horses, or a dozen oxen to drag it along the seed is sown in the broad-cast way, at the rate of about a bushel and an half an acre; a rude harrow is just passed over it, and they reap from ten to fifteen for one. No manure comes upon the ground, except a sprinkling for barley. In low situations near rivulets, where the water can be brought upon the ground, they reap from thirty to forty for one. Water, in fact, is every thing in Southern Africa. Not like the Chinese, whose great art of agriculture consists in suiting the nature and habit of the plant to that of the soil, which he also artificially prepares, the Dutch peasant at the Cape is satified, if he can command only a supply of water. He bestows no kind of labour on the ground, but that of throwing in the seed: the rest is left to chance and the effects of an excellent climate. The time of seeding is in the months of May and June; and of harvest in November to January. The grain is trodden out by horses on circular floors in the open air; and the straw is left to rot or to be scattered about by the winds." Page 84, Vol. I.

LITERARY NOTICES.

The Rev. Mr. Fry, Author of "Lectures on the Romans," &c. is preparing for the Press, a Work to be entitled,—The Second Advent, or Glorious Epiphany of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ; being an Attempt to elucidate, in Chronological order, all the Prophecies both of the Old and the New Testaments, which relate to this important subject, and to the Events immediately connected with it: The Judgment of Apostate Nations-The Restoration of Israel, and the Final Establishment of the promised Kingdom of Messiah, &c. &c.

In the Press, and speedily will be published in Three Volumes, octave. A History of the British Empire, from the Accession of Charles the First, to the Restoration. With an Introduction, tracing the Progress of Society and of the Constitution, from the Feudal Times to the opening of the History, and including a particular examination of Mr. Hume's Statements, relative to the English Government. By GEORGE BRODIE, Esq Advocate.

The Rev. John Hughes, Author of "Hora Britannice," in Two Volumes, is arranging materials for a Supplemental Volume, which will contain a Translation of the Welsh Historical Triads, with Two Essays, presented to the Cambrian Society.

POETRY.

REFLECTIONS ON THE OPENING OF THE NEW YEAR.

HAST thou seen, when the starry pavilion of night,

Thine eye in a transport of wonder survey'd,

A meteor, whose rapid and beautiful flight,
Has fill'd, for an instant, the ether with light,
And then was extinguish'd in shade?

'Twas lovely as swift, and the crystalline blue,
Not a trace of its luminous progress retain'd:
So the arrows of time, for a moment in view,
Through the arc of duration as rapidly flew,
And the goal of eternity gain'd.

Yes! the year with its seasons, its blessings is filed,
'Twas lovely in spring, and in summer 'twas fair:
On its autumn the bounties of heaven were shed,
And its harvests in richest abundance outspread,
Proclaim'd the omnipotent care.

It was fertiliz'd, too, with its seasons of grace,

Than the showers of the spring more refreshingly sweet,
When Jehovah, reveal'd in his holiest place,
Diffu'd on his servants the beams of his face,
And illumin'd the path of his feet.

It is past! and its flight has been final to some,
Who have fallen like the leaves of its autumn around;
And many a saint has gone happily home,
Descending in faith to the rest of the tomb,

With honour and victory crown'd.

It is past! yet the swell of its tumult and strife,
Recoils on the ear like the storm as it dies,
It was chaf'd with the toils and the troubles of life,
And contagions of mischief and folly were rife,
And wickedness darken'd its skies.

Though fled with its blessings, its sorrows, its crimes,
Yet say, shall the waves of forgetfulness draw,
To oblivion's dark, trackless, and desolate climes,
The shadow departed, of seasons and times,
Which destiny watches with awe!

Oh thou! whom the bosom of mercy Divine

Has shielded from danger and crown'd with delight,
Whose steps have been led by the myrtle and vine,
To whose happy inheritance blessings combine
Which gild thy horizon with light:

To insensibility coldly a prey

Canst thou the delightful rememb'rance forego,
Of blessings unnumber'd, and lose in a day,
A sense of the gifts thou canst never repay,
While thy stream of existence shall flow?
Canst thou, whom the arrows of Infinite Love,
Have stricken in kindness, and wounded to heal,
Forget the reproofs that were sent from above,
Nor meekly submissive, consent to improve,
By the process of heav'nly skill?

And thou, oh unhappy! whose obdurate heart,
Has repell'd the advances of pity and grace,

Who, though scourg'd by affliction, and gall'd by its smart,
Yet refusest from folly, from sin to depart,

Oh when wilt thou think on thy ways!

Has the year in its flight left no lesson with thee,
No kind admonition of death to beware?

Oh despise not that counsel, in penitence flee

To Him, though contemn'd, who hath suffer'd for thee,
And e'en thou shalt his sympathy share!

But turn thee from mortals whose dwelling is dust,
Than the insect of summer more feeble and frail,
To the ruins of nations, where column, and bust,
And trophy, and tomb have relinquish'd their trust,
And time and oblivion prevail.

Hark! the blast of the desert, it sighs through the towers,
Where potentates walk'd in the pomp of their pride,
Through their dank desolations the screech-owl pours,
Its notes to the tiger, who echoing roars,

To the caverns where serpents hide.

Is Babylon fall'n! does the traveller in vain
Explore the proud site whence her diadem blaz'd!
Of his desolate temple does Nilus* complain,
Engulf'd in the sands of the Lybian plain,
By the terrible Simoon† uprais'd?

They were lofty in heart, and the vengeance of heav'n,
From their thrones of dominion the reprobates burl'd,
The stars of the morning to darkness were driven,
And for pride and impiety awfully given,

As ensamples of wrath to the world.

But who, in the weeds of affliction and woe,

In the dust of defilement, is seen on the ground?
Her breast heaves with anguish, her copious tears flow,
While she murmurs in accents imperfect and low,
"Ah me! my incurable wound."

Though spoil'd of her treasures, forsaken, forlorn,
No sympathy softens the anguish she feels,
But the tongue of reproach, and the finger of scorn,
Are pointed at her who for glory was born,
While she vainly for pity appeals.

Oh daughter of Zion! dejected, despoil'd,
For thee by thy desolate sorrow I know,
By thy palaces ruin'd, thy temple defil'd,
Thy gardens and vineyards forsaken and wild,
Trodden down by the infidel foe.

By the crescent which gleams through the darkness profound,
Now involving the mount where thy glory was seen,

I see thee a captive in punishment bound,

For rejecting the light, for refusing the sound,

Which might once thy salvation have been.

But nurtur'd, and cherish'd, and honour'd, and blest,
Thy heart was deceitful, thy way was perverse.
Though woo'd and entreated, thou fleddest from rest,
Till mercy expell'd thee at length from her breast,
And deliver'd thee up to the curse.

Oh Britain! who shin'st on the world in its wane,
Like the planet of night mid the stars of the sphere;
To thee shall these awful mementos be vain;
Or History drop o'er her record again,

For thy fate the unbidden tear?

Art thou mighty in strength! were the nations of old,
In arms or in treasures less potent than thou?
Dost thou boast of thy sons who are valiant and bold?
While the tales of its heroes with triumph are told,
To thee will antiquity bow?

Then trust not in riches, in counsel, or might,
Stability rests in the fear of the Lord,

And thy shield of defence, and thy source of delight,

Than thy bulwarks more firm, than thy waters more bright,

Are the knowledge and grace of his word.

* The great river of Egypt.

+ The burning wind of the desert.

The ensign of the Turkish power, which has erected a mosque upon mount Moriah, where the temple of Solomon once stood.

Like a river, whose copious and beantiful flood,
Carries freshness and health to the meadows around,
So the fountain of Wisdom, the Record of God,
In streams of salvation thy land hath o'erflow'd,
But where is thy fruitfulness found?

Not Zion, redeem'd by the arm of the Lord,

Had statutes and judgments more righteous than thine;
Thy freedom, thy justice, the nation's record;
They honour thy laws, they submit to thy sword,
And fain in thy model would shine.

But with thee are the proud, the unthankful, and vain,
Who rejecting the blessings by heaven bestow'd,
Would sully thine honour, thy majesty stain,
Thy liberty, wisdom, and justice profane,
And defile thee with treason and blood.

And with thee is the scorner, who impiously dares
To contemn the Most High, and his counsels despise,
The blasphemer, regardless of threatnings or fears,
Who boldly the standard of satan uprears,

And the King Everlasting defies.

And with thee are the light and the profligate throng,
Whom pleasure and vice to their thraldom subdue,
With whom virtue and truth are the bacchanal's song,
And their scoff of contempt, and the scourge of their tongue,
The just and the upright pursue.

Oh Britain! if these be the traitors within,

Can the rocks that surround thee defend from the foe?
Though no galley with oars on thy waters is seen,
Though the tempest disturbs not their emerald green,
Yet fear lest thy strength be laid low.

But no! thou hast-friends who are loyal and true,
Thou hast sons who their filial affection retain,
Through the clouds that surround thee they anxiously view,
Yet their courage, their firmness, their zeal they renew,
And are pledg'd to thy service again.

There are patriots in Britain! and dear is the name,

Though profan'd and dishonour'd by falsehood and guile;
And these for their country a blessing shall claim,
While they weep for her sorrows, and blush for her shame,
Though folly and madness revile.

Intercessors with Him: who alone can suspend,

Or avert the o'erflowings of judgment and wrath,
They will pray that His Spirit of grace may descend,
And the heart of the multitude mightily bend
To contrition, repentance, and faith.

And oh may that Spirit, who only can bring,
The unction of unity, concord, and love,

Give Britons with grateful affection to cling,

To the Altar of God, and the Throne of the King,
Till they rest in the mansions above.

VOL. XLIV. JAN. 1821.

A. B.

MISSIONARY INTELLIGENCE.

INDIA.

The following letter was recently addressed by the Rev. W. WARD, Baptist Missionary from India, through the medium of a Liverpool Paper, to the Ladies of Liverpool and the United Kingdom, on the subject of Female Education in India.

girls' school in all India; and the mother being herself entirely unlettered, and being the devoted victim of a dark and cruel superstition, is utterly incapable of improving her child. The first days of the girl are therefore spent in an inanity which prepares her for a life doomed to be spent in superstition and vice.

To the Ladies of Liverpool, and of the United Kingdom, There are in Hindostan more than seventy-five millions of your sex who can neither read nor write, and thirty millions of them are British subjects. In every country not ameliorated by Christianity the state of woman has always been most deplorable; but the Hindoo legislators have absolutely made their acquistion of the knowledge of letters a curse, and they are by a In the age of comparative childpositive prohibition denied all access hood she is united in marriage without to their Scriptures. Being thus de-any knowledge of, or having ever seen graded, even by their Sacred Writ- her husband: when they meet togeings, women in India are in a state ther for the first time, they are bound of ignorance and superstition which together for life. Thousands who has no parallel in the history of tribes, are thus married in a state of childthe most savage and barbarous. hood, lose their husbands without having ever lived with them, and are doomed to a life of widowhood; for the law forbids them to re-marry. Parents, in some cases, marry fifty or sixty daughters to one Bramhun, that the family may be raised to honour by a marriage relation to this man. These females never live with the husband, but in the houses of their own parents, or they leave the houses in which they have been thus sacrificed for the supposed honour of the family, and enter the abodes of infamy and ruin.

A female is despised as soon as she is born: she comes into the world amidst the frowns of her parents and friends, disappointed that the child is not a boy. Every mother among the tribe of Rajpoots puts her female child to death as soon as born. While I was in Bengal, I was informed of the case of a Rajpoot who had spared one of his daughters, and she lived till she attained the age when Indiagirls are marriageable. A girl in the house of a Rajpoot was, however, so extraordinary a circumstance, that no parent chose to permit his son to marry her. The father then became alarmed for her chastity and the honour of his family, and he there fore took her aside one day, and with a hatchet cut her to pieces! These are the circumstances into which your sex enter into life in British India.

In childhood and youth they have no education, no cultivation of any kind whatever. There is not a single

Supposing the female, however, to have been united to a person who really becomes attached to her, what a mother without the knowledge of the alphabet! Wholly unacquainted with mankind, and with all the employments of females in a civilized country; unable either to make, to mend, or to wash the clothes of her household! She never sits to eat with her husband, but prepares his food, waits upon him, and partakes