richness of the illustrations often supplied by his imagination and fancy, sufficed to render his pulpit services generally interesting, in not a few cases deeply so. Nothing gratified him more than to know that the common people heard him gladly. It was then that he ventured to think that his preaching must have borne some resemblance to that of his Divine Master. Preaching on one occasion in a village chapel, a pious old woman, at whose house he stayed, said to him, ‘Ye are a vera nice mahn in t' pulpit, and I should loike to hear ye reglar,' and added, says the preacher, 'what was to me best of all, that she understood every word.' On another occasion, when fearful that his sermon might not be readily intelligible to the lessinstructed among his hearers, he felt himself greatly encouraged, he writes, in seeing a grey-headed mechanic before him, in very humble garb, so attentive as to seem to be drinking in every word. The following extract will go far to explain the secret of such interest:'Last night finished a sermon begun on Thursday evening. I think 'the best I have yet written. In more than one passage I was my'self moved to tears in reading it this morning. God make it useful.' Sermons so prepared cannot be sermons without power. Yes, and the young preacher could find his philosophical, as well as his Christian reasons, for being interested in the piety even of minds thus humble.

Dec. 23rd, 1844.—If a man has an enthusiasm for poetry he will dig up the precious gems though buried in the soil of an obsolete style, or lying among the mysteries of some foreign or dead language. He will hold communion and feel himself one in the matter of poetic fancy, with men who in every other respect were different beings from himself, men who were moulded in bygone customs, and whose whole cast of mind took its tone from the youth of the world which we call remote antiquity. But if this be done for the sake of poetry, surely we should be prepared to give an echo in our heart to true religion, to acknowledge its happy spark though shrouded in the mist and errors of some past age, or associated with a rude lowliness.-Diary.

It must be confessed, however, that at intervals it was not on sermons, nor on theological papers, that my son bestowed the most elaborate attention. His passion for poetry never ceased to exert great influence over him. Before leaving London he had written poetry, and contributed fragments to several periodicals. In 1844, while only in his twenty-first year, he prepared a small volume of poetry for publication. It was entitled The Witch of Endor, and other Poems. He was admonished, that should he venture to print, he would probably live to see that it would have been better to have exercised a little more patience. He admitted this probability, but thought there were other considerations that outweighed it. He had the impression that if he was to do anything eventually in authorship, it became him to face criticism early, and to expect proficiency only from practice.

The fault of the poetry in this volume is an overcrowding of metaphor, in a want of clearness and simplicity. The metaphors are often highly poetical, and indicate an unusual richness of fancy and imagination. But their tendency is too frequently to overlay thought rather than to express it. No one could be more sensible to this imperfection than the writer himself in after years. The volume, however, contains passages which could only have been written by a mind of high poetical capability. It may be well to select an extract or two in confirmation of this statement. following is the opening of the principal poem.

SAUL, DOEG, and NAHOR.

The

The heights of Endor by moonlight. Saul and his attendants stand on the edge of a deep ravine.

DOEG.

My royal master, hard by here she dwells

Of whom the needy mountaineers informed us,

With many fears and tremblings at her vengeance,
That yielded to our gold. Look down, my lord,—
There, in the misty depths of this vast chasm
Over whose edge we lean, a threading stream
Winds dimly, and to the imprisoned darkness
Held there by these twin, almost meeting rocks,
Gives with its silver footsteps mournful light.
That rivulet is born, as we were told,

Out of the heart of a weird cavern, arched
Under the base of the broad cliff before us,
And in that cave she holds her incantations,
And by it is her hut beneath a crag-cleft.
The mountain way which down this rock-side leads
They showed us,-shall we now descend and learn
If in her den she holds? When she was there,
And when away, they knew not, only that
Of late she hath been thought to keep herself
More closely hidden, since the camp came hither.

SAUL.

Yes-down at once; but steal a careful path,
Within the shadows treading without word,
Let ye should startle your mistrustful prey
Into some hiding-place that baffles quest;
Then hither, and await me if not here.

NAHOR.

There's a wild fearfulness in these gaunt rocks,

And their grim-sleeping shadows couched beneath them. There's not a hollow or height that might not make

A spirit's fitting haunt. May it please thee

That I remain to be thy sentinel,

And hold my faithful watch 'against any ill

Lurking in wait for thine anointed person?

SAUL.

Peace, thou presuming prater!-What! dost think
Because some windy darkness lowers above us,
And trouble late hath come with stranger face
To pass a brief hour, that we shake-we bend,
And every puny insect of the field

Must run to prop us up? We need not thee,
Nor any of thy kind,-away, and know
Saul only shows more firm and wintry stern
For all the leaves ill chance may blow from him.

SAUL.

[Exeunt DOEG and NAHOR.

O, fool, fool, fool!-one time 'twas not my wont
To be so idle-passionate: I angered men

With deeds, not words.

How mournfully this breeze

Steals up the heights, and brings me from the vale
The bark of watch-dogs in the distant camp,
Waking no hope, foretaste of victory,—
Only reminding me of my despair!

Each soldier there may slumber in deep rest,
As oft he hath on battle-eves gone by;

But I-a Power, an inmost Influence

That tarried with me, hath pursued its flight,

And borne away the mantle of soft sleep.

Saul presently rejoins Doeg and Nahor, and enquires if they have

My lord, unseen have we been watching her,
Within her naked miserable hut,

Stooped down, and holding out her withered hands

O'er a few embers, as she hummed the while
Some low monotonous ditty. When the flame

Would ever and anon leap, flashing on her,

She looked so haggard, gaunt, and hunger-pinched,
Doubtless there's nought but she would dare for gold.

The scene that follows is thus described:

The hut of the Witch, who is discovered within.
Enter SAUL, DOEG, and NAHOR.

THE WITCH, who sees them and rises.

The badge of Saul! Ah, ye have found me, have ye?
Three murder-hunting hounds with bloody clutches

Watched to bring down the relict of a remnant

In this poor lair! Did ye not find enough

When last ye stamped your red steps on these mountains? May dæmon-driven blasts ride out and meet you,

And blow their dust of curses in your eyes,

Up to your joy remorse climb after you,

A dread death track you out as ye have me.

May every

SAUL.

Stay-indeed thou wrong'st us: hear me;

I am a man this earth of late hath shaken

With such rough shocks of quick-succeeding griefs,
I fain would rise into the solemn air

Of the dim future, and I pray thee help me.
The stars that guide most men are dark to me,
And lost in night I drive tempestuously

Up towards the doubtful lights of thine enchantments.
Call up for me-

WITCH.

Yes, yes, thou fain wouldst catch

My misery with a tale of misery,

As men make fish the bait for simple fishes.
I fear not to acknowledge what I am—
Did I not so just now? Ye need not wait
To see me do some witchery, and then take me.
My life I love not, take it, ye are welcome,-
And be it to you the burden it hath been
Of late to me. I pray you take all here, —
The poor utensils of this poorer hut,

Or search for hidden treasure till ye're weary.

SAUL.

"Twas no thieves' errand brought us here, unless

To rob thee of this poverty be a theft,

And fill thy widest expectation up

With overflowing gold, if thou wilt serve me.

WITCH.

Doubtless thy wealth has been to thee a curse,
That thou'rt so hot to thrust it upon me.