statue, that sickness was carrying me to an untimely grave, and that I should die unknown and unnoticed, and be soon forgotten; but God has been very merciful, and given me a better spirit, a spirit of content-may I not hope, that sweet spirit of adoption of which you say the old fathers of the church of England often speak? I have no such desponding feelings now. I lament no longer that I am forbidden to be distinguished in this world. There was not in me the humble mind of the good and great man whose statue is before us. Do not think, dear Singleton, that I would depreciate the mighty efforts of genius, that I underrate the wisdom of man; but I had long forgotten the fountain of all true wisdom. I had been satisfied with the streams. Now, my friend, I thirst for that fountain, the spring-head not only of wisdom, but of happiness and life." pp. 108-110.

We cannot refrain from transcribing the following admirable sentiments.

I cannot help thinking, that many of the most pious and holy of the present day, want one lovely grace to their edified and edifying characters. They cannot, or do not make allowance for the slow growth of others. They do not see how impossible it is for an individual, who has been brought up among persons of worldly views, and yet of moral and honourable principles, to discover very quickly the radical error of all that is merely moral, merely honourable in the professed disciples of Jesus Christ; and how very possible it is for such an individual to have made great advancement, at least in sincerity of purpose and spirituality of mind, without having gained any acquaintance with the conventional terms and usages of the religious world. It is at the same time fearfully easy for one brought up in a religious set, to acquire the language, and indeed all that may be taught by man, of the religion he professes; and the natural effect and consequence of all such acquirement without the Spirit, is to create a feeling of selfapproval and of imaginary superiority over more spiritual, but less fluent professors.

Some of the most interesting characters I have ever known, have been those that were brought up away from a religious party; and I have heard a very holy man declare, that he ever felt deeply interested in such persons, in assisting the formation and development of their characters, in removing the awkwardness of their spiritual gait, and correcting the blunders of their mode of expressing themselves. Besides, after all, nothing is more charming than to find a very holy and spiritual person without the cant of conventional expressions.

'I wish I could see in religious professors more of the winning kindness that distinguished our only perfect exemplar. How constrained has many an ingenuous and well-disposed person been made to feel, by the manner which can speak as plainly as words, in saying, you are not to be admitted to familiar intercourse with us, for you are not an initiated person! Where is the love and condescension of our blessed Lord, who loved the young ruler, although he could not consent to make the sacrifice that Christ required, and follow Him.

'How ought we to esteem those who have all the amiable qualities of

that young man, and are also ready to give up all for their Lord, but who are, alas! ignorant or inexperienced in the outward expression of the faith of Christ.

A sure proof that the religion of Jesus Christ is in the heart, is not only to see a pure, holy, denying spirit where self is concerned; not only to find new views, and new life, and new works; but to find also, a lovely, never-failing charity towards others, towards those even whom we think mistaken in doctrine, or worse than mistaken in practice; to see that their errors and transgressions are used tenderly and compassionately, rather than bitterly, so that by the comparison, if any be unconsciously made, no such self-approving opinion is ever generated, as that of the Pharisee; "Lord, I thank thee that I am not as other men are, or even as this publican." O Lord! enable me to dread a notional religion. We know, by many fearful instances, it is possible to hold the truth, or something very like the truth, in ungodliness. What, however, is unsanctified knowledge or unsanctified wisdom? The most distinguished among men, either in the one or the other, stands like a babe, nay a very fool beside Him who, though fallen, is an angel fallen, who hath visited the secret chamber of every human heart that ever existed; through whose infernal wiles it was, that the world by wisdom know not God.

I have often observed the transforming effect of vital religion on a common-place character. It imparts at once, a sort of intellectual originality, as well as a moral superiority, Many persons have I met become, by the grace of God, holy believers and faithful disciples of our Lord, persons whom I remembered as barely endurable in society, talking of the weather, or politics, or the usages of society, or on literary subjects, in a trite and even tamely wearying manner; the same persons whom I could sit and listen to in delighted silence. Even humanly speaking, the cause of this change may be easily traced: the intellect has been expanded, the feelings simplified in the man, by the grandeur and simplicity of the new object to which the intellect and the feelings have been directed.-Lord! I would be really wise; rouse me from my lukewarmness, and enable me to seek this wisdom as silver, to search for her as for treasures; for then only shall I understand the fear of the Lord, and find the knowledge of God. It is indeed by praying and supplicating with diligence and perseverance, that we attain this wisdom, and abide in it; or all other attempts will prove but vain. How many poor souls, otherwise weak and simple, have by this means grown exceedingly wise in the mystery of Godliness!'

In the Envoy to the reader, Mr. Tayler thus apologises for having made use of fiction in defending the doctrines and rites of the Church of which he is the minister.

'I am aware, that this volume may be called a novel, and I wish to say a word or two about novels. I am ready to join with many Christian moralists in their disapprobation of novels, for this reason. many of the best-written novels, and those abounding in the bright display and high commendation of virtue, ought to be objectionable ir that which professes to be the society of Christians, for they are almost

certain to mislead, in a way not the less dangerous, because it wears all the specious shew and colouring of the fruits of holy principle. They describe persons and characters, who become more and more faultless, and more and more happy, as the history advances, no one knows why, but because the author chooses to make them so.-They speak of positive and practical effects, as proceeding from the motive of a mere wish, or the principle of an idly formed resolution, made and kept in the might and constancy of man's own strength ;-or I should say, they describe effects, without shewing the only springs of such effects. They dress out a bramble with the rich and clustering fruit of

the vine.

'Dr. Chalmers has well said, "So much for the dream of fancy. Let us compare it with the waking images of truth. Walk from Dan to Beersheba, and tell us, if without and beyond the operation of gospel motives and gospel principle, the reality of life ever furnished you with a picture that is at all like the elegance and perfection of this fictitious history. Go to the finest specimen of such a family; take your secret stand, and observe them in their more retired and invisible movements. It is not enough to pay them a ceremonious visit, and observe them in the put-on manners and holiday dress of general company; look at them when all this disguise and finery are thrown aside. Yes, we have no doubt that you will perceive some love, some tenderness, some virtue; but the rough and untutored honesty of truth compels us to say, that along with all this, there are at times mingled the bitterness of invective, the growlings of discontent, the harpings of peevishness and animosity, and all that train of angry, suspicious, and discordant feelings, which embitter the heart of man, and make the reality of human life a very sober affair indeed, when compared with the high colouring of romance, and the sentimental extravagance of poetry. Now what do we make of all this? We infer, that however much we may love perfection, and aspire after it, yet there is some want, some disease in the constitution of man, which prevents his attainment to it-that there is a feebleness of principle about him-that the energy of his practice does not correspond to the fair promises of his fancy-and however much he may delight in an ideal scene of virtue and moral excellence, there is some lurking malignity in his constitution, which, without the operation of that mighty power revealed to us in the Gospel, makes it vain to wish, and hopeless to aspire after."

Thus, I may add, the reader is misled. He thinks a wish can make him happy, a resolution virtuous. He is, perhaps, full of the lively admiration of virtue and excellence, but his admiration evaporates with the mere glow of fine feeling. The effect of this unsoundness in principle is unsoundness in practice. He is neither strengthened, established, nor settled in what is right and good, but is (as almost a sure consequence) inconsistent, and acquires the reputation of being romantic and visionary, and perhaps unfit for common life.Either make the tree sound, and the fruit sweet, or the tree corrupt, and its fruit corrupt.

Now let an author shew things as they really are-expose the flimsy character of such surface virtue; let him allude continually to the existence of principles. Let him shew that there is but one plant

that can bear the fruit which he describes. It is indeed the luxuriant garlands of the vine alone, that are hung with the beautiful and gladdening grape. The temper and habits of the Christian are all from one plant, and whatever the Father hath not planted shall be rooted

up.

Whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are honest, lovely, true, or of good report, all are from one principle alone. What! cannot we have virtue, you say, lauded, and impressed, and recommended, without religious principle always being brought forward? Yes; if you choose to give up your profession of Christianity; but to Christian readers, in a professed Christian world, surely never such principles can be acknowledged. Let an author remember this, and his readers will never be misled; and though I am by no means an advocate for the too common practice of the present day, the very frequent reading of works of fiction, even those works which, without doing any moral injury to the heart, must enervate the powers of the mind, and create a distaste for deep and more manly reading-let an author remember this, and though a writer of poetry or fiction, he may take his place with humble confidence among the real advocates of sound righteousness, among the true benefactors of mankind." pp. 353-357.

The fictions of such a writer can hardly fail to be truth.

'Shades of Character' by the late Mrs. Woodrooffe, has but recently fallen into our hands: but we are not surprised at the popularity which it has obtained, The title is amply justified by the discrimination which is shewn in the delineation and development of character, by means, not of mere description, but of familiar and natural dialogue. The work is as regular a novel as can consist with the fact that there is not a single love-scene in the whole story; and it is at the same time as replete with religious instruction, without theological pedantry, as Mrs. More's Celebs. Nothing can be more excellent than the sentiments conveyed, and the general moral of the tale; and reserving our objections against the class of works to which these volumes belong, we cannot hesitate to give them all the benefit of our cordial recommendation. We shall give a single extract, as a specimen of the cleverness with which the dialogue is sustained: we regret, however, that it is sometimes a little too colloquial, nor is the style free from verbal improprieties.

'It was to James a season of joy-joy long expected: and yet the day was so gloomy, and Agnes was so low, that he could not believe it was the hour of felicity-Not to weary the reader with more of this than is necessary, they drove off; and Agnes lifted the pad which covered the glass at the back of the carriage, to get a last look at her dear Elizabeth, and the rectory. James said nothing; the ride was silent and almost sad. As they drew near the village of Abberley, they heard the bell tolling. "Dear!" said Agnes, "there is some one dead. I wonder who it is?" James was inwardly fretted. That the bells should not ring, when he brought his darling home, was to

him a disappointment; but that they should toll on so joyful an occasion, was, he thought, most unpleasant; and he handed his dear girl from the chaise in silence.

The quiet form of Aunt Groves was gliding through the hall to meet her child; and "The Lord bless thee, my beloved!" passed from her maternal lip.

'As soon as they were seated in the library, Uncle James came behind, and took off her hat. "Dear me, you have pulled down all my hair." "Well child; go up stairs, and dress."

She rose with animation to obey.

rectly." She left the room.

"You kind Uncle; I will di

Mr. James. " My dear aunt, was there ever any thing so mal-àpropos? Did you hear that bell tolling?"

Mrs. E. Groves. "I did."

"Mr. James." It was very badly managed."

'Mrs. E. Groves. "Edward James, mortals must give way to immortals. Poor clerk passed to his final state this morning."

"Mr. James. "Poor old fellow! I did not think he would have gone

so soon."

'Mrs. E. Groves. "No, my dear. He had a stroke on Friday last, final and decisive. Yet he lingered till this morning.-Are you superstitious, Edward James ?"

'Mr. James. "Me? Oh, dear, no."

'Mrs. E. Groves. "Because you seem to make such a point of the bells ringing when our Agnes returned; and appeared so put out that they should toll."

Mr. James. "I thought it disrespectful; and on that account I regretted that you opposed their being rung. And without being superstitious, my dear aunt, I must say, there is something very disagreeable in the heavy toll of a bell on such an occasion. I would have every thing gay; birds singing, roses blowing, soft air breathing, every face dressed in smiles, and all in holiday clothes.'

Mrs. E. Groves. "Edward, this is very kind of you."

She paused, for Agnes came in.

'Mr. James. " Well, this is as it should be, Agnes. Now it looks like July."

‹ Mrs. E. Groves. "My love, Agnes, poor Cole is dead; he died

this morning."

Agnes. "What was his complaint, Aunt?"

Mrs. E. Groves. " Palsy, my dear."

Mr. James." How is it, Madam, that this disease is so frequent in our day?"

< Mrs. E. Groves. "I suppose there is some defect in our food: perhaps we drink too much tea; or wear the nervous system by late hours, and too great mental excitement. This has certainly been the case with Mr. N.; for the departed, I know not that we can tax him with any imprudence; we can only say, it is the way in which it has pleased God to dismiss him."

Agnes. "I hope, Aunt, Mr. Wilton saw him?"

Mrs. E. Groves." O, yes, my dear, every day."

Agnes. "Any thing satisfactory, Aunt ?”

VOL. VII.-N.S.