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corps. He has brought back the doctrines of Calvinism in all their inveteracy, and remitted the inveteracy of his northern accents. He has turned religion and the Caledonian Chapel topsyturvy. He has held a play-book in one hand and a Bible in the other, and quoted Shakespeare and Melancthon in the same breath. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil is no longer, with his grafting, a dry withered stump; it shoots its branches to the skies, and hangs out its blossoms in the gale

"Miraturque novos fructus, et non sua poma."

He has taken the thorns and briars of scholastic divinity, and garlanded them with the flowers of modish literature. He has done all this relying on the strength of a remarkably fine person and manner, and through that he has succeeded-otherwise he would have perished miserably.

Dr. Chalmers is not by any means so good a looking man, nor so accomplished a speaker as Mr. Irving; yet he at one time almost equalled his oratorical celebrity, and certainly paved the way for him. He has therefore more merit than his admired pupil, as he has done much with fewer means. He has more scope of intellect and more intensity of purpose. Both his matter and his manner, setting aside his face and figure, are most impressive. Take the volume of "Sermons on Astronomy," by Dr. Chalmers, and the "Four Orations for the Oracles of God" which Mr. Irving lately published, and we apprehend there can be no

comparison as to their success. The first ran like wild-fire through the country, were the darlings of watering-places, were laid in the windows of inns,* and were to be met with in all places of public resort; while the "Orations" get on but slowly, on Milton's stilts, and are pompously announced as in a Third Edition. We believe the fairest and fondest of his admirers would

rather see and hear Mr. Irving than read him. The reason is, that the

*We remember finding the volume in the orchard at Burford-bridge near Box-hill, and passing a whole and very delightful morning in reading it, without

the shade of an apple-tree. have not

been able to pay Mr. Irving's book the same compliment of reading it at a sitting.

groundwork of his compositions is trashy and hackneyed, though set off by extravagant metaphors and an affected phraseology; that without the turn of his head and the wave of his hand, his periods have nothing in them; and that he himself is the only idea with which he has yet enriched the public mind. He must play off his person as Orator Henley used to dazzle his hearers with his diamond-ring. The small frontispiece prefixed to the "Orations" does not serve to convey an adequate idea of the magnitude of the man, nor of the ease and freedom of his motions in the pulpit. How difHe is like a ferent is Dr. Chalmers! He monkey-preacher to the other. cannot boast of personal appearance to set him off. But then he is like the very genius, or demon, of theological controversy personified. He has neither airs, nor graces at command; he thinks nothing of himself; he has nothing theatrical about him (which canbut you see a man in mortal throes and not be said of his successor and rival); agony with doubts and difficulties, seizing stubborn knotty points with his teeth, tearing them with his hands, and straining his eyeballs till they almost start out of their sockets, in pursuit of a train of visionary reasoning, like a Highland seer with his second-sight. The description of Balfour of Burley in his cave, with his Bible in one band and his sword in the other, contending with the imaginary enemy of mankind, gasping for breath, and the cold moisture running down his face, gives a lively idea of Dr. Chalmers' prophetic fury in the pulpit. If we could have looked in to have seen Burley hardbeset "by the coinage of his heatoppressed brain," who would have asked whether he was a handsome man or not? It would be enough to see a man haunted by a spirit, under the strong and entire dominion of a wilful hallucination. So the integrity and vehemence of Dr. Chalmers' manner, the determined way in which he gives himself up to his subject, or lays about him and buffets sceptics and gainsayers, arrests attention in spite of every other circumstance, and fixes it on that, and that alone, which excites such interest

and such eagerness in his own breast! Besides, he is a logician, has a theory to support whatever he chooses to advance, and weaves the tissue of his sophistry so close and intricate, that it is difficult not to be entangled in it, or to escape from it. "There's magic in the web." Whatever appeals to the pride of the human understanding, has a subtle charm in it. The mind is naturally pugnacious, cannot refuse a challenge of strength or skill, sturdily enters the lists and resolves to conquer, or to yield itself vanquished in the forms. This is the chief hold Dr. Chalmers had upon his hearers, and upon the readers of his "Astronomical Discourses." No one was satisfied with his arguments, no one could answer them, but every one wanted to try what he could make of them, as we try to find out a riddle. "By his so potent art," the art of laying down problematical premises, and drawing from them still more doubtful, but not impossible, conclusions, "he could bedim the noon-day sun, betwixt the green sea and the azure vault set roar ing war," and almost compel the stars in their courses to testify his opinions. The mode in which he undertook to make the circuit of the universe, and demand categorical information "now of the planetary and now of the fixed," put one in mind of Hecate's mode of ascending in a machine from the stage, "midst troops of spirits," in which you now admire the skill of the artist, and next tremble for the fate of the performer, fearing that the audacity of the attempt will turn his head or break his neck. The style of these "Discourses" also, though not elegant or poetical, was like the subject, intricate and endless. It was that of a man pushing his way through a labyrinth of difficul

When life has no sorrow
And youth has no woes,
When the roses of beauty

Are twined on our brows,
'Tis yon arch where the stars
And the planets advance,
When the bright orb of Zurah
Is leading the dance.

ties, and determined not to flinch. The impression on the reader was proportionate; for, whatever were the merits of the style or matter, both were new and striking; and the train of thought that was unfolded at such length and with such strenuousness, was bold, continuous, and consistent with itself.

And life, when our pleasures
And sorrows combine,
Is a land full of flowers
Where the sunny_rays shine;

Mr. Irving wants the continuity of thought and manner which distinguishes his rival-and shines by patches and in bursts. He does not warm or acquire increasing force or rapidity with his progress. He is never hurried away by a deep or lofty enthusiasm, nor touches the highest point of genius or fanaticism, but in the very storm and whirlwind of his passion, he acquires and begets a temperance that may give it smoothness." He has the self-possession and masterly execution of an experienced player or practised fencer, and does not seem to express his natural convictions, or to be engaged in a mortal struggle. This greater ease and indifference is the result of vast superiority of personal appearance, which "to be admired needs but to be seen," and does not require the possessor to work himself up into a passion, or to use any violent contortions to gain attention or to keep it. These two celebrated preachers are in almost all respects an antithesis to each other. If Mr. Irving is an example of what can be done by the help of external advantages, Dr. Chalmers is a proof of what can be done without them. The one is most indebted to his mind, the other to his body. If Mr. Irving inclines one to suspect fashionable or popular religion of a little anthropomorphism, Dr. Chalmers effectually redeems it from that scandal.

(Lit. Gaz.)


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(Lit. Gaz.)

A SAILOR'S TALE. "They that wants pity, why I pities they."


PRAY, Sir, bestow one ha'penny on a poor child, to buy a morsel of bread; indeed I'm very hungry: such was the petition of a little ragged urchin, as he ran by the side of the worthy Captain N-, of the East India service. The 'pray sir, bestow one ha'penny,' was so common a sound, that it passed unheeded, but indeed I'm very hungry,' uttered in a voice of plaintive sorrow, could not be resisted by the humane and generous N-. "Hunger, poor child, while I am living on luxuries; let me see, let me see," gazing in the lad's face. The tears were trickling down, but so obscured was every feature by dirt, there was nothing to excite satisfaction. They were close to the buttock-of-beef shop, in the Old Bailey; "Aye, aye, let me see," continued N--, and grasping the boy's arm, with eagerness entered the house." Here, my good woman, give this lad as much bread and beef as will make him a hearty meal, d'ye hear, and and I'll thank you to bear a hand. The child looked at him with astonishment, burst into tears and caught hold of his hand, but instantly let it go again, with a look of deep humiliation and shame; there was no deception in it, it was the workings of the heart pictured on the Countenance. "Look at the young dog! there, there, don't be snivelling, you little hypocrite," while the dewdrop of pity trembled in his own eye. "Where's your parents?" "Parents," repeated the boy. "Aye, your father and mother." 66 T never had any, Sir." "What's your name?" "Ned, Sir." "Where do you belong to ?" "I don't know, Sir." "Where do you come from?" "I have been travelling about the country with old Nan, till, yesterday, she brought me here and told me to shift for myself; and indeed, Sir, I think I could work." "Aye, aye, you've been well tutored, no doubt; there, run along, and sit on yon step and eat your meal." Away trudged the lad, looking first at his victuals and then at his benefactor. "Poor

fellow, what's to become of him?" said N-, as he paid the demand and walked into the street; "What's to become of him?" He stopped a moment, and looked towards the spot where the delighted boy was devouring his meal with all the savouriness of real hunger; at this instant, a gentleman tapped him on the shoulder, and together they proceeded for the Jerusalem. Can it be mere fate that regulates our actions? Is there no still small voice that whispers to the soul, soft as the balmy zephyr in the summer's eve? Ah, yes, it is the divinity that stirs within us, else why should this expression be deeply stamped in a moment on the mind of the Captain, the words of our blessed Master, Forasmuch as you have done it unto one of these, you have done it unto me.' The noise and confusion of Lloyd's, the transacting of business, rise and fall of stocks, the price of freightage, nothing could wear out the recollection of the poor little houseless child of want; and, What's to become of him,' frequently burst from his lips. As soon as Change was over, away strode the Captain towards Newgate Street, with indescribable sensations of anxiety and feeling; yet without any definite intention-he reached the spot


the child was gone; in vain he inquired at the shop, the woman was ignorant of his route, but said he had come across to thank her, and pray for a blessing on his generous provider. "What, didn't you ask him where he was going, and what he meant to do?” "No, Sir, we have so much to attend to." N would have scolded, but conscience told him he had been equally negligent; and thus, perhaps, a useful member was lost to society, or what was worse, he might become its very pest. Quitting the house, he turned down the alley leading to the cloisters of Christ Church, where all the smiling countenances and cheerful looks of the boys, operated like a momentary charm. "And you," said he, “poor

Ned, might have been here, aye, shall be here, if I find you worthy-till I return from my next voyage, and then you shall go to sea; I know my friend B- would do it for me-but where is he!" He made every inquiry, searched every nook, but his efforts were vain. Leaving money and directions with the woman, that should he make his appearance again, to take care of the lad, he once more pursued his way to his lodgings. What nonsense, thought he, for me to take such interest in the welfare of a little ragged dog I never saw before; perhaps the scout of some infamous wretch, who has brought him up to all manner of wickedness-But avast, no, I cannot be deceived, that look was honest truth; poor fellow, what's to become of him? He had now reached the place against the walls of Newgate, where the porters rest from their burdens, when, by the side of an apple stall, on some straw, lay the unconscious boy fast asleep. "Halloa, you young rascal !" roared the Captain, with a look between a smile and a tear, to the great terror of the lad, who sprung up instantly; "Hallo, what do you mean by giving me all this trouble, arn't I been looking for you this hour, while you lie skulking here in the lee scuppers; come, rouse out." "God bless him!" said the owner of the stall, a poor female apparently in the last stage of a consumption, with an infant at the breast and a child about three years old by her side, "God bless him, my poor little Bess must have gone home hungry if he had not shared his dinner with her. "Did he," said N-, throwing down a crown," then I say God bless him too; but come along," catching hold of the boy's hand. Regardless of the looks of the assembled crowd, he brushed hastily through them, called a hack, jumped into it, and away they drove, the Captain whistling with all his might, Dibdin's song of "The heart that can feel for another." Arrived at an elegant house in Piccadilly, "Here Will Junk; Will, where are you? you lazy old swab." "Here, Sir; here, Sir."

then hand him up into the parlour upon a clean plate." "Aye, aye, Sir," replied Will; "come along, young six-foot." In about half an hour the boy was brought up. "Well, now let me see, let me see," gazing with astonishment on the animated and beautiful countenance of the delighted boy, whose full round eyes sparkled with pleasure ;-" Well, Will, what do you make of him?” "I don't know, Sir, can't tell; it's a comical world, Sir." "Aye, and there's comical creatures in it, Will, comical creatures in it," giving the old man a look he well understood. "But let me see, come here." His former questions were repeated, and many others put, but still the boy knew no more than that his name was Ned, and he had wandered about the country with old Nan. "He's got a some❜ut hanging round his neck, Sir," said Will, "but I wouldn't open it to be made an Admiral; for I thinks it's a charm." "Go along, you old blockhead: let me see, let me see." The boy drew out a small bag closely sewed up. "Where did you get this?"-" I don't know, Sir; I've worn it ever since I can remember." "I'll open it-no— yes-avast." He paused a minute, raised the lid of his desk, and deposited it in safety. "Well, Ned, will you live with me ?” The boy looked, but he could not speak. "What, dumb founder'd?" said Will; "d'ye hear, will you live with his honour ?""Yes, for ever," sobbed the lad, “if he'll let me." "There, take him down, Will; and to-morrow morning, let him be fresh rigg'd by the time I turn out; and now send my dinner up.”

The father of Captain N- was the son of a wealthy merchant, who, by dint of industry and taking care of the pence, rose by degrees from a very low station to one of great opulence; but his penurious habits still continued, and, though literally rolling in riches, was always haunted by the fears of poverty. At the age of forty he married a young and beautiful female, of engaging manners and amiable disposition. The bear and the lamb were yoked together. On her part it was indeed a sacrifice; for her heart had been en

Take this young scamp and give him a fresh scrape and a paint, and

gaged to one who was her counterpart; but her father becoming embarrassed, and Mr. N- the principal creditor, how could they reject, or she refuse? Every effort was tried to avert the evil; but ruin came on with rapid strides, and the horrors of want, of pinching poverty, of a jail, resolved the heroic girl to sacrifice herself, to save her sinking family. She sent for her lover. Oh, what an interview was that! They who had pictured future years of mutual happiness; whose hearts were bound in the silken cords of real rich affection; whose existence seemed almost dependent on each other; yes, they met to meet no more; they should live and breathe, and yet be dead to each other for ever. I cannot describe their meeting and their separation; those that can feel will do it for themselves. Her lover left his native land—the land of his fathersof his childhood, and once his dearest boast. Yes; he left it, and was never heard of more. As the wife of Mr. N—, Amelia endeavoured to discharge her duties with scrupulous attention; but still her thoughts would sometimes wander to the scenes of departed days, and remembrance linger on him who, perhaps, had gone before her to the blessed realms of immortality. The birth of a boy now occupied her mind. None but a mother can tell a mother's delight, when gazing on her first-born; or a father the joy which a father feels, while looking on his smiling babe. But Mr. N- knew not these sensations; he was proud of his child, and loved his wife, so far as his rugged nature would permit; but he was not aware of the treasure he possessed. Immersed in speculations and amassing wealth, he was unacquainted with those little tendernesses, those endearing attentions, so precious to a sensitive mind; and his early education being very imperfect, he was unable to converse on subjects gratifying to an enlightened and liberal understanding. Amelia's chief delight was to watch and tend her blooming boy; and for a few weeks in the year to visit the place of her nativity in Devonshire. There, with her parents, she could smile or weep without restraint. Eight years

had now passed away since her parting with her heart's first love; and she once more arrived for a short time at the home of her parents. It was a sweet, romantic spot, and at a little distance was a lonely wood, where the foot of mortal seldom trod; but it was hallowed to Amelia. There she had passed, oh! how many happy hours, in the society of Henry, as they sat in a small arbor, formed by their own hands with the twisted nut-boughs, upon a turf-raised seat, overspread with downy moss, while the wild thyme breathed its fragrance and the waving flowers their odours on the breeze. Here they would sit and watch the white sail far distant on the ocean, and picture the happy countenance of the mariner, who joyed to see his native land once more; or heave the sigh of lingering regret, as it gradually lessened to a spot just dazzling on the horizon, with those who were bidding their own white cliffs adieu; here, too, they had pledged their vows in the presence of the Majesty of heaven. This spot had never been visited since Henry's departure; but the morning after her arrival, Amelia rose, and almost unconsciously advanced towards the place. She reached the opening pathway, between two old embracing oaks, who, like an aged pair passing through life's pilgrimage, had been each other's support through many a winter's storm. An indescribable impulse seemed to urge her on; and, without reflection, she separated the tangled wood, and wound up the ascent: yet did the well-remembered feeling thrill through her heart-the once-cherished hope that they might often meet together there. The umbrageous foliage wept its tears of dew as she hastily passed by the tree where her name was carved—the bazels had formed so thick a canopy above as almost to exclude the light of day-the arbor was now before her; but what were her feelings when she beheld a man kneeling at the mossy seat, in the attitude of prayer! Henry, Henry !” she shrieked with convulsive agony, sprung to his side, and grasped his hand. Oh! horror, horror! Shriek after shriek followed; for she pressed the fleshless

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