ship is paramount! Months of reverses, and cares, and disappointments, are lost in that initial day, whose span is golden, from sun to sun,— lapse to be remembered, with quiet satisfaction, in trials to come.

In good sooth, a moment's reflection will assure any contemplative mind that resentment is the most pitiful passion that can agitate the human breast. True, there is such a thing as 'spirit;'-but how often is it ill-directed? How often magnified, by little causes, into an importance wholly incommensurate with the object desired. It is the province of New-year visits to crush these poisonous weeds of our path in the bud; to quench their noxious tendrils, and to substitute in their stead, the balm of friendship and good will. For such an object, the morning of the year is most auspicious. The grand festival of our Saviour's nativity has but lately ended; and a preservation of the era of good feeling is enjoined both by Precept and Hope. He who can resist such appeals to his kindness, to that kindness which increases the happiness of its possessor,-must be cold and callous indeed.

Nothing is more certain, than the indispensableness of friendly communion, and kindred sympathies. Without them, life is a Golgotha, which seems alike destitute of the warmth of the present, and the anticipations of the future. Without them, we plod and delve, unthought of and unknown. We are in the depths of unhappiness, when we avoid intercourse with the world; not that cold intercourse of society, which is formed without emotion, and broken without regret; but that which is founded on esteem, and cemented by friendship; and which, looking with a spirit of pardon over trifles unexplained, suffers long and is kind.'

There is another inducement to forbearance and forgiveness, furnished by the passing year. It is the uncertain tenure of our existence. A sad thought it is, that the warmest friendship or love which ever glowed within the breast of man, is inadequate to ward off the shafts, or annul the mandate, of Death. We hold our span of life beneath a curtain, from whose folds depend the shears of fate, by which the silver cord or the golden bowl of hope may be destroyed in a moment. What avail the partialities or the solicitude of friends and of kindred, in stations like these? Death, a hidden spectre, walks, ever-threatening, at our side, yet we mark not the grimness of his visage, nor the tendency of his spear. Anon, the blow is struck,-the bolt has descended,-the beloved of our hearts sink away on the right hand and on the left; and we come to feel that the objects of our affection or our regard, are girded to us by a bond, frailer than the spider's most attenuated web:'

Tell me what is life, I pray?—
'Tis a changing April day,,

Now dull as March, now, blithe as May;

A little cloud, a little light,

Nought certain, but th' approach of night;

At morn and evening, dew appears,

And life begins and ends in tears:

'Tis a varied-sounding bell,

Now a triumph, now a knell;

At first it rings of hope and pleasure,

Then sorrow mingles in the measure;
And then, a stern and solemn toll,

The requiem of a parted soul.

This is the state of man! And being thus, how careful ought he to be, that the days of his pilgrimage be not self-darkened! It is only by the cultivation of social amenity and goodness, that an end so desirable can be accomplished.

But we would not be didactic. Time himself teacheth a thousand homilies. His warning finger points to the lessons of other years. There is a voice, and a tablet of morality, in the rush of his pinions, and the flashing of his scythe. Insatiate and mysterious husbandman of mortality, he fells the young and the beautiful, and lays them 'green in earth.' Hopes, joys, and aspirations, are the bubbles dissolved by his breath,— the play-things of his will. He goes onward, and Death, his gloomy pursuivant, strikes down host after host, for his ever-yawning garner. The Past becomes one vast sepulchre, or rather, one wide plain, where the innumerable armies of the dead are encamped, in stations which centuries have made, waiting to rise at the voice of the Archangel, and the trump of God.

From the general havoc made by Time and Death through the world from year to year, it is natural to turn to the ravages which they create in our own social circles. Since the morning of the last, many a true heart has been smitten into silence, and placed in the dust: many a child, many a parent, has poured the sigh of regret; many a brother and sister been laid side by side; and the places that knew them, will know them no more. There are vacant chairs around the saddened hearth, and added monuments in the cemetery. Fair faces and fond bosoms that have met before in annual festivals, around the evening blaze of home, are now faded and still: the knell has been sounded, the requiem sung.

But let us not approach such a subject with darkened spirits, for it is one that has little gloom to the reflecting mind. In seeing many around us yield to the common lot, we grow familiar with the truth, that this is not our continual abiding city; that our days only become considerable, like petty sums, by minute accumulations, where numerous fractions make up but small round numbers; so that our years of a span long, make but one little finger.' What good deed is not suggested by these considerations? What appeals do they not furnish, for the suppression of those wranglings and storms of ill feeling, which disturb the fountains of life, and cause them to flow with bitter waters? Seeing that we are all stewards of a day, and that none has immunity from death, is it not a duty to lay aside those baser passions which so easily beset the heart, and sow our way with thorns?-to be just and generous,-forgiving and kind?

It is only to the selfish, that the prospect of Age is wearisome, or Death unwelcome. Wrapt up in visions of their own advancement, or pleasure, they approach that wide and mighty gate of Time, which swings outward into Eternity; and as they mingle in the dense and countless throngs pressing thitherward, their wailings arise like funeral murmurs. They have lived without doing good to their day and genera. tion, and so, having existed without kindness, they are lost without grief.

While the New Year opens afresh the wells of good-will, it must ever be delightful. The world abounds with high enjoyment, if we but use it rightly; and death itself is not appalling, when it comes to honest hearts. Let this be remembered, and let it be remembered too, that regrets for time past, and fears for that to come, are only indulged in by those who have wasted their golden opportunities of improvement and good. To such as these, the eventide of life comes in shadow and storm: Look back they dare not, and before is death.' They have shut up the genial avenues of their hearts, all their lives long; and amendment is too late,— remorse, unavailing. Each one of this class, as he beholds his enjoyments lessening daily from his participation, inly exclaims,

'Why is my spirit sad?

Because, 'tis parting, each succeeding year,

With something that it used to hold more dear
Than aught that now remains;

Because the Past, like a receding sail,
Flits into dimness, and the lonely gale
O'er vacant waters reigns.'

To avoid these questionings, it is only requisite to follow the precious maxim, 'Do unto others as you would that others should do unto you.' The sweet charities of life are many. They spring up like flowers in its walks, at every turn. They need only culture, and the uprooting of those noisome passions, which, like worthless herbs, envenom the way. To the pure, all things are pure; and all things are right to the good. The better impulses of man, may safely be his guide. Open-hearted benevolence, the forgiveness of injuries; the crucifixion of ignoble desires,-the amendment of errors, these should be the main objects of our lives,— and the burden of our resolves at the dawn of the year. Then, though the sun of our decline should make but right declensions, and set in winter arches,' yet we shall be calm in our souls, when we are bidden to lie down in the dust, and make our beds in ashes. Then, whether we are called in the morning, or noon, or the twilight of life, to repose in the grave, we are ready to rest. We can look back with tranquility upon the works of our span, and with unshrinking vision gaze onward to that era, when years shall be ended, and Time no more.

LIFE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF ATMOSPHERIC ELECTRICITY, A NEW THEORY OF MAGNETISM, ETC.

Where can I journey to your secret springs,
Eternal Nature? Onward still I press,
Follow thy windings still, yet sigh for more.

GOETHE.

LIFE! How much is embraced in this single word! All that is sublime in thought, the soarings of ambition-the longings after immortalitythe sacredness of love and friendship-the enchantments of poetry, and all that is delightful in the tender emotions of the soul. What is the vital

principle? Is it a material or an immaterial essence? Is it simple or compound? Is it the result of organic action ?—or is it the cause of organic action? Is it a subtile, invisible agent, superadded to other matter, modifying its forms, properties, and powers, causing all the phenomena of attraction and repulsion, or is it an inscrutable mystery? These are questions which have occupied the master spirits of the world for thousands of years, and which still remain undecided. What is Life? How serious and momentous the inquiry! How intimately blended with all our dearest interests, physical, moral, and intellectual! Who has not felt anxious to resolve the doubt? The sages of Chaldea and Egypt sought to unravel it by consulting the stars. The profound and subtle Greeks, by studying the laws of the universe and the nature of man. Aided by the sublime, but mystic lore of ancient Babylon, Memphis, and Thebes, they penetrated into the secrets of nature with a boldness and sagacity which have never been surpassed. Could we comprehend all they taught, we might still profit by their lofty speculations. Whatever the vital principle may be, a knowledge of its nature and mode of operation is the foundation of Medical Philosophy. Why is this great science still involved in mystery and uncertainty, but that we are ignorant of the cause of organic power, and its relation to health and disease? We are told by the teachers of medicine, that disease arises from the want of nervous energy-from malaria,-from a morbid constitution of the atmosphere from telluric emanations, etc., without defining what is meant by these agents. The cause of irritability, of nervous and muscular energy, are unexplained. The sentient principle is a riddle,—now a ma. terial, and now an immaterial agent. The modus operandi of fever, or inflammation, is an enigma. All is obscure and doubtful. One says that life is the result of organization,-another, that organization is the result of an unknown vital force. Such is the vague and unsettled state of the noble science of human health. Alas, how many victims are sacrificed at the shrine of this mystic jargon! Is there no hope? Must we forever remain the sport of ignorance and empiricism? We trust that a solution of the problem, What is Life?' will open to the Medical Philosopher new light, and render that clear, which has been hitherto doubtful and obscure.

In all our efforts to improve science, it should be our leading object to get at the first principles of things those great fundamental truths, which

are only the expression of universal facts or general laws, that pervade the whole constitution of nature.

Proceeding on the basis of the Inductive Philosophy, we shall endeavor to prove that the vital principle is every where present: that it is the spring of motion, sensation, and intelligence throughout creation.

In a previous article, we demonstrated that all bodies consist of aggregations of minute indivisible atoms, which are surrounded by a subtile, invisible, and refined species of matter, termed caloric-which has so strong an affinity for them that it cannot be entirely separated from them,— that it holds the atoms of solids together, while it prevents them from coming into actual contact, that when this imponderable fluid is accumulated between the atoms of solids, its repulsion of its own particles counteracts its affinity for ponderable matter, which is converted into fluids, gases, or light, according to the proportion of caloric absorbed. We proved that caloric is the cause of all cohesion, of capillary attraction, and chemical affinities,—and that gravitation is the sum of all the atomic attractions of matter,—in short, that caloric is the cause of all the attractions and repulsions which take place throughout nature,―that the ultimate atoms of solids are probably as far removed from each other in proportion to their size, as the celestial bodies,—that the force of atomic attraction, like that of gravitation, is inversely as the distances of atoms: from each other, that if the spaces between the atoms of gold are equal to the size of the impenetrable atoms, they may be forty times greater between the atoms of water, and still greater between the molecules of the living body, and that all these spaces are filled by elementary caloric, which pervades, surrounds, and contains all things.

We have shown that it keeps all matter in a state of perpetual motion, circulation, and transmutation,—that it raises the waters of the ocean into the atmosphere, which wafts them over continents and islands, where they descend in fruitful showers to cheer the thirsty plains; forming lakes, rivers, and springs, which again return to the sea, that it keeps up a perpetual state of subterranean chemical action, causing earthquakes and volcanoes, which force up the internal portions of the earth into mountains and elevated plains, and which are again crumbled into ruins by chemical agency. In fine, that caloric is the grand agent of Almighty Power in executing the laws of nature,—that it is the combining force by which the molecules of matter are arranged in definite forms, as in the chrystallization of salts, earths, and metals,—and that without caloric, the whole universe would become a motionless mass of inert and chaotic matter.

We shall now endeavor to trace the relations of caloric to the 'unknown vital principle,'-fully conscious that no theory is worthy of regard, which is not supported by demonstrated facts. Sustained by the love of truth, which is our only object, we shall freely express our deliberate convictions,―untrammelled by the prevailing systems of the schools, and undismayed by the consequences involved by the extent of their applications.

The doctrine that elementary fire is the animating principle of nature,. is by no means new. It was transmitted from the sages of Chaldea, and