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the heart, chiefly through the medium of the judgment and understanding, with, however, a subordinate appeal to the feelings and affections; the writers of the school now to be considered, endeavour rather to awaken what our French neighbours would call the "sentiment' of religion, by incidental touches and appeals to the sympathies of the heart, as in the tale of "La Roche" in the Mirror. The first may be called the theological, the second the sentimental school. Both schools have much in common; and each so often encroaches on the boundaries of its neighbour, that we do not profess to draw a very decisive line between them, We are far from meaning, for example, to imply, that "Celebs" wanted pathos, or the "World without Souls" manly argument and sound sense. But the distinction is sufficient for our present purpose, which is to classify the book before us as one of the race of sentimental religious tales; the good and evil tendencies of which deserve to be maturely weighed, no less than those of the former class. We have mentioned Mr. Cunningham's popular work as a general clue or heading to our meaning; but the class, taken in its more extensive characteristics, is by no means of confined dimensions. The French and Swiss religious narrative tracts (for example, M. Malan's) symbolize, in some prominent features, with this cast of productions; and even our cold Northern climate is becoming fertile in them. They do not affect the direct discussion of doctrines or duties, but profess to inculcate both by skilfully touching the springs that move the human soul. The author before us, though some readers may think his simplicity sometimes too feminine, if not childish, well knows how to effect this. He has not a few of the excellencies, freed from the glaring improprieties of the Shandean school; but still tinged here and there with some gently touched allusions, which, in a less CHRIST. OBSERV. No. 262.

pure mind, might awaken associations not by any means intended to be conveyed. This fault, however, is so rare, and the whole book is of so virtuously and Christianly delicate a character, that we only allude to it as a fault. There is also evident in the author's pages a good natured domestic vanity, real or assumed, which, however, we can scarcely say spoils, though it by no means ornaments, his volume. The writer has occasionally another still worse habit of enouncing too roundly; so that, like most of his brethren of the sentimental school, he sometimes suffers his "sentiment" to outride his theology; as where he

says, "So many afflictions could never befal your family if God loved you not." But, with all these, and several other, abatements, there remain much tenderness, piety, and elegant simplicity in the volume. The spirit of the whole work is, "God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him." The writer does not introduce us to a host of lords or ladies, to theatres or ball-rooms; but, generally, to domestic scenes of depression and affliction, brightened by the mild rays of a pure, hopeful, and confiding Christianity. We have no snip snap controversial dialogues, and few, if any, extraordinary adventures. His forte is to exhibit quiet goodness, grounded on unostentatious Christian principle, and roused into action by the pressure of severe, but not romantic, calamity. The tales were written- -but let the writer himself tell how.—

:

"I have a vast deal to say for myself in this preface; and yet I am in the condition of many an ignorant person, I don't very well know how to say it but I will not take up much of those persons' time who read prefaces; I will merely tell them how the rest of the volume was chiefly written.-I was sitting one evening among a family party, most of whom think me rather a superior personage (not that I

am). The children were just gone to bed: the tea-things had been removed: many fair fingers were plying their bright needles with delicate speed. I was alone idle,

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seeming to admire, with carnest attention, the slight firmness of an unfinished purse intended for me; though, perhaps, I could not help looking more at the small fingers round which the silver and green silk were twined. Will you read aloud to us this evening?' asked one of my fair companions but I took it into my head to say, that I would write for their amusement; and I wrote part of one of the Tales in this book, to my own surprise, for I never could relate a story: of course they all admired it, except one who was sleepy and went to bed when I was about to begin reading there were eyes, though, which looked applause, not at all sleepily,-but those eyes always look kindly on me.

"The next evening, my story was resumed, and soon after, with some others, finished; and then I was advised to publish. What,' I said, 'publish these hasty sketches' and I raised up one eyebrow; an odd habit of that said eyebrow, which has telegraphic communications with my feelings of surprise. Vanity is easily excited, and as easily persuaded; and a short time after, I actually presented the following Tales to my publisher, which he accepted. Shall you publish under your own name?' I was asked. 'Oh, no,' I replied; because I have really written these Tales after tea, amid a quiet family circle, and I have brought them to you just as they were written: two only have been copied from the odd scraps of paper on which I first wrote them. Now, if I mention this in my own name, no one will believe it; or it may be said, that I have no right to trouble the public with such hasty productions: besides, if I make known my name, many wise heads will shake in judgment over that name, and say, Very childish performances for of Trinity College.'

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By concealing my name, though the same opinions may be entertained, and I may hear them, still I remain unknown.

"I must say a few more words on my The Tales are adstrange little volume. dressed chiefly to young grown-up persons. I am aware, that The Childhood of Charles Spencer' may be deemed only fit for a child's perusal; but I am one of those who delight in observing children and their manners. The mind turns to such simplicity and freshness, as the eye to the first daisies of spring, to the first green blades of young wheat. There is a truth even in the falsehoods of children, which is not to be found in the lie of after-life. With all its proneness to deceit, the mind has not yet learned the art of concealing

falsehood: some inconsistent simplicity still lingers: habit has not given a second nature to natural sinfulness: the enemy may have sown tares with the wheat, but the tares are no higher than the tender blades, and they have not yet choked them with their rank and cumbrous growth." pp. v-viii.

We next learn why, and how, the author has introduced the subject of religion in his narratives.—

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I have purposely interwoven Religion with every Tale. I do not say that I have succeeded in shewing Religion in its true and happy light; but I have tried not to degrade the cause I have undertaken. I know, as I have somewhere else remarked, that religion is like pure snow, to preserve its dazzling whiteness unsullied, it should be touched only by delicately clean fingers. The persons mentioned in my stories would not to the world (if they should act as I mean and think they would) appear to obtrude religion so as to disgust the careless and profane: their faith would be seen chiefly in its beautiful and happy effects, in its ennobling the least actions, and rendering its professors more disposed to make allowances for the failings of others. They would appear to the world as the outside of a watch, where the golden hands are moving regularly over the white dial. In my Tales, I would strive to point out the works of the watch, the spring of such beautiful order. I have seen such effects produced and preserved by that inner spring; and I cannot resist, even in this humble manner, attempting to prove how much real joy there is, even in the saddest trials of the Christian; a joy which is seen in its effects but partially by the world; a joy which has never found language to express itself; a peace that passeth all understanding. Now is the time, alas! not only now, but the time has ever been, to declare ourselves on the Lord's side. Men have been ever found, who have daringly and insidiously attacked the religion of Jesus Christ; men who have known how to cast

O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue

Of words like sun-beams, dazzling as they pass'd

The eyes which o'er them shed tears feel

ingly and fast.'

And a poor pitiful set have been more abundant, who resemble Spenser's

* Childe Harold.

Fruitful, cursed spawne of serpent's small,

she was anxious for nothing, she waited for nothing, but death: and death came at

The brood of Errour which may encumber last very gently, as if it looked upon her

sore.'

I wish I could add,

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But cannot hurt at all.'

No; it is by this spawne of error' that the ignorant and happy poor are taught to doubt, are bewildered, and made miserable. It is by the weak and shallow arguments and misquoting of such persons, that many a young man of independent spirit is induced to give up the Bible which he has perhaps never studied-the religion that he has only professed: but I may talk thus for ever; only let me entreat, earnestly entreat every one, the young in particular, those just entering on the morning of manhood, to whom I address this volume, to take up the Bible, and (praying for the assistance of the Spirit, which can alone guide us into all truth,) in a humble and teachable mind, to read and judge for themselves." pp. viii-xi.

From the first tale, entitled "Rosine," we quote part of an affecting death-bed scene. It is only necessary to premise, that Rosine is the daughter of a Swiss clergyman, induced by the necessities of her family to quit scenes and faces endeared to her by all the ties of a delightful home, to undertake the office of governess in an English family, from whom she receives the attentions and attachment she deserves, but who cannot rescue her tender frame from the fatal effects of our ungenial climate.

"Rosine became gradually weaker: death made every day some visible advance; but its effect on her mind was like that of the summer's sun on the snows of Siberia: the dazzling surface was vanishing, but flowers, already budding into colour and beauty, appeared amid the bright verdure beneath. She had seemed a simple girl before; her character now seemed exalted;-she had been loved (and respected too) before; she was now looked up to as a superior creature. All her actions had something unearthly in them her conversation displayed the same humble spirit; but she spoke almost as one inspired. All the gentle virtues of Christianity were more gentle and lovely, and the passions of the world seemed spiritualized in her. She seemed like one who is about to take a journey, and had arranged every thing for his departure;

with affection, and feared to disturb her. She had just received the sacrament with Lady Falkland: M. du Mercie was still with her, and Miranda was seated near the couch where she was lying; the hand of the quiet child was clasped in hers, and her head was reclining on a pillow. Lady Falkland was gazing at her lovely countenance, and fearful even to stir; for Rosine's eyes were closed (she supposed) in slumber. Miranda felt her hand more fondly pressed for an instant. Lady Falkland be held an expression of angelic rapture beam over the countenance before her. The hand dropped-the face was calm again: something had vanished there it was the soul.

"Adrien had arrived in England the day after Rosine's death: he saw her body in the coffin; but this is his letter to M. St. Alme:

"I was too late, my dear father: our Rosine had left this world. I could not write before but it seems now my chief delight to write any little circumstances has just written to you an account of her to you concerning her. M. du Mercie death: I can, therefore, only tell you

what I have seen since.-Oh! how I felt when they told me she was gone; that I could not see her for one little instant! A sort of torpid despair seized me, and I looked at nothing; I attended to nothing; du Mercie, who came down to me, till I I answered nothing; I did not notice M. heard his voice: he whispered to me that I might see the body of Rosine. I believe I knelt to him: I was nearly frantic with joy. He led me to the room; and directly I saw her face, I was calm: such a countenance would have calmed any one! I could only hang over it in rapturous silence: it was pale as the clearest, whitest ivory: not a tinge of colour blended with its whiteness, except the soft blue veins, which shone through the brow where they had once meandered: the curls of her rich chesnut hair were not concealed, but lay clustering round her face. The hair looked as if she were alive; it was so soft and glossy: something like the living brightness of her eyes glistened through the long veiling lashes of the closed eyelids. On her beautiful and delicately formed lips such a smile still lingered! I could have gazed for ever,-I forgot every thing; but some one drew me away gently. I turned at last to answer the soft voice that spoke to me. I was not the least angry, for my

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heart was softened; and I beheld the only countenance, which I should not have refused to look upon, just as I had been gazing on Rosine's. It was that of a venerable female, and it mildly commanded me to obey. Meekness, majesty, and affection, mingled in the look she gave me while she exclaimed, "She is not here, but is risen, and gone, we may hope, into paradise! Stand no longer as if you thought she were present, as if you were not gazing at her lifeless body, but think of her as one happier than we : recal her not by one selfish wish: she requires no longer our prayers." This could be no one but Lady Falkland, Rosine's dearest English friend: she took my hand, and led me again to the coffin. With this body,' she said, beautiful, perfect as it appears, corruption is already at work; it will be soon shapeless and loathsome: this is not Rosine.'-I thought for some time: tears at length relieved me. While I was sitting, shortly after, in a corner of the room, a little girl entered softly, holding up her frock, which was filled with small branches of myrtle: she went up to the coffin, and decked it with them. Taking a (which is now so rare) from her bosom, she kissed it, and was about to place it on the body; when its leaves fell away and strewed the floor. 'Oh grandmamma,' (said the child mournfully, while her eyes filled with tears,) my only rose is lost; there are no more: but it is just like her! it looked as fresh and beautiful; and it dies, just as she did, when I could not expect it.'" pp. 22-26.

rose

Our readers are not to suppose that Rosine's religion and support in death were merely of a sentimental kind. At that awful hour a more solid basis of hope is required than human works or human charities. Rosine was the disciple of a crucified Saviour; of him who died that his followers might live, and lives for ever that they might not die eternally. The author frequently expresses his sense of the infinite privilege of having such a Saviour, though in general rather in connexion with the alleviation of suffering than with the extirpation of sin. In the "Merchant's Son," he feelingly remarks:

"Oh! does not affliction's powerful hand draw more closely those bands which unite us to our heavenly Father? When

do we pray so fervently, when do we feel so warmly, as when, earth is shaded from our view, by the dark eclipse of sorrow? But what had God been without a Saviour? a Being as far removed from our thoughts as from our comprehension; a Being brought into contact with our feelings in no possible way. Mysterious union! yet in its results so incomprehensible! Do you not now feel, oh! my dearest friend, the real, substantial joy of having a High Priest who can be touched with the feelings of our infirmities?' Yes! glory indeed be to God, for every mercy; but above all for this unspeakable gift!" p. 61.

The tale of "Charles Spencer," for which the author apologizes in his preface, is the most original in the volume. We present a short specimen.

"I always have intended, since I read Robinson Crusoe, to write my own adventures; and I have always had a sort of strange wish to be cast on the shore of some desolate island. If my father had not been unhappy, I think I should have run away sometimes; once, in particular, I remember, after I had been walking with George Harman, and talking about foreign countries-I forgot to say who George Harman is, though; why, he is a midshipman, who has been now six years in the navy-I was almost tempted to become a sailor; but, as I said before, I could not bear to make my father unhappy. This wish of mine was wrong, I knew; but I must speak of my faults. The reason I leave the house: I was climbing to the am now writing is, that I am unable to top of one of the oaks behind our house, and I fell down and sprained my ankle." p. 146.

"Let me remember all that I can, while my mother lived, whom I loved so very much, and who I am sure loved me quite fore her, when I said my prayers; and as well as I did her. I always knelt beleaned my clasped hands on her knees.I gave her a great deal of trouble; but she never seemed angry with me; and whenever I had behaved badly, she always used to say, 'You should pray to God, Charles, after these fits of passion, that he may forgive you, and help you to govern your temper.' I always used to stop, after I had said, "Lord, I beseech Thee,' and, turning round to my mother, ask what I ought to say next. What would you say, if you wished me to do any thing for you, Charles?' Still she ge

nerally helped me out with my prayer. I was very happy, when she kissed me afterwards; and I always felt as if I could not displease God again; but perhaps, the very day after, I was as naughty as ever." pp. 148, 149.

we shall only say, in allusion to the title of the book, that "we like it" (the book, not the title,) so well that we sincerely recommend it as a very agreeable and profitable companion for a family circle on a November

Upon the whole, in conclusion, evening.

LITERARY AND PHILOSOPHICAL INTELLIGENCE,

&c. &c.

GREAT BRITAIN. PREPARING for publication :—A variorum edition of Pope's Works, by Mr. Roscoe; -The English Flora, by Sir J. E. Smith; -The Commonwealth of England, by Mr. Godwin;-The Life of Howell Harries of Trevecca, by Mr. Bristowe.

In the press:-Morning Thoughts, in prose and verse, on single Verses in each Chapter of the Gospel of St. Matthew An Essay on the Superposition of Rocks, translated from M. de Humboldt.

The Royal Commissioners appointed to examine the state of the Public Records directed the printing of the Catalogue of the Cottonian MSS.; and have prefaced the Catalogue with an interesting account of the formation, contents, and catalogues of this collection. Sir Robert Cotton was born at Denton, Huntingdonshire, January 22, 1570. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he early imbibed a taste for the antiquities and history of his country. On leaving college, he commenced an acquaintance with the most celebrated antiquaries of his day, and neglected no opportunity of acquiring chronicles, chartularies, and other original muniments; of which many presented themselves, as numbers of such documents at the late dissolution of the monasteries had found their way into private hands. He accompanied Camden to the north of England, where they jointly explored the whole extent of the Picts' Wall, and brought away several inscriptions and monuments. His life, towards its close, was embittered by calumny and arbitrary proceedings. By order of the Privy Council, once in the reign of James I., and again in the reign of Charles I., his library was locked up, as not of a nature to be exposed to public inspection, and he was himself excluded from the use of it. Shortly before his death,

he caused to be signified to the Privy Council, "that their so long detaining his books from him, without rendering any reason for the same, had been the cause of his mortal malady." He died May 6, 163Í. The library continued in sequestration some time after his death. It is a remarkable circumstance, that so large a proportion of a collection, exposed to the vicissitudes of those perilous times, should have been eventually preserved.

The keepers of the records in the Tower have lately examined immense masses of unsorted documents dispersed in every part of the record rooms. The result of their investigations has been, the discovery of many records and state papers, the existence of which was not known, notwithstanding the inquiries directed by Parliament so late as 1800, and the consequent returns. A considerable number of returns to Parliament, from Henry VI. to Charles II. comprising returns to the three Parliaments during the Usurpation, were found covered with filth, under an arch in the White Tower: likewise a vast quantity of state papers, and royal letters, which now occupy eight large folio volumes. These, and numerous other documents, have been cleaned, arranged, and bound in volumes.

The new museum, one side of which is being erected, for the reception of the library presented by the King to the Nation, is to be one of the largest quadrangular buildings in the metropolis; the interior area will be as large as Hanoversquare.

Capt. Scobell, R. N. has submitted to the Board of Admiralty, a plan for impelling-wheels to the ships of his Majesty's navy. The wheels may be worked by hand-winches or the capstan. The principle is applicable to steam vessels, small craft, and open boats.

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