15th March, 1825.

Z.

That some good may arise from the labours of missionaries, I do not deny, I have already allowed it; but let the good be imagined of a temporal kind, which arises from man; and of an eternal kind, which originates with God. Men are called children of one parent, and a parent who doth as it pleaseth Him, among the "armies of heaven and the inhabitants of the earth." His pleasure is the welfare of His children, and His love cannot be chained down by mere human passions. It is not the situation of a man, that exhibits or excludes him from the eye of Omniscience. It is not Europe only, or Britain particularly, which receives the rays of the Sun of Righteousness; but His beams extend to all. The system of the Divine Government must so far exceed the grovelling ideas of mortals, as the beautiful assemblage and harmony of the heavenly bodies exceed the turbid chaos which formed the first state of creation.

I must now conclude my remarks; and if I have succeeded in shewing the improbability of thousands or millions of poor mortals being necessarily placed in dependence, for future happiness or misery, on the caprice of their ignorant fellow-creatures, I have not expended a few words in vain.

MUTUAL ACCOMMODATION RECOMMENDED ΤΟ PROTESTANTS AND

CATHOLICS.

MR. EDITOR, SIR,-Thinking that the article, "Protestants and Catholics Contrasted," which appeared in your Imperial Magazine for March last, col. 255, may to many readers appear abstruse and inconclusive, I have herewith sent you an elucidation, taken from a letter of Sir Richard Steele, addressed to Pope Clement the Eighth; a translation of which you will find in the Wesleyan Methodist Magazine for March cur

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"Do not think that I require all this from your Holiness, without offering any thing on our part; very far from it. I acknowledge we should not expect you to make so great a sacrifice of your pretensions, unless others abandon, on their side, all that they have of the same kind, and of the same nature. If your Holiness renounce infallibility, it is very just that the Protestant Churches should renounce also incontestable authority. If you abandon the Council of Trent, let the Dutch also abandon the Synod of Dort, and let all others banish from religion all kinds of merely human decisions. If you cut off the Inquisition, let them suppress pecuniary fines, imprisonments, and the whole train of secular and worldly artillery. If you oblige all the noblemen among you to bow the knee, and render homage to the name of Jesus Christ; on the other side, let Calvin, Luther, Zuinglius, Knox, Laud, Baxter, &c. and all other idols of the people, prostrate themselves before the Saviour of the world."

APHORISMS FROM THE WRITINGS OF THE REV. R. HALL, OF LEICESTER.

(Continued from col. 795.)

29.-IT requires but little reflection to perceive, that whatever veils a future world, and contracts the limits of existence within the present life, must tend, in a proportionate degree, to diminish the grandeur, and narrow the sphere, of human agency.

30.-The idea of Deity is composed of the richest elements; it embraces, in the character of a beneficent Parent, and almighty Ruler, whatever is venerable in wisdom, whatever is awful in authority, whatever is touching in goodness.

31.-It is the moral relation which man is supposed to bear to a superior power; the awful idea of accountability, the influence which his present dispositions and actions are conceived to have upon his eternal destiny, more than any superiority of intellectual powers abstracted from these considerations, which invest him with such mysterious grandeur, and constitute the firmest guard on the sanctuary of human life.

32.-The happiness which religion

confers in the present life, are blessings which it scatters by the way, in its march to immortality.

33.-It is the very essence of the religious principle to preside and control.

34.-Religion, on account of its intimate relation to a future state, is every man's proper business, and should be his chief care.

POETRY.

LINES

of their Brother.

36.-In improving the character, the influence of general knowledge is often feeble, and always indirect; of religious knowledge, the tendency to purify the heart is immediate, and forms its professed scope and design.

37.-To regard religion with indifference, is the mark not of a noble, but an abject mind, which, immersed in sensualities, or amused with trifles, deems itself unworthy of eternal life.

38.-To forego the hope of immortality without a sigh; to be gay and sportive on the brink of destruction, in the very moment of relinquishing prospects, on which the wisest and best in every age have delighted to dwell, is the indication of a base and degenerate spirit.

39. All the discoveries of the gospel bear an intimate relation to the character and offices of the Saviour; from him they emanate, in him they

LITTLE prattlers on each knee,

Let me dry the falling tears; Tears that flow from sympathy,

Feeling for your parents' cares. Stay not brother's happy spirit, Let it take its peaceful flight, Joys eternal to inherit,

Beaming with celestial light. Pretty innocents, alas!

You hardly know the cause ye mourn; Know, the spirit takes its pass,

Never, never, to return.

Yet be patient, time fast fleeting

Shall restore the youth so dear,
Not on earth, but heaven, meeting,
Live for ever with him there.

Hush, and soothe your father's anguish,
Fondly clasp him in your arms,
Bid your mother cease to languish,
Use your little artless charms.

Tell them you shall live to bless them,
Live to wipe away their tears,

And your love shall still caress them,
In the future vale of years.

TAKE."

I Do not know, nor can I say,

TYRO.

40.-Viewing Christianity in no higher character than a republication of the law of nature, men are first led to doubt the importance, and next the truth, of the discoveries it contains; an easy and natural transition, since the question of their importance is so complicated with that of their truth, in the Scriptures themselves, that the most refined ingenuity cannot long keep them separate.

41.-Natural religion, were it capable of being carried to the utmost perfection, can never supersede the necessity of revealed.

42.-Infidelity possesses the property of attracting to itself the morbid humours which pervade the church,

While on this globe terrene,
What will befall me in my way

Through life's tempestuous scene;
What various snares lie thick around,
To draw my feet in folly's round.
Of this I am assur'd,

That dangers on me wait,
Many have been allur'd

To quit the passage strait. Almighty Saviour, be my stay,

While travelling through the thorny way. Sufficient 'tis for me,

Along the desert wide,
Since all is known to thee,

If thou wilt be my guide,
And wilt in safety bring me through,
Thy lovely countenance to view.

I'd trust alone in thee,

And seek no other friend, For thou art all to me,

My author and my end. Depending on thee, I'm secure, And shall unto the end endure.

A. B.

ON THE WELSH BARDS, PUT TO

DEATH BY KING EDWARD. (Occasioned by reading a Defence of that Action in col. 815 of the Imperial Magazine.)

BY JOHN GORTON.

AND shall the bards be unlamented then,
Who fell so bravely in the cause of freedom?
Shall virtue bave no sigh, and drop no tear,
When the sad record of their wo is read?
Shall pity be so stifled when their hap,
So undeserv'd, is told,―their massacre-
At which the page of history well may blush,
At sanguinary Edward, fierce and cruel?

And shall these sons of song, whose wild harps rung

In praise of liberty; whose bosoms glow'd With patriotic zeal; whose deeds conspir'd, Boldly to check an impious tyrant's progress, Be, in this age of light, contemn'd, degraded, Their deaths applauded, and the barbarous mandate,

That sign'd their bloody warrant, justified?
Then to the golden dreams of love of country
And kind, farewell,-farewell the noblest pas-
sions

That have ennobled man in ev'ry age.-
But no,-it cannot be, however some
May rudely treat their ashes, soil their
memory;

(How vain th' attempt to soil!) yet shall their

fame

LINES

On seeing the beautiful Ruins of Slaughum-place, Sussex. The Remains of a Noble Mansion of a Family named " Covert," who flourished in the Reign of King Henry the Third.

O SLAUGHAM-PLACE, when distant far from thee,

My mem'ry oft will bring thee near to me;
When I in fond idea shall retrace

Thy ruinated walls, which ivies grace.

Once thou,no doubt, wast pleasure's fond resort, And here, methinks, fond fashion held her court;

When festive joy was heard within thy walls, Where now the bat resides, the night-bird calls.

Yes, in the days of thy festivity,

Love, peace, and pleasure, may have dwelt in thee.

And oft the sound of harmony and joy Might, night and day, the hand and mind employ;

When the gay dancers, and the motley tribe, With rapture hail'd the bridegroom and the bride.

And here, perhaps, as time was marching on,
The happy pair beheld their firstborn son;
And thought they now could need no other joy,
When, lo! to blast their bliss, death snatch'd
the boy.

Oh Death!-relentless tyrant,-nature's foe,-
Say-have not here thy darts laid many low?
Perhaps the widow's heart, here sunk with
grief,

vive

Their own and country's rights. Talk not of Edward,

His arms, his conquest! See the Druids' graves!

Here must his blood-stain'd laurels droop and die; While theirs will bloom to all eternity.

SONNET.

ST. MATT. CHAP. VIII.

THE furious tempest rose-and the wild wave Swept on the bark where holy Jesus slept.— His fearful followers woke him-"Master,

save,

Oh! save us, or we perish!" He who kept The stormy deep was there:-the Saviour said, "Why are ye fearful, ye of little faith ?" Then rose, and at his voice the waters fled,

The winds were hush'd to peace, and not a breath Disturb'd the calm profound.-Oh! Master still,

When storms of care and sorrow round me press,

May the blest words my aching bosom fill,

And thy rebuke my bursting sighs repress, "Why art thou fearful?" when the power divine,

That awed the stormy deep, is ever thine.

M. A. R.

Pain, sickness, perjury, distress, and strife,
Alternate fill'd thy rich possessor's breast,
The low domestic, or the noble guest?
And, precious thought, here too might chance
to dwell,

Pare piety, with joy unspeakable.
For thou, O heav'n-born friend! art not con-
fined

To low, inferior sons of human kind.

But tho' the poor are oft enriched by thee, Thou'rt sometimes found with rank and royalty. Pleas'd with the hope, that holy zeal and grace Dwelt here, I hail thy ruins, Slaugham-place! Where are the beads which plann'd thy first

design,

And nature's beauties did with art combine? Where now the hands which rear'd thy stately walls,

Thy battlements raised up, and paved thy halls? Where now the festive train which fill'd the place,

Adorn'd with beauty, innocence, and grace?
Of all who ever did in thee reside,
This only now remains, They liv'd-and died.
The bold designer, and the labouring man,
Have reach'd the goal-their earthly race have

ran;

The master, and the builder of the dome,
Have ceas'd decaying in the darksome tomb
Have moulder'd long to dust, their native soil,
Nor know the troubles now of worldly toil.
But hence arises in the thinking breast
This serious question,-are their souls at rest?

1

Are all who once dwelt here, from sorrow free,
And enter'd on a blest eternity?
Alas! the utmost stretch of charity
Will scarce allow that hope to dwell with me.
Yet the great, solemn, awful day of days
Will bring to light the secrets of this place;
Tremendous truth!-the secrets of each heart
Will then be open laid ;-no mystic art
Will then avail to hide from heaven's great
King,

Who knows our inmost thoughts, and whence they spring.

Almighty Builder of the human frame, In thy blest book may I but find my name. Nought will it then avail, if I began My race in gilded dome or cottage span; The chief of which I then shall boast, will be That I'm a sinner sav'd by grace most free. Woolwich.

SONNET.

ST. JOHN, CHAP. XI.

"I AM the resurrection and the life,

H.

He who believes on me shall never die;" These, Master, were thy words, and still rely My hopes unmov'd upon them, 'mid the strife Of earthly care,-and then I follow thee

To the cold grave, where Lazarus is laid; I see thy tears, and Mary asks thine aid; The aid is present-"That thou heardest me, Father, I thank thee,"—and thou criest aloud

To Lazarus, "Come forth!" He lives, he breathes;

The funeral garb is rent; the many wreathes Of death are torn away; and the pale shroud Whilst wondering forms around the Saviour move,

And own the presence of Almighty Love.

M.A.R.

TO THE PLANET VENUS.

"TIS evening,-Venus sheds her softest beams Upon the earth, and leads the heavens along; Superior to the rest she seems,

Of all the twinkling points and orbs that throng
The ethereal vault. Oh! listen to my song;
Tell me, oh tell me, what is thy design?
Wert thou form'd merely on this world to
shine?

Or art thou peopled like this globe of ours, Thy mountains green, thy valleys deck'd with flowers?

Or the abode of the departed blest,
Where kindred friends and weary pilgrims

rest?

These, these are wonders, mysteries, now conceal'd, And in this world to man must never be reveal'd! T. C.

SONNET TO MARIA.

(WRITTEN IN JANUARY.)

Now has stern winter stript each tow'ring tree,
And not a flow'r is seen to deck our plains,
But still thy cheek a beauteous flow'r retains,
The lily and the rose still bloom with thee.
Now the pois'd lark forsakes the lofty air,
In which he lately tun'd his little throat.
Where is the blackbird's distant voice? and
where

Is Philomela's sweet nocturnal note?
The fragrant woodbine and the blushing rose,
Which lately round her little dwelling grew,
Lie buried deep in winter's drifting snows;

But genial spring their beauties will renew. But, ah! Maria, when thy beauty's o'er, "Tis doom'd, alas! to blossom here no more. T. C.

BANKS OF THE CALDER.

BEAUTEOUS are thy rising hills,
And the gently murmuring rills,
Flowing through the meads so green,
Oh, how charming is the scene!

Let me have a cot beside
Calder's gently-flowing tide;
Where, along its sinuous way,
Oft at evening would I stray,
While the trembling moon-beams pale
Quiver'd o'er each hill and dale;
This sweet season I would choose,
And I'd court the pensive muse;
But when winter's surly blast
O'er each bill and dale is cast,

To my cot I'd then retire,

By the cheering evening fire.
There with Milton I'd converse,

Or sweet Thomson's muse rehearse;
Or the tedious hours employ

On gentle Bloomfield's Farmer's Boy."
But if nobler themes invite,

When come on the shades of night,
Then with Herschel I can stray

O'er the ample milky-way;

View each planet in its sphere,

Thus amusement I shall find;

Rolling through the tardy year.

These will please my pensive mind; These will point the certain road To the throne of nature's God.

T. C.

TO PITY.

YES, gentle Pity, yes, thou art
The true-born child of love;
To soften the proud human heart,
Thou quit'st the realms above.

Thou art misfortune's sweetest friend,
Susceptible of wo;

The deep-drawn sigh thy breast doth rend,
Thine eyes with tears o'erflow.

The gem, which sparkles on thy face,
Outvies the diamond's glare,
And, like the sun, it shines with grace,
Effulgent, warm, and fair.

Through the dark caverns of the mind,
The empire of Old Night,

Thy genial rays impart, most kind,
A cheering flood of light.
Despair in wild disorder flies

At thy harmonious voice;

And hope returns from yonder skies,
To make the soul rejoice.

Yes! thine it is to give relief,

Thy liberal hand bestows

The balm to heal the wounds of grief,
A cordial for her woes.

THE MAN OF PLEASURE'S INVOCA

TION TO HAPPINESS.

HAIL! lovely queen, descendant of the skies, Fair Happiness, where dost thou deign to dwell?

Say where on earth thy much-sought Eden lies?

Vouchsafe, sweet maid, a child of dust to tell.

Full oft thy form I've pictur'd to my mind; To make thee mine, I've striv'n with eager

grasp;

But thou hast mock'd me, faithless as the wind, Thou'st prov'd a vision under fancy's mask. Thee long I've sought, through various paths to find,

By hope led on to tread each devious road; A weary trav'ller still, I'm far behind,

Yet anxious still to reach thy blest abode. In pity hear a mourner at thy shrine,

Nor mock me with thy visionary bliss; O!condescend to bid me call thee mine, Say, wilt thou bless me, heaven-born Happiness?

"Know, erring man, thy suit is urg'd in vain, Where Folly rules I can't my joys impart; I with fair Virtue hold my balcyon reign,

Can never bless the irreligious heart. "To Wisdom's precepts heed, frail child of clay,

Pursue the road the 'Man of sorrows' trod; The gospel chart, to me, points out the way, And thou wilt find me in the smiles of God!" Dartmouth. J.M.M.

THE POET'S WISH. (WRITTEN FOR A LADY'S ALBUM.) LADY! accept a poet's lays, Unskill'd in flattery and praise,

Which bards too frequent blend; No laurel'd wreath his theme inspires, His muse a loftier meed desires,

That valued meed-your friend.
If wishes can avail on earth,
They must be those that give the birth
To holy, ardent pray'r,

That rise perfum'd with incense sweet,
Above yon azure sky,-and meet

A gracious welcome there.
Such shall be mine, and such for you,
As truth sincere, and ceaseless too,

Till life's last spark expire,
And when death's chills assail my heart,
And nature's music-pow'rs depart,
I'll breathe the strong desire.
No fame, as wit and beauty, win
My wishes prompt-nor good within
The range of mortal ken,-
May these be thine, if grace allow;
But higher good I wish for now,

And shall be wish'd for then.

On earth may heaven's soft blessing shine Around your path,-till notes divine,

By saints and seraphs sung, Employ your pow'rs where God resides, So prays the bard, who now subscribes Himself your friend Folkestone.

J. YOUNG.

TWILIGHT.

THE sun had set, the birds retir'd,
The ox bad sought its stall,
The farmer's boy return'd full tir'd,
The dew began to fall;

The breeze had ceased to move the air, 'Twas nature's trial to be fair.

Each flow'r was lightly wet with dew,
The stars above bad met,
The sky assum'd a crimson hue,
To paint the sun just set;
The May-bug on the ether sails,
And sweetly sung the nightingales.
The leaf assum'd a darker hue,

The flowers fold around,
Nature sure bore a nature new,

And eve with sweets was bound. I asked a boy, "What charm'd the plain?" The boy replied, "'Twas Twilight's reign." W. M. HIGGINS.

SONNET.-To RIETAULT ABBEY. These Ruins are delightfully situated near Hemsley, Yorkshire, in a romantic valley, presenting wood, rock, and water; and are unquestionably the finest architectural specimen of monastic remains in that county. HOAR relict of magnificence and pow'r!

What though thy sumptuous scenes no more

surprise;

Yet still thy shatter'd walls and sinking tow'r And midst that fane, his feeling soul to pour, Present Elysium to the poet's eyes:

When all is calm as summer-ev'ning skies; Oh! it is heaven,-or bliss which cannot cloy; 'Tis sweet as love!-unutterable joy.

The "arch-crush'd" sanctuary, strew'd around,

With Gothic grandeur, and old Norman strength,

In desolation, prompts the thought profound; And teaches foolish man the fleeting length Of human glory, in its proudest might, Which time and death shade in oblivion's night. G. Y. HARRISON.