AT

Glasgow, Friday, April 11, 1817. T the hour of dinner we went to North wood-side,' a delightful country residence about two miles from Glasgow, the property of an opulent merchant. It is situated upon the Kelvin, a tributary stream of the Clyde, and, together with its grounds, exhibits striking evidences of the elegant but costly taste of its proprietor. The gentleman had been in America, and was not a little attached to its form of government, a partiality which naturally extended itself to the individuals concerned in its administration; and, accordingly we were gratified with beholding the portraits of several of our most distinguished countrymen adorning the walls of his apartments. The afternoon passed highly to our satisfaction; and we would have gladly accepted an invitation, which was given with a sincerity which could not be mistaken, to protract our visit beyond the day, but for engagements which required our return to Glasgow. After coffee we left North Wood-side, and reached the city in season to sup at the Rev. Dr. Chalmers'.

It had been my good fortune to meet and become partially acquainted with this extraordinary man in Edinburgh. N ATHENEUM VOL. 8.

He had politely invited me to visit him in Glasgow, and this morning I called at his house, and passed half an hour with him. I found him then much engaged in completing some preparations for a journey to London which he is to commence on Monday. He desired my company at supper in the evening, and extended the invitation to my companion. We found a few friends at his house, among whom were several ladies. Mrs. C. possesses a pleasing person, and engaging manners, and performed the honours of the table with great propriety. Dr. C. had finished the necessary arrangements for his journey, and entered freely into an animated and instructive conversation. His colloquial powers are of an high order. Even in familiar conversation, he is impressive and striking;-although he seems not to be ambitious of display or the distinction of taking a lead.-He is at home on most of the popular topics of the day. In discussing any of interest, he engages totus in illis.' His thoughts in that case are rapid, and his remarks,

assuming the complexion of his fervid mind, abound in glowing but easy illustrations. He spoke very feelingly upon the subject of the English poor laws, and the alarming increase of men

dicity in Scotland. As an instance of the unnatural state of things in Glasgow itself, he referred to the sum of 14,000l. sterling, which in less than a month had been raised by subscription in this single city, for the relief of the poorer classes. To the honour, however, of the wealthy population of Glasgow, it should be added, that the monies thus contributed, have been more than enough, with other private benefactions, to supply the present need; and the surplus has been funded to meet some future, and I hope, very distant exigency.

Conversation at table turned upon that dark and malignant spirit of infidelity, which under various forms, seems insidiously stealing like a pestilence throughout society. Dr. C.'s remarks upon this subject were very eloquent, both in commenting upon the different masks which it assumes, and the coverts wherein it lurks, and in suggesting some seemingly effectual checks to the prevalence of this tremendous evil. The inquiries of Dr. C. relative to America, as well now as during a former interview, indicated no small degree of attention which he has paid to its civil and religious institutions. He spoke in terms of great commendation of the writings of the late Jonathan Edwards, and pronounced them to be among the ablest in English theology. In metaphysics be considers Edwards to have equalled the deepest thinkers of his age.

The supper at Dr. C.'s was liberally and tastefully provided. Immediately after its removal, and before the wine was placed upon the table, the service of evening devotion was introduced. It was simple but engaging; consisting of a portion of scripture, which was read with great solemnity, and a prayer, during which all the company kneeled, as is usual to family devotions through out this country. The servants were present. It was nearly twelve o'clock when we took leave of Dr. C. A very friendly request which he made that I would visit him hereafter in Glasgow, I fear that I shall never have it in my power to comply with.

Glasgow, 14th April.-Yesterday I had the satisfaction to hear Dr. Chalmers preach once more. It was generally understood that it would be the last time that he would officiate in Glasgow for two or three months, and the crowds which assembled to hear him were very great. He was absent from bis own pulpit, by exchange, in the morning, which did not prevent, however, many from following him to the church where he preached. The Tron, in the afternoon, was overflowing some time before the hour of service, and the rush of people to the doors was as great as I have seen at Covent Garden, when John Kemble was to play. I repaired early to the church with some ladies, and we were fortunate in procuring excellent seats. Dr. C. fully equalled my expectations, although I have heard him in Edinburgh produce a superior effect. The eloquence of this great man is very vehement and impassioned. The effect which he produces in preaching, does not consist in approaching his point by any artful and covert process of reasoning and illustration, but by openly marching up and confronting it with unhesitating and manly intrepidity. Whatever faults may be detected in Dr. C.'s style by the cool eye of fastidious criticism,-from the profusion of his ornaments, the overstraining of his metaphors, the redundancy of bis expressions,-perhaps there is no person living who, when once seen and heard, would be pronounced more free than he from the petty or laboured artifices which are generally employed to recommend and enforce instruction. So regardless is he of the factitious aids of composition, that his style may often. be considered negligent, and sometimes even coarse. This again may be regarded by hyper-critics as a species of affectation; a contrary, and, I believe, a juster inference may be drawn from the fact. Dr. C. unconsciously overlooks, while he is thought studiously to disdain, the more common trappings and gilding of composition. In preaching, he seems wholly absorbed in his sublime occupation, and to be irresistibly borne along by the grandeur of

bis theme. As a man, he appears to sink under a prostrating sense of his own personal nothingness, but as a berald of the christian faith, he rises to the majesty of more than mortal elevation. In discussing the great truths of Revelation, his imagination, it is true, kindles; and strange it would be if it did not. The fire which is elicited is the natural effect of the rapid motion of his thoughts, combined with the fervour of his ardent piety. His single services yesterday were enough to prove him the first preacher of his age. In each of his discourses there are some parts which are particularly impassioned, and at such moments he hurries onward as with the excitement of inspiration, and produces an effect which Whitefield could not have surpassed. At these times, too, the listening audience may be seen bending forward, as if with breathless interest, to catch each word as it falls from his lips; and, on his arriving at the conclusion of the particular train of sentiment, again arousing as from the spell of a dream to the reality of conscious existence. This is not fancy, or, if it be, it is one which I am not singular in possessing. Dr. C. at least produces the effect of awakening susceptibilities in the most obdurate bosoms. I was present one evening when he was preaching in lady Glenorchy's chapel, in Edinburgh, and occupied a seat next to Spurzbeim, the celebrated craniologist. I noticed that he was deeply engaged by the preacher. On his finishing, I enquired what he thought of him? "It is too much, too much," said he, passing his hand across his forehead," my brain is on a fever by what I have been hearing," a striking declaration from a cold and phlegmatic German.

Dr. C. seems to act and feel as one, who, possessed of great intellectual endowments, is conscious that he owes them all to the service of religion. His aim apparently is, to "bring every thought into captivity to the truth of Christ," and to "cast down each lofty imagination," at the foot of the cross. To add to the weight of his discourses, he is accustomed to call into requisition

the abounding stores of his various knowledge. In delivering his sermons he usually commences in a low, but always a distinct tone of voice; and proceeds for some time with a calm and uniform utterance. As his subject is developed, his mind and feelings gradually expand, and his voice is insensibly raised. His manner at first is not prepossessing; nor indeed is his voice to an English ear, as it has much of the Fifeshire accent. The hearer, however, soon loses whatever is disagreeable in each; and even forgets the man while listening to the message of the preacher. Dr. C. appears turned of thirty-eight, in his person he is tall, and rather slender; his hair and complexion incline to dark; his eye is a blue tending to gray, and is distinguished at first only by a certain heaviness in its expression. It beams however in conversation, and flashes in public discourse.

Some facts in the history of this extraordinary man are peculiar. For the first few years of his ministry he was settled in Kilmany, an inconsiderable parish in the county of Fife. While there,he was generally accounted a man of talents, but rather indifferent to the duties of his profession, fond of social and gay company, proud of his intellectual powers and no less so of his acquirements, and careless of the construction which the more serious part of the community might put upon his principles and sentiments. If I'am correctly informed, he occasionally gave lectures in natural philosophy at the university of St. Andrews, and was considered as belonging to the moderate party in the kirk. Dr. Brewster applied to him to write the article Christianity, in his Encyclopedia; and it is said, that the train of thought into which his investigation led him, terminated in convictions which had the effect of changing his whole course of life and sentiments; and from that moment, entering into the ranks of orthodoxy, he became an eminent and powerful champion of the faith. His essay has since been published in a separate form, and entitled the “ Evi

dences of Christianity." Shortly after this remarkable change, his reputation rose with astonishing rapidity; his zeal in the service of religion became inextinguishable; and if the excellence of a preacher is to be estimated by his popularity, Dr. C. is decidedly the first in Great Britain. He was transferred to Glasgow two or three years ago. His parish is very large, consisting, as he told me, of nearly ten thousand souls. So great a number imposes duties upon him peculiarly heavy; nor does his constitution seem capable of sustaining his fatigues. In delivering his dis

courses from the pulpit, which generally occupy an hour, it is usual with him to stop about midway, and read a hymn of six or eight verses, to be sung by the audience, while an opportunity is given him to recover from the partial exhaustion occasioned by this vehement oratory. The people in Edinburgh are desirous of erecting a church for him, and requesting him to settle among them; but an obstacle is found in the jealousy of the inhabitants of Glasgow, who look with no small uneasiness upon every thing which tends to aggrandize the reputation of Edinburgh.

THE CASTLE-GOBLIN.

TWO lovers, a youth and a maiden, once lived on the banks of the Rhine, where it winds between the lofty rocks, and is overhung with gloomy forests. The passage-barks go furiously with the stream of the river in this part; and the helmsman used to return thanks to the Virgin when he saw behind him the old Single Tower of Neuftchaberg. From this ruin, standing upright and alone, like a pine-tree, the owl still sent a long and loud cry, when the shadow of night fell heavily from the lofty bank over the boiling current of the profound

water.

Once, only once, dear life of my soul, do I desire to have thee to myself, with out fear of spies; that fancy may be left free to the delight which thy presence would ever bring, did not the eye of jealous suspicion watch me, as for the secret robber of the fold.

She listened to his pleading breath, and tears filled her blue eyes. But the maiden spake not in reply, for her heart beat, and caused the words to die on her powerless tongue.

Look up, my love, look up! Behold the old Single Tower of Neuftchaberg : to it the helmsman looks as he guides the passage-bark. Hearken! the owl sends forth his long and loud cry, for the shadow of night falls heavily on the deep water. Am I dear to thee, thou

beloved one? If so, meet me there,

above, even where the owl cries, at the safe midnight hour: then the world shall be only to us.

The maiden shuddered; but, as she trembled, she came more close to the bosom of the youth. Thou art dear to me; and well thou knowest how dear! but, alas, how shall I meet thee at midnight at the old Single Tower of Neuftchaberg! Doth not the cry of the foul bird already chill my blood? And shall I dare to meet the dull eyes of the Castle-Goblin, as they gleam with a grey light from the narrow windowholes of the silent ruin !

As she spake, the owl again shrieked loud and long: it seemed the hollo of the Castle-Goblin: the lovers started; and the helmsman, as the sound leaped through the water-caves, made the sign of the cross, and prayed earnestly to the Virgin. In a moment all was again still nothing was heard but the motion of the boiling current.

Slowly rose the moon, with creeping edge, above the dim boundary of the night-sky. And, as she rose, a trembling light fell on the old Single Tower. Then its narrow window-holes appeared, and the clearing air shone beyond them. No Goblin-eyes gleamed as in horrid sockets: the bramble and the ivy hung over the rifted fragments, and the parted leaves of each were distinctly seen

The maiden stood close to the youth, who soothingly inclined her cheek to his. The night-wind mingled with their breathings, and the rushing of the impetuous Rhine seemed less fierce in its noise. The cry of the owl had ceased. And doth the beloved-one fear the Castle-Goblin, said the enamoured youth? Love hath no idle fears it only dreadeth the jealous suspicion that causeth separation, and sad disappointment, and wan anxiety.

The maiden wept, but still her cheek rested on the youth's. Ah, more than the Castle-Goblin, I dread the demons that dwell in the heart. Let me not name them: thou wilt spare me the shame. Guard then thy fidelity, whilst thou preservest thy patience; and save thyself from remorse, and me, thy love, from guilt and dark disgrace!

And now the moon shone clear and full in the height of the heavenly arch. All the air was a silvery blue: even the old Single Tower of Neuftchaberg was arrayed in a mild brightness. Its narrow window-holes seemed stripes of light, enlivening the gloom of its ruined walls. As the passage-bark glided swiftly below the rock, the sound of the anthem, sung by the helmsman to the divine Mother and Virgin, with hair of gold, rose above the rushing of the water. The lovers stood, silent and close together, in the beauty of the fair night. Scarcely were seen to move the heads of the wild field-flowers, as the gentle wind fleeted onward to the smiling distance.

But soon the lover prayed more fervently than before: Meet me at the safe hour of midnight, in the mossgrown court of the ruined tower! There the world shall be only to us; and the evil eye of suspicion shall be away!

Faultering accents moved on the tongue of the maiden, and she found her lips joined, with soft and lingering pressure, to the youth's. Passion was in their hearts.

The moon descended redly to the opposite verge of the fading heaven. Moaning, deep, and broken, commenced again the hooting of the bird of night. The breeze came chill, and

with a swelling noise, from the forest on the hills behind the voice of the river rose; and a melancholy shade fell over the old Single Tower of Neuftchaberg.

Where the lovers stood was now an empty space. They had disappeared. The wild field-flowers bent their heads to the ground, as the cutting wind glided swiftly by.

See! the moon now scarcely preserves her swarthy discoloured rim, above the far-distant limit of the nightsky. A vapour is gone forth, and the shadows are dense.

Whose is that form that ascends the rocky path-way towards the grey ruin? It is the maiden that climbs amongst the waving bushes, in the steep and narrow track. Her white dress flutters in the air; her steps slide; she pauses as if she would return. Midnight is near. She advances again and now she is lost in the shade of the old tower.

Hark! in one loud, continuous, shrill cry, the owl is heard: the sound lengthens as it speeds; the boatmen listen aghast. The figure of the maiden, passes by a chasm in the grey wall. The moon drops into the abyss, and all is dark.

But the youth hath met his beloved one, and tears of joy and gratitude run down his flushed cheeks. His arms entwine her waist: they are in the court-yard of the tower. Their eyes are full of love: their souls are as their eyes. Broken battlements rise over them; riven arches, fragments of fallen strength are about. Drearily gleam the narrow window-holes in the darkness; and the waving thistle rustles, as if to alarm.

They are seated on the soft moss that springs from the ancient stones. High beats the heart of the youth, for here suspicion does not watch: but the maiden trembles : her hands are cold: she is weak, and timid, and mutters as a sick child.

A clammy horror creeps over her senses as she regards the blackness of a low door-way full before her face. It once led to the pit of tears, the deep dungeon of the ancient tower. But the