for centuries-why, then, teach them a religion which is fit only for freemen?

"In the fourth place, they are sunk so very deep in vice and misery that it is impossible to release them from it-why, then, attempt it?

In the fifth place, who would think of beginning to convert foreign nations, till we have converted every one of our own people? "Sixthly, when the time comes for the general conversion of the world, some sign will be sent from Heaven to tell us of it.

"Such, Sir, are my reasons for resisting the measure: and whoever promotes it, and opposes me, is an enthusiast, and an enemy to the King and to the Church of England."

Having made my speech, I will own that I expected, as the very smallest return, the loud acclamations of the astonished assembly. But a most profound silence ensued; till a clergyman, who, as I then thought, looked old enough to know better, arose, and thus addressed the assembly:

"Instead, Sir, of replying directly to the reasonings of the speaker who has preceded me, I will simply put another case, and request his decision upon it. Suppose, instead of the present assembly, a thousand Peruvians convened on the banks of the Amazon, to take into consideration a supplication from the nations of Europe to supply them with that bark of Peru which is the only known antidote for a very large class of our diseases. And conceive, if you will, the preceding speaker, who, I am sure, would be happy to undertake the embassage, 'to be the advocate for these feverish and aguish nations to the only possessors of this antidote. Imagine him to arise amidst the tawny multitude, and, with much feeling and emphasis, to state, that at least sixty millions of people depended upon their determination for health and life. At once, I am persuaded, the cry of that multitude would interrupt the pleadings of the orator, and one, and all, would exclaim, Give them bark! give them bark! and let not an European perish, whom it is possible for a Peruvian to save.' Thus far all would be well. But conceive, instead of the assembly being permitted to act upon this benevolent decision, some Peruvian, of an age in which the prevalence of policy or mere prudence over justice and benevolence is more intelligible and pardonable, to arise, and thus to address his

countrymen:

"Peruvians, you are far too precipitate. Consider, I beseech you, the character and circumstances of the persons for whom this privilege is demanded.

In the first place, they are civilized nations-they read and write; they sleep in beds, and ride in coaches; they wear coats and trowsers-who, then, will say that bark is meant for such persons as these?

"In the second place, their fevers and agues may have many excellencies with which we are unacquainted- why, then, attempt to cure them?

"In the third place, these fevers and agues assist exceedingly to thin their armies- why, then, strengthen them, merely to destroy ourselves?

"Fourthly, these fevers and agues are so deep seated and violent' that it is impossible to cure them-why, then, attempt it?

"In the fifth place, who would think of curing foreign nations, till we have cured all the sick in Peru ?

"Sixthly, when the time comes for the general cure of fevers and agues. I have no doubt that the Great Spirit will give us some sign from the mountains.

66.

Such, Peruvians, are my reasons for opposing the wish of the speaker; and whoever promotes it, or opposes me, is a madman, and an enemy both to the Incas and the Great Spirit.'

"Now then," continued the old clergyman, "supposing the Peruvian orator thus to reason, I should be glad to know by what answer that young gentleman would repel his arguments."

He then to my infinite horror, sat down, and left me with the eyes of the assembly fixed upon me, as if waiting for my reply; but not having any precisely ready, I thought it best to be taken suddenly ill, and to leave the room.' pp. 103-109.

The Author's forte, however, lies by no means in humour, and we could wish on this account, that he would submit his productions to a severer revisal. We have alluded to the broad style of some passages which might be termed droll, but the joke is sometimes rather clumsily managed. We shall not proceed to specify instances of the kind, but shall rather prove our words by shewing in what the Author does excel, and that is, in touches of simple pathos, and religious feeling.

"Fanny came to our village at the age of eighteen-one of the most lovely creatures you ever saw. Her eyes were full of intelligence, her complexion bright, and her smile such as at once to fix the eye and win the affection of every one who conversed with her. She was gay, good humoured, and obliging;-but without religion. She had left her father's house to come here as servant at a public house. In this situation, the worst that might have been anticipated happened. She was ruined in character; left the public house when she could no longer retain her situation; married the partner of her guilt, and came to live in this little cottage. There, as is usually the case in marriages where neither party respect the other, he first suspected, then ill-treated her. When her child was born, his hatred and anger seemed to increase. He treated both with cruelty; and, after some time, succeeded in ruining her temper, and almost breaking her heart. At length, after a quarrel, in which it is to be feared both had been almost equally violent, he threw her over the hedge of their garden, and brought on the disease of which she is now dying During the two years in which all these events had occurred her neglect of God and of religion had, I suppose, increased; all that was amiable in her character vanished; and she learned to swear and to scold in almost as furious a tone as her husband. I could not learn that, during all this time, she had more than once discovered the smallest sense of her misconduct, or fears about futurity. Once, indeed, her neighbours told me, that, when

she heard the clergyman in his sermon describe the happiness of Heaven, she burst into tears, and quitted the church.”' pp. 146—148.

"After conversing with her for some time on topics of this kind, and discovering her to be a person of strong feelings deeply wounded, of fine but uncultivated powers, and of remarkable energy of expression, I naturally proceeded to deliver to her a part of that solemn message with which, as the minister of religion, I am charged and not discovering in her the smallest evidence of penitential feelingbeing able, indeed, to extract nothing more from her than a cold and careless acknowledgment that she was not all she ought to be.'-I conceived it right to dwell, in my conversation with her, chiefly upon those awful passages of Scripture designed by Providence to rouse the unawakened sinner. Still, Sir, feeling then, as I do always, that the weapon of the Gospel is rather love than wrath, I trust that I did not so far forsake the model of my gracious Master, as to open a wound without endeavouring to shew how it might be bound up. Few persons are, in my poor judgment, frightened into Christianity: God was not in the earthquake-he was not in the storm'-but in 'the small still voice."

6

"After a pretty long conversation, I left her, altogether dissatisfied, I will own, with her apparent state of mind. Nay, such was my proneness to pronounce upon the deficiencies of a fellow-creature, that I remember complaining, on my return home, with some degree of peevishness I fear, of the hardness of her heart. I would fain hope, Sir, that I have learnt, by this case, to form unfavourable judgments of others more slowly; and in dubious, or even apparently bad cases, 'to believe,' or, at least, to hope, all things.' Pp. 150-152. Fanny however gets worse, and sends one of her poor neighbours to desire the clergyman's attendance.

"It was evident, as I entered the room, how anxious she had been to see me. At once she began to describe her circumstances; informed me, that, even before my first visit, her many and great sins had begun to trouble her conscience; that although her pride had then got the better of her feelings of shame and grief, this conversation had much increased them; that she had since, almost every evening, visited the house of a neighbour, to hear her read the Scriptures and other good books; that she was on the edge of the grave, without peace or hope; that she seemed, (to use her own strong expression) to see God frowning upon her in every cloud that passed over her head.'

Having endeavoured to satisfy myself of her sincerity, I felt this to be a case where I was bound and privileged to supply all the consolations of religion; to lead this broken-hearted creature to the feet of a Saviour; and to assure her, that if there she shed the tear of real penitence, and sought earnestly for mercy, He, who had said to another mourner, Thy sins are forgiven thee,' would also pardon, and change, and bless her.

"I will not dwell upon the details of this and many other similar conversations. Imperfectly as I discharged the holy and happy duty

of guiding and comforting her, it pleased God to bless the prayers which we offered together to the Throne of Mercy; and this poor, agitated, comfortless creature became, by degrees, calm and happy.

"You will not, Sir, I trust, place me among those who are ready to mistake every strong turn in the tide of the feelings for religion. On the contrary, all sudden changes of character are, I think, to be examined with a wary, though not with an uncharitable eye. There are, indeed, innumerable happy spirits which surround the throne of God; but all of them bear in their hands' palms'-the signs, at once, of contest and of victory. 1 was far more anxious, therefore, to know that her penitence was sincere, than that her joy was great. But, indeed, it was not long possible to doubt of either. The rock was struck, and there daily gushed out fresh streams of living water. New and most attractive qualities daily appeared in her. She became gradually meek, humble, affectionate, and self-denying. Her time was divided between the few family duties she was able to discharge, and the study of the Scriptures, which she learned to read fluently during her six months' sickness. She bent every faculty of her body and mind to the task of reclaiming her husband. And a more affecting picture can scarcely be imagined, than this interesting creature rising on the bed of anguish to calm his anger, to melt him by accents of tenderness, to beseech him to unite in her dying prayer for mercy.' pp. 154-157.

'I am delighted also to discover one other circumstance. She is, as I said, full of peace and joy; but, then, her peace and joy are derived exclusively from one source. There is a picture in Scripture of which her state continually reminds me-I mean that of the poor creature pressing through the crowd to touch the hem of our Lord's garment. Such, I may say, is the perpetual effort of her mind. She renounces all hopes of Heaven founded either on herself or any human means; and relies only on that virtue' which goes out of the 'great Physician,' to heal the diseased, and to save the guilty.' pp. 159,

.160.

These extracts will operate as a forcible recommendation of this little volume. The character of the Clergyman is admirably drawn, and no idea of the Author could be formed more pleasing than that it delineates his own likeness.

Art. VIII. Margaret of Anjou. A Poem; in six Cantos. By Miss Holford; Author of Wallace, or the Fight of Falkirk. 4to. Price 21. 2s. Murray, 1816.

THE

HE first poetical effort of Miss Holford's pen, displayed so much genius and feeling, that the faults, few in number, with which they were accompanied, seemed little more than the natural and almost inevitable consequences of that hurry of composition into which enthusiasm is liable to betray. The applause which "Wallace" received, or the injudicious advice of friends, tempted the fair Author, soon after, to usher into the world a volume of miscellaneous verses, which removed

beyond the little circle for which they were originally written and to whom their particular circumstances may be familiar, lose all claim to interest, on the part of their readers. But, as we have seen so many instances of poets and of poetesses, taking unaccountable pains to forfeit, by the publication of "Poems on several occasions," that fame they had previously acquired by directing the whole of their powers towards some one important object, we still retained our former opinion of Miss Holford's genius, though we must confess that her judgement suffered considerably in our estimation. We still looked forward to the appearance of a work that should exhibit a greater degree of that beauty and vigour which were displayed in her first performance, with a proportionate decrease of the incorrectness, carelessness, and affected quaintness, which constitute some of the chief faults of the minstrels of the day.

Margaret of Anjou is not in itself a very promising title; and the size and price of the volume that professed to sing of her exploits, made us put on our gravest looks, as we began to read about it, and about it.' And indeed, we soon found that our muscles had assumed the expression the very best suited to the subject; nor were we conscious during our progress through the poem, that any circumstance had occurred to cause any thing like a necessity for relaxing them. The same state of calm composure with which we should have read the chronicles of Hall and Stow, in their own plain, unvarnished prose, remained with us during our perusal of those parts of their writing which Miss H. has given herself the trouble to do into verse. It did indeed once cross our mind, as a remarkable circumstance, that a person who is capable of giving interest and energy to any subject upon which the imagination can be left to roam at full liberty, should voluntarily seek shackles by selecting one, in treating of which it would seem that an extreme but well intended respect for the integrity of historic truth, would render it absolutely necessary to forego all the extraneous aids of fiction.

Nor can we commend Miss H.'s choice of a Heroine, or the manner in which she has been careful to delineate her. No reader, with the very best of his wishes and endeavours about him, will be able to secure a due degree of sympathy for the sorrows of a woman who is prominently represented as forgetful alike of the ties of humanity and of nature; who shocks even her own son by the vehemence of her declarations of implacable hatred against her enemies, and who returns the services of her friends with insolence and ingratitude. Yet, such is Margaret of Anjou, as portrayed by Miss Holford; and there is no other character in the whole piece, of suficient importance to divert the attention from the