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Webster. pp. 75. London. Kershaw.

1825.

ON glancing over the introductory pages of this little volume, the following pathetic passages very forcibly arrested our attention:

and sisters. At that time, the whole family REVIEW.-Solitary Musings. By Ann were ignorant of God. On leaving the house, the Dr. left a religious tract, on the nature and design of Christianity. The perusal of this pamphlet had such an effect upon their minds, that the whole family were stirred up to seek the Lord. The consequence of which was, that, about six or seven years afterwards, the Dr., on returning to that country, found the young man a preacher of the Gospel; and learned, that his mother, with the other six children, all of whom were married, together with their husbands and wives, making fourteen in all, were converted to God, and members of the Methodist Society! Perhaps few cases can be mentioned, which shew so clearly, and demonstrate so forcibly, the importance and utility of distributing tracts.

"The other instance which I shall mention, occurred much nearer home, and was as follows:-About four years ago, a gentleman travelling in his gig between Newcastle and North Shields, purposely dropped some tracts, as be rode along. A man going in a contrary direction picked up one of the tracts, and had not proceeded far, before he found another. He had not proceeded much farther, when he spied a third, which he passed, and declared with an oath, he would not take it up. Something, however, impressed his mind, and he turned about and took up that also, when he found, to his surprise, that it was The Swearer's Prayer!" He read it, and while reading, it flashed conviction on his guilty soul. He went to reside, I believe, at Whitby, where he heard the gospel, and became a sincere Christian. Some time after this, coming again into this neighbourhood, he attended a religious meeting, I think at Carville, related what God had done for his soul, and on coming out of the place in which they had been assembled, he beheld a gentleman riding past in his gig, and exclaimed with emotions mingled with surprise and joy, See! see the gentleman, who dropped the tract that has been of such use to me!'"-p. 513 to 516.

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After a life spent in great labour, and productive of much usefulness, Mr. Braithwaite was attacked with angina pectoris, which, though he partially recovered from it, completely unfitted him for ministerial exertions, until it returned with twofold virulence, during his passage from Whitehaven to the Isle of Man, whither he was proceeding for the benefit of his health. He lingered in much pain for a few hours after he had landed at Douglas, and died, aged 52 years, in the arms of Mr. Bumstead, his former colleague. "About twelve o'clock, in the evening of Sunday, May 19, 1822," says the narrative," his happy spirit took its flight to the paradise of God."-We earnestly recommend this book to the serious attention of all those readers who delight to peruse the memoirs of godly and laborious ministers.

"The Sun, approaching the Winter Solstice, beamed obliquely on my natal hour, December 5th, A. D. 1797. Nor bas my day been brighter than its morning-it has appeared a winterly scene, and the intervals of sunshine, like the visits of angels, have been

"few and long between."

"The first seven years of my life glided away, as the days of childhood generally do, leaving but little trace behind ;--but the eighth year of my age was, to me, an important era :-I had the misfortune to pierce the crystalline orb of my right eye, with the sharp point of an instrument,--this, as might be expected, occasioned me great pain, and so greatly did the pain affect my head, that it caused an inflammation in my other eye, which, in despite of prompt surgical assistance, terminated in the total destruction of vision,-the final and irrecoverable loss of sight. The long confinement,-excruciating pain,-together with the mental anguish which I endured on that occasion, so weakened my constitutional energies, that I not only lost my sight, but with it fled the pleasures of health-nor will my mortal framé ever recover from the shock it then sustained, until its mortality shall be exchanged for life,

and

"My triumphant spirit comes,
To put it on afresh."

This concise, yet comprehensive, but melancholy narrative, makes a strong appeal to our sympathetic feelings; and by interesting humanity in behalf of the afflicted writer, disarms criticism of its severity. But while we thus express compassion for the author, we must not forget, that, uninfluenced by pity or prejudice, the public have a right to expect impartiality from our hands.

The subjects of these compositions are thirty-five, of which an acrostic on the Lord's Prayer, and a poem on the Sabbath, are the longest, and in several respects the best. The versification throughout the volume, partakes of much variety, and is chiefly remarkable for plainness, and expressive simplicity. The style borrows little from foreign ornament, but it always mounts sufficiently high to direct our views to the realities of a future state.

None of the poems are above mediocrity. It is a pity that the author had not some judicious friend to revise what she had written, before sending

her work to the press; then we should | REVIEW.-Poems; Moral, Rural, Hunot have had such absurd rhymes as morous, and Satirical. By John "dawning-returning ;” “crawl up- Pooley. pp. 64. London. Longman and Co. 1825.

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walnut. Our readers cannot expect that we should go into an extended analysis of a work compounded of local epistles, riddles, and acrostics; Yet we can inform them, that there are several tolerable verses to be met with. The acrostic on the Lord's Prayer is executed with considerable neatness. We shall conclude by extracting the smartest piece in the volume, as a specimen of our author's

verse:

SATIRE.

REGARD me, ye gods,

Whose significant nods
Granted conquest, or wo, to the ancients:
Ye have once heard my prayer,--
Again lend your ear,

And prove my benevolent agents.
To you, lords of the sky,

The injur'd must fly,

Ever waiting you are to defend them:
Let Zeno beware,

I have friends in the air,

Let clouds and thick vapours attend him.
When his labouring mind,
Your high mansions would find,
And haughtily traverse your regions;
O Jupiter, hear!

And darken thy sphere,

Arm against him, celestial legions!
Lovely Venus, attend!

My petition befriend,

For those females who would thee resemble!

O Goddess benign!

Permit them to shine,

Till before them great Zeno shall tremble! Wherever he goes,

O may these fair foes,

Let him hear the sweet tone of their voices; In eloquent strains,

Till it thrill through his veins:

While each Fair, self-applauding, rejoices.
On cap, turban, or gown,
Green, orange, or brown,
(Delightful to females as ye know,)
Give zest to the theme

On the flounce, shape, or seam,
Only torture the strong nerves of Zeno.
When through optic glass,

He sees Mercury pass,

Or a spot on the Sun he discovers;
By his speculum's power,
May some GNAT, like a tower
Rise up, and ere Zeno recovers
His terrible fright!

On his fear-fading sight,

May a FLY, like a huge monster crawl up;

And quick as light's ray,
His proboscis display,

To crack up our earth like a walnut!

May he then run away,
Overwhelm'd with dismay,
And Demosthenes fully resemble,
When he threw off his shield,
As he quitted the field,
And quarters implor'd of a bramble!

WERE we disposed to use a military phrase, we should say, that the author of these verses belongs to the awkward squad of the troop of poets. He seems to be a countryman, who has but lately enlisted, and is now learning to stand upright, to turn out his toes, to march, to countermarch, and to pass through the varieties of military evolution. He may, however, in time, make a tolerable soldier, but we do not expect that his strength will ever enable him to draw the bow of Ulysses, to lift the shield of Ajax, or to handle the sword of Achilles. The greater part, indeed, of the compositions before us, presage his remaining among the rank and file for life, while some few, furnish indications that he is entitled to promotion, either as a lance corporal, or a grenadier. Of this latter description is the following address "To the Evening Star," which possesses real poetical merit.

TO THE EVENING STAR.
PALE Star of even, whose mild ray
The Pilgrim does elate survey,
When in the East at close of day,

He first beholds thee.
Nor less at eve the Reaper joys,
On thy soft beams to feast his eyes,
Slow breaking through the azure skies,
With growing radiance.
Thou too canst cheer the love-smit swain,
As sad he roves the dusky plain,
Or yellow fields of rip'ning grain,

In lonely musings.

And still beneath thy genial beam,
(By verdant grove or purling stream,)
The Bard, who now makes thee his theme,
Shall love to wander.

And when he shares that last, sad lot,
When long by friends and foes forgot,
Beam, lovely star, and mark the spot,

Where low he slumbers.

Should the author hereafter successfully imitate the example, which, in the above lines, he has so nobly set himself, he may then bid defiance to the severity of criticism.

THE INQUISITION.

A WORK has lately been translated into English, from the German, entitled "The adventures of a young rifleman." The author was a native of Saxony, and, when young, entered into the French service; but being taken prisoner by the British, he

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joined their armies, and on being discharged, published the incidents of his wanderings, among which we find the following observations respecting the Inquisition.

"At Valladolid, the palace of the Holy Inquisition was appointed for our barracks. The major-domo received our colonel, at that time the Prince of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, at the gates, and presented him an imperial order, signifying that on pain of punishment, nothing throughout the buildings should be damaged. This order was immediately made known to us before our admission, and at first punctually obeyed; but, like all orders of this nature, particularly in an enemy's country, was by degrees forgotten and neglected by the soldiers, and in less than three weeks' time we had pretty well ransacked the whole of the interior.

"Here the horrible secrets of the Inquisition were brought to light, and by this means I contracted such an unconquerable aversion to the Spanish clergy, as I have never been able to

Overcome.

"The palace of the Inquisition forms a square, having a large handsome court in the centre: the front contains a number of handsome rooms, not at all antique, but fitted up entirely in the modern taste. Upon crossing the court-yard, a flight of steps led to the consistory, where the sittings were held; in this there was a sort of raised stage, which, upon these occasions, was occupied by the grand inquisitor and his colleagues. Beyond this, on the farther side, we found the library, the archives, and last of all the room of torture, about fifty or sixty steps under ground.

"The first object which struck us in this place of horror was the rackmachine, somewhat similar to the lashchamber, with which, to this day, in many countries, soldiers are punished. Two bars, the length of a man, were crossed by two others of the same size, and formed a sort of bed; there was a board hollowed out, where the head of the unfortunate victim was placed, and buckled tight by a strap. On each side were rings in the wall, through which ropes passed; these were fastened to the body, arms, and legs, and then drawn so tight that they cut into the flesh. During this operation, the victim had his mouth

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kept filled with water, so that, in addition to his torment, he had the feeling of suffocation.

"The second instrument was for torture by means of fire; it was a chair with a footstool, in which two holes were cut; through these the feet were placed, and held over a hot pan of coals, and to increase the pain, were first rubbed with oil.

"The third torture, for which I have no name, was a rope, which, after the victim's arms had been placed behind his back, was tied to his hands, and by this means, after forty or fifty pounds weight had been fastened to his feet, he was drawn up to the ceiling.

"We burned and destroyed all these instruments of torture; the archives we used for lighting our fires, and for a variety of purposes. Had I been at that time more experienced, I might, among these records, have found many things interesting and worthy of transmission to posterity; but as it was, they were all destroyed, without any one giving himself the least trouble about them.

"In the middle of the court was a well, though it contained no water; but under the colonnade was another, from which water could be drawn into the uppermost stories. This water was not very good, having a sweetish decayed taste; but, for want of better, there being no other well near, and the river Pisuerga being at some distance, we made use almost entirely of this, as well for drinking as cooking. No one regiment in the garrison was so unhealthy as ours; and I was told by the surgeons of the regiment, that the prevailing disorder was the putrid fever, of which there was not the slightest symptom in any other of the regiments; at last the reason was found out.

"A soldier had let his watch fall into this well; another, a mason by profession, offered to get it out again, if he might be allowed to go down, and the owner would give him half the value. This was agreed to, and the mason immediately set to work; but he quickly came up again with affright, and said there were skeletons in the well. The matter was investigated, and several were actually taken out; they had probably not lain there a great while, as pieces of flesh were still hanging to them. The well was

immediately closed up, and water was brought for us upon asses from the river, and the neighbouring wells; and it was said that much of the sickness had been occasioned by the water, which had been poisoned by the dead

carcasses.

"The cellars were filled with the choicest wine; these we liked the taste of, and often drank the downfall of the Inquisition in their own wine.

"Near this building, in the square of St. Pedro, the Autos da Fé, or public executions, took place! Within these walls we found all the apparatus used upon these occasions, such as caps ornamented with devils, serpents, and all kinds of monsters; dresses painted with flames, and the whole economy of the infernal regions.”

the Fifth, caused your column to be repaired; but he took care to place on it the statue of a better man than either your father or you. You are damned.

Marcus Aurelius. I have ever thought it would be very easy to find a more worthy person than myself; but I believed, at the same time, that it would be very difficult to find a more excellent man than my father. The suggestions of filial piety may have misled me; every man is liable to error. But why do you call me damned?

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The Recollet. Because you are so. Did you not persecute the very people to whom you were under obligations, and who procured you rain, to enable you to beat your enemies?

Marcus Aurelius. Alas! I was far from persecuting any person.† I returned thanks to Heaven, that, by a

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE GHOST OF happy concurrence of circumstances,

THE EMPEROR MARCUS AURELIUS AND A RECOLLET FRIAR.

(From Euvres Posthumes de Frederic II. Roi

de Prusse.) The Recollet. AH! what is that I see enter the church? A spirit! Quick, holy water and a brush!

Marcus Aurelius. What are you doing there with your lustral water? I suppose you are a priest of Jupiter. Hear me a moment?

The Recollet. I; I a priest of Jupiter! This must certainly be some 66 goblin damned," or devil! Marcus Aurelius. I do not understand you. What is a devil?

The Recollet. What an ignorant ghost is this! Holy St. Francis, have mercy upon me! Who are you, my friend?

Marcus Aurelius. I am Marcus Aurelius. I am returned, to behold once more that Rome which I loved, and by which I was beloved; that capitol, where I triumphed by disdaining triumphs; that land, which I rendered prosperous and happy. But I no longer know the capital of my empire. I have been to look at the column erected to me; but I could not find the statue of the wise Antoninus, my father. It is the statue of a very different person.

The Recollet. I believe so, Mr.

Ghost. That illustrious pope, Sixtus

* The Recollets are monks of the order of St. Francis: they profess a more rigid obedi

ence to the rules of their founder.

a storm seasonably came, in the very moment when my soldiers were dying of thirst; but I never understood that I was under obligations for this storm to the persons you mention. I assure too much good to men, to incur the you, I am not damned. I have done whose will I have constantly endeadispleasure of that Divine Being, to voured to conform. But you, who appear to me in such an ill humour, who are you, if you please?

The Recollet. It is very easy to see that you come from some distance, since you are unacquainted with Father Fulgentius, that famous Recollet, resident in the capitol, and who speaks to the Pope, sometimes just as I speak

to you.

Cardinals come to visit me

+ The royal author of this dialogue makes the good emperor here violate the truth of history. Marcus Aurelius, if he did not order, permitted, however, the Christians to be persecuted, and from the most superstitious motives -to avert the wrath of Heaven, which was supposed to be manifest in the irruption of the barbarians, and in the other calamities, which, at that time, befell the Roman empire.

The emperor, according to Tertullian, being closely pressed by the barbarians in a forest of Bohemia, obtained, by the prayers of the Miletine legion, which was composed of Christians, a plentiful shower of rain, that saved his army. The pagans attributed this miracle (if the event were as miraculous as it was seasonable) to Jupiter. Aurelius, on the

contrary, it is said, ascribed it to the God of the Christians, and forbade any farther persecution of them. The persecution, at least, mentioned in the text, was long prior to the event, to which the Recollet is here made to consider it as subsequent.

in my cell. I am confessor to the | him as such, but that a priest lends duchess of Popoli. Every body knows him his, whenever he has occasion for who I am. it.*

Marcus Aurelius. Father Fulgentius in the capitol! Things seem to me somewhat altered! Tell me, I beg you, where is the palace of the emperor, my successor? Is it still on Mount Palatine? for truly I cannot recollect my country.

The Recollet. Go, go, good man; you rave. But if you please I will lead you to Mount Cavallo. You shall kiss the feet of St. Peter; and you shall have indulgences, of which, I think, you seem to stand in great need.

Marcus Aurelius. Grant me yours first, and tell me truly, is there any longer an emperor, or a Roman empire?

The Recollet. Yes, yes, there is an emperor and an empire; but they are four hundred leagues off, in a small city, called Vienna, on the banks of the Danube. I would advise you to go thither to see your successors; for here you will run the hazard of seeing the inquisition. I must inform you, that the reverend Dominican fathers do not understand raillery, and that they would treat pretty severely your Marcus Aureliuses, your Antoninuses, your Trajans, and your Tituses-people that do not know their catechism.

Marcus Aurelius. A catechism! The inquisition! Dominicans! Recollets! Cardinals! A pope! And the Roman empire in a small city on the banks of the Danube!-I did not expect all this. But I can conceive that, in the course of sixteen hundred years, the face of affairs in this world must have undergone a considerable change. I have a curiosity to see this Roman emperor-one of the Marcomans, Quadi, Cimbri, or Teutones, I suppose.

The Recollet. You shall have that pleasure when you please, and even much greater. You would be astonished, then, were I to tell you, that the Scythians possess one half of your empire, and that we have the other; that a priest, like me, is now the sovereign of Rome; that father Fulgentius may be so in his turn; that I may give my benedictions in the very spot where you dragged vanquished monarchs at your triumphal car; and that your successor on the Danube has not a single city that belongs to

Marcus Aurelius. You tell me strange things! These great revolutions could never have been effected without great calamities. I still love mankind, and I pity them.

The Recollet. You are too good. It certainly cost some torrents of blood, and about a hundred provinces might be ravaged; but it could not well be otherwise, to enable father Fulgentius to sleep in the capitol at his ease.

Marcus Aurelius. Rome, then, that capital of the world, must be decayed, and very miserable.

The Recollet. Decayed, if you please, but not miserable. On the contrary, peace reigns, and the fine arts flourish bere. The ancient masters of the world are now nothing more than masters of music. Instead of sending colonies to England, we now send there eunuchs and violins, We have no more Scipios to destroy Carthages; but then we have no more proscriptions. We have bartered glory for repose.

Marcus Aurelius. I have endeavoured, in my lifetime, to be a philosopher; and I have become truly one since my death. I find tranquillity far preferable to glory. I suspect, however, from what you have said, that father Fulgentius is not a philosopher.

I

The Recollet. How! not a philosopher! I am an admirable one. have taught philosophy, and what is more-theology.

Marcus Aurelius. What is this theology, if you please?

The Recollet. It is-it is what has produced me this comfortable residence. You seem to be chagrined at my happiness, and at the little revotion which has befallen your empire.

Marcus Aurelius. I adore the divine decrees; I know that we ought not to murmur against them. I admire the vicissitudes of human affairs; but since every thing is liable to change, since the Roman empire is no more, the Recollets also may have their turn; and a more enlightened

whose bishop is sovereign of that city. Vienna belongs to the emperor, as archduke of Austria

*The diet of the empire is held at Ratisbon,

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