we have yet to learn that Elliotson, or Reichenbach, or Gregory, are defenders of spirit rapping.

One fact the rappists have impudently appropriated as a branch of the manifestations. We allude to the phenomenon of tabletipping. This we hold to be an undeniable fact in nature. It is indisputable, and no physical fact has been better or more thoroughly authenticated, that tables, and indeed any common moveable article, can under certain circumstances be made to exhibit an apparently spontaneous, but really imparted, motion. There the fact stops: at present it is single and isolated. To exhibit it requires the presence of at least one individual, who is either susceptible of the magnetic influences, or has educial muscular or nervous powers, which only a minority of persons have, and these in various degrees. In this particular alone spirit rapping claims connexion with the table phenomenon, viz., in the alleged necessity of a magnetic medium, that is, of a person of a certain nervous temperament. The table movement is a physical reality, very curious, and at present unexplained. It is supposed to have some connexion with magnetism, or electricity, or galvanism (whether these are or are not distinguishable), or with Reichenbach's odyle. But this is pure theory. The fact at present is small and insignificant, but it may lead to great discoveries. At present, however, the matter is in a very rudimental and monadic shape. Real connexion with the alleged rapping manifestations it has none whatever. It is simply physical. The table is not vocal: it utters no fatidic voices. When the physical influence is withdrawn, the motion ceases: the table stands still or topples over. There it rests. At present the thing only looks grotesque and insignificant; it seems only to illustrate the nursery tradition that the dish ran away with the spoon-and it has been suggested, the motion of the tables may not be inherent at all. By some connexion of volition with muscular power the operators may in fact and unconsciously be actually moving the table while they believe themselves to be passive. The mystery, as in the analogous and familiar experiment of the ring suspended over a glass vessel from the fingers, which knocks the hour of the day, may depend on the subtleness of the connexion between the will and the muscles. But we do not dogmatize on a matter which at present is very unimportant.

But we especially desire that this table-tipping phenomenon, or any thing else which has at first a supernatural look, should be treated in the right spirit. If it is a fact, and the testimony to its reality is incontestable, let it remain as a fact. It is nothing to be afraid of. It is not to be set aside in that vulgar contemptuous spirit which is ready, and which would, were the trial to come, be glad to set aside all historical testimony. Nor is it to be treated in a superstitious spirit. It makes no appeal and professes no connexion with the spiritual world. Table-tipping, if it is not a harmless self-delusion, is no more mixed up with Satanic delusions than is the electric telegraph. Religious people ought to remember that if they suostantially believe in the power of evil spirits, they must be aware that Satan has powers a vast deal too awful and terrible, fascinations and occupations too serious, and influences on our souls too real and tremendous, to amuse himself with feats of twirling hats and tables, which would be vulgar, contemptible, and useless, in the meanest and tricksiest Puck of the realms of Fairydom.

THE LAY OF THE HERO.

FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER.

1.

Or the dauntless man raise high the lay,
As clash of bells, or organ's tone,
Whose lofty deeds gold may not pay,

But the thrilling voice of the lyre alone.
Yes, his gallant soul shall find its reward,
And a deathless name in the song of the bard!

2.

The thaw-wind comes, from the southern sea,
And moaning sweeps o'er Italy,
The clouds drift on before its might,
Like a scatter'd flock with the wolf in sight.
It sweeps o'er forest, it sweeps o'er plain,
And the ice-bergs burst in a roaring main.

3.

The avalanche starts from the mountain's side
Where a thousand waters roll their tide,
The blooming vale becomes an ocean,
The river rocks with restless motion,
The waves rise high, the track is lost,
And masses of ice on their breast are tost.
4.

Where pillars and arches clust'ring stand,
A slender bridge its form uprears,
Of free-stone fashioned on either hand

And a single hut in the midst appears.
Here dwells the Bridgeward with child and wife.
"Oh Bridgeward, Bridgeward, fly for thy life!"

5.

Heavily heaves the flood around,

And the Bridgeward springs to the roof in haste, As the tempest groans with a hollow sound, He breathless looks on the watery waste. "All-pitying Father have mercy on me! I am lost unless Thou my Deliverer be!" 6.

Billow on billow leaps the flood,

From shore to shore, from side to side,
Like the storm-tossed boughs of an Alpine wood,
Rages and rushes and eddies the tide,
And now it nears that lonely dwelling

While

a prayer for aid on the air is swelling.

7.

The ice is rending crash on crash,

From side to side, from shore to shore, On the awe-struck gaze the breakers flash, Foaming and whirling the arches o'er, But above the strife of the tempest wild,

Rise the shrieks of the Bridgeward with wife and child.

8.

High on the distant beach there stands

A crowd of gazers small and great,

Some shout, some weep, some wring their hands,
And some in mute expectance wait,

And louder than wind or water's roar
That agonized voice is heard once more!

9.

As clash of bells or organ's tone,

Why thus my lay dost thou aspire?
He tarries still, that dauntless one,
Ring louder, louder yet my lyre!
"Oh now thou noble heart prepare,
The flood sweeps on and death is there!"

10.

Who hither comes with furious speed? What do his trembling hands uphold? "Tis a noble Count on a gallant steed

With a weighty purse of shining gold. "Two hundred pistoles I offer to thee, Whoe'er of my Bridgeward the rescuer may be!"

11.

Is he the hero? Shall he save?

'Tis thou my ringing lyre shall tell. By heaven's light, the Count was brave! Yet a braver heart I know full well. "Oh now, thou dauntless one appear, Fearful the torrent rages near!"

12.

And ever higher rose the flood,

And ever louder sobb'd the wind,

And ever fainter sank the hope

Of rescue in the Bridgeward's mind, And pillar by pillar snapp'd and fell,

As the struggling waves through the arches swell.

13.

"Forward!" again, Count Luigi, cried.

"On, on, my friends, for God's dear Son !" And each man heard, but look'd aside,

And of the thousands stirr'd-not one;

While ever above the element's strife,

Rang the voice of the Bridgeward, with child and wife.

14.

But see with firm, undaunted step,

A lowly serf moves on the scene;

With pilgrim staff, and homely garb;

Stately his form, his glance shone keen.

He hears the Count, his prayer attends,

While his gaze on the coming destruction he bends.

15.

And straight into the nearest bark,

In God's high Name he boldly sprung,
Fearless of storm and billows dark,
Came the deliverer safely on.

But vain is every hope they cherish,
With skiff so frail he too must perish!

16.

But thrice his bark he onward urg'd,
Fearless of tempest, wind, and wave,
And thrice in safety hath he pass'd

To shore, with those he came to save,
But scarcely the third time the land he near'd,
'Ere the hut's last fragments disappear'd.

"Here," cried the Count, "my gallant friend, Come hither, and receive thy part!"

And does the hero thus intend?'

By heaven, the Count had a noble heart. But a higher, and holier, and heavenlier glow, Warm'd the heart of the peasant his doublet below.