Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

of aspects. I saw two or three of the picture galleries, containing many masterpieces of both the ancient and the modern schools, and I concluded my tour in the fine arts, by a visit to West's celebrated picture of Christ Healing the Sick, I felt deeply interested, as I beheld this astonishing production of human genius—the benignity and compassion, pourtrayed in the face of him "who was a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief—the ardent feeling and intense expression in the countenance of the imploring mother —the vacant and meaningless stare of the apparently dying youth—and the confiding yet timid look of the poor cripple—all combined to give a reality to the scene before me, which my warmest imaginings could never have anticipated. My attention was suddenly withdrawn from the picture, by the opening of the door of the exhibition room, and the entrance of an elderly gentleman habited in black, attended by a young lady, who seemed rather unwilling to approach. She was at length gently led towards the picture—and I had then an opportunity of observing that she was a female of surpassing loveliness—but the rolling of her dark blue eyes, and the unmeaning expression that pervaded her beautiful features, as once or twice she looked around upon the company, evidently indicated an aberration of mind, which the address of her companion could not altogether conceal. I could now perceive that her attention was powerfully attracted by the picture—her eye fixed upon it with unearthly expression—soul and body were in a moment absorbed by the scene, when, after contemplating it thus for sometime, she burst into tears, and exclaimed—" My father! my father! where have I been—where am I now." Her father did not reply. He slowly led her from the room, and I assisted in procuring a carriage, which rapidly conveyed them from our sight.

The events that I had just witnessed, occurred in succession so quickly, that I confess I had reached my

hotel, before I thought of the vicar of F and

his Maria. Then however, I felt assured that the gentleman with whom I had thus met could be no other than he, and the lovely female his daughter. I soon succeeded in ascertaining their place of residence, and next day I visited it. The vicar speedily recognized me—having wept for him when he wept, I was now delighted to rejoice with him when he did rejoice. He stated that this was the happiest day of his life, for a gracious providence had just restored his long lost daughter to reason, nor could the circumstance be accounted for in any other way, than by the powerful impression produced by West's picture of Christ Healing the Sick.

I saw Maria several times afterwards, during my residence in London, and, so completely was she restored, that she even talked of her feelings, as reason gradually assumed its powers, whilst she viewed " that loveliest of pictures"—that a sensation altogether indescribable overwhelmed her—she felt as one risen from the dead! The day before I left town, I had the honour of escorting Maria to the park, she was cheerful and happy. The rose had already assumed its bloom upon her cheek, and the twin-cherries of her lips were again more brilliant than colour could imitate; with her delighted father she returned to the vicarage of F , enjoying these most invaluable

blessings—perfect health of body, and perfect soundness of mind. Three months afterwards, I received a letter from Montague, intimating to me his marriage with Maria. Not long since I visited them—if there be happiness on earth they enjoy it. Montague has a charming residence, a lovely family, and a fair and a most affectionate wife. May I be permitted to add that I again renewed my acquaintance with his beautiful sister-in-law, and, if the smile of woman is ever to be trusted, kind reader, I may perhaps be soon able to announce to thee an alliance of not less importance to me, than was the union of Maria to her faithful and happy Montague.

LORD BURLEIGH.

William Cecil, first Lord Burleigh, is no great favourite with a certain class of Scotchmen, for to his influence has been, not unjustly, attributed the sufferings and the death of the lovely and unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots. His early biographers, bowever, characterize him as 41 the oldest, the gravest, and the greatest Statesman in Christendom;" and from the elaborate Memoir which has just appeared, from the pen of the Rev. Dr. Nares, we are inclined to think that the opinion of his early biographers was not far from the truth. The history of the warm friend and adviser of Queen Elizabeth is indeed a subject replete with interest, but at present we do not mean to enter into it, our object being merely to present our readers with a few of those valuable precepts which we would here counsel every honest man to ponder well, and to treasure up in his memory. His Lordship used to say, and say truly—

"That he built more upon an honest man's word than a bad man's bond.

"That no man can be counted happy in this world who is not wise; and he that is wise secth most of his own unhappiness.

"That that nation was happy, where the king would take counsel, and follow it.

"That the strength of a king is the love of his subjects.

"That princes ought to be better than other men, because they command and rule all others.

"That he can never be a good statesman, who respecteth not the public more than his own private advantage.

"That honour is the reward of virtue, but is gotten with labour, and held with danger.

"That counsel, without resolution and execution, is but wind.

"That division in counsel is dangerous, if not subversive of the state.

"That attempts are most probable, being wisely plotted, secretly carried, and speedily executed.

"That unity is the strength, and division the ruin, of any body politic.

"That the taking or the losing of an opportunity is the gaining or losing of great fortunes.

"That war is a curse, and peace a blessing of God upon a nation.

"That a realm gaineth more by one year's peace than ten years' war.

"That a realm cannot be rich that hath not an intercourse of trade and merchandize with other nations.

"That no man can get riches of himself, but by means of others.

"That riches are God's blessing to such as use them well, and his curse to such as do not.

"That all things in this world are valuable but in estimation; for a little to him that thiuketh it enough is great riches.

"That private gain is the perverting of justice, and the pestilence of a commonwealth."

The following axioms, addressed to Parents and Children, are equally valuable and excellent ■—

"Bring thy children up in learning and obedience, yet without outward austerity. Praise them openly; reprehend them secretly. Give them good countenance and convenient maintenance, according to thy ability; otherwise thy life will seem their bondage, and what portion thou shalt leave them at thy death, they will thank Death for it, not thee. And I am persuaded that the foolish cockering up of some parents, and the over stern carriage of others, causeth more men and women to take ill courses, than their own vicious inclinations. Marry thy daughters in time, lest they marry themselves. Suffer not thy sons to pass the Alps, for they shall learn nothing there but pride, blasphemy, and atheism. Neither, by my consent, shalt thou train them up in wars, for he that sets up his rest to live by that profession can hardly be an honest man, or a good Christian; besides it is a science no longer in request than in use; for soldiers, in peace, are like cbimnies in summer."

The account of the Statesman's death shews that he carried bis good advice into practice.

"His death was not sudden, nor his pain in sickness great; for he continued languishing two or three months, yet went abroad to take air in his coach all that time, retiring himself from the court, sometimes to his house at Theobalds, and sometimes at London; his greatest infirmity appearing to be the weakness of his stomach. It was also thought his mind was troubled that he could not work a peace for his country, which he earnestly laboured and desired of any thing, seeking to leave it as he had long kept it. For there was no other worldly thing to give him cause of grief; he had the favour of his prince, the love of his people, great offices, honours, livings, good children, and all blessings the world could afford him; yet he condemned the world, and desired nothing but death, either because he had lived long enough, and desired to be in heaven, or else because he could not live to do that good for his country he would—or rather, as is most likely, both; for he had seen and tasted so much both of the sweet and sour of the world as made him weary to live, and knew so much of the joys of his salvation, wherein was his onely comfort, as gave him cause to desire death, when it was God's good pleasure, as he often said, but how or whatsoever it was, the signe was infallibly good. He contemned this life, and expected the next; for there was no earthly thing wherein he took comfort, but in comtemplation, reading or hearing the Scriptures, Psalmea, and Praieres. About ten or twelve daies before he died, he grew weak, and so dryvenne to kepe his bed, complayuing onely of a pain in his breast, which was thought to be the humor of the goute, (wherewith he was so long possessed,) falling to that place, without any ague, fever or sign of distemper or danger, and that paine not great nor continual!, but by fits, and so continued till within one night before his death. At six of the clock at night, the phisitions finding no distemper in his pulse or bodie, but assuring his life, affirming it was impossible he should be hartsicke that had so good temper, and so perfect pulse and senses; yet at seven of the clock following, he fell into a convulsion like the shaking of an ague. Now, quoth he, the Lord be praised, the tyme is come. And calling his children, blessed them, and took his leave, commanding them to love and feare God, and love one another. He also praid for the queen, that she might live longer and die in peace. Then he called for Thomas Ballot, his steward, one of his executors, and delivered him his will, saieing, I have ever found thee true to me, and I now trust thee with all. Who like a godly honest man, praid his lordship, as he had lived religiously, so now to remember his Savioure Christ, by whose blood he was to have forgiveness of his sins; with manic the like speeches used by hischaplaines, to whom he answered, it was done already, for he was assured God had forgiven his sins, and would save his soul."

CRITICAL NOTICE.

Thx Battli or Oblivion, Ob Criticism and Quackery. A Satirical Poem, in Three Cantos, by T. W. Coller. London. 1831.

KrvEB, was there, since the days of Dr. Wolcot, a truer or a more opportune satire on the Critical Quackery every where prevalent, than the little work now before us. In good sooth, we owe the author a thousand thanks, for, by merely quoting his stanzas, we will be saved a world of trouble in conveying to our readers the sentiments that we have long entertained of the Zone of the present day. The " Battle of Oblivion" is as piquant in its conception, as it is novel in its execution—smart and pungent, pointed and pitiless. The author, with a flourish almost equal to Tasso's famous "rauco suon," that made the wide caverns of hell tremble,

£ 1' aer cieco n quel rumor rimbomba, immediately conducts the reader into the subterranean court of Oblivion, who, environed by Terror, Dismay, Distress, Death and spleen, thunders forth a diatribe against the " March of Intellect," and the motley herd of puffers and nicknamed critics above ground, who endeavour to rob her of her rights by forcing into notoriety a swarm of stupid scribblers and prosy authors. To this succeeds the combat between Oblivion and Quackery, which though perhaps in some measure heavy in detail, is replete with

many highly amusing incidents, and with much poignant satire.

As a picture of the Critical Quackery of the age, what can be more true and graphic than the following stanzas?— But shall the quacks—the playthings of a day— Who, swan-like, float iu literary spray; Shall crawling critics—underlings of sense— Who damn for spite, and eulogise for pence, Shall these usurp the place of honest worth, And fix an immortality on earth? It certainly is to be hoped not. But still the reptiles are busy in their vocation every day and every night. And again, what can he more justly descriptive of such critics' sentiments than the following stanzas? Let the galled jade's wince!

What though the Muse's wreath round Science twine, And fiery genius flash through every line? The Critic—alias advertising sage— Ne'er reads the work, but scans the title page,— Runs o'er his base " Retainer Book," to find The author's talents, tact, and strength of mind; Then dashes off the quaint, the kingly " We," And measures out his fustian by bis fee! Bravo! Mr. Coller; Collar ngain these *' hireling prostitutes of peace and praise;" down with quackery—every honest man will cry you bravo! for doing so. Well, here goes a lounder at the "mental Jack-o'-lanthorns of the State," as our author designates the fashionable novel writers of the day:—

Like B 's muse, (poor thing ! with all her sins,

She, struggling, died in child-bed of her twins, y

A dress, a glittering smile, or masquerade,

Or slanderous whisper, form their stock in trade;

Round courts they cringe, but, after jostling in,

Their eyes can pierce no farther than the skin,

To pick the little odds and ends of strife,

And call it Sketching Fashionable Life I

Really, Mr. Culler's quirks and flings at Critics and Quacks are well worthy of attention, and we would seriously recommend their perusal, if time can be spared for the perusal of any book whatever, to the herd who conceal their ignorance and imbecility under the dictatorial and editorial " We;" and most particularly and especially to the illiterate knot of

Hacks that haunt the literary stews,
Where half-pay authors write their own reviews!

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE SERENADE.

Wake, lady, wake!

Dear heart, awake,

From slumbers light,
For neath thy bower, at this still hour,

In harness bright,
Lingers thine own true paramour

And chosen knight.

Wake, lady, wake!

Wake, lady, wake.

For thy lov'd sake,

Each trembling star
Smiles from on high, with its clear eye;

While, nobler far.
Yon silvery shield lights earth and sky,

How good they are!

Weke, lady, wake!

Rise, lady, rise!

Not star-filled skies

I worship now.
A fairer shrine, I trust, is mine

For loyal vow.
Oh, that the loving stars would shine

That light thy brow!

Rise, lady, rise!

Rise, lady, rise!

Ere war's rude cries

Fright land and sea:
To-morrow's light sees mail-sheathed knight,

Even hapless me,
Careering through the bloody fight,

Afar from thee.

Rise, lady, rise!

Mute, lady, mute!

I have no lute,

Nor rebeck small,
To soothe thine ear with lay sincere

Or madrigal:
With helm on head, and hand on spear,

On thee I call,

N ute, lady, mute!

Mute, lady, mute

To love's fond suit!

I'll not complain,
Since underneath thy balmy breath

I may remain
One brief hour more, ere I seek death

On battle plain!

Mute, lady, mute!

Sleep, lady, sleep,

While watch I keep,

Till dawn of day;
But o'er the wold, now morning cold

Shines icy grey;
While the plain gleams with steel and gold,

And chargers neigh!

Sleep, lady, sleep!

Sleep, lady, sleep!

Nor wake to weep,

For heart-struck me.
These trumpets knell my last farewell,

To love and thee;
When next they sound, will be to tell

I died for thee!

Sleep, lady, sleep!

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS

The hint from a "Lady in BIytheswood Square," that her hour of breakfast is nine, not twelve, will be attended to. Owing to the holiday laziness of the Runners about the New Year, our Journal has not been so regularly delivered as it will be in future.

1

In order to insure this Publication being on the Breakfast Table every morning, it is requested that intending Subscribers will leave their names and addresses at the Publisher's.

GLASGOW GOSSIP.

In a house in this city, celebrated for metaphysics being duly discussed with their wine and walnuts, the grave question of " What shall we believe?" came above board, when a gentleman, in order to stop the subject for some other lighter tittle-tattle, told the following anecdote:—" A Debating Society," said he, *• which I occasionally attend, has occasionally a President who has a great obliquity of vision, or in other words a tremendous squint. T'other night, when this gentleman happened to occupy the chair, an orator waxing warm triumphantly exclaimed—' Sir, the fact I have asserted must be true, I saw it,—and, if we do not believe our senses, what are we to believe?' * I shall prove that is no safeguard for truth,' said his oponent; 'for look to the President, Sir, You know he is at this moment observing my countenance attentively, and yet, to our sense of sight, he is apparently beholding the gentlemen on the opposite side of the room*."

It is at present a moot question, among all the matrons who have joined the Temperance Society, whether it be or be not proper to dole out as usual a glass of spirits to their scrvanH on washing-day. We suspect that parsimony, not morality, lies at the bottom of this difficult case of conscience.

LONDON THEATRICALS. From our London Correspondent.

I Mentioned to you, in one of my former letters, the vast preparations that were making at the various theatres for the representation of the usual annual Harlequinades. Since, then, I have seen both. That, at Drury-Lane, is certainly the best. The opening of it is a little tedious, but the tedium is fully compensated for by the subsequent scenes of the Harlequinade. The most fortunate ones are, "A Quack Doctor's Shop turned into a Jiurial-ground," (which is generally the case,) " The Whale Exhibition," " The Grocer's Shop," and "Highgale Tarnpilie."— The main feature of the scenic department is the Diorama, by Stanfield, of the execution of which it is impossible to speak too highly. As a work of art, it would puzzle hyper-criticism itself to find the least fault with it; and, if I might condescend for once to use the sublime language of the playbills, I would certainly agree with them, and say that it is "the finest scenic representation ever exhibited on the English stage." Bartlett, in absence of Blakchard, played Pantaloon. Howell bustled through Harlequin in a business-like manner, and what he wanted in grace, he made up for in activity. Southbv was not deficient as Clown ; he is not so good as Paulo, only because he is not as humorous. Of Miss Baseke, as Columbine, I may safely speak in high terms: she is graceful, lady-like, well-made, and extremely active, with one of the prettiest dresses I ever saw adorn that character's person. To these may be added the able exertions of Miss Mart Ann Marshall, ill Little Thumb, who is no bigger, and quite as full of talent as she ought to be.

In the Covent Garden Pantomime, there are two or three pretty smart hits at the prevalent follies of the day. One especially seemed to take the fancy of the audience. A box is brought on the stage, marked, "Vender of the dead languages." The Clown asks the bearer what a dead language is, and is told that it was what men know nothing about. The box is then suddenly transformed into a stall for the sale of tongues: and its owner produces one which, he says, is better than all the rest—it is an "unknown tongue." The Clown and Pantaloon seat themselves by it, and it gives forth a sort of song in imitation of the sounds of that unknown tongue heard at another theatre in this metropolis, but stopping in the midst of a verse, the Clown supplies the hiatus with "Gammon uud spinach, oh!" and the first of these words was adopted in a very marked manner by the audience, who laughed loudly at the concert. Paganini was exhibited as the eighth wonder of the world. The jokes against Cockney sportsmen were revived, and the moon was alternately suuffed out and re-lighted with a rushlight, that Pantaloon might read a paper by it. Several of the scenes were in Wales, and a painter was exhibited painting the sign of " thee Pryncc of Wales," in order that the Clown might have the opportunity of going to the parish schoolmaster to decide on the correctness of the spelling, and to be informed that the schoolmaster was abroad. Another joke arose out of this, and that was the exhibition of the Whale at Charing-Cross, which was immediately called the Prince of Whales. Ellar as Harlequin, Barnes as Pantaloon, Paulo as Clown, and Miss Davis as Columbine, went through their usual parts with great address and agility. The Pantomime was highly successful, and announced for repetition till further notice.

Have you heard that Lord Glbmoall has been employed upon anew original Comedy? It is expected that he will offer it to Old Drury. The contest between the Major and Minor Theatres occupies a good deal of attention at present, but there can be but one opinion among lawyers as to the illegality of the representations lately made at the smaller houses. The first question is, ought the law to remain as itis? and we apprehend that the public voice will answer "No."

The impossibility of Madame Unohir being present at the opening of the Opera House, has partially disconcerted Mr. Monck Mason's arrangements. He has already started for Paris to find a substitute for his Prima Donna,

Bkuonoli is engaged as a first Danseuse along with TagLioni. Report speaks of the former being lighter than the latter, but, I may merely add, that though she may be so in one she cannot possibly be so in another.

FOREIGN LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

The important M.S. work on the History of France during the 18th century, left by the late M. Lemontey, which the late Government prevented from appearing, will be immediately printed. A very powerful interest attaches itself to this publication, as the author, by means of Ministerial authorizations, was permitted to draw his materials from different depots of the national archives, as well its the foreign ones, to which the French victories afforded him access.

The "Atlas of Europe" now publishing by Herder, of Friburg, is to consist of 220 maps. It is a chief d'amvre of the lithographic art. Each number contains four maps, and is published at 12 francs, so that the price of the whole work will cost GOO francs. The plates are worked in two colours, black and red, all the physical features being indicated by the former, aud the towns, roads, political boundaries, ccc. by the latter. This is, truly, u valuable aud splendid undertaking.

On the 27th of May, Christian Adam Gaspari, Professor of Geography and Statistics in the University of Konigsberg, died at Berlin. He was born in 1752, and was the author of many works on Geography, and, among others, of Manuals, which have frequently been re-printed in Germany, and have greatly contributed to diffuse a taste for that science.

LITERARY NOVELTIES. The Rev. W. Liddiard, author of The Legend of Einsidlin, has a "Six Weeks' Tour in France and Switzerland" in the Press.

"Saturday Evening," by the author of The Natural History of Enthusiasm, will shortly appear.

Mr. William Chambers, author of the Book of Scotland, is preparing for publication a new Work, under the title of " Traditionary Legends and Popular Antiquities of Scotland."

GENTLEMEN'S FASHIONS FOR JANUARY. RIDING DRESS. A Snuff-coloured rolling collar frock coat, single-breasted, fastened with two hooks and eyes at the waist 5 the front turning down to the very bottom of the waist; sleeves full at the top and narrow at the wrist, with a small cuff. Waistcoat of a diamond pattern, Thibet of Cashmere, single breasted, and buttoned up to the neck, with short stand-up collar. Trousers of corbeau kerseymere, cut twelve inches in width, tight at knee, and nine and ahalf at bottom, and finished with a whole all-down, aud two t at side, and full seam.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][table][merged small]

No fi "i r price«

±MJ, U.J |_A PENN

A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, FASHION, &c

VEXtUTI IN SPECTJLO.

GLASGOW, SATURDAY, JANUARY 7, 1832.

CONFESSIONS OF A BURKER. No. I.
[Communicated by a Medical Practitioner.]

Oh, Conference! into what abyss of fear*

And horrors hast thou driven me; out of which

I find no way, from deep to deeper plunged.

MILTOW.

The preamble which accompanied the present communication we, from the following considerations, have resolved to omit. In the first place, our limits will not allow of its insertion; in the next, the reasons assigned for the horrible details being so long withheld from the public are not, in our estimation, of sufficient importance to amount to a justification of the fact; and, in the last place, as our correspondent has neither given the name if the parties, nor condescended on the places connected with the appalling record he transmits, we do not see the propriety of our inserting any thing in our columns that might appear like an extenuation of the conduct of men, whose characters and localities are so effectually veiled from the eye of the public. We shall, therefore, lop off all extraneous matter, and proceed at once to the narrative of those particulars with which our readers may be supposed more immediately concerned:—

"One morning in the month of last," says

our correspondent, "I was called upon by an old woman of a very peculiar and by no means prepossessing appearance, who urged me with the greatest importunity, to visit a ' poor delirious wretch,' who,' she said, 'had lodged with her for some time, and who wished to make certain important disclosures to me regarding matters connected with the profession." Having ascertained that I had been individually referred to, my curiosity became so much excited, that I wrote down the address, and promised to call in the course of my rounds.

"It was late in the day before I reached the dreary abode to which I had been directed. On opening the door, I was received into a sort of outer apartment by the old beldame I have already mentioned, who stated that the object of my visit was at present in one of his quiet moods. I inquired the nature of his disease, but could learn nothing from her, except that he was dreadfully afflicted with phantoms of the imagination, which haunted him night and day, with little intermission; and, during these fearful visitations, the howls he emitted were so distressing to the neighbours, that nothing but his great debility prevented them from applying for his removal. With this scanty information, I was ushered into a miserable little dark chamber, where, on a sort of truckle bed, I found the squalid wretch who had craved my attendance. On hearing my approach he had raised himself on his elbow; and, when I came close up to him, he motioned to the old woman to put down the candle and retire; he then fixed his eyes steadfastly on my face, and asked me to try if I could not discover, among his altered features, any thing to remind me of one who had once been my class-fellow at the University of .

"After attentively examining the countenance thus

presented to my inspection, and taxing my memory for some time, the appearance of a person, whom I had frequently seen attending the anatomical course of lectures at a certain College, gradually unfolded itself to my recollection, and, on mentioning the name, I found I had hit upon the right individual. The character he bore, among his fellow students was one of a very suspicions description, so much so that none who had the slightest pretensions to reputation would admit him to any degree of companionship. Still, though thus generally despised by his class-fellows he was an uncommon favourite with the professor and his assistant. This was attributed to his readiness and dexterity in training and heading parties of the poorer students, who, from their inability to pay their fees, were necessitated to make themselves useful, by supplying subjects for the dissecting board; and, for this purpose, the church-yards, for many miles aronnd, were put under contribution. Of all the youths who went out on such occasions, none seemed so completely cut out by nature, for the nocturnal and vampire-like occupation, than the miserable creature that now lay before me. Full of all descriptions of artifice, and possessing a dexterity in the execution of the stratagems he formed for the accomplishment of his object, he was considered not only in the University to which he belonged, but likewise in all the private dissecting rooms in the city, as the most expert nightman belonging to the profession; even the regular body snatchers became jealous of his abilities, and they had reason to be so; for he not unfrequcntly outwitted them in their unhallowed pursuits, and carried off the prey which they conceived they had effectually secured, Onone occasion, he gave an instance of adroitness, which threw all his competitors in the shade:—a young person had died of a complaint of so complicated a nature, that the interest it excited among the profession became so intense that considerable sums were offered for the possession of the body; all parties were as usual on the alert, all their tackle in proper order, and fully provided with weapons in case of a conflict; the hour for the commencement of their operations was fixed for twelve, but by seven o'clock, this singular character had the subject on the table before his astonished classfellows, and their more astonished teacher, who had engaged several regular bred snatchers in the affair. This achievement and several others of a similar nature procured for the quick-scented youth, the nickname of • the vulture.'

"Having satisfied the miserable creature that I sufficiently remembered him and his nocturnal exploits, he

thus addressed me, 1I sent for you Dr. , to

make certain disclosures connected with my atrocious life, which I intended should have sunk with me to the grave, but, alas! they burn in my bosom like anquenchable fire, giving me an awful foretaste of the torments I have yet to encounter.'

"' I am not the person you ought to apply to. In such a case your clergyman can be your only adviser.' 'Nay, I would rather do so unto you,' said the franticlooking being with the deepest emotion. 'Well then,' said I, 'wait till I make one single visit.' I went away, and in a few moments returned, prepared to listen to the tale he had to tell.

MAN—A RELIGIOUS ANIMAL.

"The fear of man bringeth A snare; but whoso putteth bU trust in the Lord •hall be sure."

Proverbs, xxix, M.

Iicsolved as we are that our humble labours should conduce, not only to the improvement of the taste and general tone of mental feeling of our fellow-countrymen, but also that the morals inculcated in our journal should rest upon a sure, indeed the only sure foundation, the Projector* of the " Day" need hardly make any apology to their readers, for adorning the commencement of their first Saturday number, with an extract from a book, old, and old fashioned in a very high degree, they admit, as well as too much neglected, but one, which they nevertheless believe, next to life itself, to be the greatest blessing, ever bestowed, by the bountiful Creator, upon mortal and immortal man. In so doing, they calculate on the fullest approbation of the wise and the good, and if unfortunately among the readers of the " Day" there should any objection be found, the "Council Of Tin" can only plead, (and they hope they will obtain a verdict) in extenuation of their ofTencc, that, while gratifying their own taste, they have been actuated by the most sincere and earnest desire to promote the welfare and happiness of others.

Many ingenious authors—men delighting in an appearance of wisdom, and affecting oracular and sententious description, have indulged themselves, in giving graphic definitions of the nature of man. Of these authors, one has called him an "Eating," and another a " Cooking," while a third has dignified him with the title of a " Fighting Animal." The defect of all such general descriptions is, that they take but a very limited and partial view of the curiously complex being, whose character they pretend to describe, and confine that view exclusively to his inferior and corporeal qualities. What they assert of him, may, with equal justice, be predicated of " the beasts that perish." Such authors, short-sighted and superficial as they are, allowing his spiritual essence entirely to escape their observation, make no allusion whatever to those higher and more noble qualities which exalt man above "every creature under heaven,''—Nay which entitle him, while on earth, to an absolute and unlimited sovereignty over all other creatures; for, whatever ambiguity may attend the legislation of man, the Divine decree admits of neither doubt, difficulty nor dispute. "And God said let us make man in our Image, after our likeness, and let him have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowls of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that crecpeth upon the earth."

But, although, for the reason already stated, these definitions, fail in their verisimilitude, and consequently in their avowed object, that of pourtraying the human character, still there is one of a similar formula, which we think, in the highest degree, descriptive, namely, that which declares man to be a "religious animal," including neassarily, in the term religious, a capacity not only for every moral sentiment but also for the active discharge of every moral duty. We say necessarily, because convinced as we are that religion and morals can never exist asunder, we implicitly subscribe to the doctrine of the good old Apostle, James, that "faith without works is dead, being alone," a doctrine to which, had its establishment depended in any degree upon human testimony, the annals of fanaticism in every age, and in almost every christian country, would have borne witness by facts as numerous as they are melancholy and conclusive.

If, then, man be really a " religious animal," why, it may be asked, should he be afraid to make a bold, an open, and an uncompromising profession of his principles? or why should he be ashamed to embody those principles in a corresponding course of practice ?— These are questions of the highest importance, not to one man here and another there, but to every individual of the human race; and not only so, but they are questions, upon a right view of which mainly depends the welfare of every society. To enter at present upon any attempt at their solution, is equally beyond the limits of our time and space. We shall not, however, fail, in the course of our future lucubrations, to bring the enquiry, from time to time, before our readers, whose indulgence, we trust, we shall secure, if

not by our ability or success, at least by the straight-forwardness and honesty of our endeavours to do justice to the subject. But, although we must forego the present occasion of grappling with a subject so deeply important to us all, we can by no means close our first week's labours, or make so near an approach to the "Day of Rest," without a distinct reference to that Great Being who, a* he is the beginning, so certainly is he the end of all religion, and from the contemplation of the glory of whose character and works we ourselves have often drawn (as, we doubt not, many of our readers have likewise drawn) the richest comfort aud consolation, in our journey (none now of the shortest) through life. Cold, indeed, and utterly destitute of every right and generous feeling, must that heart be, which can think, without the most lively emotions of veneration, and love, and gratitude, on Him who, independent as he is, and ever must be, of us and of our services, delights to confer upon us every blessing and every benefit which can conduce either to our present or our future weal; by whose providential care we are protected and preserved from day to day—by whose bounty we are fed and clothed—whose ear is ever open to our cry, —who, when earthly friends faint and fall away, is a "friend that sticketh closer than any brother"—who makes even those events which, to the short-sighted conceptions of man appear the most dark and dismal, work together for the final good of such as love Him, and who has pledged Himself never to leave nor forsake those who believe in His Word, till he has put them in possession of a perpetual state of peace and happiness, to which the present life affords no parallel. We say, and we do so from experience, that these are views which, as they afforded us an effectual solace under every earthly care, we shall not fail, ever and anon, to bring before our readers, conscious that in so doing, we afford them the best of all proofs that we not only wish and labour for their instruction and improvement here, but are very earnest in our desire for their unchangeable happiness hereafter.

RELIGIOUS NOVELTIES.

The Rev. L. Colton of New York, now residing in London, has a work in the Press on the important subject of American Revivals

Eliza Rutherford has nearly ready for publication "Maternal Sketches" with Minor Poems.

Mr. Thomas Timfson is preparing for the Press "Church History through all ages," from the first promise of a Saviour to the year 1830, with Biographical Notices of the principal promoters of Religion. This work is designed principally for young persons, families and schools.

COUP D'OEIL UPON THE LATE RELIGIOUS PUBLICATIONS.

"A Sermon, preached at Hull, on the Unknown Tongues, by R. M. Beverly," and "The Church Revived without the agl of Unknown Tongues, preached in London by Dr. Burns, Paisley." The former contains many pungent remarks on the utter and inconceivable folly of the new pretensions. The latter, a most pious and judicious defence of the truth, worthy of the Church of Scotland, to which the Rev. Gentlemen belongs, and which has been so mournfully caricatured in London ever since* the arrival of Mr. Irving in the British metropolis.

"Discourses on the Sabbath," by Rauh Wardlaw, D.D

Our author is among that class of divines who wisely hold the distinct moral obligation of the Sabbath; 'and, from his calm, patient, inductive and Scriptural mode of handling every branch of t theology, he has been enabled to discuss this momentous topic in a manner at once able and convincing.

"The Offices of the Holy Spirit," Four Sermons, preached before the University of Cambridge in the month of November, 1831, by the Rxv. C. Simeon, M. A. The author of these sermons has been long known as one of the most eloquent and dim, tinguished advocates of evangelical truth. In the work before us he shews the necessity of Divine influence to originate, carry on, and perfect what God requires of us. As all solid and scriptural works on the character and offices of the Holy Spirit are peculiarly valuable, at this moment, when the doctrine of Divine influence is so lamentably perverted in certain quarters, we rejoice to be able strongly to recommend this brief but excellent treatise to all sincere christians and devout enquirers.

« ZurückWeiter »