less, and the whole superstructure is vanity and unreality. What are prayers to departed saints, uttered by millions of persons in divers and distant places at the same moment? Is it possible, that a mere finite spirit can be in these different and distant places at the same moment, and at the same moment listen to all these complicated cases? And how shall a finite spirit give the wished-for relief in all these cases? With God, the omnipotent Omnipresent, this is possible; but with a finite spirit, totally impossible.

But say these superstitious, These spirits can intercede with God for us, and influence him in our favour by their intercession. God has no where either chosen or sanctioned such intercessors; he has appointed his Son Jesus Christ to this office; and he is able to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them, Heb. vii. We see this Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels for the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honour; that he, by the grace of God, should taste death for every man, Heb. i. For such a high-priest became us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners, and made higher than the heavens; who needeth not daily, as other high priests, to offer up sacrifice, first for his own sins, and then for the people's: for this he did once, when he offered up himself, Heb. vii. Though he were à Son, yet learned he obedience by the things which he suffered and being made perfect, he became the author of eternal salvation unto them that obey him, Heb. v. "Why then forsake the fountain of living waters, and hew out unto yourselves cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water?" Why? Because credulity and ignorance, with depravity and lies, things which demean the man, are incorporated with superstition; and these find genial soil in man, while the ennobling qualities of faith, wisdom, righteousness, holiness, and truth, are far away.

By superstition, God is reduced to the level of man, and departed spirits and angels are exalted over the Son of God: thus are mean and grovelling ideas propagated concerning the Creator and Redeemer of all things, while the creatures, which he hath created, are raised far too high in the scale of being: yea, even the attributes which belong to God alone are ascribed to them. When shall these lying vanities cease? Not, perhaps, until "the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.'

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Josephus informs us, that under his own eyes a Jew, named Eleazar, extracted the devil, through the nostrils, out of an aged woman, by applying Solomon's ring to her nose, after the manner of an exorcist, in the presence of Vespasian, the Roman emperor. Paganism teaches men to worship men,-the departed souls of chiefs and others; fabulous persons, such as fame, victory, &c.; mere matter, such as leeks, onions, water, wind, &c.; and demons and demi-gods so numerous, that to record their names would far exceed the space allotted to these papers. Mahometanism teaches the reverse of the peaceful, meek, lowly, and long-suffering doctrines of the gospel: O, hear and tremble at its impiety! "The sword is the key of heaven and of hell; a drop of blood lost in the battles of God, or a night passed in arms, are of more avail than months spent in fasting and prayer. Whoso falls in battle hath his sins forgiven at the day of judgment: resplendent as vermilion shall be his wounds, and as musk odoriferous, and his limbs, if lost in battle, shall be supplied by the wings of angels and cherubin."

In his modern History of Europe, Russel relates the following circumstance, which, he says, took place frequently during the tenth century, in Catholic churches, on the day of the feast commemorating the flight of Joseph with the infant Jésus into Egypt. A young female, richly dressed with a child in her arms, was placed upon an ass superbly caparisoned! The ass was then led to the altar in solemn procession. High mass was said with great pomp. The ass was taught to kneel at proper places; a childish hymn was sung in his praise, and when the ceremony was finished, the priests brayed three times similar to the braying of an ass, and the people brayed three times in return. The Roman Catholic church professes itself to be the church which Christ has established upon earth; that we are obliged to hear this church; and therefore that she is infallible; that honour and veneration are due to the angels of God and his saints; that they offer up prayers to God for us; that it is good and profitable to have recourse to their intercession; and that the relics or earthly remains of God's particular servants, are to be held in respect; that there is a purgatory or middle state; and that the souls of imperfect Christians therein detained are helped by the prayers of the faithful.

Volumes abound, replete with the superstitions of these churches. The sacred books of the heathen, the Koran of

Mahomet, the decrees of Roman Catholic | councils and Popes, as well as the commentaries of their several disciples, are to be found in huge folios, which together form a mass appalling to all but their most obsequious votaries. Who that reads these habitually can escape pollution? Danger lurks in every sentence, and every page presents poison to the soul. Turn, O ye simple ones, to the pages of life; there shall ye find, instead of danger security, in place of poison bread; and the word of God will become spirit and life unto your souls; yea, life eternal.

(To be continued.)

LADY LUCY'S PETITION;

A pathetic tale, founded on fact: by the Author of " 'The Rival Crusoes."-From the New Year's Gift and Juvenile Souvenir.

"AND is my dear papa shut up in this dismal place to which you are taking me, nurse?" asked the little Lady Lucy Preston, raising her eyes fearfully to the Tower of London, as the coach in which she was seated with Amy Gradwell, her nurse, drove under the gateway. She trembled, and hid her face in Amy's cloak: when they alighted, and she saw the soldiers on guard, and the sentinels with their crossed partisans before the portals of that part of the fortress where the prisoners of state were confined, and where her own father, Lord Preston, of whom she was come to take her last farewell, was then confined under sentence of death.

"Yes, my dear child," returned Amy sorrowfully," my lord, your father, is indeed within these sad walls. You are now going to visit him; shall you be afraid of entering this place, my dear?"

"No," replied Lady Lucy resolutely, "I am not afraid of going to any place where my dear papa is.'

Yet she clung closer to the arm of her attendant, as they were admitted within the gloomy precincts of the buildings, and her little heart fluttered fearfully, as she glanced around her, and she whispered to her nurse

"Was it not here that the two young princes, Edward the Fifth, and his brother Richard Duke of York, were murdered by their cruel uncle Richard Duke of Gloucester ?"

"Yes, my love, it was; but do not be alarmed on that account, for no one will harm you," said old Amy in an encouraging tone.

"And was not good King Henry the Sixth murdered here also by that same wicked Richard ?" continued the little girl, whose

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imagination was full of the records of the deeds of blood, that had been perpetrated in this fatally celebrated place, many of which had been related to her by Bridget Holdworth, the housekeeper, since her father had been imprisoned in the Tower on a charge of high treason.

"But do you think they will murder papa, nurse?” pursued the child as they began to ascend the stairs, leading to the apartment in which the unfortunate nobleman was confined.

"Hush! Hush! dear child, you must not talk of these things here," said Amy, "or they will shut us both up in a room with bolts and bars, instead of admitting us to see my lord, your father.

Lady Lucy pressed closer to her nurse's side, and was silent till they were ushered into the room where her father was confined, when, forgetting every thing else in her joy at seeing him again, she sprang into his arms, and almost stifled him with her kisses.

Lord Preston was greatly affected at the sight of his little daughter, and overcome by her passionate demonstrations of fondness, his own anguish at the thought of his approaching separation from her, and the idea of leaving her an orphan at her tender age, (for she had only just completed her ninth year, and had lost her mother,) he clasped her to his bosom, and bedewed her innocent face with his tears.

"Why do you cry, dear papa," asked the little child, who was herself weeping at the sight of his distress. "And why will you not leave this gloomy place, and come home to your own hall again?"

"Attend to me, Lucy, and I will tell you the cause of my grief," said her father, seating the little girl on his knee. "I shall never come home again, for I have been condemned to die for high treason, (which means an offence against the king,) and I shall not leave this place till they bring me forth on Tower Hill, where they will cut off my head with a sharp axe, and set it up afterwards over Temple Bar or London Bridge."

At this terrible intelligence, Lady Lucy screamed aloud, and hid her face in her father's bosom, which she wetted with her

tears.

"Be composed, my dear child," said Lord Preston, "for I have much to say to you, and we may never meet again on this side the grave.'

"No! no! dear papa," cried she they shall not kill you, for I will cling so fast about your neck, that they shall not be able to cut your head off; and I will tell

them all how good and kind you are, and then they will not want to kill you."

"My dearest love, this is all simple talking," said Lord Preston. "I have offended against the law as it is at present established by trying to have my old master, King James, restored to the throne, and therefore I must die. Do not you remember, Lucy, I took you once to Whitehall to see King James, and how kindly he spoke to you.'

"Oh yes, papa! and I recollect he laid his hand on my head, and said I was like what his daughter, the Princess of Orange, was at my age," replied Lady Lucy, with great animation.

"Well, my child, very shortly after you saw king James at Whitehall, the Prince of Orange, who married his daughter, came over to England, and drove King James out of his palace and kingdom, and the people made him and the Princess of Orange, king and queen in his stead."

"But was it not very wicked of the Princess of Orange to join with her husband to take her father's kingdom from him? I am very sorry king James thought me like her," said Lady Lucy earnestly.

"Hush, hush! my love, you must not talk so of the Princess of Orange, for perhaps she considered she was doing right in depriving her father of his dominions, because he had embraced the Catholic religion, and it is against the law for a king of England to be a Catholic. Yet I confess I did not believe she would have consented to sign the death-warrants of so many of her father's old servants, only on account of their faithful attachment to him," said Lord Preston with a sigh.

"I have heard that the Princess of Orange is of a merciful disposition," said old Amy Gradwell, advancing towards her master, "and perhaps she might be induced to spare your life, my lord, if your pardon were very earnestly entreated of her by some of your friends."

"Alas! my good Amy, I have no one who will undertake the perilous office of soliciting the royal grace for an attainted traitor; they would be suspected of favouring the cause of king James."

"Dear papa! let me go to the queen, and beg for your pardon," cried Lady Lucy, with a crimson cheek and sparkling eye. "I will so beg and pray her to spare your life, dear papa, that she will not have the heart to deny me."

"Simple child," exclaimed her father, "what should you be able to say to the queen that would be of any avail ?"

"God would teach me what to say, and

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he has power also to touch her heart with pity for a child's distress, and to open her ear to my earnest petition."

Her father clasped her to his bosom, but said, "Thou wouldst be afraid of speaking to the queen, even if thou shouldst be admitted to her presence, my child."

"Why should I be afraid of speaking to the queen, papa? for even if she would be angry with me, and answer harshly, I should be thinking too much of you, father, to mind it; or if she were to send me to the Tower, and cut off my head, she could only kill my body, but would have no power at all to hurt my soul, which is under the protection of One who is greater than any king or queen upon earth.”

"You are right, my child, to fear God, and to have no other fear," said her father. "It is he, who perhaps, put it into your heart to plead with the queen for my life, which, if it be His pleasure to grant, I shall feel it indeed a happiness for my child to be made the instrument of my deliverance from the perils of death, which now encompass me; but if it should be otherwise, His will be done! He hath promised to be a father to the fatherless, and he will not forsake my good and dutiful child when I am low in the dust."

"But how will my Lady Lucy gain admittance to the queen's presence, my Lord?" asked old Amy, who had been a weeping 'spectator of the scene between the father and the child.

"I will write a letter to her god-mother the Lady Clarendon, requesting her to accomplish the matter."

He then wrote a few hasty lines to that lady, which he gave to his daughter, telling her she was to go the next day, to Hampton Court, properly attended, and to obtain a sight of Lady Clarendon, who was there in waiting upon the queen, and deliver that letter to her with her own hand. He then kissed his child tenderly, and bade her farewell. Though the little girl wept at parting with her father, yet she left the Tower with a far more composed mind than she entered it; for she had formed her resolution, and her young heart was full of hope. She had silently committed her cause to God, and she trusted that He would dispose the event prosperously for her.

The next morning, before the lark had sung her matins, Lady Lucy was up, and dressed in a suit of deep mourning, which Amy had provided as the most suitable garb for a daughter, whose only surviving parent was under the sentence of death. The servants, who had been informed of

their young Lady's intention to solicit the queen for her father's pardon, were all assembled in the entrance hall, to see her depart; and as she passed through them leaning on her nurse's arm, and attended by her father's confidential secretary, and the old butler, they shed tears, and bade God bless her, and prosper her in her design. Lady Lucy arrived at Hampton Court, was introduced into the Countess of Clarendon's apartments before her Ladyship was out of bed, and having told her artless tale with great earnestness, delivered her father's letter. Lady Clarendon, who was wife to the queen's uncle, was very kind to her young god-daughter, but plainly told her she must not reckon on her influence with the queen, because the Earl of Clarendon was in disgrace, on account of being suspected of carrying on a correspondence with King James, his brother-in-law; therefore she dared not to solicit the queen on behalf of her friend, Lord Preston, against whom her majesty was so deeply exasperated, that she had declared she would not show him any mercy.

"Oh!" said the little girl, "if I could only see the queen myself, I would not wish any one to speak for me, for I should plead so earnestly to her for my dear papa's life, that she could not refuse me, I'm sure."

"Poor child, what could you say to the queen?" asked the Countess compassionately.

"Only let me see her, and you shall hear," rejoined Lady Lucy.

“Well, my love, it were a pity but what thou shouldst have the opportunity," said Lady Clarendon : "but much I fear thy little heart will fail thee, and when thou seest the queen face to face, thou wilt not be able to utter a syllable."

"God will direct the words of my lips," said the little girl with tears in her eyes.

The Countess was impressed with the piety and filial tenderness of her little goddaughter; and she hastened to rise and dress, that she might conduct the child into the palace-gallery, where the queen usually passed an hour in walking, after her return from chapel, which she attended every morning. Her majesty had not left the chapel when Lady Clarendon and Lucy entered the gallery; and her ladyship endeavoured to divert the anxious impatience of her little friend, by pointing out to her the portraits with which it was adorned.

"I know that gentleman well," said the child, pointing to a noble whole-length portrait of James the Second.

"That is the portrait of the deposed King James, Queen Mary's father, observed

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the Countess, sighing; " and a very striking likeness it is, of that unfortunate monarch,-but hark, here comes the queen, with her chamberlain and ladies, from chapel; now, Lucy, is the time! I will step into the recess, yonder, but you must remain alone, standing where you are, and when her majesty approaches near enough, kneel down on one knee before her, and present your father's petition. She who walks a little in advance of the other ladies, is the queen. Be of good courage, and address yourself to her."

Lady Clarendon then made a hasty retreat. Lucy's heart fluttered violently when she found herself alone, but her resolution did not fail her; and while her lips moved silently in fervent prayer to the Almighty for his assistance in this trying moment, she stood with folded hands, pale, but composed, and motionless as a statue, awaiting the queen's approach; and when her majesty drew near the spot, she advanced a step, knelt, and presented the petition.

The extreme beauty of the child, her deep mourning, the touching sadness of her look and manner, and above all, the streaming tears which bedewed her face, excited the queen's attention and interest; she paused, spoke kindly to her, and took the offered paper; when she saw the name of Lord Preston, her colour rose. She frowned, and cast the petition from her, and would have passed on; but Lucy, who had watched her countenance with a degree of anxious interest that amounted to agony, losing all awe for royalty in her fears for her father, put forth her hand, and grasping the queen's robe, cried in an imploring tone, "Spare my father, my dear-dear father, royal lady!" Lucy had meant to say many persuasive things; but she forgot them all in her sore distress, and could only repeat the words, "Mercy, mercy, for my father, gracious queen!" till her vehement emotion choked her voice, and throwing her arms round the queen's knees, she leaned her head against her majesty's person for support, and sobbed aloud.

The intense sorrow of a child is always peculiarly touching; but the circumstances under which Lucy appeared, were more than commonly affecting. It was a daughter, not beyond the season of infancy, overmastering the timidity of that tender age, to become a suppliant to an offended sovereign for the life of a father. Queen Mary pitied the distress of her young petitioner; but she considered the death of Lord Preston as a measure of political necessity; she therefore told Lucy mildly, but firmly, that she could not grant her request.

"But he is good and kind to every one," said Lucy, raising her blue eyes, which were swimming in tears, to the face of the queen.

66 He may be so to you, child," returned her majesty; "but he has broken the laws of his country, and therefore he must die."

"But you can pardon him if you choose to do so, madam," replied Lucy; "and I have read that God is well pleased with those who forgive; for he has said, 'Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy."

"It does not become a little girl like you to attempt to instruct me," replied the queen gravely; "I am acquainted with my duty; and as it is my place to administer justice impartially, it is not possible for me to pardon your father, however painful it may be for me to deny the request of so dutiful a child."

Lucy did not reply; she only raised her eyes with an appealing look to the queen, and then turned them expressively on the portrait of King James, opposite to which her majesty was standing. There was something in that look that bore no common meaning; and the queen, whose curiosity was excited by the peculiarly emphatic manner of the child, could not refrain from asking wherefore she gazed so earnestly upon that picture.

"I was thinking," replied Lucy, "how strange it was that you should wish to kill my father, only because he loved yours so faithfully !"

This wise but artless reproof from the lips of infant innocence, went to the heart of the queen; she raised her eyes to the once dear and honoured countenance of parent, who, whatever were his political errors as a king, or his offences against others, had ever been the tenderest of parents to her and the remembrance that he was an exile in a foreign land, relying on the bounty of strangers for his daily bread, while she and her husband were invested with the regal inheritance, of which he had been deprived, pressed upon her the thought of the contrast of her conduct as a daughter, when compared with the filial piety of the child before her, (whom a sentence of her's was about to render an orphan,) smote upon her heart, and, after remaining some time in silence, apparently absorbed in deep meditation, she burst into tears.

Then turning to Lucy, she said, "Rise, dear child, thou hast prevailed-thy father shall not die. I grant his pardon at thy entreaty-thy filial love has saved him."

137.-VOL. XII.

SPONTANEOUS IGNITION. (The Case of James Butler.)

MR. EDITOR,

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SIR,-THERE is, perhaps, no subject of greater interest to the public, than that which tends to promote the security of individuals; and none of more importance to the welfare of the community, than the proper fulfilment of the duties of a citizen, and particularly in the situation of a juror on the inquest, or in the criminal or civil courts. But this is one of those relative duties of life, which requires more knowledge for its proper performance than is afforded by elementary education, and which, being either locked up in the cabinet of the man of science, or wrapped in the mystery of an abstruse nomencla ture, is not attainable to the individual who alone aspires to the rank of an intelligent and useful citizen. Yet this knowledge is necessary to avert the irreparable injuries often inflicted upon society, by the necessary uncompromising denouncements of our legal codes.

The case of James Butler, who was executed July 27, 1829, for firing the floor-cloth manufactory of Messrs. Downing, at Chelsea, is a melancholy instance, where, in all probability, an innocent man suffered in a cause for which no satisfactory explanation could be given by any of the parties immediately interested. After very convincing circumstantial evidence, contradicted indeed by the continued protestations of innocence by the unhappy man, he was convicted, and suffered the last penalty of the law.

The phænomena of spontaneous combustion, and the circumstances which are favourable to its taking place, are very familiar to the chymist; and when my attention was accidentally drawn to the subject, by a perusal of the report of his trial, I felt no hesitation in ascribing the conflagration to the spontaneous combustion of some of the materials used in the process of the oil-cloth manufacture. Such are linseed oil, lamp-black, and tow;substances which, under 'peculiar circumstances of juxtaposition, are very favourable to spontaneous ignition. It is, I conceive, needless to cite any instances in connexion with the present subject, as they must be familiar to your scientific readers.

This opinion, I expressed in a letter to the editor of a morning journal, through which I had the pleasure of an interview with Mr. Newman, who had philanthropically undertaken an investigation of his case. By this investigation he has suc

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