rence to see animals of this species minus a large portion of the caudal appendage; so that even if the body be considered as made up of instruments of motion, we know by observation that this active power remains, as it evidently seems, unlessened; in fact, to take a special instance, when the above-mentioned loss is sustained, the power of motion is not only not lessened, but even increased, on the well-known principle of mechanics, that the shorter the pendulum is, the greater will be the number of oscillations.

The foregoing arguments, if received in the spirit in which they were written, and by minds open to conviction, prove, to a very considerable degree of probability, that, on going out of this world, the dog, as well as we ourselves, may pass into new scenes, and a new state of life and perception, just as naturally as he came into the present.

LEBANON SHAKERS.

THERE are few people, at least in this part of New England, who have not heard of the Lebanon Springs, and many have visited them. These last, in their peregrinations through the valleys and over the hills of that most beautiful section of country, have more than once undoubtedly stumbled upon a little village nestled on the hill-side, to which they were attracted by peculiarities which would have rendered it noticeable even to the most careless wayfarer. They have noticed its wide and cleanly swept streets, its large unpainted houses destitute alike of ornament and beauty, its acres of richly cultivated soil scattered between the houses, on which grew neither tree nor flower, but in their stead cabbages, onions, potatoes, what man and beast would love to eat rather than admire, - its barns and manufactories so large and substantially built as to seem intended for the use of a community rather than an individual. All these outward marks of singularity would arrest the passing traveller's attention, and cause him to reflect what might be their cause. He would remark, too, that the inhabitants of this little village were not less peculiar than the village itself. He might see men and women pursuing, either singly or in groups, their daily avocations, with serious, earnest countenances, not often lit up by a smile, whose broad-brimmed hats,

and stiff straw bonnets, and plain, close-fitting garments of drab, have put all innovation in dress at defiance for near a century. As he passed through the street, he would be met by no impertinent stare, and his civil interrogatory would only be answered by a "yea" or a "nay." The kine feeding in the neighboring pasture, or the oxen in the furrow, would testify by their sleek condition that they were well fed and not overworked. The quiet as of a Sabbath everywhere pervading, and the unusual order and cleanliness with which the avocations of life were carried on, would seem to indicate that this little village was the home of a religious sect. Such is the case. Here dwell perhaps a thousand human beings, who, for the sake of leading pure and holy lives, have secluded themselves from the world and its allurements, and, by daily mortifying the flesh and humbling the proud spirit, are making themselves fit for that eternal life whose stern realities should never be forgotten in our practice any more than in our theory.

The world, always quick in seizing upon any characteristic which affords food for ridicule, has called these people Shakers, from their manner of worship, which largely consists in singing and dancing. To a careless observer, there would seem to be much in the manners of these enthusiasts which would justly expose them to laughter and scorn; but in their religion, as in almost every other, there is much more to praise than to blame; and their peculiarities, springing, as they do, from a desire for perfection in this life, which can only be reached by self-denial, ought to entitle them to respect and charity. Though they receive their name from the manner in which they conduct the outward services of religion, yet this is by no means the only distinction between the Shakers and the rest of the world. Among the Shakers there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage. The women are as totally distinct from the men, as though they were immured in a convent. They live in separate houses, they attend while young different schools, their pursuits are of such a nature as always to keep them secluded, so that neither by word nor deed are they exposed to temptation.

All property among them is common. What one owns, all own. If a person of means desires to seek a retirement from the world among these people, he is expected to bring with him his wealth, and contribute it to the common store. If he be poor and needy, he will be just as welcome as though he were rich. Every one is expected to labor in proportion to his strength and ability, and in return for his

labor he has food and shelter and friends while living, and after death a decent burial. It may not be too much to say, that in no other collection of people so large in number as the Shakers, is all manner of vice so completely found wanting. In their dealings with the world, their honesty has made them proverbial, and their dealings with each other are so strictly equitable that one is looked upon by another as a brother or a sister, and all the ties which elsewhere bind together those of a kin, they believe to be more than compensated for in that bond of union which their faith establishes between strangers and aliens. The vices, the passions, the infirmities of humanity, it is their boast to have conquered.

Such an institution as theirs, existing in so bustling an age as this, among so practical a people, is certainly something of a phenomenon, and worth at least a moment's thought. The society called Shakers was, I believe, first organized in this country more than eighty years ago, by a woman named Ann Lee. This Ann was a religious enthusiast, and, as is the case with so many other more notable and historical characters, her enthusiasm got the better of her reason, and assumed, in her own eyes and in the eyes of her deluded followers, what few she had, the semblance at least of inspiration. It was her mission to a sinful world to preach the second coming of Christ, with whom for much of her life she was in constant intercourse, and to warn all men against the sins which were daily encroaching upon their lives. By degrees, as her preaching attracted converts, and it was thought advisable to organize a society, it was hedged around by such barriers of temperance and self-denial as would preserve its communicants from worldly vice. Though she showed less artifice and policy, "Mother Ann" seems to have established her order of faith on much the same principles, and from much the same motives, as guided the devout of a former age in founding monasteries and convents. Her society was set on foot in England, where the prophetess herself was born. But persecution was bitter, even unto death; a cold, uncharitable world could not but regard with hatred and envy apostles whose sole business it was to reprove and threaten; and so in 1784 the storm grew so thick over the heads of poor Ann and her few devoted disciples, that they one and all left their homes and came over to a strange land. She and her Elders, it would seem, were never idle in the good work. They immediately began the work of proselytizing, — and, alas! soon became as odious as ever. Settlements were organized in many of the towns of New Eng

land and Western New York, where most of them now exist in a flourishing condition. Mother Ann herself lived and died at Watervliet, and a simple stone, marked with the initials of her name, now denotes her resting-place. She was one of God's elect; in her, Jesus Christ appeared anew; in her, woman was restored from her fallen and sinful condition. Living, she was an object of hatred and persecution, yet her whole life was a glorious victory over sin, and her death was such as God grants to but few even of his elect; for "one who was greatly gifted in visions testified, that, when the breath left her body, he saw in a vision a golden chariot, drawn by four white horses, which received and wafted her soul out of his sight."

Be the instrument mighty or humble, an inspired prophetess or a drunken enthusiast, still the work she accomplished or originated was by no means contemptible. Within the past half-century the society of Shakers has been steadily increasing in numbers, in wealth, and in influence. There is now a membership of more than six thousand, scattered about in different communities over the country, and in such a time of peril and want as now threatens this unhappy nation, their number bids fair to increase much more rapidly, for among them the poor and the infirm, the aged and the destitute, always find a home. But I headed my article "Lebanon Shakers," and I began with the intention of describing a little visit I once made that community; but I have wandered so far from my subject as almost to have lost sight of it. Well, to begin again, the Lebanon Shakers are situated in one of the most delightful and picturesque localities of Eastern New York. The country all around Lebanon has become famous for its beautiful diversity of hill and dale, valley and mountain. Between the Hudson River on the west and the Berkshire Mountains on the east, there is a belt of land, twenty-five miles or more in width, which presents as many varied attractions to the traveller and tourist as any other similar extent of territory in New York or New England. Overlooking one of its most beautiful valleys, right on the middle of the hill-side, the Shakers have located their village. It lies sufficiently high to command an extensive prospect, and not so high but that it is sheltered in winter from the north winds by the ascending hill on the background. I have said their village presented the appearance of neatness; I might have said the country for miles around, with which they have anything to do, gives one the same impression of order and method. The stone walls are built with as much regularity and firmness as

can

though the stones had been laid in cement. The fences, the gates, even the trees in the field, bespeak care and attention. The Shakers are as good farmers as can be found in the country. To see their gardens and graperies, their apple and peach orchards, their rich meadow-lands, on which are grazing the finest breeds of cattle and horses, makes one feel that the "profession of the husbandman be made one of the most noble and exalted. In this little village there are barns which cost more than twenty thousand dollars apiece. Their mills and factories (for all trades and occupations are followed here) are constructed on the most enduring plan; indeed, everything seems to have for its end utility and comfort, while mere show is entirely disregarded; and this applies to the dead as well as the living. They have no useless ceremony and pomp over the departed, but bury them with all decency and despatch, reserving their care and affection for the living, who need and may be benefited by it. In ascending the hill to reach the village, one may see on his right, about half-way up the ascent, an enclosed space of ground, which differs from any other piece of ground only in that here and there, where time has not smoothed them down, the surface is made uneven by slight and uncertain mounds of earth, at the head of some of which stands a plain, brown stone, whose initials denote the name of the person who lies beneath. This is the Shaker cemetery. This home of the dead gives them shelter, - all else would be superfluous.

What pleased me most at Lebanon was the public school. In the summer, only the girls are taught; in the winter, the boys. There were gathered in the school-room perhaps forty girls, of all ages, from five to fifteen, and exhibiting different degrees of proficiency, according to their age. Any one who has ever been accustomed to the filth and noise of our ordinary country schools would naturally be pleased to witness among half a hundred children such perfect quiet as not to be disturbed by a whisper, and such perfect neatness as would make a soiled garment or a dirty face noticeable at once. The exercises were like those of common schools generally, with perhaps a more strict attention to the more practical branches, like reading and writing, until we came to the singing, and that was peculiar enough. It was only after a special request that the teacher directed her pupils to sing, or requested them to lay aside their books, and then one and all began. It did not sound like a tune, for there seemed to be no sort of harmony about it; but yet it struck the