torical details? what business had they in a been changed to the opera, and had Ellsler prayer? why that painfully elaborated climax, come bounding on the stage, we'd have all towards the close? why that awful dropping been wide awake in a twinkling, I warrant of the voice at the word Amen? Why, too, you-what a stretching forth of necks, what spend a good half hour, piling up this vain a levelling of opera-glasses; or had Burton mass of words, wearying us all out in body come rolling in, with his funny face, and his and mind, when a few brief, earnest, fervent broad jokes, we should have been, instanter, sentences would have been infinitely more edi- bright as buttons. Oh, what abominable perfying to the hearers, more acceptable to God? version, what an insult to the great founder of And above all, how could a pastor, worthy of our faith, to put his name to such hollow, the name, presume to put such sorry feed as worthless services as these! Do we not need that upon his sheep, in the way of sermon? another Paul, indeed, to stir up these stagnant Meagre, miserable trash; all noise, wind, ges-waters, to alarm these slumbering consciences, ture; baldest of common-place; not a solitary to create a thorough revolution and reform in new idea; not one fresh, fragrant flower of the church?

fancy, from beginning to end; a mere showy Did we venture to extract all the really humbug throughout; and yet, strange to say, "beautiful passages that adorn the work under this man is popular; he has a handsome, well-review, we should certainly lay ourselves filled church, and a substantial salary. But is

The Practical Arithmetic, Designed for the
Use of Schools and Academies; Embrac
ing Every Variety of Practical Questions
Appropriate to Written Arithmetic, with
Original, Concise, and Analytic Methods
of Solution. By JOHN F. STODDARD.
New-York: Cornish, Lamport & Co.
This book is constructed on the princi-

it so strange, after all? perhaps not; for though open to a hopeless suit for infringement of thus deficient in learning, genius, and anything copyright; we shall therefore merely add like true eloquence, yet has he not a fine per- that it deserves to take a place by the side son, graceful attitudes, a musical voice? is not of "Dream-Life," and that it is undoubtedly his linen always spotless? hasn't he always a an eligible candidate for the "Presidency" pleasant word for the women? doesn't he in the "Republic of Letters." handle the babies admirably, at all christenings? doesn't he form a noble figure-head for a wedding? Was St. Paul himself at all comparable to him in any of these particulars? and are not these gifts quite as acceptable, in this degenerate age, as fervor, piety, self-devotion, thoughts that breathe, and words that burn? I can't help thnking, that if the glorious Apostle were alive to day, and were willing to accept a call from this congregation, he wouldn't have the opportunity-three-quarters of them would be for retaining the present incumbent; the ples of modern arithmetical science, embrac other would only make them uncomfortable; ing the practical improvements, without the would be quite too personal; would be saying useless theories of some later works. It all manner of unpalatable, irritating things. sets forth, "correctly, concisely and clearly, He never would consent to have a profane drun- the fundamental principles of the science of kard for an organist; he couldn't sit still in his numbers, as employed in the everyday pulpit, while a notorious, shameless harlot was practical business transactions of life." officiating in the choir as first soprano—oh, no, he would be breeding a perfect tumult in the church, within a week; as it is, things go on smoothly. minds his own business, and splendid specimens of chromo-lithography lets the music committee mind theirs; he sticks we have ever seen; they are from the press to his text, never ventures on unwelcome re- of P. S. DUVAL, Philadelphia, and "deserve forms, never handles forbidden topics, and see to rank high as works of art. How it is what a quiet, snug, cozy flock he has of it. possible to produce such delicate blending of Oh, what vile mockery, what heartless, soulless tints, such softness of expression, and, at the rites are these-and in how many churches are these mummeries practised, Sabbath after same time, boldness of touch, fairly puzzles Sabbath, in the blessed name of Christianity! us. Certainly we need not look to foreign Are these things so, or am I a vile slanderer? lands for works of art, when our own citiHow many real, devoted Christians were there zens are able to produce such exquisite present this very morning? a poor baker's specimens. Duval's pictures of Washington dozen or so, at most; the rest of us were a and Lafayette deserve a place in the collec mere set of worldlings-vacant, sleepy-looking tion of every American; and another pair old people, and restless, flippant young onesthe "Lord's Prayer," are truly beautiful containing the "Ten Commandments" and specimens of the richest style of illuminated printing-painting we were about to say, so difficult is it to believe them to be the product of the press.

how listless, how indifferent! Had the preacher

been enlarging on the properties of contingent remainders, instead of hammering away, as he did, upon the necessity of justification by faith, we couldn't have looked one whit more uninterested or stupid. Had the scene suddenly

We have before us some of the most

THE interior of this vast edifice is in the form of a Latin cross, having a nave, choir, transepts, and side aisles.

and supposed to be one of the first in the kingdom. On the south side of the choir is a throne for the bishop, and on the The choir is separated from the body north side another for the lord mayor; beof the Church by iron railings. Over the sides those there is on each side a long entrance to it is the organ gallery, and range of stalls. The whole are richly an organ erected in 1694, by Bernard ornamented with carvings, by Grinley Schmydt, or Smith, at a cost of £2000, | Gibbons, who was the first, according to

Walpole, who succeeded in giving to wood of which he has left an extraordinary "the loose and airy lightness of flowers; memorial. It is a wooden image of himand chained together the various produc- self, made by his order, and representing tions of the elements with a free disorder him as he was to appear in his shroud. natural to each species." In the chancel, This, for some time before he died, he kept or semicircular recess, at the east end, by his bed-side, in an open coffin, thus stands the communion table. endeavoring to reconcile an uneasy imagi

The lofty columns which support the nation to the fate he could not avoid. It immense dome are clustered with sculp-is still preserved in the vaults under the tured monuments of names distinguished church, and is to be seen with the other in British history. The resting place of curiosities of the Cathedral. Nelson is probably that which excites the The most interesting time to witness St. deepest interest; it is in the crypt of the Paul's Cathedral, is on the anniversary Cathedral. There is a gallery round the in- celebration of the Parochial Schools of terior of the dome known as "The Whisper- London in May, when some fifteen thouing Gallery," where, by whispering against sand children, the members of each school the wall, a person at the opposite ex-being dressed alike, are congregated withtremity can hear what you say as distinct-in this vast temple. Divine service is ly as if you spoke in a loud voice. The performed twice a day, in a comparatively slamming of a door in that gallery reverberates like thunder.

Some fair specimens of the sculptor's art beautify the interior of the Cathedral; we can only indicate a few,-the statue of Howard the philanthropist, and that of Johnson, both by Bacon. Also of Sir William Jones; Sir John Moore; Lords Howe, Cornwallis, Rodney, etc.

But the passenger through St. Paul's Churchyard has not only the last home of Nelson and others to venerate, but in the ground of the old church were buried the gallant Sir Philip Sydney (the beau idéal of the age of Elizabeth), and Vandyke, who immortalised the youth and beauty of the court of Charles I. One of Elizabeth's great statesmen also lies there Walsingham,—who died so poor, that he was buried by stealth, to prevent his body from being arrested; another, Sir Christopher Hatton, who is supposed to have danced himself into the office of Her Majesty's Chancellor; Fletcher, Bishop of London, father of the great poet, was another who had a tomb in the old Church. Dr. Donne, the head of the metaphysical poets, so ably criticised by Johnson, was Dean of St. Paul's, and had a grave here,

small enclosure, being the eastern aisle. There is a barrier dividing St. Paul's Churchyard north and south; it was formerly called "Paul's Chain."

The attractions of Chiswick are the superb mansion of the Duke of Devonshire, and the Gardens of the Horticultural Society. At Chiswick House, the great statesmen Fox and Canning breathed their last. The far-famed grounds of Chiswick House, as well as the palatial edifice itself, are very magnificent. Both are richly decorated with gems of art, which have claimed the admiration of the connoisseur. The Horticultural Gardens contain thirty-four acres, and are laid out in the most imposing style. In the churchyard is a monument to the great painter Hogarth. The inscription upon the tomb is from the pen of Garrick :

"Farewell, great painter of mankind,
Who reached the noblest point of art,
Whose pictured morals charm the mind,
And through the eye correct the heart.
If genius fire thee, reader, stay;
If nature move thee, drop a tear;
If neither touch thee, turn away,
For Hogarth's honor'd dust lies here!"

Here we reach the terminus of our measure for whatever of interest may atpleasant perambulatory tour, and conclude tach to the foregoing chapters. Here, our colloquial comments on the notabilia then, we bid adieu to the noble city-alike of London and its suburbs, not, however, fragrant with memories of the past, and without the consciousness that these brief affluent in all that constitutes its present notes by the way might have been advan- greatness and splendor. tageously extended, for while there are ponderous tomes of learned lore touching the subject, which we leave to the patient scrutiny of the antiquary, there is yet much of eminent interest that has been garnered by more modern writers, to which we have scarcely alluded. Those who desire fuller details, therefore, we refer to the admirable volumes of Cunningham, Knight, and Mackay, to whose collections, indeed, we have been indebted in no small

"August and glorious City! Thy renown
Fills with heroic deeds of high emprise
The lengthened records of the stream of Time.
Great Citadel of Power! Thy potent sway
Spreads the wide world; thy wit and wealth,.
Vast, opulent, shed their refulgent light
O'er all the earth; and beautify with peace
And gentle charities all human kind.
No more may war disturb thy halcyon reign,
But happy homes of industry repay
Thy well requited toils, and benisons
From Heaven augment thy treasury anew
With spoils of genius to enrich mankind !"

[Mem. of Great Met.

THE MORAL ANATOMY OF THE TONGUE.*] traduce and vilify reputation; produce inTHERE is an organ of taste, a soft, fleshy difference, alienation and enmity, and thus mass composed of muscular fibre, blood-destroy "the nobleness of life." It can unite neighborhoods in bonds of amity, vessels and nerves; it is covered by a nerand in mutual endeavors for general imvous membrane; besides its function of

taste, it performs an important part in provement; it can sever these "golden bands of kindred sympathies," check the those of tasting, eating, and talking. Such is a very brief outline of its physi-purposes of the wise, and by inertness or cal anatomy. But it has moral functions opposition prevent the accomplishment of desirable good. It can animate with enalso, the use or abuse of which is produc-thusiasm at the exhibition of deeds illustive of good or evil.

It can cause the smile to disport over the features of infancy; it can arouse the merry laugh and gleesome shout of childhood; it can

Crush the lively blossom,
Fill with pain its tender bosom,
Call the tear-drop to its eye,
Change the gladness to a sigh.

trious in fame, or warm into admiration for disinterested benevolence. It can guard the public interests, and from a heart filled with patriotism, pour forth the riches of its undoubted attachment to the institutions of its country. It can sacrifice principle to policy, right to expediency; can inflame the evil passions of adherents to the omission of duties which appertain to their station, or to the commission of deeds from

and

It can lead the aspiring youth in the pursuit of noble ends, by noble means; it can repress his lofty aspirations, incapacitate which the true lover of his country would him for an eagle flight, and condemn him shrink in undisguised horror. It can unto pine in penury and want. It can woo fold to the scheming violator of the laws the maiden from the "haunt of home-bred of the land, the base method by which he sympathies," at another's hearth and by has accomplised his unworthy objects, another's side to cherish and impart the gentle charities "which gladden life," which dispense an elasticity of feeling, and communicate a healthiness of enjoyment to the heart. It can by specious argument and plausible declaration offered to the ear of the indiscreet listener, attract, engage, and thus by this "counterfeit presentment" of affection betray. It can gather around the declining years of age, the counsels of "sweet peace and happy wisdom; it can disregard the sensibility of neglect to which the aged are particularly alive, and subject them to harsh reproof and unfeeling sarcasm. It can create friendships, and separate friends; it can influence affections to the discredit of the object of their attachment; impute fal e motives to actions springing from the purest source; discolor virtuous traits,

A Lecture delivered before the Yorkville Library As sociation.-By A. A. Slover, Esq.

"With giant strength tear down The strong defence of art, guilt makes its own." It can bid hope to spring up in the human heart, chase away the gloom of despondency, bringing in its stead the cheering beam of light to "allure to brighter worlds." It ean entreat and command; dictate and threaten; whisper in softest accents, or speak in loudest tones. It can bless, and oh, sad reverse! it can curse! And what is this instrument possessed of such peculiar properties? It is the human tongue, the moral anatomy of which will form the subject of the imperfect remarks to be offered.

INFANCY.

How pleasing the prattling tongue of infancy, when its thoughts in wonder and delight are about to open upon the scenes of earth. The mother's care and solicitude