gauze over a considerable portion of the fair county of Leicestershire. Day's bright regent marched on with majestic strides, until the lofty hill of Bardon looked as if encircled by a vest of fire; while the dewy exhalations which hung thick upon the hawthorn hedges, appeared, as they glittered in its speery rays, like strings of pearls or diamonds, affixed there by fairy hands, to give unearthly beauty and magic richness to the scene. No inroads had as yet been made upon the empire of silence by the busy huntsmen, the lowing of cattle, or the bleating of sheep,-all was profound stillness, as upon the first morning of creation, when God said, "Let there be light, and there was light," and while as yet no creature breathed the breath of life.
The clock in the tower of the church of Melton Mowbray struck five, sending forth, from its Gothic elevation, a deep sound which reverberated through the still country, and passed from valley to valley, as in mock response.—All was again solemn silence when, suddenly a loud "hallo"-and the cry of a pack of hounds floated upon the breath of morn," and seemed at once to break the magic spell. The exhilarating horn called the huntsmen to the field, and presently, nearly a score of handsome steeds, bearing, as if unconscious of the weight, their anxious riders, snorted for the chase, and, dashing across the country, through Holy, Sileby, and Woodhouse, directed their way towards Charnwood Forest.
The object of their pursuit was soon discovered; a beautiful male fox was unearth ed. The yelping of the dogs, and the cry of the huntsman, soon made the information general, and those who before were far in the rear, in a moment came up with their fellows. The wily animal, for awhile, however, contrived to elude the vigilance of both men and dogs, and when it again broke cover, it was seen at a considerable 1istance in the country. In that direction,
rode his companions. His snorting steed, with ears erect, and distended nostrils, heeded neither bridle nor bit. The description furnished by Virgil, of the warhorse, which is translated with so much spirit by Dryden, seemed in part to be realized here.
The fiery courser, when he hears from far The sprightly trumpets, and the shouts of war, Pricks up his ears, and trembling with delight, Shifts pace, and paws, and hopes the promis'd On his right shoulder his thick mane reclin'd, Ruffles at speed, and dances in the wind. His chine is double; starting with a bound, His horny hoofs are jetty black and round; He turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground. Fire from his eyes, clouds from his nostrils flow; He bears his rider headlong on the foe."
He who bestrode the animal was a fine horseman of about five-and-twenty; elegant in person, and of a connexion, such as prided itself upon its ability to trace an uncontaminated descent, if not from royal blood, at least from some of the most noble and heroic, from the time of the Norman conquest. His companions pressed hard after him, and envied his speed. triumph appeared nearly complete. Reynard already lost ground; the dogs were close upon his haunches; more than once
the hunted animal had looked round"grinned horribly," at his cruel pursuers, and again fled for his life.
the horse, sunk into a deep hole, which had At this eventful moment, the fore-feet of been overgrown with weeds and rusheshe stumbled and fell, while his rider was hurled with incredible violence against a large oak at a few yards' distance.-His
"Heav'd but one groan, and was for ever still."
"Beauclerk is unhorsed"-burst at once from a dozen lips, and instant aid was rendered him, but, alas! it was too late,— his career was ended. He had been summoned, thus unexpectedly, to render his account at the tribunal of God, for the deeds done in the body.
With all possible despatch, he was conveyed to Huclescote, and medical assistance procured, when it was discovered that his head had been dreadfully fractured, and that his neck was dislocated by the fall, so that, whatever human assistance could have been supposed available, even on the spot on which he fell, all would have been in vain.
As the distance from Huclescote to Leicester is only eleven miles, no surprise can be excited from the fact, that two hours had not elapsed after the accident, before the
RESULTS; OR, THE DEATH OF THE HUNTSMAN.
intelligence had spread through a large number of families in the town. Poor Beauclerk was highly and deservedly respected. He wanted but one thing, it was said by many, but wanting that, he wanted every thing,-to render him all that a human being could desire to be,-RELIGION! That, indeed, he had not. He was a fashionable of the day, without either the ridiculousness of the Dandy, or the loose profanity of a professed gallant. His correct views of true gentility preserved him from the one, while his natural habits induced a repugnance to the low and degrading vices which are bedizened with the epithets of gallantry and spirit. Perhaps it might be said, that a misconception of the nature of religion, judging of it only by the imprudent conduct of some of its unholy professors, and not from the statute book of truth itself, led him to be more indifferent to its paramount claims, and inconceivable importance, than he otherwise might have been.
The sigh of regret, and the tear of sorrow, burst from the hearts and fell from the eyes of many, as the tidings reached them, that the young and amiable Walmer Beauclerk was killed. But there was one family to which the busy report soon reached, to describe the grief of which, would require language such as has not yet been employed by human tongue. It was frenzy itself, and frenzy in its climax ; It assumed a wildness of the most desolating order-and there was ONE of that family, who heard the tidings as though she heard them not. A stupor at first fastened upon her finely cultivated mind, as if the fountain of consciousness was suddenly dried up. sat unmoved where first the information
had reached her.
"Pale, as a marble statue pale','
until the tide of powerful feeling, rushing with impetuous and devastating violence through her stricken heart, she raved aloud, demanding with maniacal cry, her own, her dear, dear Beauclerk, and then sunk awhile into the arms of unconsciousness by continued swoonings.
This was the lovely, the betrothed Georgiana. The day of the espousals of Beauclerk and herself had already been fixed. The bridal attire was prepared, cards of invitation to an extensive circle had been despatched-one week and a few days, only, intervened betwixt the solemnization of the rite, which the town stood on the tip-toe of desire to witness. On the morning of the present day, Georgiana had rode on a visit to the seat of Lord Wa near relation, where Beauclerk was to 2D. SERIES, NO. 1. VOL. I.
have joined her in the evening at a splendid ball.
The day was fast declining, and busy preparation was making for
"Mad revelry's own reign-the waste of time,
"Who can minister to a mind diseas'd,
Or pluck from memory a rooted sorrow?" Week after week passed away, and each succeeding period left the widowed Georgana-for so in heart she felt she was,-as it found her, a prey to consuming sorrow. Health no longer gamboled on her cheek; her pointed and ready wit, no longer threw around its fascinations, or dealt out its sarcastic repartees; nor did her form, beautiful as if intended for a model of symmetry itself, grace the ball-room, had retired into itself, and, during the hours or pass down the mazy dance. Her mind of solitary and lonely seclusion, she had made discoveries, which never could have been conceived of, amidst the fashionable been separated. The sorrow, under which groups from which she had but recently she laboured, had not merely given her a parties, routs, and revels, but appeared to transient disrelish for the enjoyments of have broken up her very power of participating in such enjoyments. Some alarming, yet indistinct conceptions of her moral character, threw her mind into a state of inconceivable anxiety. She strove to turn from the unwelcome impression, but it pursued her, or rather she bore in her own person the positive evidence of her depravity; her conscience had been roused from its torpidity, and now clammered in accents of condemnation against the things which she had formerly allowed. A course of amendment was proposed in her own mind, and, under secret purposes of renouncing the world, in its " pomps and vanities,' she soothed herself awhile into the belief, that her future conduct should make reparation for her former errors.
Leicester was at this period favoured with the ministry of the eminent Mr. RoBINSON, whose piety, zeal, and ministerial
qualifications have seldom been exceeded. The church in which Mr. Robinson dispensed the word of life, (St. Mary's) was that in which Georgiana and her friends held their family pew; and to it, when they did visit the church, they went. Of the enthusiastic views of Mr. Robinson, they did not highly approve: but then, his character was unimpeachable, and seemed as an impregnable bulwark against any attack which even the foes of truth might feel disposed to make. They did indeed, not infrequently, in the fashionable circles which they visited, deplore most pathetiIcally that the Church of England should have within her peaceful borders, some of those fanatical disturbers of quiet order, who, like the unauthorised teachers of dissent should feel anxious to turn the world upside down; as however they hoped that the activity of some of their mitred-headed defenders of the faith would stop the alarming progress of evil, they bore what they then had not the ability to remedy.
The first place to which Georgiana repaired after her partial convalescence was to St. Mary's. The seat which on former occasions she had filled, she again occupied ; but now the listless attitudes, and the irreverent gaze, the results of a spirit unimpressed and unengaged, no longer characterized her. She saw, she felt, a beauty and a majesty in worship, till then unknown. The sentiment of Jacob at Bethel, possessed her: "How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven." Her soul seemed absorbed in the solemnities of the service. She listened with all the docile simplicity of a child to receive instruction, and while the venerable messenger of truth expatiated on afflictions, and the happy results which sometimes follow their endurance, Georgiana conceived his eye rested exclusively upon herself, and that some officious friend had furnished -him with a statement of her peculiar case: but by what process, a knowledge of the feelings of her mind had been attained to by him, she was at a loss to divine. Still more deeply impressed with the importance of piety, she returned to her closet, and by the word of God, and prayer, sought the direction of Infallibility itself.
Time continued in its unceasing flight to pass on. Georgiana had for months regularly attended at the house of God, to the no small mortification of her affectionate, but mistaken friends. Still no acquaintance had been formed betwixt herself and Mr. Robinson. He had never been invited to her father's house, and, as she had ceased
to visit altogether, she had not as yet met with him. At length, however, the pleasure which she had often wished to enjoy was afforded her, by an intimate acquaintance, and an unchanging friendship with the reverend gentleman. Passing the parsonage-house one sabbath, between the services, Georgiana observed him standing at the door. A polite recognition took place, followed by a kind invitation from Mr. Robinson, to enter his house. The invitation was most cheerfully accepted by her, and a conversation commenced of an order most likely to interest and benefit her mind. Mr. Robinson had for a considerable time observed her regular attendance at his church, and her devout deportment while there, but, until this period, was an entire stranger to the peculiar circumstances which had led to such pleasing results.
Hitherto the path of Georgiana had been comparatively smooth, but the declaration of Him whom she had determined to follow alike "through evil and good report," could not be avoided by actual experience. "If any man will live godly in Christ Jesus, 66 And he shall suffer persecution. man's foes shall be those of his' own house." Some of her late friends derided her fanatical notions, some pitied her weakness, and not a few settled it in their minds, that the disappointment she had met with had affected her mental powers, and that if she had not a devil,--she was at least mad. Even to her most endeared relations, she appeared as one little better than a stranger; still she continued "steadfast, and unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord."
Two years had run off the wheel of time, when the Rev. Mr. C- the pious and intelligent curate of Mr. Robinson, who had for some months previously, offered himself, among several others dignified for title, rank, and fortune, for the affections of Georgiana, received her hand at the altar. The dazzle of worldly pomp and influence had ceased to affect her, and she chose rather to be the wife of a country curate now, than to figure as she might have done, the admiration and the envy of the gay and the beautiful, as the lady of some halfwitted or profligate honourable. Eminently calculated, by her piety and cultivated mind, for the important situation which she now filled, she soon became, by her prudent and persevering zeal, her amiable and unassuming spirit, a pattern of good works to those among whom she moved.
Shortly after their union, the affectionate pair removed from Leicester, to a short distance from Nottingham. Sir Thomas