too often plays but on the ear as a pleasant cymbal. I shrink from the presumption of giving judgment on the French as a people; but La Galté is their Diana, and they have not resolution to abstract themselves from the worship of the idol, and to sit down in silent solitude, and be thoughtful. How great a contrast to the general style of the French divines is presented by the Scottish Chalmers, who-descriptive in an eminent degree-is irresistible in argument.

E-Perhaps by Southrons the eloquent Scot is better read than heard. But he arrests the proud host of Prejudice, which are apt to rise now in man as they have ever risen since the Great Rebellion in the year of the world 1,-they recede, I say, before this Legate of Truth, like the waves of an ebbing tide. Would you enter the lists of controversy with him, you are sensible of the impotency of a stripling, in the iron grasp of a gladiator. Demonstration is the term he chooses for his theological motto, and he has a right to it. Read at your leisure (if it is a sermon yet unread,) this seventh of the Tron Church discourses, and if you discover a discover a loop-hole, admitting the escape of any single character from the responsibility of a searching self-investigation, then I will consider your ingenuity stimulated by aid obnoxiously

superhuman. On the arguments of Chalmers, as on a broad and buoyant tide, Truth stems contending elements triumphantly as did the Ark the inundating waters. Hear an old divine analogising thereupon: "When the waters of the flood came upon the face of the earth, down went stately turrets and towers. In like sort, when the waters of affliction arise, down go the pride of life, the lust of the eyes, in a word, all the vanities of the world. But the ark of the soul riseth as these waters rise, and how too? even nearer and nearer unto heaven."* Those old men speak, do they not? with admirable simplicity, and shape out a moving picture almost in monosyllables. Is the primitive mantle rejected from Dan even unto Beersheba? is the spirit of the fathers' style" interred with their bones?"

C-Ah! the moan, not unmelodious, of discontent with things present, the sigh for past perfections, echoed from the Poet there; not captiously, but with the tone of complaint natural to moralists with whom

was rapture once what is but memory now."

E-Complaint! and caught from Edmund Spenser!

At what infectious spot?

*Disce Mori. Sutton.

C. From this most "musical and melancholy

chime," it may be—

"So oft as I with state of present time
The image of the antique world compare,
Whenas man's age was in his freshest prime,
And the first blossom of faire vertue bare-
Such oddes I find 'twixt those, and these which are,
As that, through long continuance of his course,
Meseemes the world is run quite out of square

From the first point of his appointed sourse;
And being once amisse grows daily wourse and wourse."

E-Upbraid not the Poet for repining at the ills of eld—for "grief, which is but grandeur in disguise" -for such, and only such degree of discontent with Earth, as stirs him to the lofty enterprise of a New World: a sphere whose lustrous outline the piercing eye of the Poet-by Piety directed-may have traced, obscurely perhaps, but with sufficient distinctness to animate his hope of inheritancy, and sanctify with pure religious fervor his longing for

"that same time when no more change shall be, But steadfast reste of all things, firmly stayd

Upon the pillars of Eternitie,

Which is contraire to mutabilitie:

For all that moveth doth in change delight,

But thenceforth all shall reste eterħallie

With him that is the God of Sabaoth highte.-

O that great Sabaoth God, grant me that sabbath's sighte!"

C.-Impressive as Luther's Hymn, heard in Westminster Abbey!

E-Nay, Poetry, of however sublime a birth, can never be so effective alone as when wedded to Music, and then in the celestial alliance Poetry is the weaker vessel. For among all the instruments to our delight, there is not one so potent (during its fugitive control) or so mysterious as Music. The hind, moulded from the clod and almost as senseless, acknowledges its irresistible might, as it undulates on his drowsy ear, rousing, and charming, and holding captive;— while on finer-fibred spirits does it not operate like a breaking-up within the bosom of " the fountains of the great deep!" But its mystery is a nobler and an ennobling theme-a theme which is not of the earth, earthy, but which has to do with the imagination, detaching its wing from a low brooding over material things, and urging it to soar into that vast Realm of Anticipation, to which, as the heirs of infinite promise and the creatures of infinite hope, we have hereditary right. And making us to marvel, that if such vivifying influence belongs to the concord of human creation, what ecstasy shall be ours amid the minstrelsy divine-sounding from the harps of angels, in spheres whose secret preparations for his bliss the ear of man hath not heard nor can hear!

E. was so borne away by the impetuosity of feeling excited by his subject, in which his whole being appeared to be absorbed, that, as he came to a close, his faculty of enunciation was impeded, and he rested his head upon his hand for a minute. The effervescence had worked away during that interval, and he resumed, his countenance the visible seat of gentleheartedness, and his voice " soft as the west wind's sigh."

"Though I spake with the tongues of men and angels," I should fail to depict faithfully the dominion which this celestial Captivator possesses over me. And attributing to it as I do-not the powers of traditionary miracle, but yet a mighty power to modify the harshness of humanity, and cause many a tract in the waste wilderness to blossom as the rose,-I pant for the promulgation from high quarters of a welladvised system of instruction. Next to Holy Truth itself, which the Spanish proverb majestically designates as the Daughter of GOD

"La verdad es hija de Dios"—

next to Truth, I venerate its shrine-next to the priceless Pearl, I am anxious for the Ark which bears it through the troublous sea of Time: and with the