vity. But this obstruction was also overcome by skill and perseverance.

There was yet another important operation connected with this undertaking, which was also successfully accomplished, that of gaining access to the river Mersey, by a tunnel excavated beneath the town. The length of this tunnel is 2250 yards. It is cut through various strata of red sandstone, blue shale, and clay, sometimes arched artificially, and at other times supported by the natural strength of the stone in which it is excavated. The height from the roof to the surface of the ground, varies from 5 to 70 feet.

I have given these details, because this spirited undertaking may be regarded as the commencement of a new era in the history of human intercourse.

A well written pamphlet, published by the treasurer of the Liverpool and Manchester company, in 1830, soon after the opening of the railway, to which I am indebted for most of the above information, contains the following just and interesting remarks:-" Perhaps the most striking result produced by the completion of this railway, is the sudden and marvellous change which has been effected in our ideas of time and space. Notions, which we have received from our ancestors, and verified by our own experience, are overthrown in a day, and a new standard is erected by which to form our ideas for the future. Speed, despatch, distance, are still relative terms, but their meaning has been totally changed in a few months. What was quick is now slow; what was distant is now near; and this change in our ideas will not be limited to the environs of Liverpool and Manchester; it will pervade society at large. Our notions of expedition, though at first having reference to locomotion, will influence, more or less, the whole tenor and business of life." "A transition in our accustomed rate of travelling, from eight or ten miles an hour, to fifteen or twenty, not to mention higher speeds, gives a new character to the whole natural trade and commerce of the country.

A saving of time is a saving of money. For the purposes of locomotion, about half the number of carriages will suffice, if you go twice the speed; or the aggregate travelling of the country may be doubled, or more than doubled, without any additional expense to the community. The same may be said of the number of waggons for the conveyance of merchandise. The saving of capital, therefore, in this department of business, is considerable, from expedition alone. A great deal of the inland trade of the country is conducted by the agency of travellers; and here, what a revolution in the whole system and detail of business, when the ordinary rate of travelling shall be twenty miles, instead of ten per hour! The man of business at Manchester will breakfast at home, proceed to Liverpool, by the railway, transact his business, and return to Manchester before dinner. A hard day's journey is thus converted into a morning's excursion."

The writer, proceeding to speculate on this subject, in that acute mercantile spirit for which his town is remarkable, anticipates, what is now on the point of being realized, the rapid extension of railroad communication throughout the country, and sees, in this, a new theatre of activity and employment to an industrious population. "If we look," says he, "to the construction of only one hundred railways, equal in extent to the Liverpool and Manchester, comprising a line of 3000 miles, in various situations, and absorbing a capital of fifty or sixty millions of pounds Sterling, what a source of occupation to the labouring community! What a change in the facility of giving employment to capital, and consequently in the value of money."

These are important and well-founded results of the new system of locomotion thus happily commenced, and which will doubtless extend to every quarter of the ci

*The total number of railway bills passed during the ten years ending with the session 1835-6, was a hundred and twenty-seven; the total passed in session 1836, was thirty-three. Twenty of the latter comprise, in their estimated cost, a capital of more than seven millions.

vilized world. But a far more important inquiry is that of the effect thus likely to be produced on the habits and feelings of men in their extended intercourse. May we not hope that the period has at length arrived, when, without injuring the human character, facilities for locomotion, hitherto for wise purposes denied, are about to be united to the other gifts of Providence, which shall enable man to change his place with the ease and rapidity of the tenant of the air. This view opens up a train of thought much too varied and vast to be at present entered on, extending to all the relations of life, bearing not merely on our mercantile condition but on our character as social, moral, and religious beings; and casting on the eye which attempts to penetrate futurity, a chequered scene of light and shade, till it merges in that brighter day which prophecy dimly discries.

343

TWELFTH WEEK-SUNDAY.

AN AUTUMNAL SABBATH EVENING.

THERE is something at all seasons peculiarly pleasing in the evening hour. Day, with its round of active duties, has passed away, and the sober twilight gives a character of repose and softness to every object. The fields, no longer sparkling in the enlivening sunbeams, lie in the shade, as if eager to drink in each dew-drop that distils in the quiet air. The face of nature, in that hour, is stamped with the impress of change, and its solemnity has not unfrequently aroused the slumbering conscience, for a moment, to the remembrance of days spent in vanity, and nights consumed in folly, and awakened a thought of Him whose still small voice is often unheard amid the turmoil of this world. But if evening, in itself, is so lovely, and so well fitted to excite reflection, the close of the Sabbath speaks in a deeper tone to the heart of the Christian; and it may be questioned if, other things being equal, any of his hours are so emphatically seasons of enjoyment as these. To them, in the varied labours of the week, he looks forward with glad anticipation, and he welcomes their return as the smile of a long absent friend. And whence this peculiar enjoyment? It is not in the softness of the evening hour, nor in the mysterious beauty of the "moving light and shade." These things are better appreciated by the Christian than by any other, but the secret of his peace is not in them. The mind that is already at peace, is prepared fully to enjoy scenes so much in unison with its own state; while many who have sought comfort in external nature, have been taught in the search,

"How ill the scene that offers rest,

And heart that cannot rest, agree."

The Sabbath evening is not, in itself, more lively than

any other. The glories of the great Creator are manifested in every declining sun, but the mind is not always equally alive to them. It is after the solemn exercises of the day of God, that heaven seems nearest to earth. If man grows to a resemblance to that which he most contemplates, it follows that, after a day set apart more exclusively for seeking God, and raising to him a tribute of praise, his love should be more glowing, and his heart more weaned from earth, than at the termination of one necessarily much engrossed with worldly occupation.

The Christian has been standing on the mount of ordinances, striving to catch a beam from the land of glory, and to raise a feeble note in accordance with the music of heaven. Is it wonderful that, when he descends, the parting gleam of the rich autumnal sunset should seem an earnest of that better land, and that the many-coloured leaves, floating silently from the parent tree to their grassy resting-place, should excite a joyful remembrance of the promise, that the people of God shall dwell by a tree, whose unfading leaves are for the healing of the nations. He has been contemplating the attributes of that God who fills heaven and earth with his presence; and his mind is expanded to its utmost extent, with a sense of his stupendous greatness. The felt presence of the Creator in his works, like the principle of life in the human frame, gives animation and interest to all. His voice is heard in the breeze; His footsteps are seen in the wood, and the soul longs to dwell before Him till it bears His likeness, as faithfully as the stream reflects the imagery of the sky, with its fleecy clouds and azure depths. He has been lying at the feet of Jesus, waiting to receive the whispers of his mercy, and longing to feel, through all the recesses of his soul, the power of his unfathomable love; and the gracious Saviour owns the suppliant in the fulfilment of his parting words to his disciples," Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you." The words, impressed with all the force of eternal truth, sink into his reviving spirit, and“ peace”