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scoffed at and rejected it, if it were. To say nothing of the heavenly consolations that Christianity holds out; the hope of re-union in heaven with those we have loved and lost on earth; the cheering prospect to the dying penitent; the something the something pleasant, always in reserve and anticipation to the dreariness of old age; the pleasure, I could almost say, the luxury of prayer."

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Yes, I admit that Christianity is not without its advantages, it serves as a kind of social cement, and does altogether very well for age, infirmity, and women; a better Christian never pattered a pater noster than my own mother."

"And your wife, was she a Christian ?"

"My wife! no, she was just what I taught her to be, only she used to go further than I did; but somehow I hate to hear women prating about liberty, and necessity, and materiality, things they do not understand a syllable of; the light of philosophy is too strong for their weak sight; they are like some horses that will go very well as long as they are blind-folded, but stumble, and start, and play a thousand tricks, if the bandage is removed.

But though I confess the uses of Christianity, yet with respect to its consolation in death, I must say, I have seen some infidels, or deists, or whatever you please to call them, die with as much tranquil resignation, and calm fortitude, nay more, than your Christian; who, notwithstanding all his bright promises of everlasting felicity before him, often seems dreadfully frightened and unwilling to partake of them."

"I admit you, my friend, that there is not that difference in the aspect of the death-bed of the believing and the unbelieving which the awful difference of creed might lead you to expect; of course it has fallen within the scope of my experience to see frequent instances of both; but in endeavouring to explain a man's perceptions and feel ings in his last hour on earth, I always take the natural character and constitution of mind largely into the account, together with the peculiar circumstances under which he dies; added to this the wearisome

ness of protracted sickness, or the insupportableness of corporeal pain, induces either an indifference and apathy, or a vehement wish for change, which makes the appearance and effect the same, though the one is actuated by the expectation of future enjoyinent, and the other by a desire to escape from present suffering. But I confess it strikes me as being somewhat singular, that in your mode of life you should have had either leisure or inclination to contemplate such serious subjects as these at all."

"No more I should, had I been like the generality of public performers, who have a world of their own in the theatre they belong to, and whose almost exclusive attention is engrossed by the squabbles and intrigues of a green-room. I, on the contrary, have passed much of my time in mixed society, and in the various coffee-houses, and so forth, to which I was accustomed to resort in London, as well as at the inns and farm-houses in the country; I have occasionally joined in all subjects of conversation, and all gradations of company, which has laid the foundation of a liberality of sentiment and opinion that it is next to impossible should be hereafter contracted or revoked."

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Well, my friend, I am not angry with you because I differ from you; deeply as I lament it, I never quarrel with a man for not being a Christian, but for not being a better Christian. It is the man who puts his hand to the plough and yet looks back, that I think I can never suffciently reprove; the sin of infidelity is an offence against God, and with God be the punishment; Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.' But if I cannot advance your interest in the next world, perhaps I can assist you in this. My poor sainted sister used to say, that she reckoned the days of her sojourning on earth like turning over the pages of a dull tale, of which she was only anxious to arrive at the conclusion, having had an assurance that the denouement of the story was inconceivably interesting and delightful."

"How often have I heard my mother say the same words!"

"Indeed! the same words? your mother-I could fancy a likeness— is your surname Bruton ?"

"Yes, it is," answered Henry, in a tone of surprise.

"Henry Horace Bruton?" de manded the pastor.

"The same," was the reply. "Gracious providence my sis. ter's son!"

Such was the fact. - Mrs. Bruton, who had married when very young, in a manner extremely adverse to her brother's wishes and expectations, had resided, since the death of her husband, entirely in London; and, in her correspondence with Erpingham, wisely judging that it was worse than useless to harass him, by complaining of wrongs and sufferings, which he had not the power either to redress or alleviate, forbore to disclose the extent of her son's ingratitude and unkindness; nor ever acknowledged, that her heart was breaking, until it broke in making the confession. And, when Erpingham came up to town in her last illness, the letter, that was despatched to Henry with the intelligence, was delayed so long, in consequence of the frequent shifting of his abode, that when he did hasten to London, in the hope of seeing his mother, he learned that she had been dead more than a month previously to his arrival.-His uncle, too, had returned home shortly after the interment, and had, consequently, never seen Henry since his boyhood.

This discovery put an end at once to all further theological discussion. -Each had so much to inquire and to relate there was so much to re

gret in the past, to admire in the present, and to regulate in the future, that the night was far spent before they separated to retire to

rest.

It was on the fourth day after Henry had thus unexpectedly found a father, a friend, a protector, a home, when Erpingham was seized with a complaint in the chest, to which he had been occasionally subject, during the last two or three years of his life, but from which no immediate danger was apprehended, as medical skill had always hitherto succeeded in effecting a

temporary cure. The present attack was unusually severe: Erpingham himself, at its commencement, expressed his conviction, that he should not survive the paroxysm. The best medical advice that Atherstone could supply was immediately obtained, but without affording any mitigation of the fatal symptoms.

"Dear Sir," cried Henry, "give me, I intreat you, the direction in London of Mr. Marsden the surgeon, who, I am told, used to be so fortunate in recovering you.I have ordered every inquiry to be made in the village where he lately resided, but no one is acquainted with the address, save yourself, Sir.

Would to heaven he had been here still! I beseech you let me send for him this instant, Sir."

"Be more calm, Henry," said Erpingham; though, on account of the difficulty of respiration, he had been prohibited from speaking."I would rather the thirty or forty pounds were in your pocket, my poor boy, than in Mr. Marsden's :when I am gone, you will stand in need of all that I may have to bequeath, and that is but little indeed."

"Do not talk of dying, uncle,I am sure you will recover."

"I have no wish to recover,-though you, Henry, would now be a tie to bind me to existence."

The surgeon here interposed to forbid any further conversation; and, having persuaded his patient to swallow a small portion of a composing draught, left him for the night, and, Erpingham sunk into a quiet slumber, but awoke again in about two hours afterwards, more languid and exhausted than he had ever yet appeared. Henry was sitting by the bed-side, and a small bible, that had been Erpingham's constant companion, lay upon the bed; the dying pastor raised his eyes to Henry, then cast them wishfully on the book; he was now too weak to hold it himself, or he had never have required Henry to read for him; but Henry either did not, or would not, understand the touching eloquence of the appeal, until his uncle further explained his desire, by stretching out his hand, and, inserting his finger within its pages, gently put it towards Henry: it was his last act of consciousness,

Henry took the bible, and began to read at the place where Erpingham had chanced to open it, the magnificent 38th Chapter of the Book of Job. He read it to the end, then, pausing, looked towards Erpingham, but started at beholding the sudden change that, was become visible :the indescribable indications of approaching dissolution were already in his face. Henry continued to watch the variations of his countenance in breathless silence, as it were the flickerings of a flame that was nearly extinct; and seemed to

count and listen to the footsteps of death, in his short and difficult respiration; till, like the faint ticking of a watch that was unwound to its last turn, it stopped at once-he had expired!

"Oh, God!-Almighty, eternal, invisible God!"-exclaimed Henry ; and, burying his face in the bedclothes, his voice was lost in emotion but, in a few moments, again broke forth in audible ejaculations, "Ok, let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his !" ARIETTA.

STANZAS.

"DULCIBUS EST VERBIS MOLLIS ALENDUS AMOR."—OVID.

My Clara! love can never brook
The chilling glance, and altered look;
The careless eye's averted ray,
Which dimly tells of truth's decay:
The words that fill the soul with gloom,
Like fancied sounds from some lone tomb,
Where feeling, thought, and joy are dead,
And hope's divinest blossoms shed.

My Clara! love can never bear
The lingering step and cautious air,
The heartless smile, and hateful sneer,
Aversion's sigh, or falsehood's tear,
The sullen lips on which his kiss
Is frozen ere it turn to bliss,
The passive and unthrilling press
Which speaks disdain in silentness.

No! love expects that every tone
Shall be the echo of his own;

That looks ne'er cold, and brows ne'er dim,
And sweetest smiles, shall welcome him:

That pressings of the hand, which tell

Of love so mutely-yet so well,

Shall greet his coming, and have pow'r

To solace e'en the parting hour.

He loves to mark the laughing eye,

Emitting truth's sincerity;

To feel two bosoms throb as one,

In dear and perfect unison;

And (as the morning's joyous beam

Beholds its light in some clear stream,)
To gaze upon a visage fair,

And see himself reflected there.

AZAR.

ON PULPIT ELOQUENCE.

(Continued from page 344.)

To form a perfect religious orator requires a combination of excellencies seldom united in a single individual, and, consequently, it is more surprizing, that our pulpits are so frequently adorned by specimens of masterly, though, perhaps, seldom of finished eloquence, than that they are constantly exhibiting men formed by nature in her most niggardly mood for the lowest offices in the machinery of society, voluntarily developing their own incapacity, by assuming the exalted characters of instructors of mankind.-To constitute an accomplished Christian orator, it is requisite, in the first place, that he should be perfectly convinced of the truth of the religion he advocates. I am not now speaking of hypocrisy as a moral, but as an oratorical defect; for the consciousness that he is defending what he firmly believes to be true will impart a dignity, an earnest ness, and an energy, which nothing else can supply. It is scarcely necessary to observe, that he must have studied theology deeply, and with the Bible, and the Bible only, for a foundation have erected a superstructure of sound rational divinity. Our clergy can never be at a loss for assistance in their theological researches, while the writings remain of such men as Jeremy Taylor, Tillotson, Warburton, Paley, and Tomline. He must, likewise, examine with candour the objec-, tions advanced against Christianity, that he may be competent to confirm the faith, and rectify the erroneous opinions of his hearers; he must be a good classical scholar, critically acquainted with the niceties of the Greek language; his mind should be enriched with a general knowledge of men and things: it is a mistaken opinion entertained by some of the clergy, that they should confine their attention to the study of theology, and almost totally neglect other subjects, for there is scarcely a branch of knowledge, however inconsiderable and apparently unconnected with divinity, but may tend, in some way, to

strengthen argument or illustrate obscurity. He must possess a vivid and creative imagination, capable of enjoying and displaying what is beautiful or interesting in the subjects he discusses; he must present religion to his hearers, disencumbered of the terrors in which it is arrayed by bigotry and superstition, and exhibit it as the unerring guide to earthly peace and heavenly happiness. Moderation must arrest every approach towards intolerance or uncharitableness; ardent though tempered zeal prevents the slightest approximation towards lukewarınness and indifference.

Undaunted in the prosecution of his duty, he must fearlessly brave the censure of the wicked; anxious to re-unite the sinner to his God, he must fan into a flame the faintest spark of penitence, and encourage even despairing guilt to repent, and be forgiven. His judgment should be correct, totally unbiassed by prejudice or interest, capable of discovering that method of imparting instruction to his hearers, which, with reference to local circumstances and peculiar prepossessions, is most probable to succeed. With respect to his delivery, it should be dignified and impressive; calm and energetic; undeformed by the appearance either of haughtiness and pride, or of a servile attention to the opinions of his congregation; he should be equally free from boisterous valgarity, and lisping affectation; from a levity which scarcely seems to regard as sacred the temple and the altars of the Most High; and from a superfluous sanctity of demeanour, which appears to demand admiration for the piety and holiness it evinces. A distinct enunciation, a powerful, melodious, well modulated voice and graceful action are minor, but indispensible qualifications of an accomplished orator, and resemble the polish of the diamond, which, though it im part nothing to its intrinsic value, yet discloses those beauties which but for it would have existed only

for concealment.

I now wish to say a few words upon a practice which has created much hatred towards the Clergy, which has excited the reproofs of their friends, and the assaults of their enemies; I allude to the practice of preaching political sermons. This evil has been so long complained of, and springs so frequently from one of the principal motives of conduct, self-interest, that I have scarcely the slightest hope of convincing those, who advocate it, of its impropriety and pernicious tendency; but as these remarks may possibly be perused by some who are hesitating between the conviction that the pulpit is sacred to religion only, and the desire to display the excellence of their political creed, I have a faint expectation that what I have to offer may occasion the scale to preponderate on the side of religious propriety, of christian decorum. The causes are various which render the pulpit peculiarly unfit for the discussion of political questions. The rancour and bitterness, which so frequently mingle with party-feeling, are at war both with the letter and with the spirit of our religion; and whether the cause is to be sought for in the original constitution of the human mind, where the elements of strife are implanted and blaze forth at the kindling touch of opposition, or in the nature of political subjects, which, by operating remotely or immediately on self-interest, bring the passions into action, certain it is that more violent dissentions, more implacable animosities have had their rise in political disputes than in any other subject that ever was discussed.

Is the pulpit, then, possessed of such a conciliating influence, that it can convert bitter to sweet, and divest venom of its sting? impossible! A clergyman may conclude that because custom and decorum have imposed silence on his hearers, that his eloquence has convinced them of the truth of what he is advancing; but, could he withdraw the veil which envelopes thought, and behold the chafed and angry spirit regarding its instructor with contempt, perhaps with malicecould he hear the ridicule and indignation with which the attempt Eur. Mag. Vol. 82.

to bias their opinions is treated by his congregation, he would probably confess that the abortiveness of his efforts would justify him in desisting from them for ever. If the human intellect were infallible in its decisions, the propounder of a political code for the observation of his flock would merit praise for his endeavours to impart the benefits of truth to the unreflecting; but, composed as the human mind is of strength and weakness, of reason and passion, alternately the slave of prejudice, of pleasure, and of interest, it should pause before it presumes to offer its unauthorized opinions for the adoption of others; for the few political texts contained in the New Testament are insuthcient to support the numerous theories which have had them for their pretended foundation. I am unwilling to suppose, that an ardent desire to propitiate the powers that be has been the motive, which has actuated every clergyman who has preached a sermon in favour of the Government, I have no doubt that, in so doing, many of them believed they were discharging their duty; but the intemperate language and the servile ideas, contained in some of these harangues, sanction the suspicion, that the hope of not being overlooked at the ministers next distribution of preferments has operated more powerfully than the dictates of disinterested patriotism. On the other hand it is urged, may not the minister of religion incite his auditory to the resistance of arbitrary power? May he not teach them to trample upon thrones and dynastics, if they be attempting to enslave the people? Certainly not; for the press, and the press alone, is sufficient to effect the object without any other assistance. Notwithstanding all the empty declamation, which has been advanced in support of the contrary position, the christian religion is not a political engine; it may be incorporated with the state, but the state is not essential to its being; for if all the princes in the world were to conspire its destruction, they would be unable to effect their purpose; it has its root more firmly, more deeply, than in the will of kings, or the mandates of governments. But it

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