faction and that of his friends. Having a number of relatives at that meeting to whom he was closely united, he had a religious opportunity, at the house where he lodged, with them and others, from whom, at the close of the Yearly Meeting, he parted, as he remarks, "with a heart covered with reverent fear, and humble dread, under a sense of the many deep trials sacred Goodness had brought him through."

open for some religious exercise, it did not ap-, declare the testimony of truth, to his own satispear to be attended with the same evidence of divine life which he had sometimes experienced. He therefore made his communication a short one; and after parting with many of his friends "in much love and tenderness of spirit," he proceeded towards a place where he expected another meeting to be held. But," says he, "I had not gone far before the accuser of the brethren met me in the way, and being but low and dejected before, I cannot express the situation my mind was now in. It seemed to me that the bottomless pit from beneath had opened her mouth, and with her bars encompassed me about; the very weeds of confusion were wrapped about my head." The following night was spent in a variety of distressing thoughts, not knowing what would be the end of this combat. I brought things," he remarked, "to the nearest inspection I was capable of; but could not find that I stood condemned for any thing; unless it was for speaking too loud and too fast, to which I was incident."

He several times visited John Churchman, whom he pronounces an ancient worthy minister of great experiences." This valuable minister took a private opportunity to impart to his youthful visitor, some advice which was particularly affecting and highly iustructive. Thus manifesting the care of a father in the Church, over a bright and promising son.

At a subsequent period of this journey, he again visited the same worthy minister, he being then very ill, and in human probability not likely to recover. During a solemn pause, William Hunt says it arose in his heart to tell him, he thought he must surmount this wave, and perform some further service for the truth. which he meekly answered, "The will of the Lord be done."

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From this remark, we may infer, that he felt a secret apprehension that he sometimes suffered his mind to partake of a zeal and excitement which did not arise altogether from the true gospel fountain, and that his ardour may John Churchman did, soon afterwards, so far have partaken, in some degree, of a warmth aris-recover his health as to go to Philadelphia, for ing from sparks of his own kindling. In what- the purpose of seeking a passage to Barbadoes, ever light he viewed his own manner of speak- which he had a prospect of visiting on a religious ing, the fear here intimated, shows the tender- account; but finding that all the vessels which ness and watchfulness of his spirit. were preparing to proceed to that island, were furnished with guns for defence, the English and French nations being then at war, he did not feel at liberty even to look at them with a view to taking a passage. Having informed Friends in one of their meetings, of his sentiments on this subject, he returned home, and waited to see whether a clearer way would open. But the concern went off, and he seems to have regarded this religious concern as a measure, appointed by a wisdom superior to his own, to enable him to give a full and feeling testimony against participating in, or giving countenance to the destruction of human life. John Churchman lived after the interview to which William Hunt alludes between thirteen and fourteen years; and during great part of that time, was much engaged in the service of the gospel. So that the prospect expressed by his visitor, was amply verified.

In the morning, as he proceeded in company with several of his friends, towards the place where a meeting was expected to be held, his mind was painfully exercised with the prospect, as he expresses it," of facing a meeting" under the disconsolate feelings which attended him. "But," says he, "at length through the great goodness of the Almighty, to whom all powers are subject, there arose a pleasant calm over my mind, and there was a secret intelligible voice passed through my heart, if thou wilt be contented, and bear all things just as they come, my presence shall be with thee.' O, gracious reviving of my life. In humble dread and awful fear. If thou wilt preserve me, from dishonouring thy name, I am willing to endure all things, that may come upon me for thy Truth's sake."

When they arrived at the place where an appointed meeting was expected, they found that, by some oversight, notice had not been circulated, and W. Hunt was not subjected to the necessity of facing a meeting there.

The Yearly Meeting of Philadelphia occurred while he was on this visit, which he attended, it being then held near the end of the ninth month. Of that meeting he remarks, that the several sittings thereof were owned with a weighty sense of truth; and the business was transacted with much calmness and condescension. In some of them he was enabled, through gracious help, to

When he was about leaving that part of the country, William Hunt paid a parting visit to this experienced minister who dropped some admonitions which clearly indicate his solicitude that this young and highly valued friend and brother in the gospel, might not grow more pidly in the branch than in the root. rience of man had no doubt strongly impressed on his mind, a sense of the danger attendant upon young persons when endowed with extraordinary gifts, natural or spiritual. His expressions were, "I have had sweet unity and sympa

His expe

will still preserve both at home and abroad. Wilt thou now distrust the sufficiency of my power?"

thy with thee, from thy first coming into this province. I am glad thou hast grown in thy gift; yea and thou wilt still grow, if thou sink deep and wait in thy gift; but if thou leave it, Then he says, "with an awful, humble, yet thou wilt grow in the top, and many words with- mournful resignation, I said in the secret of my out life. Therefore wait in the gift, and when soul, 'Lord, thy peace is more to me than ten thou comes home, see if thou canst not say with thousand worlds. I am willing to follow whereJacob, I am become two bands; say in the se- soever thou pleasest.' While I could keep here, cret of thy soul, Lord if thou wilt be pleased to my mind was in true quiet and stillness, but the blot out my transgressions, I am content." desire I had let in to see my dear wife and litThese appear to have been the parting ex-tle babes, had become so strong, that I could pressions of one who was justly regarded as a father and instructor, both to him and to others, and they made a deep impression on the subject

of this notice.

At the time when this journey was performed, the Society of Friends were laboring to clear themselves from the practice of holding slaves; and this subject did not escape the attention of a mind so thoroughly alive to the cause of universal righteousness as that of William Hunt. When about leaving Pennsylvania,* he remarks: "My heart was still pained on account of the poor negroes; and feeling the way open in their meeting for business, [at West Nottingham] I spoke tenderly and closely to the subject; entreating friends to live deeply inward; and when truth should dictate the way for their enlargement, not to let self-love hinder so great a work."

"The cry of these poor creatures was so loud in my ears that I scarce ate or drank anything, lest I should partake of the gain of oppression."

From this expression, we may readily perceive that his views in this respect were very similar to those of John Woolman, in relation to the products of slave extracted labor.

Having nearly accomplished the service to which he believed himself called, and taken leave, in great sweetness and tenderness of spirit, of many of the friends among whom he had labored, he was expecting to proceed immediately home, when he found his mind drawn towards a meeting which lay fifty miles out of his way. This, he says, was a pinching trial; he pleaded hard to be excused. But the covenant which he made in his journey, was brought into view; when under deep-baptism, he had promised that if the Lord would preserve him to the honor of his name, he would offer up not only his nearest enjoyments, but his life, if required. Then he says a sweet voice passed through his mind; "What hast thou lacked of my presence; have not I been with thee and supported thee through those dangerous spots of which thou wast sore afraid? If thou wilt be faithful, I

not easily put them by; and therefore I spent this night in many a bitter sigh, and heavy groan, with frequent weeping."

Having attended the meeting in question, he proceeded homeward without further delay, lodging one night in the woods on the road, and found his wife and family well, "who," says he, "with many dear friends and near relatives, were glad to receive me once more, in the fellowship that is with the Father and the Son, Christ, to whom be rendered dread and humble fear forever."

Near the close of the narrative, this declaration appears: "Now I know it was the language of the holy spirit which said, be faithful and I will preserve at home and abroad. O saith my soul that I, with all his anointed, may ever keep a watchful eye to the secret monitions thereof; and give a ready obedience, which alone crowns all our labor with true peace."

For Friends' Review.

VIEW FROM THE MONASTERY OF SOURIANI. "In the month of March, 1837, I left Cairo," says the Hon. Robert Curzon, in 'A Visit to the Monasteries in the Levant," "for the purpose of visiting the Coptic Monasteries in the neighborhood of the Natron lakes, which are situated in the desert to the Northwest of Cairo, on the western side of the Nile." After visiting two or three, he particularly speaks of that of Souriani, from the depth of whose recesses in the cellar, he found treasures of which he was in pursuit-viz: tomes of ancient times, Syriac manuscripts on vellum, which he had some trouble in digging from "their literary grave," and thus describes the scene in ascending from its gloom and the light of wax candles, to that of day.

"On leaving the dark recess of the tower I paused at the narrow door by which we had entered, both to accustom my eyes to the glare of daylight, and to look at the scene below me. I stood on the top of a steep flight of stone steps, by which the door of the tower was approached from the court of the Monastery: the steps ran up the inside of the outer wall, which was of sufficient thickness to allow of a narrow terrace within the parapet; from this point I could look over the wall on the left hand upon the

when I turned my eyes upon my companions and myself, it struck me that we also were somewhat remarkable in our way. First, there was the old blind grey-headed abbot, leaning on his staff, surrounded with three or four dark robed Coptic monks, holding in their hands the lighted candles with which we had explored the secret recesses of the oil-cellar; there was I, dressed in the long robes of a merchant of the East, with a small book in the breast of my gown and a big one under each arm; and there were my servants armed to the teeth and laden with old books, and one and all we were so covered with dirt and wax, from top to toe, that we looked more as if we had been up some chimney, than like quiet people engaged in literary researches. One of the monks was leaning in a brown study upon the ponderous and gigantic volume in its primeval binding, in the interior of which the blind abbot had hoped to find a treasure. Perhaps upon the battlements of this remote monastery we formed as picturesque a group as any might wish to see; though the begrimed state of our flowing robes, as well as of our hands and faces, would render a somewhat remote point of view more agreeable to the artist than a closer inspection."

pires, all future misunderstandings that cannot be satisfactorily adjusted by amicable negotiations in the first instance, before a resort to hostilities shall be had."

GEORGE C. BECKWITH.

The reader is probably aware that the best hammered or malleable iron is nearly pure iron, and that cast-iron and steel are compounds-alloys they may almost be called-of iron with small proportions of carbon or charcoal. Castiron contains more carbon than steel, although in both the quantity is small, varying perhaps from or 1 to 4 or 5 per cent. Cast-iron is fusible, hard, brittle, unelastic. Steel is also fusible and hard, but it is much tougher, and highly elastic. Here we see the powerful effects of so small a proportion of carbon; for iron is nearly infusible, soft, and very tough, when free from carbon.

This measure is not all I could desire, but clearly a large and most hopeful advance towards superseding error. I was glad to hear Mr. Foote, in presenting the report, say he presumed the Senate would feel little or no hesitation in adopting a measure so simple, and so cordially and unanimously recommended by the Committee. There is now a fair prospect, I think, that our Government will gradually-that is the only way possible-come into the practice of providing in its treaties for arbitration, instead of the Now Mr. Stirling has found that cast-iron sword; a glorious consummation, worth a thou-may be rendered very tough, without losing its sand times over all that has been given, done fusibility, by simply alloying it with a certain and suffered for the cause of peace from the days proportion of wrought or malleable iron. He of George Fox till now. takes, we shall say, a quantity of any species of cast iron-no matter, for the general character of the result, of what kind—and has it run from the blast-furnace into moulds containing a certain proportion of scrap-iron. The pigs thus formed are then melted, as usual, in a cupola, and run into the desired moulds for castings. Thus is produced what he calls his toughened cast-iron. His object in the first experiments, was to imto an equality with the better kinds; but he did prove the inferior, weaker, or more fluid-irons not expect the remarkable result actually obtained-namely, that all irons are thus brought to a kind of average strength and toughness far above that of the best cast-iron. The strength of break a bar 1 square inch in section, and 4 feet cast iron is measured by the weight necessary to 6 inches long between the supports, when suspended to the middle of the bar. The highest result obtained by Mr. Hodgkinson with the best of (Blaenavon) cast iron was 578 lbs.; but the average, as by the same authority, is

NEW METALLIC MIXTURE.

There are few things more remarkable than the total change of properties produced when two or more metals are made to combine together so as to form what are called alloys. This change is so marked, that it is often impossible to predict, from the known properties of the compodict, from the known properties of the component metals, those of the alloy. We see this very distinctly in the known cases of brass, an alloy of copper and zinc, in all its varieties; of bronze, bell-metal, gun-metal and gong-metal, which are alloys of copper and tin; of type metal, a mixture of lead, antimony, and tin; and many

others.

454 lbs.

But although many useful and valuable alloys are known, when we consider the great number of simple metals—of which nearly fifty have been discovered, while at least twenty are sufficiently abundant to be applied to practical purposes, and further, that any two metals may combine Now Mr. Stirling has obtained the very high in many different proportions; and lastly, that result of 868 lbs., while Mr. Rennie, using Mr. very often an exceedingly small proportion of one Stirling's method, obtained that of above 900 lbs. metal will give to another entirely new properties Later experiments have given a still higher de-when we consider these things, it is obvious gree of improvement; so that the maximum inthat the existing alloys can form only a very crease of strength over that of average cast-iron small proportion of the immense number that (454 lbs) is 120 per cent. ; and that which may may be obtained, many of which may probably on all occasions be calculated on is from 60 to turn out more valuable than any yet known. 70 per cent., yielding an average of about 750 Mr. Morris Stirling, a gentleman thoroughly lbs. as the breaking weight of an inch bar 4 feet qualified for the task by a scientific education | 6 inches between the supports. All sorts of and long practical familiarity with chemistry, castings, if the due proportion of wrought scrap has, within the last few years, paid much attention to the alloys, chiefly of the most important of all metals-iron. The results he has obtained are of the highest practical importance, and afford a signal proof of the truth of what we have stated-namely, that multitudes of valuable alloys remain to be discovered, and will richly reward the time and labour bestowed in such investigations.

for each be ascertained, may be brought to this very high average of strength. Of course the improvement is, relatively to the original quality of the iron, not so great in the best as in the inferior sorts, but even in the best it is very great. This method is not a source of increased cost, for the cost is only greater in reference to the iron used. Thus Scotch pig-iron, at £2, 10s. per ton, when the expense of the scrap-iron

It is not easy to estimate the importance of this discovery, which has been confirmed by many of the leading iron masters, who are now using the patent under Mr. Stirling's license. For all castings where strength is required, such as beams, girders, pillars, the advantage is so great and obvious, that it is hardly necessary to do more than to allude to it. We obtain, at a cheaper rate, with the same weight of castings, nearly double the strength, which for railway bridges, &c. is an invaluble result. But further, where the actual strength is more than sufficient wisdom, she looked forward to the completion of to resist the strain to which it is exposed, we can the prospect with a pleasing and hopeful confiattain to that strength by using a much less dence; yet even at an early period of the enweight of metal, and consequently at a still fur-gagement, there was something that seemed to ther reduced price. whisper to her, the uncertainty of its completion.