the court to some recent acts of profanation, by which the hearts of the citizens were grievously revolted, when surviving friends and relatives were compelled to witness scenes which they could not behold without mingled sentiments of anguish, and horror, and indignation. Nor were they only private and domestic feelings which were thus outraged. The profaners spared not the ashes of those whose exploits constitute a part of our proudest historical recollections. Even your own Sir William Walworth," said the learned counsel, " was not suffered to repose in peace; that great Lord Mayor of London, whose memory (pointing to the picture of the death of Wat Tyler, on the wall of the council chamber,) you have there illustrated, when, at a moment of great peril to the monarchy, he smote rebellion in its pride, and rescued from the rage of rebel violence the insulted majesty of England." To us, not the least interesting part of the speech was the allusion which the learned gentleman made to the celebrated Bishop Pearson. The church for which he was employed was that of which Dr. Pearson had been, at a former period, the minister, and in which the lectures on the creed, which now constitute a standard work of divinity, which will endure as long as the language, and which is adopted as a text-book in all the Universities, were first delivered. They were dedicated to the parishioners of St. Clement, in a strain of truly pastoral affection; and the good Bishop congratulates himself that the publication of his work was coeval with the reedifying of their church, and expresses a fervent hope that it might last as long. The learned counsel reverses the prayer, and earnestly supplicates the court before whom he pleads, that they may suffer the church to last as long as the lectures. The architectural beauty of the edifices in question next claimed his attention, and he expatiated, with glowing enthusiasm, upon the picturesque effect, and the character of grandeur which the numerous churches imparted to the other wise unsightly and monotonous mass of buildings which commerce had crowded together for her useful purposes on the banks of the river Thames. "Those splendid structures," he observed," which adorn that noble river-London, Waterloo, and Blackfriar's Bridges—would be out of character with the scene, if the prospect of the city, as beheld from them, did not present that lengthened line of churches, with their lofty and magnificent towers and spires, which gave not only architectural splendour, but moral interest to this great emporium; this mart where commerce had raised her throne, and where, under the special protection of that providence in whose honour those shrines were raised, she received tribute of the opulence of all nations." He was thus naturally led to the concluding topic, which was finely chosen and very ef fective, namely, the peculiar blessings which London had so long enjoyedexemption from the ravages of war, of civil fury, and of pestilence-by which other capitals, even within our own recollection, had been so severely visited. "It was but lately," he said, "that a new and grievous pestilence had passed through Europe. In a neighbouring capital it had mowed down the ranks of rich and poor, with the scythe of a promiscuous and sweeping desolation. The hearts of the people of London were then humbled. The churches were then not too large or too numerous for their anxious and crowded frequenters, when the shadow of the destroying angel seemed to be passing over this great city, and it was feared that its mission was to open wide the sepulchre of a sudden and unsparing mortality. There was a warning-but it was merciful-a blow-but it was slight. London had been wonderfully spared; and would the people of the first Christian city in the world, overturn in the hour of their deliverance, those altars to which they had fled for refuge in their peril, and which were inscribed with the name of their great deliverer." Having then struck a chord to which every Christian heart must beat in unison, he thus concludes: "I implore you, in the name of civilization, of which Christianity is the great promoter, and whose banner the Church of England raised when she rescued the human mind from the slavery of the dark ages, and again, when her hierarchy blew the trumpet of the revolution, to which all sects and parties in the country owe whatever rights and liberties they now enjoy: I implore you, in the name of the arts, of which these churches are the beautiful offspring-I implore you in the name of those instincts of our common nature which make us guard from profanation the remains of our friends and kindred in the sanctuary of the grave, not to sanction this project for the wanton, because unnecessary, destruction of churches, and disturbance of the peace of the tomb. Do not put it in the power of the future historian to say, that the representatives of the citizens of London, in the nineteenth century, in common council assembled, thought it a triumph of intellect to convert the temples of religion into the shrine of Mammon, and mistook destruction for improvement." Such is but a very inadequate representation of the speech, which was listened to with deep attention by the court to whom it was addressed. It will, we trust, have the effect of taking the pick-axe out of the hands of the levellers, and preventing an act of national iniquity, which would almost seem to us calculated to provoke an extraordinary visitation of divine vengeance. There was no part of Mr. Taylor's address which seemed to produce a stronger impression on his auditors than his allusion to the cholera; although, when he had concluded, one individual was found, who ridiculed his introduction of such a topic, and seemed to think it a weakness unworthy of the citizens of London to be influenced by any such consideration. This gentleman had a son, rising to man's estate-a young man of great promise, who had carried off all the prizes at the London University, and who was, when his father was speaking a speech which might not unfitly characterise "Mezentius contemptor De orum," in perfect health. In four days In conclusion we have only to observe, that it is cheering to behold the favour with which our church is regarded by the laity in England. It is cheering, not only because of the church, but because of the country. Our firm opinion is, that the prosperity of the one, and the well-being of the other, are inseparably united; and that no more fatal symptom of national ruin could betray itself, than an indifference concerning the security of our ecclesiastical institutions. Can we, therefore, close this paper more appositely than in the words of the poet Wordsworth : "Hail to the state of England! and conjoin Besprent from shore to shore with steeple-towers, Of ancient Minster, lifted above the cloud SKETCH-A JUNE MORNING. BY THE AUTHOR OF STANZAS TO BRENDA. Morning in June! Slumb'rer awake! arise! Sudden as thought, soft winds their wings unfurl, To trace the blue veins o'er her crystal brow; Sweetly ascends awakening Nature's hymn; From off a shining cloud's serrated rim Giving quick utterance to its pure delight : Thrush, blackbird, goldfinch, from the greenwood dim, Together in the holy song unite; The robin's little black eyes glance and glisten, As, with his head bent down, he seems to listen. But turn ye to the eastern heavens-and lo! Around its beauties, ravishingly fair: Hark! through the air ascends triumphant sound, But now, behold, as by some power divine, How beautiful the varied scene appears! The barley ridge points up its sharpen'd spears- Shepherds their white flocks, innocently blithe, To lay the scented meadow's long grass low; Delightful is thy task, I cry, O morn! 'Tis thine to wake the groves to golden songPrint golden footsteps on the rustling corn, And kiss the gay streams as they dance along! Let me forget not Him, who from the womb O! would 'twere mine acceptably to praise Him still to glorify who gilds those rays, Who weaves the strange wind's melancholy wing, And suffers me to glad mine upturn'd eyes With sweet perusal of the morning skies! |