The quarries of Poolvash, in the neighbourhood of Peel, are celebrated for having furnished the fine black marble, of which the steps of St. Paul's cathedral are composed, presented by Bishop Wilson.

Bishop Wilson died in 1755, having been fifty-eight years bishop of Sodor and Man.

The Cabinet.

TIME.-Every hour comes to us charged with duty, and the moment it is past returns to heaven to register itself how spent. My hours, how trifled, sensualised, sauntered, dosed, sinned away!—Rev. T. Adam.

THE GOSPEL ADAPTED TO MAN'S WANTS.-Among the numerous evidences of the Divine origin of Christianity, its adaptation to the circumstances of man, as the fallen child of sin and sorrow, is not the least striking or important. The rich and inestimable blessings which it offers are precisely such as meet his varied exigencies both for time and eternity. Here is pardon for the guilty, justification for the ungodly, adoption for the outcast and alien, strength for the weak, comfort for the sorrowful, hope for the desponding, life yea, a crown of life unfading-for the sinner ready to perish! But "wherewith shall we come before the Lord, and bow ourselves before the most high God?" What worthiness have we to plead? what merit have we to offer in exchange for the blessings of redeeming love? Truly, none: "We are altogether as an unclean thing, and our righteousnesses are as filthy rags." Therefore, free as the air, and liberal as the sunbeam, is the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory. No previous qualification is required-no condition imposed. "By grace are ye saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God." Nor are the benefits of the Gospel confined, like the ordinances of the Mosaic ritual, to one favoured community; they are commensurate with the wants of the whole human family. The fountain of life is accessible to all; and all, of every clime, grade, and character, are invited to partake of its healing and refreshing waters, "without money and without price." Thus admirably adapted is the Christian dispensation to man's fallen condition. Rev. James Williams.

Poetry.

THOUGHTS OF COMFORT.

BY MISS EMRA.

(For the Church of England Magazine.)

ART thou a pilgrim all alone?

Yet welcome be thy lot:
The Saviour came unto his own,
And they receiv'd him not.

If, suffering in the midnight dim,
Thou on thy Lord dost call;
If thou dost thirst, remember him,
The vinegar and gall.

Thy head is wearied, aching now,
Yet dare not thou repine:

The thorns that wreath'd thy Saviour's brow
Shall never circle thine.

He died, he rose, he reigns for thee,

And will he now forsake?

O, now at last confiding be,

And all he offers take.

What does he offer? words are none
Worthy to count it o'er;

Grace here and, when thy life is done,
Glory for evermore!

Miscellaneous.

ANTIQUITY OF THE SABBATH.-If it were granted that in the history of the patriarchal ages no mention is made of the Sabbath, nor even the obscurest allusion to it, it would be unfair to conclude that it was not appointed previous to the departure of the children of Israel from Egypt. If instituted at the creation, the memory of it might have been forgotten in the lapse of time, and the growing corruption of the world; or, what is more probable, it might have been observed by the patriarchs, though no mention is made of it in the narrative of their lives, which, however circumstantial in some particulars, is, upon the whole, very brief and compendious. There are omissions in the sacred history much more extraordinary. Excepting Jacob's supplication at Bethel, scarcely a single allusion to prayer is to be found in all the Pentateuch; yet, considering the eminent piety of the worthies recorded in it, we cannot doubt the frequency of their devotional exercises. Circumcision being the sign of God's covenant with Abraham, was beyond all question punctually observed by the Israelites; yet, from their settlement in Canaan, no particular instance is recorded of it till the circumcision of Christ, comprehending a period of about 1500 years. No express mention of the Sabbath occurs in the books of Joshua, Judges, Ruth, the first and second of Samuel, or the first of Kings; though it was doubtless regularly observed all the time included in these histories. In the second book of Kings, and the first and second of Chronicles, it is mentioned only twelve times; and some of them are merely repetitions of the same instance. If the Sabbath is so seldom spoken of in this long historical series, it can be nothing wonderful, if it should not be mentioned in the summary account of the patriarchal ages. But though the Sabbath is not expressly mentioned in the history of the antediluvian and patriarchal ages, the observance of it seems to be intimated by the division of time into weeks. In relating the catastrophe of the flood, the historian informs us, that Noah, at the end of forty days, opened the window of the ark; " and he stayed yet other seven days, and again he sent forth the dove out of the ark: and the dove came in to him in the evening, and, lo, in her mouth was an oliveleaf, plucked off. So Noah knew that the waters were abated from off the earth. And he stayed yet other seven days, and sent forth the dove, which returned not again unto him any more." The term "week" is used by Laban in reference to the nuptials of Leah, when he says, "Fulfil her week, and we will give thee this also, for the service which thou shalt serve with me yet seven other years."-Rev. G. Holden.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The "Reflections on the Gunpowder Plot," though dated October 4th, did not reach us till October 24th,-far too late for insertion.

London: Published by JAMES BURNS, 17 Portman Street, Portman Square; W. EDWARDS, 12 Ave-Maria Lane, St. Paul's; and to be procured, by order, of all Booksellers in Town and Country.

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THE DUTY OF WATCHFULNESS. BY THE REV. CHARLES RAWLINGS, A.B. Curate of St. Stephen's and St. Dennis, Cornwall. Ir is the exhortation ofour adorable Redeemer, "Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation." There is no created object with which we are conversant but may become an alluring cause of sin. Things not absolutely unlawful in themselves-the pursuits of business or amusement, the charms of society, the attractions of literature and science, these, innocent as they are in their nature, too often prove a snare; they are too often found to weaken the principle of grace, to impair the energy of faith, to damp the ardour of love, and fling a shadow over the bright realities of the eternal world. With due anxiety, therefore, should we guard against a corrupting influence from the purer and more refined sources of earthly gratification, and pray unto God from the depths of our heart, "Deliver us from evil!" Again, how necessary is it to exercise a salutary control over our passions, appetites, and senses! We are so apt, -the very best of us are so apt, in a moment of carelessness,-to be betrayed into the forbidden paths of sin and folly! Melancholy experience will bear testimony to the justice of the remark here made. We may not, indeed, suppress the impulses of our common nature; we cannot at all times silence the warm appeals of passion; we cannot emancipate ourselves from the dominion of the senses, but if we would make any progress in the divine life, nay, if we would not go back, it is our duty, every real Christian will feel it to be his most pressing duty, to "watch and pray, that he enter not into temptation." The very

VOL. VII.NO. CXCVII.

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semblance ofevil should be studiously avoided; we should regard every promise of earth-born happiness with suspicion. Alas, too often beneath the fairest blossoms of mortal joy the serpent's poison lurks unseen. But it should never be forgotten, that the duty of watchfulness cannot be successfully exercised, but as it is associated with prayer for divine grace. The language of an inspired apostle is, Be ye therefore sober, and watch unto prayer." If we are enabled to resist and overcome temptation under its thousand forms of allurement, it is not in our own strength, or in the might of our own resolutions: left but for a moment to the vanity of our own resources, we should certainly be taught an afflicting lesson of our weakness by our fall; but strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might, we achieve the holy triumph. Habitual prayer is habitual preparation for encountering our spiritual enemies it is a weapon of heavenly temper, which the united onset of the world, the flesh, and the devil, cannot blunt or turn aside. Prayer is expressive of dependence on the strong for strength, and "they that trust in the Lord (we are assured) shall be as mount Zion, which cannot be removed, but abideth for ever." Again, there is another most sweet and encouraging promise, "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary, and they shall walk and not faint." There is a tranquillity and a repose in the exercise of prayer; the storm and tumult of the passions is lulled for a season, and there is nothing to disturb or interrupt the blessed communion of the spirit with God. These are some of the

D D

valuable accompaniments of prayer; and independently of the direct use and importance of that duty, they may be considered as not a little conducive to the maintenance of that watchfulness against the inroads of temptation and sin which is one of the principal features which distinguish the Christian character. But the grand argument for habitual vigilance is drawn from a consideration of the uncertainty of our continuance in this probationary state; and this is just the very argument employed by our blessed Lord in the striking parable of the ten virgins,-" Watch, therefore (says he), for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh." Death may arrive when we least expect its arrival. At any moment the solemnities of an eternal world may break upon us, and we may be summoned to our great account. "In the midst of life we are in death." The bloom that now freshens on the cheek of youth may, before to-morrow's sun illumes the eastern

sky, be converted into the ashy paleness of the grave. Present health and strength are no security against the approach of the last enemy. The wise virgins were provided with the oil of grace in their lamps; but would they have "slumbered and slept," in the assured expectation of the sudden coming of the bridegroom? From their case we may learn a lesson of warning and instruction. These things were written for our admonition; and if we profit not by the voice of solemn admonition, the fault will be all our own. Let us endeavour to live in a state of habitual

preparation to meet our God. Regarding with holy indifference the vanities of time, let us seek to realise the spirit and imitate the example of those who "confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth,"

66

desiring a better country, that is, an heavenly," and "looking for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God;" "giving all diligence, let us add to our faith virtue, and to virtue knowledge, and to knowledge temperance, and to temperance patience, and to patience godliness, and to godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness charity." "Blessed is that servant whom his Lord, when he cometh, shall find so doing."

GIBBON.*

Or the deistical writers who, about a century ago, were regarded by the friends of Christianity in this country with so much alarm, scarcely any are now read; very few are even remembered. The pompous objections of Bolingbroke, and the acute sophistry of Hume, have almost reached the state of oblivion which has been already attained by the less attractive writings of their predecessors. There is one work, however, of a deFrom the "British Magazine."

cidedly infidel character, which retains its place in our literature, unaffected by the lapse of sixty years. The

scholar and the man of the world still turn for information and amusement to "The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire."

The reviving taste for the study of history has recalled this work into a degree of popularity which it had lost during the stirring times which marked the commencement of the present century. The jealousy and dislike with which it was regarded by two generations are scarcely shared by a liberal age. A handsome edition, superintended by an ingenious and accomplished clergyman, is courting a new generation of readers. The book is studied and referred to. It will, therefore, scarcely be deemed unseasonable to attempt an estimate of its real character and value.

It is well known how the work of Gibbon was received by those of his contemporaries who felt interested in the cause of religion. Such was the alarm which was excited by the publication of the first volume, that the author himself confessed that "had he believed that the majority of English readers were so fondly attached even to the name and shadow of Christianity, -had he foreseen that the pious, the timid, and the prudent, would feel, or affect to feel, with such exquisite sensibility," he might have observed greater caution. And the warmth and earnestness with which it was

attacked by theologians of all ranks and parties sutiiciently shewed the importance which was attached to it as an attempt to undermine the divine authority of the Gospel, and to weaken the principles of morality.

Yet it is perhaps scarcely correct to regard it as a deliberate attempt to unchristianise our literature. It more probably owed its infidel character to mere vanity and affectation. The author was by education and in manners a Frenchman. As he had no fixed principles, he very naturally adopted the tone and opinions of his foreign associates. He had learned from his early years to regard his countrymen as unpolished and unenlightened, and he was willing to astonish them by a display of paradox and sophistry. These, and some still more obvious peculiarities of the author's personal character, sufficiently explain what is most objectionable in the "Decline and Fall of the Roman Em

pire."

The history of his life, which has been communicated by his own pen, is curious and interesting. He was born at Putney, in Surrey, in the year 1737. His father was a gentleman in easy circumstances, who represented Hampshire in two parliaments. He was early deprived of his mother, but a maternal aunt reared him with a mother's tenderness. The delicacy of his health caused his early education to be greatly neglected. But he had from his early childhood an insatiable thirst for reading. In his fifteenth year he "arrived at Oxford with a stock of erudition which might have puzzled a doctor, and a degree of ignorance of which a schoolboy would have been ashamed." Magdalen College he was neglected by his tutors, and fell into habits of dissipation and extravagance. taste for discursive reading led him to books of religious controversy; "and at the age of sixteen he bewildered himself in the errors of the Church of Rome." He professed himself a papist. And his father, who regarded his conduct as an act of insubordination, immediately removed him from the university.

At

His

This was the event which determined the character of his future life. He was sent from England; and under the care of M. Pavilliard, a reformed minister at Lausanne, in whose family he remained nearly five years, zealously pursued his classical studies, and soon renounced the peculiarities of Romanism. But these rapid changes of opinion permanently impaired his principles; and he appears soon to have subsided into a state of indifference or scepticism, which, in the course of his intercourse with French society, event

ually settled into positive infidelity. At Lausanne, however, he read with diligence and success, and laid the foundation of his future learning. In 1758, his father allowed him to return to England. His first work (Essai sur l'Etude de la Littérature) which had been commenced at Lausanne, and was published in 1761, is a proof not only of his intimate acquaintance with the French language, but of his acquirements and talents.

In 1763 he again visited the continent. He then became acquainted with Paris, and made the tour of Italy. "It was at Rome, on the 15th October, 1764, as he sat musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol," that he first conceived the idea of writing on the decline and fall of the capital of the world. Several other subjects, however, presented themselves to his mind as fit subjects for a historical composition. For several years he was too much engaged in society and intercourse with his family to find leisure for regular study. After the death of his father in 1770, he was several years in parliament; and it was not until 1776 that he published the first volume of the “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire."

His great work had, however, for some time before been the chief business of his life. He was engaged upon it with more or less activity from 1768 to 1787. The first three volumes, and the greater part of the fourth, were written in London, the remainder of the work at Lausanne, where he chiefly resided during the last ten years of his life. He returned, however, to England, upon a visit to his intimate friend, Lord Sheffield, in 1793, and died in London on the 16th of January, 1794.

The character of Gibbon, as it is exhibited by his autobiography and letters, reflects much light upon his writings. He has himself enabled us to describe him as a man of a cold and phlegmatic temperament, who was impelled to exertion only by motives of vanity and selfishness. If his life was marked by no flagrant irregularities, it is clear from his own account that the decency of his conduct did not proceed from any principle of conscience, or any feeling for moral beauty. For learning, indeed, and a general acquaintance with literature, he must be ranked among the very first of his contemporaries. He had great natural sagacity; he had an inexhaustible thirst for knowledge; and was at once ingenious and diligent. But he had no dignity of mind, no elevation nor warmth of sentiment, no purity nor delicacy of taste. His knowledge of mankind was derived from a corrupt state of society, and from a corrupt heart. Self-devotion and disinterestedness were things beyond his comprehension; he could scarcely realise the possibility even of sincere belief; and virtue he regarded as an empty name.

His history largely partakes of the peculiarities of hia moral and intellectual character. It is rich in various learning. It abounds in sagacious and acute reflections; but it is loaded with excessive ornament. It is absolutely destitute of moral purpose. It never rises beyond the material and visible. It constantly seeks to depress what is noble and lofty, while it places in strong relief whatever is mean and disgusting. Instead of endeavouring to inculcate some great ethical lesson, it only strives to confound the distinction between vice and virtue, and utterly to extinguish all respect for religion.

Voltaire had introduced a new method of historical composition. He had presumed to summon the past to the bar of the present, and to arraign it upon the enactments of an arbitrary ex post facto legislation. Under pretence of tracing the philosophy of history, he measured the men and things of other times by the standard of modern civilisation, and ventured to pronounce upon the probability or improbability of the testimony of contemporary authors, and to assign the motives which actuated the men of distant ages and countries, solely with reference to the principles which

obtained among the Frenchmen of the eighteenth century. Thucydides and Tacitus had indeed painted the hearts of men, and disclosed the secret springs of events, but it was after having carefully studied the originals. They wrote of men who were still well remembered, or were actually their contemporaries. The first Frenchman of an enlightened age needed not this tedious and modest process. With the telescope of philosophy he might explore at will what was most remote in time or place, and tell others all that it was worth their while to know, without the vulgar aid of observation or learning. The laws of nature were always uniform, and men were always men, and men were, of course, always savages or Frenchmen. He wanted no other principles to know with positive certainty how and why they acted. Bare facts only served to load the memory, and enfeeble the understanding. His only was the way of studying history to advantage. It was only when expounded by the philosopher, that it afforded any thing worth knowing by one who aspired to the dignity of a man. The novelty of this method, the reputation of its inventor, and the general sciolism, procured for it no little popularity. Acute and sober men were dazzled by its pretensions. Hume and Robertson had already naturalised it-purified, however, from its more flagrant absurdities-in the literature of Britain, when Gibbon caught the contagion, and aspired to the rank of a pragmatical historian.

Yet Gibbon was something more than a mere disciple of the historical school of Voltaire. He was well aware of its deficiencies. In his diffusive reading he had acquired no ordinary amount of erudition. From the time he had chosen the subject of his work, he was eagerly engaged in the pursuit of the right materials. He knew what the historian had to do. He made it his business to find his way to the best information. His knowledge was perhaps often derived in the first instance from secondary writers-he freely confesses his obligations to Tillemont-but he generally verified important facts by referring to the sources, and he was rarely unacquainted with the discoveries of modern learning.

His learning, indeed, was his strongest point. His perseverance and sedentary industry well fitted him to make himself master of the information necessary for his subject. His private means enabled him to obtain books, and he was moreover generally in situations where he had access to public libraries. It could not be asserted that he was a scholar in the highest sense of the term. He had not the finish and accuracy which can be attained only by those who pursue learning as a profession. But he was most intimately acquainted with the materials of history. No one who has gone over the ground he professes to have surveyed can help seeing that he has been there before him. Students who are engaged in a particular inquiry may find much which has eluded his observation, but they will generally be surprised to find how much he knew. His references are frequently ostentatious, sometimes irrelevant, sometimes not strictly accurate; but what we find to complain of in them must usually be laid to other accounts, they do not go to impeach his learning.

The subject on which his acquirements were employed was a noble one. History does not present any thing more memorable than the decay and extinction of ancient civilisation. "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," as a work of art, is well conceived, and executed with a rare ability. The distribution is felicitous, the composition is striking; notwithstanding the defects in drawing and perspective, it has an air of grandeur; and though the parts are often strangely out of proportion, we are scarcely sensible of a want of harmony in the whole. The great fault is, that it is so artificial. You scarcely ever lose the artist, and art is, obtrusive every where. The style is affected and laboured to a degree positively offensive. There is no variety of construction or manner. There is a total

absence of nature. The ornaments are all of the most gaudy and meretricious sort. We are displeased at once by effort and insipidity.

It was in the highest qualifications of the historian that Gibbon was most deficient. He had no large views, nor lofty feelings. He could not disengage himself from the narrow circle of manners and fashion, nor sympathise with the genuine feelings of the human heart. He knew nothing of man as a moral being. His imagination was inflamed only by material objects. He was not awed by the sublimity of virtue; he felt no tenderness for human infirmities. He regarded what was morally great and disinterested with invincible scepticism, while he received with vulgar credulity every insinuation of evil.

But it is the malign aspect of his work towards Christianity and morality which constitutes its great fault, and renders it dangerous and noxious. Whatever may have been his motives, it is quite certain that he constantly makes it his business to treat the Gospel as a fable, and to sneer at the very idea of virtue. Every thing connected with revealed religion is exhibited in the light in which it may be regarded by a captious adversary. Though he did not in the remainder of his undertaking introduce any attack so direct as that which is contained in the last two chapters of his first volume, he never ceased to insinuate that Christianity was a mere system of imposture, devised by priests, and believed only by fanatics. He possessed in perfection the art which had been so successful in the hands of the French infidels, of conveying by insinuations and sarcasm opinions and sentiments which it was not convenient openly to avow. Without leaving the subject he has in hand, he can always find occasion to suggest doubts and ridicule. When the outline of the likeness he is painting is correct and accurate, he can produce the most objectionable effects by the choice of attitude and expression, and especially by colouring. Often, when we cannot deny the resemblance, we can say emphatically that it conveys a false or most inadequate conception of the original. homet is painted with all the luxuriance of Venetian art; Cyril and Bernard are rude caricatures. Constantine and Theodosius are heavy and ungracious; while all the resources of his skill are lavished upon Julian. Thus the reader of the "Decline and Fall" is defrauded of the fruits of human experience, and receives a deadly poison instead of the precious nourishment which is the natural produce of history, and especially of the history of the Church.

Ma

It is really curious to observe how thoroughly Gibbon's work is saturated with his infidelity. The venom has been distilled into every part. His scepticism, and malevolence, and impurity, meet us every where. It is strange that any one could ever have supposed it possible to counteract its mischievous tendency by controverting particular statements, or refuting particular views. It is not easy to conceive how any one could read it, and fancy that any good could be done in this way. It mocks such an antidote.

No one could make it any thing else than an infidel book without actually taking it to pieces. Little is gained even by expunging the most obnoxious passages; for an epithet sometimes presents a licentious picture, a conjunction often suggests an embarrassing doubt.

If these remarks have given a fair character of this celebrated work, it is almost needless to deduce a formal conclusion. In such case there can be but one opinion. It must be regarded as an anti-christian book, which exhibits great powers misemployed, and which no one can read but at his peril. If the estimate now attempted of its literary value be at all correct, the young and inexperienced student may well spare it from his library. It is not less calculated to vitiate his taste, and to weaken his judgment, than to corrupt his moral and religious principles. A spacious field of historical reading is open to him, in which he may

SACRED POETRY.

BY JAMES CHAMBERS, ESQ.
No. IV.
Wither.

PERHAPS no poetry ever received such unmerited neglect as that of this author. The popularity which it enjoyed on its first publication soon died away; and from that period to the present time, contumely and scorn have been its only portion. His own political heresies, and the violent party-feelings of the times in which he lived, blinded the judgment of his contemporaries to the real merits of his compositions; while more modern critics have probably often pronounced a judgment, without sufficiently examining the volumes they condemn. Among others who thus indulged in vituperations against Wither and his poetry, were Wood, Heylin, Butler, Philips, Dryden, Swift, and Pope;† while Bishop Percy, Ritson, and D'Israeli deal out such qualified praise, as almost amounts to censure. Though this array of opposing critics is truly formidable, I yet hope to convince my readers that George Wither merits a more honourable appellation than that of " a prosing satirist,"‡ or the “English Bavius." S

One great poet and distinguished scholar of modern times has done him justice. It has ever been the delight of Dr. Southey to rescue the fruits of genius from that oblivion which time heaps upon them, and to clear away the tangling weeds and wild briar from many a neglected grave in the burial-ground of the earlier poets. With his usual discernment, he has perceived in these poems "a felicity of expression, a tenderness of feeling, and an elevation of mind;" and with his usual fearlessness, he has dared to avow it.

I proceed to consider those of Wither's works which entitle him to the character of a sacred poet. I have already mentioned that he composed the "Shepherds Hunting" when in prison. The following extract

It is interesting to observe how many works of merit have been composed in exile or imprisonment: at such seasons the mind is not distracted by the petty cares or anxieties of everyday life, and it is urged to vigorous exertion by the necessity of banishing those melancholy contemplations, which would otherwise be ever present to the thoughts of the captive. No situation can be more favourable for cultivating the energies, or eliciting the powers of a great mind. Boethius wrote his "Consolations of Philosophy" when contined, under sentence of death, in the castle of Pavia; Buchanan commenced his elegant translation of the Psalms in a dungeon at Coimbra, in Portugal; Christopher Smart wrote one of the most powerful lyrics in our poetry on the walls of a madhouse, where he was kept under restraint; Sir W. Raleigh's "History of the World" was written in the Tower; Bunyan's "wondrous allegory" in Bedford jail; James the First