favoured or impugned by himself. Certain, however, it is, that in too many cases, on both sides, the disputes of good men themselves on the most sacred subjects, are carried on with so much less of due Christian charity as positively to exceed the bounds (whatever those may be) of "due Christian animosity." Even towards such deceivers as Toland and Tindal, Hume and Voltaire, with the whole herd of "Epicurus' stye," that snort, and turn to rend those who cast before them what is more precious than rubies, 'the pearl of great price,' while they trample it under foot,-not forbearance only and courteousness should be shown, but so much of the meekness and gentleness of Christ as may be consistent with earnestly contending for the faith once delivered to the saints. In this spirit Mr. Horne was ever wont to meet the sceptics and scorners of his day, and while he thus kept master of himself no combatant could ever hope to obtain the mastery over him.

In 1753, in his twenty-fourth year, he was ordained by the Bishop of Oxford; and thenceforward, with heart, and soul, and mind, and strength, he devoted himself to the duties of a minister of the gospel, making all other occupations secondary. One of his earliest sermons was delivered before a metropolitan audience, from the awakening text, 'Behold he cometh with clouds, and every eye shall see him, and they also which pierced him;

and all the kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him. Even so, Amen.' Rev. i. 7. Thus he commenced his ministry, like John the Baptist, by preparing the way of the Lord for his second coming, as his prototype had done for the first. "The testimony of the clergyman whose pulpit he occupied on this occasion," says Mr. Jones, "ought never to be forgotten by a writer of his life." He was so affected and overpowered by the discourse, its subject, its composition, and its delivery, that, though pre-eminent himself in the same way, he said emphatically to the biographer, "George Horne is, without exception, the first preacher in England." Of course he rose rapidly into reputation for his preaching talents; and even in his own university, when his subject, (an appointed one,) before its learned members, was expressly upon the mission of John the Baptist, it is recorded that he pleased the audience very much by his manner and style, and all agreed that he had a very fine imagination." This was not the praise which he coveted; the honour that cometh not from men but from God, it was his heart's desire and prayer to obtain. He would rather be the shower that waters the earth and renders it fruitful after many days, though itself be instantly absorbed in the soil, than the bow in the cloud,' which attracts the admiration of all eyes, yet after a little while passes away, leaving neither trace

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nor influence behind. He laboured, therefore, so to expound to his audiences (whether of the learned or the common people) the things concerning Christ, that he ought to have suffered and to enter into his glory,'-that, at parting, they should be constrained to break forth into the language of the disciples at Emmaus, Did not our hearts burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the Scriptures?" Nor did he so labour in vain; many of his sermons, which have been published, while they show that he preached not himself, but Christ Jesus the Lord,' will long continue to warm, exhort, instruct, comfort, and encourage readers of all classes, into whose hands they may fall; while they may serve as models to future ministers of the gospel, to deliver their own souls, in their endeavours to save the souls of others. By watching seasons, opportunities, local circumstances, and temporary occurrences, he acquired a peculiar felicity of adapting his subjects of discourse to these, and thereby rendering the doctrines, duties, and illustrations which he educed, personally interesting to his hearers. In this respect, as in every other, he tried to tread in the steps of his Lord and Master, who, wherever He was, thus suited his addresses to his disciples, to the mixed multitude, to publicans and sinners, to the Scribes, Pharisees, and Sadducees, the righteous in their own esteem,-in the

open fields, on the sea-shore, or the mountain-slope; by the highway-side, in the streets of the city, within the walls of the temple, or under the roof of hospitality; so that, from the matter of each, the time, the place, and the character of his auditors might, in many cases, be gathered without historical record.

Of all Mr. Horne's controversial writings, his masterpiece undoubtedly is the little volume of "Letters on Infidelity." These were drawn forth by the revival of Hume's comfortless doctrines, by one of his anonymous disciples, after the death of their author, and the frigidly ostentatious betrayal of his drivelling, during his last hours, by his friend Dr. Adam Smith. The end of that philosopher, who had sought truth as a man would sally out to seek mountains, with a pair of microscopic spectacles on his nose, so magnifying the minutest objects, that he could not distinguish an horizon of more than an inch diameter at once, nor in less than twelve months scrutinize the length, breadth, thickness, colour, shape, weight, superficies, and solid contents, to say nothing of the number of component atoms, of the first molehill in his way, the end of that philosopher, we say, produced as much uncertainty respecting the true nature, and even the true circumstances of it, as he himself had ever entertained of the plainest matter of fact in the world, concerning

which he might never have been able to go beyond the point of ascertaining the objections against the probabilities of its existence; having carried scepticism to such exquisite perfection, that he was almost sure of nothing except that he doubted of every thing. Statements very contradictory to each other were circulated, respecting the petty magnanimity of which his disciples boasted, and the bitter misgivings which others, better acquainted with the deceitfulness of the human heart, suspected to be betrayed by the levity with which he met his last enemy. The former, however, exulted over it as the triumph of philosophy, to enjoy rather than to suffer death,-not with firmness and composure, not with resignation and hope, as the veriest infidel would if he could,-but with the sportiveness of an infant playing with its mother till it falls asleep in her arms. Alas! the philosopher's forced gaiety, in a situation so awful, was far more like the ghastly merriment of the poor girl, whose mischievous companions had contrived to get a skeleton placed in her bed before she retired to rest; and who, when they stole into her chamber to witness the pleasant effects of the joke, saw her dandling the bundle of dry bones upon her lap, and laughing at their rude clattering and grotesque motions, in hysterical insanity. They, silly creatures, fled, shrieking with horror and amazement from the spectacle. The others, the