blood of scriptural truth into the languid and exhausted veins of a luxurious and indulgent society, to open the eyes of those who are immersed in the pleasures or entangled in the cares which the pursuit or possession of riches bring; such is the general object, we should say, and tenor of these excellent and animated discourses: which, delivered with that power which all acknowledge, and we ourselves have witnessed, the preacher to possess, must have produced no transitory effect on the minds of those who heard them, and now more widely diffused by the press, we believe will increase that high reputation which the author enjoys as a scholar and a divine, and will satisfy the labour bestowed on them, by the success they will receive. Yet, after all we have said, we cannot do justice to the Archdeacon's volume by any extracts we can make. How is a volume of thought and ability to be judged of by a few sentences, or small fragments taken from an entire and well conducted argument? No works of any class in literature are so little formed for extracts as sermons, unless, indeed, an ample space is at hand, and then little less than the abridgment of the whole discourse is required. The eloquence of the pulpit, generally speaking, is not distinguished by the brilliancy of its corruscation, or the flaming rapidity of its course; but rather by the pure luminous æther in which it is seen, tracking its serene and tranquil way. It can occasionally launch forth its thunders, but the "still small voice" is that by which it ordinarily speaks. One sentence could display the withering sarcasms of a Chatham, or the bold apostrophes of Erskine; but the masculine reasoning of Sherlock, or the eloquent exposition of Barrow, require a continued attention, and must be pursued through the entire discourse. All we can do at present is to extract a passage on the subject of Self-denial from the seventh discourse, as a specimen of the author's manner. It is taken from Sermon VII. entitled, "A severe life necessary for Christ's followers :""

"And if we cannot find anything in which we deny ourselves already, we must needs resolve on something in which we may deny ourselves henceforward. And, in resolving, we should remember that it

is a poor self-denial which foregoes only inexpedient or unnecessary things. These are not the subject matter of selfdenial. It is in things lawful and innocent, and it may be gainful and honourable, and in keeping with our lot in life, and such things as the world, by its own measure, esteems to be necessary things, that we may really try ourselves; as, for instance, in living more simply than our station in life may prescribe, or our fortune require; in withdrawing from contests of precedence; in contenting ourselves with a lower place and a less portion than is our acknowledged due; in living toilsome lives of well-doing when we might these, or in points of the like kind, we may do well and yet live without toiling :-in

many ways. find matter for self-denial, and that in A man may either deny himself greatly, and once, so that his whole after-life shall bear the marks of it; as in giving up some high and luring offer, and choosing a lowlier and simpler one; in foregoing some dearly-cherished purpose, that he may be more absolutely His; in crossing some deep yearning of the heart, that he may have more to lay out in His service; or he may so order his self-denial as to make it a daily and continual sacrifice; he may so mete out his acts as to spread them over a wider surface, and along a more protracted time; which is, indeed, like retaining what we have, and administering it by a continual stewardship, compared with the selling at one cast all that we possess," &c.

Again, on the same subject in Serm. XII. p. 167.

"They that give up only what they tions; rich and easy people seldom reach care not to retain, make but poor oblathe point of real self-denial. It is in things lawful, and as the world deems necessary, but, in the severe judgment of a devoted mind, tending to relax the tone of our obedience, that we may prove the singleness of our purpose. For instance, in things harmless in themselves, but inexpedient for our own sake or for others; in narrowing the freedom we might ourselves enjoy, lest any other for whom Christ died should be misled by our example; in leaving unsaid and undone many things which may tend to irritatoin or questioning in uninstructed or prejudiced minds. Moreover, it is not only for the safety of others, but of ourselves, that we must needs limit our use even of lawful things. He is in great peril of judgment who never foregoes anything that he might lawfully enjoy. He that lives on a dubious boundary line, trusting his own steadfastness, is ever ready to slip over into a

transgression. More men perish by exceeding in the measure of lawful things than in deliberate commission of things forbidden; it is a perilous footing on the giddy edge of a precipice. Again, a man may deny himself in things held by the mind to be eligible and good, such as by custom are almost forced upon us, and in themselves are full of promise, and it may be of enjoyment, and yet are cumbrous, and hinder the devoting ourselves to Christ. There was nothing of evil in Martha's life; but Mary's was the higher and more hallowed. Martha was careful about many things; yet all these things were innocent: Mary about only one, and that alone was needful. There is nothing evil in the possession of lands and riches; yet they bring much toil of heart and overburdening of care. They defraud a man of much of himself, and make him pay tribute of more than half of all his hopes, and fears, and thoughts, and hours of day and night-half, that is, of his whole earthly being, and it may be poverty in the world to come, as the cost or tax at which he buys the trouble of being rich. The very thought of being contented at any point short of the utmost gain, is lost from among men. They have no horizon to their aims for this world, and therefore they have their reward. It is a poor, palpable, proximate reward here on earth. The aim of most men falls short and terminates in something on this side of the resurrection; some phantasy of earthly happiness. It may be then that each one of us may find something which he may forego for the sake of the world to come; some possession, or purpose of life, or wish of heart; some of the permitted self-indulgences common to his rank and fortune; and this foregone for the sake of living a life of larger charity, or of more abstracted devotion, that is, for the sake of making charity or devotion the great and governing aim of the whole life, and all other things as means and opportunities to it, shall not be forgotten where all self-denials are remembered; and so shall you have your lot with him who said, Behold! we have left all things, what shall we have therefore? Remember then, brethren, that in all these acts of selfrestriction there must be the sincere intent to do it for Christ's sake; otherwise our acts are like inarticulate sounds, without emphasis or meaning. Many men seem to live a mortified life, and, as far as mere self-restraint, really do so, and yet not for Christ's sake, but for some earthly end. Doubtless the rich young man denied himself for his great possessions. None forsake and forfeit more than they that will be rich.' But

we know that the severest life, without a conscious choice, is less than the least acts of self-impoverishment, with a clear and single aim of foregoing something that we may find it in His kingdom. Peter's worldly all was a boat and a net; and the alabaster box of ointment had a great testimony of acceptance, because she had 'done what she could.' They are oftentimes the little ministries of love that shew most devotion, and most intimate resolution of heart. And remember also that, having chosen deliberately, a man must act boldly, not looking back. Half our difficulty in doing anything worthy of our high calling, is the shrinking anticipation of its possible after-consequences. But if Peter had tarried and cast up all that was to come, the poverty, and wandering, and solitude, and lonely old age, the outcast life, and chance of a fearful death, it may be he would have been neither an Apostle nor a Christian," &c.

He who reads these extracts will wish to read more, and few will open the volume who leave any part of it unread.

Selections from the Writings of the

late Sydney Taylor, A.M.

JOHN SYDNEY TAYLOR was born in Dublin in 1795. He was well descended, and on his mother's side from the distinguished chief, General Sarsfield, Earl of Lucan, the devoted adherent of James the Second. The surname of Taylor was assumed by his grandfather on succeeding to the property of a maternal grandfather, which was, however, by thoughtlessness and law combined, so utterly wasted, that he was forced to find subsistence in line engraving. Sydney Taylor was placed at school at Dublin with Mr. S. White, and in that school Thomas Moore and Sheridan also received their education. From this school he was removed to the university, the Rev. Dr. Hall being his tutor, and there he made much proficiency both in classical learning and mathematical studies. In the year of his examination for scholarship, the candidates were forty in number, the places twelve; yet he obtained the second place, and that too upon a best mark from all his examiners. About this time he formed an intimacy with the late Charles Wolfe, so well known by his "Ode on the burial of Sir John Moore," and an anecdote of the readiness of his own

poetical powers is here given, (which, his biographer says, may be called surprising). Some argument taking place relating to Southey's poetical powers, which Taylor at the time was willing to reduce below the proper level, his antagonist quoted a passage from Thalaba. Call you that poetry?" said S. Taylor; "surely any one could write poetry like that." The challenge was accepted; Taylor took pen and paper, and, almost as fast as he could write, improvised the following description of a man left to perish in the wilderness. The verses were as follows:

"He looked upon the wilderness;
No light was in its gloom-
No earthly gleam was there,
No sparkling gem of night.
He listened to the winds;
They swept no grove of palm,
No wood of fluttering leaves.
They bore not on their blast
The torrent's rushing roar,
Whose sound, like heavenly music, might
awake
[doomed
The quick rejoicing sense; no, he was
To hear that desert howl, commingling
harsh,

With burying drifts of sand,
Or linger on the pause,
Which utter silence gave.
That mere expression smote
The solitary man!"

S. Taylor's course of life was now destined to the bar, and to qualify himself for public speaking he became a member of the Historical Society, and soon obtained notice among that body; indeed, so much so, that he was solicited for the arduous duty of closing the session of 1813 with a speech, which was praised by Dr. Magee, honoured with the society's gold medal, and which was dedicated by permission to Lord Plunket.

S. Taylor stood soon after this for the professorship of oratory, which had been generally filled by a senior fellow; but a candidate of the name of Crampton (now a judge) carried away the prize. In 1816 he visited London for the first time, for the purpose of serving his term in the Temple, with a view of being called to the Irish bar; but, after he had resided here some little while, he determined to remain in England, and, having obtained a letter of introduction from Lord Plunket to the Duke of Buckingham,

he determined to settle as a permanent resident in the capital. He then became connected with the public press, and contributed to the columns of the Morning Chronicle. In conjunction with Mr. C. Cooke, he commenced a weekly paper, called the Talisman; but he subsequently accepted a proposal made by the proprietors of the Morning Herald to assist in its management; his time being divided between his profession as a barrister and his labours as a public journalist. On account of the illness of the proprietor, he remained the editor for more than a year. In 1823 he joined Lord Brougham, Dr. Birkbeck, and others in the formation of the London Mechanics' Institute; and, in 1822 being called to the English bar, he joined the Norfolk Circuit in 1824, and became the professional adviser and friend of the Duke of Buckingham. In the course of his early professional career, the claim of Michael Jones Dobert Dillon to the earldom of which was determined in favour of his Roscommon was placed in his hands, client, and he himself was complimented by the Chancellor, Lord Lyndhurst, for his ability. A year previous to this, he married Miss Hall, niece of his friend Mr. James Perry, of the Chronicle, and enjoyed with her the most perfect domestic happiness. Mr. S. Taylor interested himself for the preservation of the Lady Chapel at St. Saviour's, Southwark; as also for that of the beautiful screen at York Minster. After the passing of the Reform Bill, he was invited to go into Parliament to represent one of the boroughs-but he felt that to do so would be to abandon his profession; and, as he did not possess in his own right the necessary property qualification, he considered that alone an insurmountable objection. His life, however, soon after this, was drawing to an early and untimely close. Though naturally of a sound constitution, he was unable from the pressure of business to take the needful exercise;

and functional derangements arose, for which he provided no sufficient remedy. The last great case he was employed in, was that remarkable one of the youth (Oxford) who fired off two pistols at the Queen : His biographer tells us,

"Upon this he stood opposed to the whole strength of the Government bar, and managed the cause of his client with such consummate judgment, that the jury after a most patient investigation returned a verdict that amounted to an acquittal; because they added to their verdict of insanity, that there was no proof that the pistols were loaded. The prisoner would therefore have been forthwith discharged had not the jury been sent back by the judge to reconsider their verdict-when they found him simply of unsound mind, and then justified his detention in a place of confinement."

The last Norfolk Circuit he went was the spring one of 1841. He then defended an unhappy young woman, on the charge of infanticide. Returning from this Circuit in ill health, he soon after retired to his bed, and never permanently rallied. In his illness he was attended by his friends Dr. Arnott and Mr. W. Coulson.

"We cannot," says the writer of his life," dwell upon his lingering disorder, nor the agony of doubts and fears which alternately during weeks and months agitated his sorrowing relations and friends. Suffice it to say, that, after suffering the most excruciating pains-which he endured with the fortitude and resignation that were worthy of his character, and of the faith he professed, on the 10th December 1841 he breathed his last, his confidence being unshaken in that Saviour who had been his humble trust, and through whom alone he looked for life and immortality. He was only forty-five; but wisdom is the grey hair to men, and an unspotted hope is old age."

At a public meeting in Exeter Hall, convened by advertisement, and presided over by Sir John Chetwode, to consider the best tribute to his memory, a meed of praise was bestowed on him by eminent men of all parties. A subscription was entered into, with a view to the publication of a selection from his writings in a permanent form, and a committee, including the Duke of Buckingham, nominated to secure that object; and it is under the superintendence of this committee that the present volume has been compiled: at the same time, another subscription was opened for the purpose of raising a public monument to his name. This object has also been accomplished. The monument erected over his grave is in the cemetery of Kensall Green

a pillar of polished granite, surmounted with an urn of the same material. The inscription is as follows:

"To John Sydney Taylor, A.M. Trin. Coll. Dublin, Barrister-at-Law of the Middle Temple, who died Dec. 10, 1841, aged 45. This tomb was raised by the unanimous vote of a public meeting held in London, Feb. 19, 1842. To mark his maintenance of the principles of Constitutional Liberty, and Christian Morality; and his successful exertions in advocating the abolition of the Punishment of Death."

Such is a brief memoir of the life of a clever, industrious, and estimable person: the contents of the volume published are very various, consisting of the papers which he wrote on the topics that engaged the attention of the day, connected either with law or politics, or on other questions of importance that arose regarding the well-being and improvement of the social system of the country, as Parliamentary Reform, Evils of the Beer Act, of the Game Laws, on Capital Punishments, on Trades Combinations, on Trial by Jury, and other subjects of the same kind. Not less interesting are the characters of the statesmen which he has drawn, either from personal recollection or from general character; as Romilly, Sheridan, Erskine, Sir James Mackintosh; to which are added three speeches at public meetings. The whole volume is certainly creditable to him-both as to his talents and acquirements, and to the useful and honourable direction which he gave them.

The Last Days of Francis the First. By J. Thomas Mott.

THE poems in this volume show the author to be a person of cultivated taste and poetical feeling, though of higher genius there are no strong impressions. We like best the last poem, called of "Farewell, Campania!" which we give a few stanzas as a specimen of the whole.

Oh! well may they whose lot has been
Ordained in colder climes to dwell,

Enjoyments find in this glad scene,

Where sunshine is perpetual; Where nature lures us with a spell So soft, so winning, that the mind, Awhile released, can scarcely quell

A wish to spread its wings before the wind,
And range the world at will, unbiassed, un-
confined.

Come, stand with me upon the height
Of fair Airòla, thence to view
The glories of approaching night
Blending each tint of lighter hue
With distant Ocean's deeper blue,

While doubly heaves the wave below,
And Ischia's peaks are gleaming through
The far horizon, stretch'd in that bright glow
Which none but southern climes and south-
ern sunsets show.

Can skies, and seas, and shores combine
Through all the worlds that suns survey
To make a region more divine?

And shall not traveller love to stray
Where tenfold raptures still repay

His weary toils? When Nature's kiss Of beauty dimples o'er the bay,

[as this, Which mirrors back such matchless forms Thy lofty wave-encircled throne-Neapolis! How brightly glow yon burnish'd skies, As if ten thousand hosts of air Blended their several sacrifice :

Slow sinks the orb in glory there, Descending to his ocean-lair, While his contracting circle throws

A farewell glance of gladness, ere The waves divide and quench his burning brow, [sunless now, &c. The waters o'er him close-the heavens are

LINES FOR MUSIC.

How sweetly smiles the summer morn!
The breeze is light, the bark is sure;
And precious is the burden borne
Along the bonnie banks of Bure.
Let others bask in southern skies,
Or gaze upon the castled Rhine,
We ask not fairer, brighter eyes,

Than those that now around us shine.

May all that dwell on foreign shores

Be blest with hearts as mild and pure As those fair friends whose bark is moored Beside the bonnie banks of Bure.

A warmer welcome I would sing,

Had I that minstrel's magic power
Who loved in days gone by to bring
Soft music to his "Ladyes bower."
Nor are your charms than hers less bright,
Less witching at the evening hour,
To him, your own devoted knight,

Now resting in his "Ladyes bower."
Dear ladies! then our thanks we pay,
And drink a health to you and yours,
In memory of that pleasant day

We passed upon the banks of Bure.

In a little poem like this, the merit of which must consist rather in the propriety of the expression than in the novelty of the ideas, or the elegance of the illustrations, such imperfect rhymes as we have marked in italics GENT. MAG. VOL. XXI.

ought not to have been suffered to pass uncorrected.

St. Patrick's Purgatory; an Essay on the Legends of Purgatory, Hell, and Paradise, current during the Middle Ages. By Thomas Wright, Esq. M.A. F.S.A. &c. Post 8vo. pp. 192.

THIS is a small volume, but possessing the interest of works of larger bulk, whether regarded in connection with its relation to poetical literature, or its more important subjects of superstitious belief and corrupted religion. Among the many productions. of its intelligent and very industrious author, it will not, we think, be the least popular nor the least contributive to his well-earned reputation, produced, as it mainly was, during the leisure and with the care of his earlier years, and now corrected under the advantage of his greater critical experience and acquaintance with ancient literature.

Though expressing a decided opinion upon the subject as respects religion, Mr. Wright treats it principally as a curious chapter in medieval literature. At the same time he remarks in his preface that there is a third point of view in which it may be turned to profit.

I