expresses his astonishment at the sense and ingenuity of this remarkable man, and also at the alacrity and good-humour of himself and his wife.

At the same time, he bears honourable testimony to "his candour and meekness; his sober, chaste, and virtuous conversation; his soundness of principle and practice;" and also to "the happiness of his people," among whom he lived in the greatest unanimity and friendship.

At this time the annual income of Mr. Walker's chapel was, as nearly as he could compute it, about seventeen pounds ten shillings; and yet when the bishop of the diocese recommended the joining to the curacy of Seathwaite the contiguous one of Ulpha, it was a sufficient reason for his declining the offer, that "it might be disagreeable to his auditory at Seathwaite," and that the inhabitants of Ulpha despaired of being able to support a schoolmaster who should not be curate there also.

In a second letter to the bishop on the subject, he says in reference to the union of these chapels: "It would be apt to cause a general discontent among the inhabitants of both places; by either thinking themselves slighted; being only served alternately, or neglected in the duty, or attributing it to covetousness in me; all which occasions of murmuring I would willingly avoid."

The stipend attached to the curacy was subsequently augmented, but Mr. Walker's income was still extremely scanty. Nevertheless the frequent offer of much better benefices could not tempt him to quit a situation where he had been so long happy, with a consciousness of having been useful.

Other particulars in reference to him, are not less remarkable. His hospitality as a parish priest, is described as "munificent." Every Sunday there were served on the long table already described, messes of broth for the refreshment of his congregation who came from a distance, and usually took their seats as parts of his own household. It seems scarcely possible that this custom could have commenced before the augmentation of his cure. But what would have been to many great self-denial, was reckoned by the pastor and his family as a gratification. The treat could only be provided by dressing at one time the whole, perhaps, of their weekly allowance of fresh meat; and, consequently, for a succession of days,

the table was supplied with cold victuals only.

Mr. Walker was equally generous in the education of his family. It appears that he met with some liberal benefactors, or such as he deemed so, by whose assistance he was enabled to rear a numerous family; and even to support one son for some time as a student at Dublin College.

He also

His industry and perseverance were also very remarkable. For eight hours a day during nearly the whole week, he was engaged in teaching; and while the children were repeating their lessons at his side, he employed himself at the spinning-wheel. In the evening the wheel was constantly in readiness, to prevent the loss of a moment's time. Entrusted with the extensive management of public and private affairs, he was occupied at one period of the year, during a part of the night, and sometimes the whole night, as scrivener, preparing petitions, deeds of conveyance, wills, and other documents. tilled his garden with his own hands; pastured on the mountains a few sheep and a couple of cows; rented two or three acres in addition to his own less than one acre of glebe; and performed the humblest drudgery in the cultivation of these fields. Acts of kindness to his neighbours when hay-making or shearing their flocks, produced sometimes the present of a fleece or a haycock, less as a recompence than as a general acknowledgment. Unwearied industry and the strictest temperance, combined with unfailing economy, through a long-continued life, enabled him to leave behind no less a sum than 2000.

Every evening in the week the Scriptures were read, while the rest of the household were at work, and thus the whole was repeatedly gone through. He was tenderly alive to all the duties of his pastoral office; the poor he never sent empty away; the stranger was fed and refreshed in passing that sequestered vale; the sick were visited, and the distresses of his neighbours, with which his talents for business made him acquainted, were relieved.

In this extraordinary man, things adverse in their nature were fully reconciled; his conversation was remarkable not only for its purity, but for its fervour and eloquence. His written style was correct, simple, and animated. And "the disinterestedness, impartiality, and

uprightness which he maintained in the management of all his affairs," it is said, were seldom separated in his own conscience from religious obligations."

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His wife died before him only a few months, after they had been married to each other above sixty years. They were both in the ninety-third year of their age. He ordered that her body should be borne to the grave by three of her daughters, and one grand-daughter. "And when the corpse was lifted from the threshold, he insisted upon lending his aid, and feeling about, for he was then almost blind, took hold of a napkin | fixed to the coffin; and, as a bearer of the body, entered the chapel, a few steps from the lowly parsonage."

Who is there that may not derive much instruction, reproof, and stimulus, from this singular narrative?

used to receive "gold and silver, ivory, and apes, and peacocks." One thing, no doubt, is an improvement in the estimation of the Chinese, on the antiqué models to which I refer; that is, the Chinese junks have two large eyes painted on the bows. Upon my asking a Chinese carpenter why these eyes were placed there, he emphatically answered in broken English, "No eye, how see rocks?" The Manilla boats are also curious specimens of naval architecture; and if we take for granted that the rule laid down by some writers is correct, namely, "That we can pretty accurately judge of the progress which nations have made in civilization, by the perfection to which their skill in naval architecture has arrived," we must conclude that these nations are still far behind all others in the most important point of civilization.-Statham's Sketches.

A STEAM VESSEL ON THE GANGES.

I WITNESSED the feeling of surprise evidenced by the natives of Calcutta, when the Diana, a steam-vessel, made her first trip up the river, which was some length of time before Captain Johnson brought out the Enterprise. Wah! wah! wah! was exclaimed on all sides. "Is it alive?" said a circar to

a dinghey whallah. "See its feet," was the reply, pointing to the paddles. And it required the greatest self-possession to avoid laughing at the many serious questions that were asked respecting the vitality of the boat. When the matter began to be more clearly understood, I could perceive that the English character for wisdom rose much higher in the minds of the natives, as no discovery ever seemed more wonderful to them than that of making a boat to travel against the current of the river, without the aid of sails or tow-line, especially as in the river Hooghley it is a work of much labour and time to warp a ship up the river, even when stout hawsers are employed, with a hundred extra hands on board. The mariners belonging to a Chinese junk, lying off Burrah Bazaar Ghaut, seemed more amazed at the sight, if possible, than the Bengalese themselves, as, being less acquainted with European resources, they were not prepared to expect such a wonderful display of mechanical skill, their own vessel being probably the nearest in its construction to those by which Solomon

PROGRESS OF ENGLISH STYLE OF
WRITING.

In the progress of English style, three periods may be easily distinguished. The first period extended from Sir Thomas More to Lord Clarendon. During great part of this period, the style partook of the rudeness and fluctuation of an unformed language, in which we had not determined the words that were to be English. Writers had not yet discovered the combination of words which best suits the original structure and immutable constitution of our language: where the terms were English, the arrangement was Latin, the exclusive language of learning, and that in which every truth in science, and every model of elegance, was contemplated by youth. For a century and a half, ineffectual attempts were made to bend our vulgar tongue to the genius of the language supposed to be superior; and the whole of this period, though not without a capricious mixture of coarse idiom, may be called the Latin, or pedantic age, of our style.

In the second period, which extended from the Restoration to the middle of the eighteenth century, a series of writers appeared, of less genius, indeed, than their predecessors, but more successful in their experiments to discover the mode of writing best adapted to the genius of the language. About the same period that a similar change was effected

in France, by Pascal, they began to banish from style learned as well as vulgar phraseology, and to confine themselves to the part of the language naturally used in general conversation by well-educated men. That middle region which lies between vulgarity and pedantry remains commonly unchanged, while both extremes are equally condemned to perpetual revolution. Those who select words from that permanent part of a language, and who arrange them according to its natural order, have discovered the true secret of rendering their writings permanent, and of preserving that rank among the classical writers of their country, which men of greater intellectual power have failed to attain. Of these writers, whose language has not yet been slightly superannuated, Cowley was probably the earliest, as Dryden and Addison were assuredly the greatest.

The third period may be called the rhetorical, and is distinguished by the prevalence of a school of writers, of which Johnson was the founder. The fundamental character of the rhetorical style is, that it employs undisguised art, where classical writers appear only to obey the impulse of a cultivated and adorned nature. As declamation is the fire of eloquence without its substance, so rhetoric consists in the forms of eloquence without its spirit. In the schools of the rhetorician, every ornament of composition is made by a rule; where ornaments are natural, the feeling from which they spring, if it be tempered, performs the office of taste by regulating their number, and adapting them to the occasion; but those who fabricate them by the rule, without this natural regulator, have no security against unseasonable and undistinguishable profusion. These writers have not the variety of nature, but the uniformity of a Dutch garden.

During the period in which he was a favourite model, a stiff symmetry and tedious monotony succeeded to that various music with which the taste of Addison diversified his periods, and to that natural imagery which the latter's beautiful genius seemed with graceful negligence to scatter over his composition. They who had not fancy enough to be ornamental, sought to distinguish themselves by being artificial; and though there were some illustrious exceptions, the general style had all those marks of corrupt taste which Johnson himself had

so well satirised in his commendation of the prose of Dryden, and of which he has admirably represented the opposite in his excellent criticism on Addison.Sir James Mackintosh,

WILL YOU GO?

SOME people say they are not to be frightened by what they are told about hell. They will acknowledge that they are not fit for heaven, but comfort themselves with the belief that the punishment of the wicked will not be so bad as is represented.

Such persons should be brought to reflect on what any place must be where the wicked shall be together for ever! For that is the least that can be said of the place of punishment. Let it be even supposed, that the world of misery, instead of being a dismal gulf, or a lake of fire, is such a place as this earth. Let the sinner imagine it to be as beautiful as Eden itself-we only ask him to acknowledge this one thing, that none but the enemies of God will be there. And we say this is a hell dreadful enough to terrify the stoutest heart.

Think of it! All that is now frightful in wickedness will be there. Do men now fear to meet a murderer or a robber? How will they feel when they are placed in their society for ever? Do they now shun the drunkard, the debauched, and the vile? But hell is the eternal home of such. Who would be willing to live with such persons as occupy our prisons, although they should dwell in palaces? Would not any place be intolerable with such society only?

But such will be hell. And worse. For in this world, even in prisons, the men of violence and crime are under restraint. The fear of punishment, the dread of disgrace, the desire of favour, the spirit of pride, and a thousand other motives keep men within some bounds. But in hell all these will be removed. There will be no motive to keep back the most outrageous crimes. All the vile and violent passions will be let loose. It will be like letting loose a multitude of furious maniacs. There will be no shame. The saints, whose influence kept them in some restraint, will be in heaven.

No laws will be there to keep them in check. There will be nothing to be gained by good behaviour and hypocrisy. Rage, hatred, madness, lust, violence will prevail. Despair will drive them on to

unceasing wickedness. Curses and oaths, and all that is hateful and abominable in language, will be unrestrained.

All this must go on increasing in horror. No hope of escape will ever cheer one of the wretched company. Not an expectation of deliverance will be indulged. For ever and for ever it must last! Even death is denied; there is no weakening or decay of the life; there is nothing to alleviate or drown the anguish. There is nothing to gratify the wicked desires of the soul. The drunkard raves in vain for his cups. The sensualist burns with ungratified and growing appetites.

We ask, is not all this nothing more than the natural consequence of excluding sinners from heaven? Must not this be the scene where the "abominable" are fixed in one eternal place of exile? And should not this stop the sinner in his course, and cause every impenitent person to cry out, What must I do to be saved?

Reader, WILL YOU GO?

WILL YOU COME?

We now call the reader's attention to the voice which sounds from heaven. It is that of the Spirit and the Bride, saying, Come. It is echoed by him that heareth, Come. It presents one of the great alternatives presented to sinners in this life, and which in the day of judgment will mark the disposition of the two multitudes that will stand before the throne, when to one shall be said, Come, ye blessed of my Father," and the other "shall go away into everlasting punishment."

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And here, too, we will lay out of view all other representations of the glory and happiness of heaven which are given us in the Scriptures. We would, as in the other case, abstract every other consideration of what makes the happiness of heaven. We would leave out of view the visions of the beloved disciple, and of the apostle who was "caught up into paradise." We would simply ask the reader, whatever and wherever heaven may be, should he not risk every thing else to be for ever with the Lord? Would you not feel perfectly safe, and assured of happiness, if you believed you were going to dwell, without any ceasing, in the place where God is, an infinitely happy being, reconciled to and rejoicing in all who are with Him? Would you not be willing

to trust your soul on such an assurance, though the place and the employments of heaven should be undefined?

Yes; this is the hope and confidence of the Christian. Now he is a son of God. This is enough for him to know, even though it doth not yet appear what he shall be. But he knows, too, that when his Redeemer shall appear he shall see him as he is.

Surely this is reasonable. After all that God has done for men, after all that Christ has endured for them, after all the manifestation of love which He has made to his redeemed children, they may be confident that their joy will be full when they are taken to his very presence in heaven. Surely, if God spared not his own Son for their sakes, he will, together with him, freely give them all things.

There, too, will be collected all that was pure and holy on earth and in heaven. The spirits of just men made perfect, and an innumerable company of angels, are there. Every being is holy.

Holy love will be universal throughout all the myriads. Peace and joy will prevail without any cessation or disturbance. There will be none to interrupt the harmony of the blessed family.

Should not this attract our souls to heaven ? Is not this prospect of eternal peace and safety, this assurance of for ever dwelling with God and the saints, enough to captivate every heart that feels its immortality?

Reader, WILL YOU COME?

GRANDEUR OF THE SCRIPTURES.

SETTING aside the circumstances of their Divine origin, and consequent moral excellence, the Scriptures of the Old Testament present such a field of curious, useful, and noble investigation, on so many of the most interesting subjects which can occupy the human mind, viewed under so many romantic, elevated, and interesting lights; and they are, besides, so rich in all the elements of true sublimity and beauty, whether in poetry or history, that they are pre-eminently worthy of the most minute and patient study which the Christian philosopher, or the man of taste and genius, can bestow upon them. It will hereafter, perhaps, be regretted, as an anomaly in the history of the human intellect, that the. poems of Homer should, for ages, have attracted the attention of the profoundest

minds, and been made, for a time, almost the exclusive object of criticism in all its forms, and of associated inquiry in all its ten thousand wanderings; and yet that the Hebrew writings of the inspired volume, though equally before the eye and in the memory of men, should have been long passed by with such total absence of every thing like an attentive study, as to have left the great body of the most learned critics completely ignorant of their true nature, and gravely mistaking their poetry for prose.

ly. Understand me, however, I have never heard them declare their belief in words; but I know that the fact is so, from their constant practice. As I said before, they are pious and good men, and often join the rest of God's people in singing,

"My heart and flesh cry out for thee,

When far from thine abode."

Now, what but a conviction that Sunday's rain, cold, or storm, is especially deleterious, could induce them to put such a constraint on their governing inclinations as to cause them to forego the pleasure of assembling themselves together in God's house?

A QUESTION PROPOSED.

[From an American Publication.] DEAR SIR,-Excuse the liberty which I take in addressing you on a subject which, at first view, would appear to be calculated for the meridian of a secular publication, or one devoted exclusively to

science.

As I have often been edified, however, by the contents of your paper, on various subjects not strictly of a religious character, I trust that you will receive this also, which, as an interesting question in natural philosophy, must claim the attention of every one who has a proper sense of the value of that science.

The point is this-I wish to be informed of the reason why the rain which falls on the first day of the week, is so much more injurious to the health of both man and beast who are exposed to its influence, than that which falls on other days of the week. Perhaps you will say to me, "Prove the fact, before you ask

for a solution of it." Sir, the fact is undoubted, as I shall presently show to you. I live within the bounds of a congregation of Presbyterians in the country; in our church the fact has long been known. There is Captain A., Squire B., Elder C., Brother D., and a number of others, good and pious men, who assert it strong

But there is another fact which, taken connexion with the above, may perhaps help to explain it. I have observed that there are two days in a week when exposure to severe storms is not at all injurious. These are Wednesday and Saturday, on which days I have observed that no weather keeps them from market; for they are all market goers, careful men, look well after the main chance, provide well for their families, and thereby prove that they are not worse than infidels.

Now, sir, can you explain this matter, and give us some philosophical reason why there is this difference in days? may there not be some hidden sympathetic connexion between the animal system and the pocket, that would tend to explain it ? Perhaps, however, you could convince us that it is all a mistake, that there is really no more danger in going to church than to market, and if you could do this, you might be the means of filling our pews even on a rainy Sunday.

A SABBATH IN THE ASYLUM AT
HARTFORD, AMERICA.

[Written by a deaf and dumb Pupil.] THERE is an interesting meeting in the asylum for the deaf and dumb, every Sabbath, which is the best day in the week, the best day in which heavenly things are taught, about our souls and a future state, that will make us better and happier. We should think of the goodness of God, who hath given it us to spend, so we may become more useful and good unto salvation, and dwell in his presence with the holy and happy angels for ever.

When the deaf and dumb rise every Sunday morning, we offer prayers to God, and thank him for keeping us alive