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in the 104th Psalm, which applies unquestionably to every individual of every species of living creature now on the face of the earth— Thou sendest out thy Spirit, they are created : Thou takest away their breath; they die and return to their dust."
So determined, indeed, are the prejudiced readers of Scripture to maintain the six-thousand-years' theory of the earth's duration, that they have actually invented an infidel subterfuge to support it. For fear the Geologist should ask them when and where his vast family of extinct animals lived, and force them to the conclusion that there must have been at one time many races of creatures now unknown, 'they have resorted to the unscriptural hypothesis that they belonged to a period prior to Noah's flood, but subsequent to the creation of Adam-that they are all, in fact," antediluvian animals!" Let such reasoners read Genesis vi. 13, 17; and vii. 18-23, and they will find that the animals taken into the ark comprised the representatives of almost the entire irrational creation of the days before the Flood—that they were the same as those now living, and not as those found in a petrified state ; that they were placed there expressly for the purpose of preserving seed alive upon the earth; and that consequently if that seed have perished, the purposes of God and the declarations of the Bible have been alike frustrated-a position which we are sure they will join with us in denouncing as impossible.
We hope to resume this subject in a future number.
CHARLES II. AND HIS BIBLE. THERE is, or lately was, in the library at Worlingham, Suffolk, a fine copy of Haye's Bible, 1674, on the fly-leaf of which occurs the following memorandum. “This Bible belonged to K. Charles II d and given by him to Duke Lauderdale and sold by auction wth ye rest of his Books.” In a comparatively modern hand, some clever wag has written these severely-satirical lines in pencil underneath
“ Hark ye, my Friends, that on this Bible look,
THE PROTESTANT VALLEYS OF DAUPHINE AND
By the Rev. J. R. McDuff. THE Alps, wherever we find their giant form, proclaim the glory of God. They are the eternal monuments and interpreters of his power and Godhead. But the Alps of Savoy have a distinctive and inalienable grandeur of their own, appreciable alone by the believer. They stand the memorials of God's grace. Who that loves to trace the triumphs of the Cross in the past history of the church, can fail to hear, with interest, of the homes and valleys of the Vaudois ? For a thousand years they formed the sanctuary where truth took refuge from defiled altars, and kept her lamp burning while Europe was in darkness. If there be hallowed ground on earth, it is surely here, in this, emphatically “ the land of martyrs.” Every valley we tread is a sacred sepulchre, where the ashes repose of men “ of whom the world was not worthy;" while the Alps around, with their colossal forms, and glacier and snow-white summits melted into the azure of heaven, seem types of the pure and eternal truths for which these mountain-martyrs bled.
We resolved on visiting the Alps of Dauphiny, on our way to the valleys of Piedmont. They are invested with an equal interest with the others, in their historical associations and natural scenery, besides being consecrated in later times by the piety and labors of Felix Neff. Our shortest and best route was to direct our course to Lyons. Accordingly, after leaving Paris, and travelling two weary days and nights, per diligence, through the plains of Burgundy, we found ourselves, on a lovely morning in July, sailing down the river Saone. The landscape was enlivened with numerous villages. The lofty mountains of Auvergne, clothed with cultivation to the top, bounded the western horizon ; and they were seen at the time, to great advantage, from the pleasing alternation of cloud and sunshine.
As we proceeded, the banks gradually became more precipitous, clothed with a richer variety of trees and shrubs. We were led to anticipate in Lyons, the Birmingham of Francea bustling, uninteresting town, with its forest of chimneys and
impenetrable atmosphere. But in this we were agreeably disappointed. If any city be entitled to the name of picturesque, it is this. Situated on the conflux of two of the noblest rivers in Europe, flowing through plains, whose extent is only equalled by their fertility-bridges of considerable number and elegance-houses of large proportions, rising in terraces on either bank of the Saone, and undeformed with the vile brick which preponderates in other parts of France ;-these all combined in allotting to it a more favorable verdict than it has received from most travellers.
Lyons is rich in historical associations. Independent of its classic interest, it was the seat of some of the earlier bishops of the Christian church. It was the scene of the unparalleled sufferings of the martyrs in the second century, (Sanctus, Biblias, Blandina, and others ;) and subsequently, it gave birth to Peter Waldo, one of the most intrepid standard-bearers of the truth in the middle ages, and whose rise marks an era in the history of the western church.
Before leaving Lyons, we witnessed a strange spectacle, in the interior of “Notre Dame de Fourviere,” the Roman Catholic cathedral, which crowns the heights of the city. The walls are hung round with relics and offerings of every possible description, but certainly more distinguished for their variety than their value. They form the result of vows made by individuals in distress, who imagined they had miraculous cures wrought on themselves, or their relatives, at the intercession of the Virgin. A cripple, for example, finds his way up to this shrine, and supplicates deliverance. On being restored the use of his limbs at any future time, he brings a model of the restored member, and suspends it as a votive offering to the “ Queen of Heaven.” The walls of the church are covered with hundreds of these white waxen legs, arms, heads, fingers, &c. ; also drawings representing the individual laboring under illness, with his or her friends, gathered by the sick bed on their knees, interceding for deliverance, which the virgin is represented as granting from a throne in the skies ! Fishermen, too, who have escaped from shipwreck, have decorated the walls with little models of their vessels, which forcibly recalled the “ Votive Tablets” Horace speaks of in one of his
odes, as having been placed by a shipwrecked mariner in the Temple of Neptune.
Leaving Lyons, we took diligence to Grenoble, and, on Sabbath morning, found ourselves agreeably seated in the protestant chapel of Mons. Bonifas, to whom we had a note of introduction from a christian friend in Lyons. He has a small, but devoted flock. After service he dispensed the ordinance of baptism, the form of which was somewhat singular. The father, godfather, and godmother, all took part in presenting the child ; the two latter holding a long train which composed part of its dress. The mother sat behind, neatly attired, with a bouquet of flowers pinned on her left shoulder ; and the water was poured on the face of the child from a small crystal phial. We spent the evening very pleasingly, in the house of the worthy pastor, who invited us there to his weekly prayer meeting, where we found about forty or fifty convened. They were assembled around a large table, at the head of which he presided, and expounded faithfully and solemnly the Word of Life. Two of those present were peculiarly interesting characters. The one was “Emily,” the remarkable convert of Felix Neff, whose interests occupied the latest moments of his life,-a neat little woman, with small Swiss features, and a jet black eye. The other, a young man from Savoy, whose history is a remarkable example of Christian fortitude. He was originally a Roman Catholic, brought under the influence of Divine truth. Being under deep conviction, and no expounder of the pure gospel being in his native land, he travelled on foot, all the distance to Grenoble, about seventy miles, to have an interview with M. Bonifas. When just completing his journey, and entering the gates, the sentinel, suspecting his appearance, demanded his passport. Not having procured one, he was cast into prison, and after some days of confinement, was marched back, under a military guard, to his father's house. His father, a bigoted Romanist, deeply incensed at his conduct, insisted on his going to the confessional. His interview there with the priest excited suspicions that he must have had a Bible in his possession. Search was made, and their apprehensions were verified; for the Word of Life was found secreted under the mattrass of his bed! Well aware that he could expect nothing
but the bitterest persecution from his friends, he resolved to quit his native soil, in the strength of the assurance, “ When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up." Still he was unable to procure a passport ; but, strong in faith, he ventured once more to the gates of Grenoble; with a joyful heart he passed unchallenged-cast in his lot with the band of Protestants; and that Sabbath evening, none of the little assemblage, with greater joy than he, was “ drawing water out of the wells of salvation !"
Roman Catholicism here, is of the worst character. We observed in the course of the day, several parts of the town festooned with shrubs and flowers, stretching from window to window on opposite sides of the street. In these we encountered various popish processions, accompanied by discordant music. A large one was seen that morning, composed of youths; one of whom personated the Saviour, dressed in a purple robe, with a crown of thorns on his head, his feet bare, and carrying a cross on his shoulders. His father walked by his side, dressed as a carpenter. Other boys accompanied him, representing John, Peter, and the other apostles ; and a little girl, with long dishevelled hair, and a cruise in her hand, personated Mary Magdalene!
Among this degraded Catholic population, we looked in vain for a Sabbath, There is no such commandment in their decalogue; not one of the shops was shut; every café seemed to be thrown open for billiard, card-playing, and other amusements. Their peels of godless merriment, strangely contrasted with the quiet calm of the evening, and the sombre grandeur of the scenery around. The town itself is strongly fortified, having ramparts running up the steep acclivities, and strong gates at the various approaches.
After an interesting détour of two days in the neighbourhood, we started at five o'clock the following evening in an uncomfortable diligence, for “ Bourg d'Oysans," which we reached at three o'clock in the morning. Without pausing, we continued at that early hour, our journey on foot. The road we traversed was just constructing, at an enormous amount of labor and expense; as many portions were cut out of the solid rock. It wound through a stupendous valley ; small villages, with sur