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doubted and effectual call, not to salvation alone, but to the ministry.

His manner in the pulpit was peculiar, and his preaching withe out the slightest appearance of enthusiasm ; while the singing was

going on, before the sermon, he sate perfectly still, with his eyes directed downwards, apparently, as probably, musing upon

what he was about to say. He made use of no action, except that he had

a habit or trick of passing a white handkerchief from one hand to the other while he preached. He never raved and ranted, nor even exerted his voice, which was clear and agreeable; but if it had ever been powerful, came softened, in his latter years, through a well-lined throat; for the doctor, as he called himself, bore all the outward and visible signs of good living. Any thing which he meant to be emphatic was marked by a complaisant nod of the head; and not a syllable was lost by his auditors, who were open eared and open mouthed in profound attention. His sermons were inordinately long, seldom less than an hour and a half; sometimes exceeding two hours. This must be admitted as a proof that he was in earnest, for certainly if he had spared himself half the exertion, the greater part of his congregation would have been better pleased. He had texts so completely at command, that even an excellent memory could hardly explain bis facility in adducing them, unless he had some artificial aid, and the probability is, that he made great use of Cruden’s Concordance. His prayers were little more than centos of scriptural phrases.

That cunning and worldly mindedness were predominant in Huntington's character, seems to be shown beyond all doubt by the whole tenour of his conduct; bis bitter and uncharitable spirit appears throughout his writings; and instances enough have been adduced of his audacious, not to say blasphemous, pretensions. Yet, with all this, in his latter days at least, he seems to have seriously believed that he was doing good. From whatever motives he had taken to the office of preaching, he continued in it till it useful to himself as well as to others. Preach faith till


have it,' was the Moravian's advice to Wesley, “and then because you have it you will preach it.' So it may have been with the S.S.: by perpetually dealing in religion he may have become religious, as far as any one so swoln with spiritual pride, and so full of uncharitable feeling's can be said to be so. That he was useful to others cannot be denied, and ought not to be dissembled. A writer who is far from being favourable to him, observes truly, that so many hundreds of working men would not have come from all quarters, and assembled regularly to hear him, if they had not known and felt something of the power of Christ. The extent of our overgrown parishes in and about the metropolis, and the nature of our town KK 2



was erroneous.

population, which render it impossible for the clergyman to have that wholesome and parental influence among his parishioners upon which so much of his utility depends, at once explain the cause of Huntington's success, and show that notwithstanding his gross personal faults, and his perilous antinomianism, he must, upon the whole, have produced some good. The flock which he collected consisted chiefly, almost wholly of sheep who had been without a shepherd, in which state let us remember there are at this time nearly a million of souls within the circle of ten miles round Loudon! He may have folded them for the sake of their wool; fold them however he did, and they were running wild and astray before. They heard from him much that was exceptionable, much that

But their religious faculties were quickened and expanded, and these, which are the noblest faculties of nian, might otherwise have remained undeveloped and inanimate. Let not this be misconstrued into a declaration of liberality, that modern liberality which now serves to cover the laxity of irreligious indifference, and the treachery of implacable and ever watchful malice. We understand the use and the importance of forms and ordinances, and history has shewn us that great evils may ensue from speculative errors, however apparently insignificant and even innocent in themselves. But we also know that in the wise government of earthly affairs, evil itself is made subservient to good; and wishing at all times to impress (if it were possible) upon the public mind a deep sense of the paramount importance of religion, we ask, if Christianity, when preached as it was by this man, could produce good, as undoubtedly in many cases it did, what may not be expected from a national church like ours, when that efficiency shall be given it, which from many causes it has hitherto in great part wanted, but which there is now equally a desire in the government, the heads of the church, and its rising members, each in their separate station, and to the utmost of their power, to impart?

As Huntingtou advanced toward the grave, the only fear which he expressed was, lest his old age should be attended with a barrenness in the ministry,' lest as youthful vigour decayed, and the faculties of the soul got impaired, so the life and power of godliness would abate also.' This was a temptation which beset bim often, • otherwise,' he says, you may believe me when I say, despicable and despised as I am, God knows that I envy not the angels of God in heaven, nor is there a human being in existence whose felicity I crave, whose state I covet, or with whom I would exchange my life. The manner in which he writes of his increasing infirmities, and comforts his best and most attached friends, when, like himself, they were breaking down under the weight of years, is character


istic, and sometimes even beautiful. In one letter, where he speaks of having been laid aside for a whole week, and still being very feeble, he says, 'many warnings come about quitting this clay cottage, and much daubing, plastering and new materials have been spent upon it, but the plague is in the house, the leprosy is in the walls, and the sad infection has spread itself, and therefore it must come down.' At another time he says, “my breath is short, my cruse empty, my oil fails, my heart is chilled, my old man is alive, and the devil is not idle.' And again to his true friend Baker, who was a greater sufferer than himself, exchanging with him a inelancholy account of the effect of weather upon a crazy constitution, and those ailments which are the forerunners of natural dissolution, he says, 'Oh that we were but safely landed in the heavenly country, where the inhabitants shall no more say I am sick; when there shall be no more heat and cold! but till we arrive there we must be clogged, bowed down and burdened with this wretched body of sin and death, which miserable load gets more and more intolerable to me. But through grace, the inner man is still alive in hope and faith, and is often looking out and looking forward to that country which Abraham sought. Were it not for this, I should be of all fesh most miserable, sick of life and afraid of death; but the faster and heavier these burdens and infirmities come on, the will they be over.

All our afflictions are dealt out to us in weight and measure; what is appointed for us we shall have, and no more.' Sometimes he addresses these friends in a cheerful strain as old soldiers who had been engaged on the Lord's side, and having won the victory and being invalided, were now to be dismissed from service, and to receive their reward. To the husband he says, “I Was sorry to hear my poor dear friend had got his old disorder returned upon

him; but we must come to our end some way or other. God has not hurled you, as Job speaks, out of your place like a storm; nor, like a tempest, stolen you away in the night. You are gently gathered, not bastily plucked. God takes down your tabernacle a pin at a time, and loosens the cords as you are able to bear it. Oh what must the change be to go from a body of death to a fulness of life, from a bed of sickness to eternal health!' After visiting this aged couple, he writes to them in a strain which might make one for a time forget his faults. My poor old dears,' he says, “ little think what a glee and heavenly sensation rolled over my mind when I gave my last look at them getting into the coach, at the thought of going shortly to our eternal home and safe abode. I looked back upon you with pleasure and with unspeakable delight, and something of heaven springing up in my heart, seeming to say, ere long you will all be gone, and talk over again the things wbich are so imperKK 3





fectly known in this vain world. I cannot describe what I felt, but something yet to come shall make it manifest. Baker had been a diligent, kind-hearted, honest, circumspect, upright mas; but in his religious state what Huntington calls 'a poor afflicted creature, much bound in spirit, very dark, and little comforted. As his end drew near, however, he was full of peace and hope, and his last words were those of the prophet Joel, “ Let the weak say I am strong."

Huntington did not long survive his oldest and steadiest friend. He died in 1813, at Tunbridge Wells; and, playing his part to the last, as well as old Earl Seward, who had his armour put on that he might die like a warrior, he indited his own epitaph in these words:

• Here lies the Coalheaver,
Beloved of his God, but abhorred of men.

The Omniscient Judge
At the Grand Assize shall ratify and

Confirm this to the

Confusion of many thousands;
For England and its Metropolis shall know
That there hath been a prophet

Among them.'
He was buried at Lewes, in a piece of ground adjoining the
chapel of one of his associates, and it was his desire that there
should be no funeral sermon preached on the occasion, and that
nothing should be said over his grave.

In drawing up this account of the S.S. and of his writings, have neither exaggerated nor extenuated any thing. Much has been omitted which would have exemplified more fully the coarseness and vulgarity of his mind, and as much which would have shown in a strong light the real talent which he possessed, and his occasional felicity, as well as command of language. Curious matter might also have been added concerning persons with whom he was connected, and the preachers who adopted his opinions, imitated his manner, and might, perhaps, have enabled him to organize a sect in the country, if that had been his object. But we have already occupied too large a space.

a space. And, perhaps, some of our readers may think that in the days of Alderman Wood, Jeremy Bentham, and Dr. Eady, whose fame is written in chalk upon all the walls, we have bestowed too much attention upon an inferior quack.

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Акт. .

Art. X.- Anastasius, or the Memoirs of a Greek; written at

the close of the 18th Century. Third edition. 3 Vols. 1820. THIS 'HIS is an extraordinary work in every sense of that word;

and we owe some apology to the author as well as our readers for not taking earlier notice of it. It seems to be the object of the writer to unite the entertainment of a novel with the information of a book of travels, and instead of giving a didactic description of the customs and characters of the different countries in which the scene is laid, to leave his readers to collect this knowledge for themselves, while he rivets their attention by the deep interest which many of the adventures of his profligate hero cannot fail to excite. Such a plan obviously requires a more intimate acquaintance with the people described than falls to the lot of an ordinary traveller; but, in skilful hands, it would perhaps furnish the best as well as the most amusing mode of conveying an account of national manners. If we could suppose, for instance, that a foreign visitor to our own island had become sufficiently conversant with our habits and character to write the llistory of a Foundling; it is certain that while he delighted by the happiness of his invention in the construction of the plot and the management of the story, he would have given a more complete representation of the state of English society during the reign of George the Second than could now, perhaps, be collected from all the works of travellers and historians put together.

We do not mean, however, for a moment to compare Anastasius with Tom Jones, between whom indeed there is nothing in common, except, perhaps, the profligacy of the heroes; and even in this respect there is no comparison. The licentiousness of Jones, which partakes of the coarseness of the age in which Fielding wrote, is at least attempered by some redeeming, qualities :-a high spirit of generosity and benevolence of disposition are associated with his failings :—but Anastasius is a scoundrel of the deepest dye, with no mixture of the milk of human kindness to blend with the harsher ingredients of his character. If at any time a spark of better feeling is struck out by the collision of circumstances from his flinty nature, it is as immediately extinguisbed, and straight is cold again. He seems to belong entirely to that modern school of worthies, who, by the aid of a white forehead, a curling lip, raven hair and eyes, and the Turkish costume, have contrived to excite so powerful a sympathy in their favour. These heroes, however,

· Link'd with one virtue and a thousand crimes,' owe much of the interest they create to the quality of this one virtue,' which is always a wild and enthusiastic, but fixed and KK 4


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