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in five brief hours death ensued. The speed, however, with which the great change overtook our dear friend need not be a source of regret, because, in his case, we may be fully convinced, from Scriptural warrant, that "to die was gain,” and to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. He had lived beyond the average tenure of human life in this world; therefore an exemption from a lingering or severe affliction, as well as from the imbecility of extreme old age, may be regarded as a great blessing from the Divine Hand of Providence! All persons who were acquainted with our dear friend can speak with great respect of his memory, whilst those who knew him intimately testify to his virtues even from an early age. As a youth, he was of a mild and kind disposition, obedient to his parents, and anxious to do well. He was from childhood educated as a member of the Established Church; but it was not until he had experienced the anxieties connected with severe domestic trials that his attention was fully directed to the records of Revelation. The creeds and articles of the Church of England failed to satisfy the yearnings of his spirit, and in consequence he, for a time, sat under Wesleyan ministrations, but with a like result. The doctrines of the Trinity and the Atonement, as taught by these denominations, perplexed his mind, giving birth to an inward struggle against error, and an earnest prayer for spiritual light. He has often remarked since, that at this period of mental darkness and sorrow, his only resource was to go to the Divine Word with the prayer of the Psalmist "Shew me thy ways, O Lord; teach me thy paths." Providence mercifully interposed, and through the instrumentality of an old and valued friend, a member of the Melbourne Society, Mr. Mellor became acquainted with the heavenly doctrines of the New Church. These, as soon as they were presented before his mental eye, were commended, by their intrinsic worth, alike to his intellect and heart; with unspeakable gratitude and joy he eagerly embraced them, and from that time until the day of his death, a period of upwards of twenty years, he steadfastly maintained and enjoyed them. He soon became united to the Melbourne Society, and was thus, at the date of his

decease, one of our oldest members. During his latter years, he was much debarred from the privileges of congenial Christian worship and fellowship, owing to his lameness and deafness, added to the distance of his residence from Melbourne. Notwithstanding these impediments, he strove to cultivate his spiritual faculties by home study. He was a diligent reader of the writings of the Herald of the Lord's Second Advent, and often spoke in a spirit of humble thankfulness of his increasing store of spiritual knowledge. With much native shrewdness of intellect he united the docility of a child, and was ever striving to make inward progress towards the kingdom of heaven. His countenance after death bore the impress of that affectionate smile which so often played upon his features in life, when Christian doctrine or experience was the topic of conversation; and this is felt by his sorrowing family to be a pleasing token of that peaceful state into which it is our strong consolation to believe our beloved brother has already entered, "for there remaineth, therefore, a rest for the people of God."

H. CALLOWAY.

At Accrington, on the 19th of last November, Margaret, the beloved wife of Mr. Jacob Bridge, departed this life, aged 51 years. She had been long a sufferer; indeed, she had endured the severest bodily sufferings during the last fifteen months. She bore them, however, in a truly Christian spirit, well knowing how all afflictions are permitted in love, and are made, by the Lord's providence, to promote the highest spiritual good in those who suffer. She was well acquainted with New Church principles, having been carefully brought up in them by her pious father, the late Mr. Nicholas Whitaker, who was one of the earliest receivers of the doctrines in Accrington, and a man greatly esteemed by the brethren there. Mrs. Bridge was much attached to the church, and loved to promote its interests in every way. The influence of its doctrines was seen in her affectionate disposition, and the exemplary way in which she performed her various duties. Greatly did her religious principles help her during her illness: they were the Lord's rod and staff to her while passing through the valley of the shadow of death,

Her

family and friends are consoled for their loss in the assurance that she is gone to join those of whom it is said that "they have come out of great tribulation, and washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb." "They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them to living fountains of water: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."

Removed from this world, after a few days' illness, of peritonitis, November 26th, 1861, Mr. William Whitaker, aged 19 years, formerly of Accrington, but lately of Latchford, Warrington, where he had gone, with his brother, to reside until he came of age with Mr. Sutton, to be instructed in those branches of education which would fit him for a life of activity and usefulness. This young gentleman, when about 11 years of age, lost both his parents by consumption, and was adopted as an orphan by an uncle and aunt, both of whom were estimable members of the Accrington New Church society. After being indebted to this kindness for several years, Mr. Whitaker became the acknowledged heir of a very handsome property, and with an only brother was being prepared to fill his new position in life in a becoming manner, when the disease as sailed him, which in a few days removed him to an estate infinitely more valuable and everlasting. It was under the tender care, watchfulness, and example of his affectionate and worthy relatives, that Mr. Whitaker's mind became imbued with a knowledge and love of New Church truths. He was not only useful in the Accrington Sunday-school, taking delight in rendering services at the various meetings in connection with that institution, but was also a member of what is termed the "brotherly society." In

that society he not only first learned to think rightly about the sacred truths of religion, but endeavoured to express his thoughts in writing and speaking about them. How pleasant it is to see our young people of the church availing themselves of the many opportunities afforded them to become intelligent and wise in the things belonging to their eternal welfare! The decease of this young man, removed from the midst of us so unexpectedly, and after only a few days of painful suffering, having just before been in the enjoyment of good health, and full of youthful life and vigour; this sudden event, we say, is enough to cause every one to reflectbut especially the youthful portion of your readers-on the uncertainty of this life, the certainty of death, and to prepare, by a life of Christian charity, faith, and good works, to become after the death of the body an inhabitant of some angelic society in the heavens. The mind of the late Mr. Whitaker, we have said, was deeply imbued with a love of the doctrines of the New Church; a portion of the divine Word and of the writings of Swedenborg were his daily study. By his kind disposition, his gentleness of manner and behaviour, his love of what is good and true, his desire not to offend any one by word or deed, and by his amiable conduct manifested in his daily life, he obtained the regard and esteem of all who knew him. The writer of these remarks knew him well, and considers it only right to state his virtues, in order that our young friends may see how much the life of true religion, even in youth, is not only calcu lated to fill the breast with peace and happiness, but to create attachment and respect from all around. Death brings down a sphere of heavenly blessedness into the mind of the true Christian. Let us all then, young and old, "Watch, for we know not the hour when the Son of Man cometh." J. S.

Erratum.-In the article on the late Professor Bush (December No., p. 559), third line from bottom, for "anchorites," read "antecedents."

CAVE and SEVER, Printers by Steam Power, Hunt's Bank, Manchester.

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WALKING through the decorated fields of Summer, before the scythe of the mower has laid their sweet crowds low, or along the paths of some well-trimmed garden, rich with the floral spoils of many distant lands, and noting the cups and chalices of their thousand blossoms, as they drink the tender warmth of the sunshine, we naturally imagine that the condition of a flower, whether wild in the country, or forming part of the elegant and cultivated company of the parterre, is to remain, after once expanded, like the Electric Telegraph Office, "open always." Our ideas rest, as in all other matters, upon what we happen to behold at the moment, and this partial truth is believed to be the whole; and this temporary condition,-for it really is no more, the prolonged and the abiding one; the abiding one, that is to say, until the flower shall have worn out its little lease of life, and petal and stamen, calyx and honey-bag, alike dissolve and are lost in the bosom of mother earth, from which all things come, and to which all return.

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Flowers, for the most part, are not “ open always;" those of many the largest and most important classes of plants close as regularly as day changes to night, remaining shut during the hours of darkness, and re-opening their lovely lids when sunshine returns. The fascinating and innumerably-various phenomena of their morning expansion and twilight folding-up, are the illustrations, in part, of what botanists term the Sleep of plants. Similar phenomena occur in connection with the leaves, and together they form one of the most beautiful displays in nature of the Divine Benevolence as shewn in little things.

[Enl. Series.-No. 98, vol. ix.]

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If we examine a flower carefully, with a view to an intelligent comprehension of how it is constructed,-not necessarily pulling it to pieces, but turning it over and over, round and round, looking first at the outside, then into the depths of its beautiful heart,—we find that it consists, in the great majority of cases, of two distinct portions,—an outer one, which is green, and in texture not much unlike a leaf; and an inner one which is softer than the finest satin, usually thinner than the thinnest silver-paper, and exquisitely coloured. The outer portion is properly called the "calyx" (in which word we have only another way of writing "chalice"); the inner portion is properly termed the "corolla," literally the "little crown," from the poetical, and therefore good and true idea which regards it as marking the day when the plant is in the enjoyment of its highest honour and glory,-when it is "crowned," as it were, and thus in the condition of king or queen when lifted to the highest pinnacle of royal dignity by having the golden diadem placed on their brow. Let us look yet a little more attentively, and we discern that this pretty flower-crown, this "corolla" (which word need henceforth be no hard one, albeit a scientific and technical term), is in some flowers composed of many distinct pieces or leaves, while in others it appears to consist of only one, wrought into the form of a little vase. Whether few or many, these component pieces of the corolla are called the "petals," which name, when we would speak correctly of them, we should always make use of, since the word "leaves" applies properly only to the green foliage of a plant. "Rose-leaves," often used for scent-pots, are properly" rose-petals." Now the sleep of a flower consists mainly in the changes of the positions of these "petals." The calyx or chalice which encircles them, and which covered them up while the flower was only a bud, undergoes no change at night, or never more than a very slight and scarcely appreciable one; the movement is confined almost entirely to the coloured portion within.

And now we come to one of the most wonderful and captivating chapters in the history. As there are scores, yea hundreds, of different shapes of corollas, so are there scores, yea hundreds, of different modes of closing, each different one determined by the peculiar configuration of the corolla in which we remark it. This is no more than we might expect from the beautiful analogies of nature, which is everywhere brimful of echoes,-utterances over and over again of simple and elegant ideas, that are not different intrinsically, but only presented to our eyes after another manner, just as the promises of Holy Writ are still identically the same, whether they be printed in Hebrew letters, or in English ones, or in German.

Who has not noticed how various are the attitudes assumed by the different kinds of animals when they compose themselves for sleep! It is the very same thing in our own private and personal right side and left side, doublings up, stretchings out, and miscellaneous angularities;— every one works out some principle of ease and comfort;-every animal and every bird in like manner works out some principle of happy repose, determined, to a certain extent, by the peculiarities and the arrangement of the limbs, and signified in what we may often perhaps deem only an accidental mode of prostration, but which is original and inevitable to the creature manifesting it. Again in like manner, every flower that is so constructed as to allow of the petals changing position, has its own native, and peculiar, and invariable way of exhibiting this beautiful fact of vegetable repose. The poppy, that we spoke of the other day, has four petals, which at high noon, stand apart, and form a magnificent crimson bowl. When the weary sun sinks low in the sky, and the wee birds are trilling their nest-ward songs, it is no longer a bowl: the two inner petals have raised themselves so as to be upright, and have coiled themselves one round the other, like two loving sisters standing with their arms twined round each other's waist; the two outer petals meanwhile also lift themselves erect, but keep perfectly flat, and form a pair of great shields, one upon either side of the coil within. In the daisy, on the other hand, also in the marigold,

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"that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping,"

the petals are very numerous, and spread in a star-like manner round the disc of the flower. Towards twilight they all rise simultaneously, though slowly,-bring their delicate points together, and form a conical tent, which neither rain nor prowling night-insect can break through.

It is for the purpose of defending the delicate internal parts of the flower from nocturnal cold, and chill morning and evening dews, and from the ravages that might be made upon them by such of the insect tribe as come out of their dens only after dark, that this admirable provision of the closing of the corolla appears to have been instituted, since there is nothing of the nature of sleep, in the human or zoological sense of the word, to be detected in plants. They do not require it. Men and women, quadrupeds and birds, seek their pillows and their various retreats when night comes on, or, at least, when they have finished their day's labour or pastime, as the case may be, because during the previous hours there has been a great expenditure of nervous energy, which requires for its reëstablishment a long period of perfect physical quiescence. During sleep, the diligent little masons, carpenters,

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