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importance of a place containing 6,500 inhabitants, exclusive of 3000 individuals who dwell within the precincts of the parish. The town is situated upon a steep bank, overhanging the harbour, and the streets are built in parallel tiers, rising one above another, with the pleasing little spire of the parish church lifted above the roofs of the most elevated ranges. The parish is within the Great Island, or, as it is sometimes called, from the ancient family of Barry's, Barrymore Island. It stands directly opposite to Hawlboline Island, possesses a southern aspect, with a delightful view of the spacious harbour, and enjoys a most salubrious climate. It is now much visited by invalids, whose constitutions have proved unequal to the severities of the harsher atmosphere of more northern districts. The increase of population, and influx of visiters, have been attended with improvements in proportion: the town is now neat and regular, the Quay forms an agreeable promenade, and the prospect towards Rostellan, the seat of the Marquis of Thomond, presents a beautiful land-locked harbour, resembling a spacious lake, generally adorned by the Admiral's flag-ship, and other vessels of war, riding at anchor close to shore, and enlivened by the rapid transit of the steam-boat, "that walks the water like a thing of life," or animated by the rivalry of pleasure-boats and cutters,

"Now board to board the rival vessels row,

The billows lave the skies, and ocean groans below."

"The chief amusement of the gentry in the vicinity of Cork and Cove, as at Southampton in Hampshire, consists in aquatic exploits, and a Yachtclub has long been supported here with great spirit, and with agreeable recollections to those who have heard,

"The partial crowd their hopes and fears divide,
And aid, with eager shouts, the favour'd side.
Cries, murmurs, clamours, with a mixing sound,
From woods to woods, from hills to hills, rebound."

"The Cove, or Harbour, is considered the noblest asylum for shipping in Europe; the entrance is deep, free, and unobstructed, and in the inner harbour, which is completely land-locked, the British Navy might ride in safety, in deep and tranquil water. The entrance is protected by three fortifications-Carlisle fort, and the works upon Spike and Hawlboline islands. The commercial value of Cove Harbour was fully experienced during the late war, and the danger of its ever falling into the possession of an invading power has been cautiously guarded against.

"The first Lord Orrery, a man of acknowledged genius, was of opinion, "that Barrymore Island was the spot upon which a judicious invader should seek to plant his foot ;" and Lord Minto, in his elaborate and logical address to the House of Peers, in 1799, when he sought to recommend the measure of a legislative Union between the kingdoms, by pointing out the dangerous consequences of a separation, said, "Let us reflect on the advantage lost to the British Navy, and its operations, by exclusion from the harbour of Cork ;" and concluded by prophesying, that Cork, from the great advantages of its Harbour, would soon become the chief emporium of the United Kingdom. His Lordship's conclusion was fallacious, although his premises were true.

* The family of Barrys, so many centuries settled in the County of Cork, derive their name from Barry Islet, off the Coast of Glamorganshire, in South Wales, and it is probable that this latter place was so called from St. Baruc, to whom the Abbey on the island was dedicated.

"The town of Cove lies about eight miles S. W. of the City of Cork, with which place constant communication is preserved by steam-boats, calculated to navigate the river Lee up to the City.-There is a regular intercourse kept up between this place and the ports of Dublin and Bristol, both by means of steam-boats, and of wind-borne vessels."

To the preceding observations, for which we are indebted to a work recently published by Fisher, & Co. entitled "Ireland Illustrated," the following remarks may be added.

Cove is a Market and Post-town, and, independently of local demands, a considerable retail trade is carried on, to supply the ships which visit the harbour. In times of war, large fleets are often moored near the shore, especially when collecting for the West India convoy. The fortifications command the only passage for large vessels to the city of Cork. Cove is 131 miles S. W. from Dublin, and 7 from Cork.

ON THE SWIFTNESS OF TIME.

THAT time flies swiftly away, is an incontestable fact. The different stages of our existence pass, we scarcely know how. Our lives are composed of moments, and one that is lost is lost for ever. It can never be recalled. We may, indeed, spend many precious moments in bewailing our past imprudence, on account of the worldly disgrace it may entail upon us; but we can never wipe away the traces of misspent time. Time, however, may be redeemed by a hearty and sincere repentance, and a determination to lead a new life. and thus forgiveness may be obtained of a sin-pardoning God; but as the flight of time is not only rapid, but the duration of our lives uncertain, it is extremely dangerous to misemploy the present moment, under the persuasion that an opportunity will be afforded us to reform our conduct.

It requires but a very little consideration to be struck with the fleetness of time, and the faint recollection we have of the different epochs that have marked our careers in life. If we attempt to review them, they appear as a dream. Weeks, months, nay, even years, have glided away; the minute parts of the history of which have totally escaped our recollection. Some few remarkable events, that were vividly impressed on the imagination at the time of their occurrence, may, indeed, be distinctly recollected through life; but how few are these, in comparison to the numberless incidents that occur but to be forgotten! When the frailty of our natures, and our various imperfections, are taken into the account, this need excite no surprise. We often lose the present moment as it flies, through a vain anticipation of the future.

Instead of impressing on our minds the value of the present opportunities, and striving to improve them to the utmost of our powers, we are too apt to make calculations about our future conduct, few of which are ever carried into effect, and, regardless of the peril to which we expose ourselves, to boast of what we will do on the morrow.

In this way, it is to be feared, it may be said of many of us, year succeeds to year without any thing being effected worthy of notice, or any thing that can, on a review, be recalled to mind, calculated to excite any other feeling than that of pain and horror. Man's life is a tissue of inconsistencies: He bewails the brevity of human life, yet he wishes different portions of it to pass with greater rapidity. He knows not that he has a moment to call his own, yet believes as if he were the master of many years. He talks of repenting at some future time, as if God would deign to receive him at any moment when he might be exhausted with gratifying his sinful appetites. What more absurd than to hear a man say the days of his life are few, and, at the same time, to witness the lavish profusion with which he spends them! A conviction of the shortness and uncertainty of life, one would naturally think, should make mankind more cautious, instead of careless, as to the manner in which they discipline their minds, and regulate their conduct.

We need only take a survey of life, to be convinced of the rapid movements of time. The four great eras into which human life is divided, are severally gone, ere we reflect upon their presence. We know that we were born upon a certain day, and that we passed several years in an infantile state;

but of our personal history we can tell nothing, of our own recollection, because our minds were then incapable of retaining any impression that might be made upon them.

To childhood succeeds boyhood, the halcyon period of life. Although it is not spent in perfect freedom from uneasy thoughts and sensations, yet its troubles are not to be compared to the afflictions and trials which are felt in after life. The petty crooks in the lot of boys are greatly counterbalanced by pleasures, such as none but buoyant and inexperienced spirits can enjoy. That sameness which constantly meets the eyes of persons of long experience, is entirely unknown to the youthful mind. Novelties continue to arise, and please in the morning of life; and hence arise those prepossessions in favour of boyhood, which, to the latest period of existence, continue to hold fast possession of the mind. But, even with all these favourable circumstances to recommend it, few, comparatively very few, of the things that happened to us at this interesting period of life, can now be rememhered by us. The greatest portion of a man's life is an empty void.

As soon as we reach manhood, new prospects open to us, and dangers thickly sown beset our paths. Temptations come with a tenfold force, and threaten to destroy our peace of mind; for the time is come for us to act our parts in life, while we have to learn the nature and number of the snares that are laid to entrap us, and to bring upon us ruin and disgrace. The passions are at this time the most impetuous, and it requires the greatest resolution, a constant eye to our creditable position in the world, and the grace of God, to bring them into subjection. It is now especially that the mind is intoxicated with ideal pleasures, and that months and years roll on unregarded and unimproved. In prospect, we seem to have long to live; we flatter ourselves with many groundless expectations of future happiness, and, in the mean time, catch at every object which our disordered imaginations may point out as calculated to administer to our gratification.

By and by, we find that the pleasures of the world are empty and insipid. We discover that they have a sting. The cares of the world next begin to intrude, and, in their turn, exercise undue influence over us. If, with our altered views, we turn our thoughts to God, and acknowledge, in our hearts, the error of our ways, anxious thoughts about supporting ourselves and families, and perhaps about adding house to house and field to field, quickly efface every good impression. Thus, time flies

away, and old age comes on apace, often, it is to be feared, before we have bestowed one serious thought about our future end.

But there are other considerations, of a momentous nature, worthy of devout attention. It is not enough barely to meditate on the swiftness of time and the shortness of the longest life. Regard must also be had to the uncertainty of the period of dissolution, and the variety of the causes that may break the slender thread whereby existence is continued to man.

Of those born into the world, how few reach maturity! and of those that do, the vast majority die before they complete their threescore years and ten. Very limited, indeed, is the number of those who much exceed the ordinary term of life, and when this happens to be the case, mental and bodily debility soon renders life a burden, such as none but the truly religious can support with pious resignation. To retrace our steps, let us suppose an infant just entered into life, the cherished object of fondly endeared parents. Behold them elated with joy at the sight of their beloved child, and then view it, when scarcely begun to breathe, laid prostrate by relentless death, and see their changed countenances. Sorrow immediately takes place of joy. The knowledge that its happy spirit is so soon rescued from a world of sin and trouble, must, indeed, be gratifying to their minds. But they feel as mortals: they feel as parents, and grieve on account of their earthly bereavement. Can we look at such a spectacle without emotion? Can we think of the early scene of mortality which I have been describing, without being forcibly struck with the fact, that our lives may be required of us at any moment?

It is natural for parents to grieve for the loss of their children; but it would be well if they could, like David, cease to grieve; and when the hope of keeping them is gone, say, We shall go to them, but they will not return to us. When the hand of God is recognized in any affliction, the sufferer will be preserved from immoderate grief.

Of those that outlive the period of childhood, how many are swept away by death before they reach their teens; and of the rest, what multitudes never arrive at fullgrown stature! Nay, at all periods of life, the devastating hand of death is clearly seen. What assurance can the most robust and healthy young man, just arrived at maturity, have of the continuance of life? Have there not occurred, within the compass of our observation, numerous instances of young men being cut off by unforseen accidents or fatal diseases, whose natural and

acquired talents gave the greatest promise to their friends and to the world, that they were born to be eminently useful in their day and generation, and whose strong constitutions seemed to indicate a protracted state of existence? And how many others have we seen perish in early life, in consequence of having contracted disease by indulgence in dissolute and destructive habits? The thought is painful beyond expression, yet it is no less true on that account. The madness of those who go headlong to destruction is so palpable, that their conduct can be ascribed to no other cause than an entire deadness to every moral and religious feeling.

And can the man who has passed the meridian of life, nay, can any one who is capable of reflection, continue in wilful transgression against God, when his path is beset with so many fatal dangers? Can any one forbear to live with an eye continually fixed on the frail thread that binds him to this world, and with a heart bent upon the execution of the glorious purposes for which life was given him? Alas! how few can answer these questions in a satisfactory manner! For whilst the celebrated axiom of Doctor Young, "All men think all men mortal but themselves," remains true to nature, (and it will always remain so,) a great deal of indifference will continue to prevail with reference to the duty of self-examination. Nothing can be more common than the recurrence of death. On all hands, and at all ages, our contemporaries fall victims to its greedy shafts, and yet slight and mutable is the impression made on our minds. The busy scenes of the world arrest the attention, and occupy much of the time which ought to be devoted to divine and heavenly purposes. Nay, when members of our families are taken from us, though we may grieve for them bitterly for a time, how seldom is our grief chastened with a godly resignation to the Divine will? How few of us can say, when under the rod of affliction, "It is the Lord that chastens, let him do what seemeth him good."

In short, if we be not spiritual-minded, all the trials which may fall to our lots, and all the bereavements we may have to deplore, will fail to make us entertain right views of our mortality. The depravity of the human heart is never so clearly evinced, as when connected with the closing scenes of a misspent life. What bitter reflection must that man be subject to on his death-bed, if his mind be not entirely callous to every feeling, who has lived without God, and without hope in the world.

The numerous privileges that have been abused, and the opportunities for reflection

and amendment of heart and life, that have been lost for ever, will present themselves in dire array before the unrenewed sinner at this awful juncture. However the excitements of the world, and the changing scenes of life, may aid the thoughtless in banishing every unpleasant feeling during the period of health and strength, it is certain that ill health, or the near approach of death, will bring vividly before their minds sins unrepented of and unforgiven, and fill them with indescribable dismay. Were the period and manner of our deaths all along familiar to our minds, and were we to know that we had to spend a long course of years in this transitory life, still we should be guilty of base ingratitude to the Author of our being, were we to spend our health and strength in the service of sin and satan.

But since we know, by the most unerring of all testimonies, the word of inspiration, and daily observation, that man's life is liable to extinction at any moment, surely it is most unaccountable to see such carelessness manifested on the part of God's responsible creatures, especially as he has been pleased to bestow on them an immortal spirit, capable of enjoying an eternity of pure and unmixed.happiness.

Surely it is an essential duty to seek an interest in another and a better world; for what is time, to the longest liver? it is but a moment, nay, it is an instant which cannot be calculated, when considered in connexion with eternity. In eternity we shall rejoice for ever, if our lives have been spent in the service of God on earth. Why then neglect to do so, while we have the opportunity? Why thus endanger our eternal safety? Let us be careful to redeem our time. Let us lament its misapplication, knowing that it can never be recalled, and resolve henceforward never to forget its inestimable value.

Departed months and years will return no more, nor can a single moment ever be induced to alter the testimony it has already given at the bar of God. Our only resource is, by levying a tax on past indiscretion, while using more vigilance in the improvement of the sands of life which still remain to run. This, and earnest prayer to God, may lead Him to view us with favour, through the Saviour of mankind.

Present and future happiness is only to be attained by a careful attention to our duties. The lapse of time will not be regretted by us, if we be taught "so to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom," for we shall be enabled thereby to look back with comfort, and forward with unspeakable joy. THOMAS IRELAND. Edenhall, Nov. 28, 1832.

ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DECALOGUE, AND THE CONFIRMATION OF IT BY THE NEW TESTAMENT: WITH CONCLUDING REMARKS ON CHRISTIAN DUTY. BY JOHN PHILIP WILSON.

"Make me to go in the path of thy commandments,

for therein do I delight," Psa. cxix. 35.

(Concluded from page 20.)

HAVING said thus much concerning faith, I am tempted to hazard a few words on deism, though it may, strictly speaking, be deemed digressive, seeing that the consideration of practical duty belongs to the present theme, rather than the handling of doctrinal points. It has, however, interwoven itself with the subject, inasmuch as the spiritual confirmation of the decalogue by Jesus Christ, greatly enhances its value as a moral code, for the guidance of all ages since the redemption: and, consequently, it is necessary that his divinity should be firmly established, properly to ratify such confirmation, and impart a value and authority to gospel precepts, which they would fail to possess, if uttered by a mere man. At the same time, the feeble and inefficient advocation of these sublime truths, which it is in my poor power to offer, can do little, I fear, towards confirming the faith of the waverer, and still less towards instilling the inappreciable blessing into the hardened hearts and perverted understandings of those resolute sceptics, who have resisted the pleadings of others far more able than I am, or can ever hope to be.

Deism is nothing more than a denial of revelation, and restricting of all religion, by philosophy, to the acknowledgment of one great and First Cause, and it is, I fear, a long stride towards confirmed atheism; for the mind, becoming confused by the vastness of its contemplations, and conscious of its utter inability to grasp even a single portion of the mighty subject it has chosen, resolves itself, at last, into a disbelief of all the grand leading principles of nature and a Creator, and nourishes wild and improbable theories concerning abstract being, springing from an overheated and misdirected imagination. I have met with many professed deists, and have generally found that the tenets they avowed were convenient excuses for the neglect of pious offices altogether; for, although the Socinian admits the existence of a Supreme Being, and, in some cases, also, of future reward and punishment, yet I have never discovered that he is anxious to pay duty to HIM to whom he confesses natural worship and religion are due. This is another reason for supposing that deism is but a gate leading into

the dark and dreary wilds of absolute pyrrhonism.

Infidelity, in most cases that I have met with, or read of, has existed either in men whose understandings were naturally of a higher order than the common mass of mankind, or in those of a decidedly weak and inferior kind, who have been dazzled by arguments which they lacked the wit and learning to controvert. In the former case, scepticism may fairly be attributed to the vanity of superior intellect-than which few feelings are more powerful-and_which prompts the possessor to seek out and grapple with difficulties, and to disdain herding along the beaten track with "'o Tooi.” A deist of this stamp is generally disputative on other subjects, as well as that of religion; and, where there is the least opening so to do, chooses argumentatively to defend an untenable position, rather than acquiesce in a theorem, or yield to the opinions of others. When viewed by a man of cool and solid judgment, this conduct, though it appear brilliant to an unpractised and less intellectual observer, is in reality absurd.

To the deist I would say-Whilst the nature and being of the great first and aboriginal Cause of all, remains an impenetrable secret; whilst eternity, without beginning and without end, is an incomprehensibility; whilst the primary springs of the simplest and most common laws of nature are unfathomable; in a word, whilst we cannot understand any of the workings, the motives, and intents of a Providencehow can we pretend to argue upon the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ, as a question of mere ratiocination, and decide upon the truth or falsehood of his divinity, as we would upon a common point of mathematics, with the problem lying before us? Never can faith be attained by the study of theology, as a science alone; but, on the contrary, infidelity is far more likely to result; for divinity is a dangerous study for a mind not previously well imbued with true piety; and from plenitude of piety, alone, can true belief arise. If, then, we can prove nothing by the help of mere study, unaided by sincere religious feeling, nor gain clear knowledge from self-evident or ascertained principles, in the same manner as in a practical worldly science, it stands to reason also, that we can disprove nothing; and therefore, demonstration of the truth of Christianity must exist in the willing conviction of our own hearts, grounded on our knowledge of God by his attributes of justice, mercy, and love towards mankind.

I would also remind him, that the ex

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