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 London! 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 was erroneous. But their religious faculties were quickened and expanded, and these, which are the noblest faculties of man, might otherwise have remained undeveloped and inauimate. 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 Huntington 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 him 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, 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 melancholy 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 flesh most miserable, sick of life and afraid of death; but the faster and heavier these burdens and infirmities come on, the sooner 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 hastily 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 which are so imper 6 KK 3 fectly 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 man; 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. At the Grand Assize shall ratify and For England and its Metropolis shall know 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, we 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. 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. ART. 1820. ART. X.-Anastasius, or the Memoirs of a Greek; written at the close of the 18th Century. Third edition. 3 Vols. THIS 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 History 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 extinguished, 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 faithful faithful attachment to WOMAN. Even this attraction is wanting to the character of Anastasius; and if it were not for the parental affection which springs up at the close of his career, we should be at a loss to discover a single quality to bring him within the range of the very comprehensive verse which we have quoted. The plan of the work may perhaps have been suggested by the travels of Anacharsis, which set before the reader very happily the state of ancient Greece at its most interesting period; but the Abbé Barthelemi makes his traveller, like the showman of a spectacle, the mere instrument of exhibiting his pictures, while the narrator himself is kept altogether in the back ground. The hero of Mr. Hope, on the contrary, is a prominent figure on the canvass, and the model may therefore be rather supposed to have been taken from Le Sage or from Smollett. Altogether, it is a work of ability; but the inequalities in matter and manner are so remarkable, that, until the name of Mr. Hope was prefixed, we had been led to conclude that it was not the production of a single mind, but a compilation from a variety of sources; and indeed, to support this idea, it must be confessed that there are many parts which seem to have more than the semblance of a translation. Still, whatever be the history of its origin, it is an extraordinary performance; displaying not only an intimate acquaintance with every thing peculiar to the east, but a knowledge of mankind in general. The writer looks at nature with the eye of a painter and a poet; and his scenes, particularly his sea-pieces, are as perfect as any verbal descriptions can be. The effect of such descriptions, however, must always be faint and indistinct; for light and shade, hill and dale, wood and water, are subjects better suited to the pencil than the pen;-but it is otherwise with his living scenes. The phrenzy of passion, the bloody business of war, the pining misery of captivity, the hopes and fears of love, the agonies of remorse, and the lust of vengeance, are placed before our eyes with a terrible reality, surpassing what the pencil of the painter could hope to achieve. Though there is throughout the book 'a learned spirit in human dealings,' and a deep insight into character, yet it is the bold and the bad, the savage and the sanguinary traits of our nature which Anastasius seems to take most pleasure in pourtraying; and this is often done in that bitter and deriding tone of ridicule and sarcasm, in which the selfish and unprincipled libertine delights to indulge, who, conscious of no virtuous sentiment in his own breast, enjoys a malignant satisfaction in endeavouring to demonstrate that no such quality exists in any other bosom, and that all mankind may be summarily divided into two classes-knaves and fools. Anastasius is the youngest child of the drogueman (i. e. inter preter) |