gitive articles and letters printed in many of the leading papers North and South, some of which are possessed of the rarest merit. Could the majority of the foregoing be collated and properly edited, they would furnish one of the most charming miscellaneous volumes of the present period. But the writer must be content with culling a few articles only, to afford the reader some faint conception of the style of the deceased, whose efforts were widely commented upon and admired by some of the best critics of the press.

Taking up almost at random the article in the Theological and Homiletic Monthly, of November, 1880, entitled, "Is Doubt a Disease?" we find it a most logical and clearly-written treatise, involving much study and knowledge of theology and human nature. A single extract is appended:

....

Is doubt a normal, healthful tendency, serving a high utility and answering a deep need of the soul? or is it an abnormal, morbid tendency, begotten in the pestilent darkness whence issue the maladies that attack our spiritual life and health? Is it the under-robe of sackcloth with which the earnest soul austerely clothes itself? or does it belong to the beggarly rags of a sinful and downward-tending nature? Is it the soul's grand protagonist against credulity, superstition, and bigotry? or is it the potent, subtle emissary of the prince of darkness, shutting our eyes to the light, and juggling us out of the highest realities of life? Is it health or disease? good or evil? . . . . What are its fruits? Very different from those "of the Spirit" we shall find them, if we use an intelligent observation. In the individual they are indifference, melancholy, cynicism, selfishness, ennui, despair, inaction, epicureanism, mysticism, according to the degree and stage of doubt and the personal temperament. In the community doubt establishes a philosophy of materialism and pessimism among the cultivated, and a dangerous communism among the ignorant. The sacred things of life withdraw from its blighting touch, and it precludes the exercise of the noblest faculties. From the silent tragedy of thought that is playing on the pages of writers who put culture for Christianity, and who look intrepidly, but hopelessly, and with a certain shuddering gloom, at the dawnless, dreamless sleep of oblivion, down to the coarse utilitarianism that gluttonizes life, does not Doubt stalk like a pestilence, destroying the surest faiths, the highest aspirations, the sanest development of men? What kind of influence is agnosticism? is pessimism? is nihilism? What sort of character do they build? What moral tone do they give society? What scope do they give man's destiny? Look about you, at home and abroad, and read the answer in culture made barren, in philosophy run mad, in science turning its instruments of investigation into

weapons of destruction, and neglecting its legitimate work to wage war on the destiny of man, in the godless mutiny of the masses against law, and order, and providence.

Again, in the admirable prize essay, "The Inspiration of a Cause," after delineating with graphic touch the melodramatic and inglorious career of the great conspirator, Aaron Burr, Mr. Wardlaw vividly contrasts the same with the long and blameless life of one of the noblest and most venerable of the Methodist clergy, who has but recently been called to his reward. Hear him:

In one of our Churches there is an old man, gray and bent with the work of a long life. Nearly seventy years ago he began preaching the gospel of the Son of God. He began with great discouragements. He was young, inexperienced, and unskilled in the ways of the world. His Church was in its weak infancy, and ignorance and prejudice were its powerful enemies. But with steadfast purpose and quiet, manly effort, he entered upon his life-work. Since then he has passed through the eventful experiences of nearly three-quarters of a century's history. He has seen great revolutions in Church and in State.

He saw and shared in the

early struggles of his Church for its bare existence; he has seen its noble triumphs in overcoming iniquity, and in making righteousness to reign in the earth. He has seen governments and empires rise and rule in power, and he has witnessed their complete overthrow. He has seen the terrors of war, when millions of men were trampling upon helpless human right; he has lived in the tranquillity of peace, when the battle-field bloomed with the harvest, and good-will prevailed among men. He has endured the sharpest pangs of human woe; he has felt the supreme joys of human happiness. But through all these changes his life has been one of matchless symmetry, his work one of perfect progress. Having faithfully done his work, he is now come into the serene twilight of his closing life. All along the road of his career stand living monuments of the good he has done. Before him all is peace. And now, crowned with unsought honors, with the echo of heaven's music breaking on his ear, with the breezes of the spirit-land blowing soft on his brow, with an eye kindling with something of a transfiguration-light as it catches the far-off shimmer of the city beyond, and with the peace of a soul at rest with itself, he stands upon the mountain-top of his grand life-labor, only waiting for the summons, "Come up higher." The influence of such a life is as imperishable as the soul.

Were it possible, within the compass of this article, we should delight to quote some passages in the admirable sketch. of "The Poetry of Tennyson," contained in the QUARTERLY

REVIEW. They evince a refinement of judgment and an exquisite taste which at once denote the familiarity of the writer with the true scope and genius of poetry, and his ability to handle the subject with the skill of a master. So, likewise, the sketch of Nathaniel Hawthorne, a model of elegance in style and conception, affords a rich treat to the appreciative reader. The "Ivy Oration," and the graceful tribute paid to the "Memorial Volume" of Mr. Wesley, are also abundantly worthy of mention, and the same is true of many of the fugitive pieces of our young author. But the address on "Southern Literature-its Status and Outlook"-was probably the most elaborate effort of his life, and gave to him a national reputation. It is characterized by a profundity of thought, originality and felicity of expression, that place the writer on the same plane with the most eminent of those who, like Addison and Irving, have illustrated the purity of the English language. But if the style is distinguished for its happy combination of richness with simplicity and terseness, the address is equally remarkable for its advanced ideas and the wisdom of its counsels. The "New South" may well lay them to heart. This unique. address elicited the widest comment and most flattering encomiums from some of the ablest representatives of the national press. Says the Eclectic Magazine: "It contains passages of real eloquence, flashes of genuine insight into the conditions of literary growth, and suggestions which both the producers and the critics of Southern literature would do well to meditate upon." The comment of the Literary World, Boston, is: "A strong, spirited, and graceful piece of writing. It is consoling to hear a Southern man express such broad and national sentiments. He draws an enchanting picture of the old Southern life." President Haygood, of the Wesleyan Christian Advocate, declares the address "exhibits an almost perfect mastery of the finest English. An able essay, calculated to do good to both North and South." Even that anti-Southern and erstwhile hostile journal, the New York Independent, makes the following deliverance: "He has contrived to introduce into the Address on Southern Literature the ideas which we believe are to be the regeneration of the South."

But we may not multiply these extracts. Suffice it to say that the address in question was the first clearly expressed and outspoken deliverance upon the necessities, scope, and capabilities of Southern literature, and it has opened the eyes of the people, and made a profound impression upon the country. In this tribute of affection to the memory of a dearly-loved friend, whose brilliant and noble career lies quenched in the gloom of the tomb, it would be pleasant, if practicable, to reproduce some of the numerous testimonials to his worth and genius, which have appeared since his untimely death, from his friends and the press. One only, however, can be given, extracted from the New York Observer, of Sept. 1, with which we conclude this brief sketch of the deceased:

With all his superb power of research and great originality, his arguments, by the solidity and massiveness of the reasoning, displayed the highest powers of concision and condensation. Wonderful in his energy and force of will, he yet had that elevation and heroism of mind which calmly confront the consequences of great duties courageously and conscientiously performed, of noble fidelity to high trusts. He labored for the good of others; to this end he brought the homage of his genius, the fruits of his toil; his noble character, lofty purposes, and unselfish life, were a constant inspiration to those about him. His untimely loss crushes the hearts of devoted kindred and the hopes of admiring friends.

BLAIR'S GRAVE.

How few works are destined to immortality! "Men willingly let die" so many which one would think should live forever! Blair's Grave was once immensely popular. We have before us a broad quarto edition-issued by R. H. Cromek, London, 1808"Illustrated by Twelve Etchings Executed from Original Designs," by William Blake, who introduces it with a poetical dedication to the Queen-an effusion unworthy of both the one and the other. But the "etchings," by Schiavonetti, are eulogized by the Royal Academy of Painting, the President being the famous Benjamin West. Mr. Fuseli furnishes "excellent remarks on the moral worth and picturesque dignity of the designs." We fear that our present art-critics would smile at them as grotesque and fantastical in their realistic literality. A long list of "subscribers," at £2 12s 6d, shows that the work was held in high regard.

But when speaking of Blair's Grave to some of our literary friends, we ascertained that not one of them had read the poem, and some of them did not know but that Dr. Hugh Blair, author of the Lectures on Rhetoric, was the author! Robert Blair was born at Edinburgh in 1699- he was minister of Athelstaneford, where he died in 1746. His poem is in blank verse-not so classical as Milton's, or original as Young's, or familiar as Cowper's; but it is generally correct and smoothin striking contrast with the "Course of Time," by his countryman Pollok, whose blank verse is as harsh as his native crags. "The grave, dread thing!" One can almost feel the darkness of the tomb in the gloomy apostrophe:

Ah! how dark

Thy long-extended realms and rueful wastes,

Where naught but silence reigns, and night, dark night,

Dark as was chaos ere the infant Sun

Was rolled together, or had tried his beams

Athwart the gloom profound.