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progress in divine knowledge; and because as soon as he shall learn any thing from them that varies in the least from any part of the common prayer-book, he has an inward testimony that he breaks the conditions on which he is authorized to teach, and forfeits his right to continue in his present situation. Hence he is discouraged in the study of the holy scriptures, manacled in his exertions to be useful, and wretched in his mind. He has indeed been accessary to his own wretchedness, and may be charged with rashness and indiscretion. But it is also true, that he has been tempted, and that requisitions have been made of him, that are severe, unnecessary, and indefensible.'

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pp. 215—217.

Upon these impressive statements, the language of experience and fervent piety, we offer no comment. The point to which our remarks and citations are designed to lead, is this; that nothing is to be expected, nothing can be done for the relief of the conscientious, or the reformation of the Church, till this oppressive test-act ecclesiastical is repealed, which binds up the rulers of the Church equally with its humblest ministers. If the Church be perfect, the terms of admission are not the less unjustifiable on principle; and the history of their enactment af fords, as Mr. Hurn justly remarks, an affecting instance of human depravity in persons consecrated to so sacred an office.' Let this preliminary obstacle be removed, and then every desirable amendment might peaceably, and with comparatively little difficulty, be effected by the gradual operation of unshackled good sense and pious feeling. Till this be done, all discussions will tend only to inflame and irritate. To this one object, then, let all the ministers of the Establishment who fear an oath, direct their united efforts; the obtaining of the legislative repeal of the tests and oaths, which never yet kept a wicked man out of the Church, and which the spirit of the age and the spirit of Christianity alike condemn as mere snares and fetters of the conscience. If they viewed the subject in what we cannot but deem its true light, they would see that this is the only proper course to be taken; that, as they value their own peace of mind or moral freedom, the interests of religion, or the true honour and stability of their Church, they are bound to make every effort to obtain this Protestant emancipation. And were they so to do, we cannot doubt of their eventual success.

'But would the Dissenters be satisfied?' For them, as a body, (certainly not a body actuated by one spirit,) we have no authority to answer; but we venture to say, that they would not be satisfied. Moreover, we will make bold to express our opinion, that they ought, in this matter, to be put out of sight altogether. Speaking for them, we should say: We have been relieved, and we are grateful for that relief; but we cannot,

under any circumstances, promise conformity. We have certain views and opinions about the election of pastors, the validity of Presbyterian ordination, the right to teach independently of State appointment, the constitution of churches, the alliance of Church and State, and other matters, which would effectually preclude that entire coalescence and amalgamation which some might hope for, and others deprecate, as the probable result of a Church reform. If we desire that reform, it is assuredly not for our own sakes. We should lose by it, at least a fertile topic of invective, which no controvertist is willing to part with; and our nonconformity would only be rendered apparently the less reasonable.'

We are not, indeed, ignorant, that there is a class of Dissenters, with whom our own consistency and integrity will be placed in jeopardy by our advocating any measure of Church Reform. They cannot conceive, good men! how a Dissenter can, from any good motives, wish the Establishment to be a whit purer than it is; and to desire an alteration in the terms of conformity, must of necessity indicate, with them, secret treason against the sacred cause of Dissent. Alas! for that cause which would be endangered by the removal of abuses and evils which its votaries affect to lament! Alas! for those whose selfcomplacency rests upon the inconsistencies of their neighbours! We should indeed begin to suspect the character of our own principles, nay, we would renounce them, could they be fairly shewn to be chargeable with any such consequence. Our attachment to those principles ought not, however, to be called in question, when we declare, that it has never been lessened even by the deep mortification of holding them in common with persons whose good opinion we are by no means anxious to enjoy,Dissenters who have much clearer views on the subject of church-government, than they have respecting the weightier matters of the law; who love Dissent for its own sake, and whose narrow-minded and vulgar-minded zeal would convert every religious difference into a personal quarrel. To do such parties justice, however, their bark is generally worse than their bite; their ferocity evaporates in railing; and their philanthropy, though a little unmannerly, is much wider than their charity *.

Although we feel it to be a little infra dig. to advert to newspaper attacks, we are tempted to take this opportunity of undeceiving those of our readers who have been led to attribute an article in our Number for December last (Acaster's Church in Danger), to the pen of the Author of Protestant Nonconformity, and to found upon that mistake, personal imputations and reports of a most romantic character.

The

We have left ourselves no room to notice Mr. Scales's little volume, a slight glance at which would shew the wide distance between any principles of Church reform and the principles of 'Dissent.' As a work designed principally for the members of Congregational Churches, it will sufficiently answer the purposes intended, of putting the reader in possession of much important historical information and polemical material. In common, however, with most works upon the same subject, it is chargeable with this deficiency; that it is more argumentative than practical, more logical than persuasive, more explicit in denouncing error, than happy in illustrating and recommending the truth. Dissent is made to appear, in such discussions, too much of an intangible negation,-a string of principles which form but the skeleton of a well-clothed and vital system. Dissent and Nonconformity are, indeed, most unhappy names by which to characterize any system that has a substantial foundation. It is not from such works that Dissenters will learn their religious duties to their pastors, their families, or to the Church at large. We do not mean these remarks to apply to Mr. Scales's work in particular; but, as he refers his juvenile readers' to Pierce, and Towgood, and Graham *, and other controversial works, we must be allowed to express our belief, that whatever satisfaction such works may afford to Dissenters by their argumentative ability, they will be found wholly inefficient as the means of extending and recommending their opinions, or of retaining persons within their communion. They answered an important purpose at the time of their publication: they are neither adapted to the present times, nor will the interests of piety be advanced by their circulation.

article was spontaneously furnished by a writer of no mean celebrity, who is well able to justify the ground he has taken. The Editor must be allowed to add, that while he shrinks from no responsibility connected with the insertion of any article that appears in this Journal, he conceives that a certain latitude and discretion must be allowed to his several contributors in the expression of their views, even although they may not always be in the most perfect unison with his own. He has no wish to disclaim, however, an entire agreement with the sentiments avowed in the article in question.

* Mr. Conder's work on "Protestant Nonconformity ", avowedly written with the ambitious hope of superseding these works, and of redeeming the subject from the disadvantages of controversy', ought not to have been classed with them.

Art. IV. 1. The Dominie's Legacy. By the Author of the The Sectarian'. 3 vols. sm. 8vo.

1830.

pp. 805. Price 24s. London.

2. The Game of Life. By Leitch Ritchie. 2 vols. sm. 8vo. pp. 528. London. 1830.

3. Fitz of Fitzford; a Legend of Devon. By Mrs. Bray. 3 vols. sm. 8vo. 1830. 831. Price 27s. London. pp.

4. Tales of Field and Flood; with Sketches of Life at Home. By John Malcolm. f.cap. 8vo. pp. 329. Price 7s. 6d. Edinburgh.

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1829.

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WE E have been again supplied with sundry samples of light literature, and we must sweep them from our table as cursorily, yet as courteously, as we may. Not even for The Dominie's Legacy', although accompanied by a note from the Author, anent our review of his Sectarian', can we trespass on the very brief limits disposable for matters of this kind. We are happy in an opportunity of acknowledging the courtesy and excellent temper in which Mr. Picken-we believe the name is avowed-has adverted to our criticisms on his former work; and our pleasure is increased by the absence, with slight exception, of all offensive peculiarity in the three volumes which stand first upon our list.

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'The Dominie's Legacy', is the title of a collection of tales, some of pleasant, others of painful character, but nearly all of unusual interest. They exhibit a familiar acquaintance with human life, and a shrewd intimacy with those lines and shades of human temperament which are not altogether obvious to superficial inspection. The Author is dexterous in mental and moral dissection, and he avails himself of this talent with much effect on various occasions. He is rarely extravagant, but displays uncommon skill in selecting the minor incidents, the daily realities of life, the little circumstances of character and casualty, and investing them with a strong attraction. Mary Ogil'vie' is the simplest of all possible stories, and founded on the least complicated of plots; the loves of a Scotch girl and a youth of superior station, broken off by his removal to distant scenes, in the progress of a complete education; and, on his return, just as she is on the eve of marriage with a respectable young farmer of her own rank, revived in strong feeling and mutual confession. Their renewed attachment does not, however, alter the state of matters; she marries the man of her father's choice, and of her own esteem, though her affections remain true to the object of her earliest love. He is present at the marriage; and the conflict of his feelings is described with skilful anatomy, throughout a series of minute circumstances connected with the peculiarities of a Scotch wedding. He

afterwards marries a lady of wealth, beauty, and high breeding; but Mary Ogilvie is not forgotten, and amid the heartless dissipation of what is called elegant life, his torpid affections are often wakened by the reminiscences of his boyish love. These are still more strongly roused by a visit from Mary's father, for the purpose of communicating the intelligence of her husband's death, by a fall from his horse; and when, shortly afterwards, he himself becomes a widower, the old attachment regains its full strength. A proper season having elapsed, he returns from his wanderings amid foreign scenes, seeks out Mary Ogilvie, and makes her his wife. Nothing can be more inartificial than all this; and we hardly know why we have given the outline of so simple a tale, when its charm is exclusively derived from the filling up. We do not usually deal in extracts from works of fiction, but we must venture on part of the interview between the lover and his Mary, on her wedding-day.

Mary Ogilvie", I at length said, "I cannot now tell you all the reasons; but, believe me, my heart was not in them, Mary. I denied myself much, in not seeing you, at least to talk of former happier days: but I learned that you were about to be married to a young man, of whom your father approved; and I knew not but that you might have forgotten me and our early love. And you know, Mary," I continued, taking both her hands again, and looking into her eyes, 66 we have other things to do in life, than idling about these bonnie woods, picking primroses and reading love tales; for the scenes of early youth are but like a dream, and pass quickly away, and the feelings may be very different in after years. But my heart, assuredly, was not in fault, Mary; I have not forgotten these days, nor this pretty bank, nor your lovely blue eyes and golden locks, nor the day when we wandered to the Craigs of Glenvee-nor-you are in tears, Mary; I did not mean to pain you."

"Oh, George!" said she, while the tears fell fast from her swimming eyes, "how can you speak so to me now, and not a word until my very wedding-day! and yet, I know you do not mean to pain me; I know your warm heart, but you'll be designed for some grand lady, and I never should have thought about the like of you."

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As I was about to reply, she took her hand from mine, and, holding it up before my mouth, exclaimed, Now, dinna speak nae mair to me, George! dinna talk to me of bygone days. I canna bear it the day, for I am but a weak woman, and I am gaun to be married to a youth of my ain station; but yet-now dinna speak!"

"One word more, Mary," I said completely overpowered, “and then forget

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"I canna forget! No, I winna forget!" she exclaimed, with a look of despair," Farewell, George!" and she tried to get away.

"Will you leave me that way, Mary?" I said, almost calmly: "it is our last meeting, as remembered lovers, the very last in this wood." I drew her to me; she fell into my arms; our tears mingled; she broke from me after a sob or two, staggered with agitation as she glided off

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