The

leys, carrying trees and crags of rock before them. hospitable monks, though their revenue is scanty, open their doors to every stranger that presents himself. To be cold, to be weary, to be benighted, constitutes the title to their comfortable shelter, their cheering meal, and their agreeable converse. But their attention to the distressed does not end here. They devote themselves to the dangerous task of searching for those unhappy persons who may have been overtaken by the sudden storm, and would perish but for their charitable succour. Most remarkably are they assisted in these truly Christian offices. They have a breed of noble dogs in their establishment, whose extraordinary sagacity often enables them to rescue the traveller from destruction. Benumbed with cold, weary in the search for a lost track, his senses yielding to the stupefying influences of frost, the unhappy man sinks upon the ground, and the snow-drift covers him from human sight. It is then that the keen scent and the exquisite docility of these admirable dogs are called into action. Though the perishing man lie ten or even twenty feet beneath the snow, the delicacy of smell with which they can trace him offers a chance of escape. They scratch away the snow with their feet; they set up a continued hoarse and solemn bark, which brings the monks and labourers of the convent to their assistance. To provide for the chance that the dogs, without human help, may succeed in discovering the unfortunate traveller, one of them has a flask of spirits round his neck, to which the fainting man may apply for support; and another has a cloak to cover him. These wonderful exertions are often successful; and even where they fail of restoring him who has perished, the dogs discover the body, so that it may be secured for the recognition of friends; and such is the effect of the cold, that the dead features generally preserve their firmness for the space two years. One of these noble creatures was decorated with a medal, in commemoration of his having saved the lives of twenty-two persons, who, but for his sagacity, must have perished. Many travellers, who have crossed the passage of St Bernard, have seen this dog, and have heard, around the blazing fire of the monks, the story of

of

his extraordinary career. He died about the year 1816, in an attempt to convey a poor traveller to his anxious family. The Piedmontese courier arrived at St Bernard in a very stormy season, labouring to make his way to the little village of St Pierre, in the valley beneath the mountain, where his wife and children dwelt. It was in vain that the monks attempted to check his resolution to reach his family. They at last gave him two guides, each of whom was accompanied by a dog, of which one was the remarkable creature whose services had been so valuable to mankind. Descending from the convent, they were in an instant overwhelmed by an avalanche ; and the same common destruction awaited the family of the poor courier, who were toiling up the mountain in the hope of obtaining some news of their expected friend. They all perished. The Menageries.

PRE-EMINENT POWER AND GREATNESS OF BRITAIN.

IF true dominion is to be found, not in main strength but in influence, England, small as it is in geographical extent, is now the actual governor of the earth. She is the common source of appeal in all the conflicts of rival nations. She is the common succour against the calamities of nature. She is the great ally which every power threatened with war labours first to secure. For whose opulence and enjoyment are the ends of the earth labouring at this hour? For whom does the Polish peasant run his plough through the ground? For whom does the American hunt down his cattle or plant his cotton? For whom does the Chinese gather in his teas, or the Brazilian his gold and precious stones? England is before the eyes of them all. To whose market does every merchant of the remotest corners of the world look ? To whose cabinet does every power, from America to India, turn with most engrossing interest? The answer is sug

gested at once. England sits queen among the nations. At any moment, a British cannon fired would be the signal for every kingdom of Europe to plunge into war.

The population of the British Isles is worthy of a great dominion. It probably amounts to twenty millions;

and that vast number is generally placed under such circumstances of rapid communication and easy concentration, as to be equal to, perhaps, half as many more in any other kingdom. For whatever purpose united strength can be demanded, it is, in consequence of a facility of intercourse peculiar to this country, forwarded to the spot at once. If England were threatened with invasion, a hundred thousand men could be conveyed to the defence of any of her coasts within four-and-twenty hours. Some common, yet curious calculations, evince the singular facility and frequency of this intercourse. The mail-coaches of England run over twelve thousand miles in a single night,-half the circumference of the globe. A newspaper published in the morning in London, is, by the same night, read a hundred and twenty miles off! The twopenny post revenue of London alone is said to equal the whole post-office revenue of France! The traveller going at night from London, sleeps, on the second night, four hundred miles off! The length of canal navigation in the vicinity of London is computed to equal the whole canal navigation of France!

But Britain is great, not merely in the extent, but in the diversity of her population. The land is not all a dock-yard, nor a manufactory, nor a barrack, nor a ploughed field; our national ship does not sweep on by a single sail. With a manufacturing population of three millions, we have a professional population, a naval population, and a most powerful, healthy, and superabundant agricultural population, which supplies the drain of all the others. Of this last class the famous commercial republics were wholly destitute, and they therefore fell. England has been an independent and ruling kingdom since the invasion in 1066,-a period already longer than the duration of the Roman empire from Cæsar, and equal to its whole duration from the consulate, the time of its emerging into national importance.

Monthly Review for 1826.

BRITAIN.

BEAUTEOUS isle

And plenteous! what though in thy atmosphere

;

Float not the taintless luxury of light,
The dazzling azure of the southern skies
Around thee the rich orb of thy renown
Spreads stainless, and unsullied by a cloud.-
Though thy hills blush not with the purple vine,
And softer climes excel thee in the hue
And fragrance of thy summer fruits and flowers,
Nor flow thy rivers over golden beds;

Thou in the soul of man-thy better wealth,-
Art richest: Nature's noblest produce, thou
Bear'st with an opulence prodigal; this thy right,
Thy privilege of climate and of soil.

MILMAN.

MEN OF ENGLAND.

MEN of England! who inherit

Rights that cost your sires their blood!
Men whose undegenerate spirit

Has been proved on land and flood:

By the foes ye've fought uncounted,
By the glorious deeds ye've done,
Trophies captured-breaches mounted,
Navies conquered-kingdoms won!

Yet, remember, England gathers
Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame,
If the patriotism of your fathers
Glow not in your hearts the same.

What are monuments of bravery,
Where no public virtues bloom?
What avail in lands of slavery,

Trophied temples, arch, and tomb?

Pageants!—let the world revere us
For our people's rights and laws,
And the breasts of civic heroes

Bared in Freedom's holy cause.

Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory,
Sydney's matchless shade is yours,
Martyrs in heroic story,

Worth a thousand Agincourts !

We're the sons of sires that baffled
Crowned and mitred tyranny:
They defied the field and scaffold,
For their birthrights-so will we.

CAMPBELL.

THE CHRISTIAN SALVATION.

SALVATION means deliverance from something that is feared or suffered, and it is therefore a term of very general application; but in reference to our spiritual condition it means deliverance from those evils with which we are afflicted in consequence of our departure from God.

It implies deliverance from ignorance,—not from ignorance of human science, but from ignorance of God the first and the last, the greatest and the wisest, the holiest and the best of beings, the maker of all things, the centre of all perfection, the fountain of all happiness. Ignorant of God, we cannot give him acceptable worship, we cannot rightly obey his will, we cannot hold communion with him here, we cannot be prepared for the enjoyment of his presence hereafter. But from this ignorance we are rescued by the salvation of the gospel, which reveals God to us, which makes us acquainted with his nature, his attributes, his character, his government, and which especially unfolds to us that scheme of mercy in which he has most clearly manifested his own glory.

Salvation implies deliverance from guilt. The law denounces a penalty against those who break it. That penalty is exclusion from heaven, and deprivation of God's favour, and consignment to the place of misery. But from this penalty there is deliverance provided. Christ has expiated guilt. He has "made reconciliation for iniquity." He has purchased eternal life. And "to those who are in him there is now no condemnation." Their sins are forgiven. They are at "peace with God." And there is nothing to prevent him from pouring out upon them all the riches of his mercy, and making them happy for ever.

This salvation implies deliverance from the power of sin. We are naturally the slaves of this power. Sin reigns in us as the descendants of apostate Adam.

We