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unceasinglie for his Holie Spiritt to keepe themm fromm backslydinge..

Secondlie. The perill of those who have bene convertedd, after haveing for som time livedd inn openn sinn and rebellione-brandes plucked fromm the everlastinge burninge; and forr these he has speciall snares. He is perpetuallie forceinge upon there mindes the sinns off theire youthe, nott thatt they maie repente, butt thatt they maie doubt the powere and willingnesse of Christe to save them. Hee temptes them withe dreadfullie wickedd thoughtes; and this hee cann doe moore redilie and effectuallie with themm, fromm the powerr off theire former evill associations. Hee seduces them by the influence of theire olde companiones; by theire gibes and sneeres; by the ungodlie bookes they keepe throwinge inn theire way; and, above alle, by the force off theire former evill habitts, which, like a republicke of tyrantes, are ever tormentinge and oppressinge them. Yet, after alle, I conceive they are lesse inn dangerr thann the former, because they are more aware off the evil off their owne heartes, and crie more heartilie to God for helpe.

Thirdlie. I shall trie to pointe out som off the hazardes off Christianes inn generall, whenne theye are growne up and come to mixe withe the worlde. Manie of these are manifeste. The hete of youthe has gone bye, and theye are becomme obliged to thinke muche off worldlie gaine, and strive to succede there business inn the worlde. And here Satann has themm att greate advantage; forr if conscience saies, "Love nott the worlde," Satann replyes," He thatt provideth nott forr his owne hath denyed the faithe, and is worse then an infidell;" and soe hee deceeves themm intoe the love off a worldlie monie-getting spirit. Hee telles themm too be wise as

serpentes, and never to minde overreachinge and cheatinge theire neighboure, iff they cann doe itt without disgrace, forr there neighboure will cheate themm iff he cann; and soe he woulde faine persuade themm, they maye doe these things and yett be harmless ass doves. Hee calls covetousnesse, carefullnesse; selfishnesse, prudence; liberalitie, wastefullnesse; and soe hee lies, as hee ever did fromm the beginninge. Iff theye are inn the holie estate of matrimonie, and have the cares off a familie, hee thenn ledes themm too beleeve thatt these cares wille bee sufficient excuse forr neglectinge private self-examination and meditationne,and for muche abridginge secrette prayere. They alwaies have prayers inn theire families, for inn these matters the worlde cann see and take notice of them; soe if idleness keepes you inn bedd inn a morninge, orr fatigues wearie themm inn ann evening, they readilie make excuse forr omittinge or shorteninge secrette prayere, and thuss Satann againe triumphes over them. Whenne hee has gott themm thuss farr, hee soone makes them colde and listlesse, and theye become lukewarme.

Fourthlie. I shalle attempte to shewe thatt even the aged Christiane is nott exempte fromm thiss greate dangerr of goeing backe; for tho' hee maie be less perilled bye the temptationes I have mentioned, stille hee has hiss share too fighte withe. Hee cannott engage his thoughtes onn Christe as he was wonte. Hee is soe distractede with doubts and fearfulnesse, hiss temper iss inn dangerr off becominge irritable and hotte. He is obstinate inn his prejudices, and the ennemie tryes to stele inn and lede him onwarde too self-conceite; and, then, increasinge: the chillnesse accompanyinge hiss yeares, he would persuade himm to love his bills and bondes better

then Christe, and to followe all books within the narrow circuit of selfishnesse with greedinesse, and soe he would have him make shipwrecke off his faithe juste when he shoulde be sailinge intoo porte. I have now brieflie endeaendeavourede too shewe how alle Christians are inn dangere off fallingeawai, and bringinge shame onn the Gospell theye professe, ass introductorie too a more lengthened statemente off my thoughtes on thiss subjecte, inn whiche, with oute assuminge priestlie authoritie, I shalle contente myselfe withe pointinge out more particularlie the various perills the true followers of Christe are subjecte too, and shewinge how nothinge but the blessedde influences of the Holie Spiritt, soughte by constante and perseveringe prayere, cann preserve themm unblameable untill Christ his appearinge.

Januarie 5th, 1652-1653.

The author, a layman, never completed the treatise he appears to have projected; in consequence of which this, with other similar papers, was laid aside and never published.

A.

REMARKS ON SOME PASSAGES IN
MR. WILL. RECORDER'S COM-
MUNICATION.

(To the Editors.)
THOUGH I have, at least, twenty
new literary schemes in agitation,
all of them admirably adapted to
the present taste, being not only
untried, but likely ever to remain
so, I cannot refrain from noticing
some observations in your last
number, from the pen of Mr.
WILL. RECORDER. I suspect
that the London gentleman to
whom your correspondent refers,
has been playing upon this re-
corder, in his pretended exposure
of my plagiarisms. The high notes
he has as yet elicited from him are
merely in falsetto. If I were in-
clined to play the plagiarist, I
should certainly not do so from

a London gentleman's acquaint-
ance. The authors of such books
have effectually prevented any
temptation to that crime: the at-
tempt to rob a half-pay ensign of a
marching regiment before quarter-
day would not be a more hopeless
case. His threatening to expel
me from the literary republic car-
ries no alarm to my mind: I am
persuaded he has no vote in that
republic, except it were attainable
as the reward for a puff on War-
ren's jet-blacking. A steam-com-
pany, or a Society for the manu-
facture of gas, is the only republic
where the influence of a London
gentleman can be supposed to ope-
rate. Neither is his prohibition of
pens, ink, and paper a whit more
formidable, as I intend to surprise
the world, very shortly, with the
exhibition of an entirely new and
much easier plan of literary in-
struction, than that hitherto pur-
sued by the use of those imple-
ments, and to make those mur-
derers of so many reputations, and
particularly of those of their em-
ployers, become felones de se, and
finish the tragedy, in the true style
of poetical justice, by blotting out
their own existence. As for books,
I should be thankful if the angry
gentleman could prohibit me their
use, as I am thoroughly convinced
the more I read the less I know.
If
your
readers wonder at this as-.
sertion, let them peruse the late
learned lucubrations of the Cale-
donian orator: they will no longer
doubt. The description of my
person, which comes in as the
climax of my infamy, is about as
accurate a delineation as many of
the portraits (with all due respect be
it spoken) which have been usher-
ed into the world under your au-
spices, and which, happily, are in
no danger of disgracing their pro-
totypes, as few will ever recognize
them under their present disguise.
You are welcome to mine, Gen-
tlemen, on the same terms, at any

time I shall then enjoy an immunity from detection. And here, Gentlemen, let me beg of you not to endeavour again to rival the Magazine, in caricaturing the faces of your friends: let that ambition remain singular. The attempt in you is like purloining a copy-right. But to the pointthat I am little is true: the Hornbooks, from time immemorial, have been of small dimensions. I have not degenerated. My adversary's design to expel me from the republic of letters will, I presume, receive no sanction from the accusation that I am 66 a dirty grub of a book-worm." Was extreme neatness ever considered the characteristic of literary talent? Did not Franklin say that authors were called literary men because they always made a litter? Few London dandies have ever been admitted to the freedom of Parnassus. Is there not a street in the metropolis, originally honoured by being the residence of many of the fraternity, which still bears the name of "Grub Street?" In short, an expulsion from the republic of letters, on any or all these accounts, would absolutely depopulate the state. The qualifications for admission into this once respectable fraternity are certainly not so strict as to preclude those who labour under bodily infirmities; it is evident that even the grossest defects of the mind are no bar to the enjoyment of its privileges. The famed republic is now degenerated into a hospital for the reception of those infected with the cacoethes scribendi. Immured within its walls, they may, like other incurables, carry on their harmless amusements, (I use the word in Mr. Coleridge's sense,) without any danger of infect ing the public, except with a smile at their uncouth vagaries. But canamus majora: I am now engaged on such important topics as to be prevented

On

from taking any farther notice of the London gentleman's charges.. I have serious thoughts of publishing an entirely new system of metaphysics. For this reason, I have entered very deeply into the studies of those interminable mysteries. I have not yet quite determined what opinions I shall embrace. Betwixt Berkley's hypothesis that there is no such a thing as matter, and Spinoza's scheme that every thing is matter, I am inclined to believe that it is no matter which side I take. one point I am fully determined: that whatsoever my system may ultimately be, my opinions shall be delivered, agreeably to the modern plan, in a style which will defy all criticism, and be utterly unanswerable, by being utterly unintelligible. Metaphysics being, according to the etymology of the word, things above nature, should, like other airy beings, be.invested with clouds, and I intend to inrobe mine in clouds so thick, as 'to' baffle all attempt at discovery. In this point, as in many others, I shall stand in direct opposition to Locke, and the writers of the old times, who have taken away all the interest of this science by revealing its mysteries in plain language, and adapting them to the capacities of beardless boys, and spinsters of fifteen. Many things, you know, Gentlemen, owe all their importance to their indistinctness: the instant they condescend to vulgar understandings, they lose their dignity. I hope to be able to render my volumes almost as obscure as those of the Caledonian orator, which, if I can effect, there will be no doubt of my popularity.

I am a great admirer of Mr. Hamilton's new system of education, which, I have no doubt, is a relic of the ante-diluvian schools, and in use before the cumbrous appendage of grammar was ever heard of. I think, however, it is sus

ceptible of many improvements. I cannot see a sufficient reason why, instead of drilling our scholars through the Greek language for the protracted space of a whole month, we do not endeavour the mastery of all the dialects of the world in the same space. I am convinced the same measure of success would attend both attempts. To make this practicable, Dr. Murray's late book on the "Oriental Languages" will be of incalculable service. His admirable reduction of all words to a few simple sounds is indeed the royal road of languages. On this road, new-modelled under the superintendence of our grammatical Macadams, and with the assistance of the steam-coaches which are to be invented, I expect we shall soon be whirled through the several parts of speech of the dialects of the universe, with as much rapidity as we are now conveyed through its geographical limits, and with as little remembrance of their precise situations. The poor flying words will be quite distanced, and remain at a respectful and admiring remoteness.

My principal speculation yet remains to be told. It is the erec

tion of a steam-engine for the manufactory of thought. I intend to establish it in London, as in that metropolis the scarcity of the material is felt more acutely than in other places. It is presumed that an article, quite good enough for the demand of the market, may be procured in this manner. Its want of clearness will be no objection. Authors may be supplied from this reservoir, more expeditiously than in the present manner; and, in particular, the monthly miscellanies may be sure never to be dried up, a misfortune to which they are miserably liable at present. Much needless expense in paste and scissars will thus be avoided, and the usual quantum of letter-press easily procured, without the aid of paragraphs from antiquated newspapers, containing anecdotes without interest, and reflections without point. I might enlarge on the advantages of this speculation, but I study brevity, which I sincerely wish were the case with many contributors to periodicals, as the only study of theirs likely to benefit their readers.

SIMON HORNBOOKIUS.

POETRY.

ON SEEING MY INFANT DAUGH-
TER FOR THE FIRST TIME, AND
LONG AFTER HER MOTHER'S
DEATH.

My gentle lady, fear not here
A while thy lovely head to rest,
But chase away the falling tear,
Thou'rt safe as on thy mother's breast;
For oh! the arms that fold thee round,
To thee by many ties are bound!

The golden locks that shade thy brow,
The grace thy infant form displays,
Thy laughing eyes of softest blue
Bid mem❜ry weep o'er former days-
O'er days in sunny gladness cast,
That glow'd and brighten'd to the last.
NEW SERIES, No. 18.

Undreaded then the angry bow,
Bent by unrelenting fate,

That made me what ye see me now,
Lonely, sad, and desolate;
That laid in dust a fairer flower,
Than fancy rears in summer bower.

But for thee the hour that's fled,
Though dark, would still have darker been,
For with the tears 'twas mine to shed,
In waking thought, and midnight dream,
Thy image mingled soft and fair,
And wearied hope found refuge there.
Thus, days and years have past away,
At length from Heaven I crav'd the boon,
That thou, who wert my only stay,
Might look upon me, 'mid my gloom;
And thou art come! and the first gleam
Of morning does not fairer seem!

2 R

B.

THE DREAD OF HELL.*
THEY said, they saw a dark dim form
Float o'er the deep blue sea,
Where Etna oft has thrown its storm
Of sudden misery;

They said they saw it passing by,
Troubling that peaceful evening sky

Which there is wont to be.

They marked, they said, its sullen flight,
And gazed in horror at the sight.

They gazed in horror at the scene-
Each heart beat faint and cold;
For in the phantom's grasp was seen
A form of mortal mould.

It passed that messenger of woe-
Close o'er the burning mountain's brow,
Nor yet relaxed its hold;

It made no pause, it made no stay,
But downward bent its fearful way.
Then burst the line of pitchy smoke,
Which, toward the sun-set sky,
From Ætna's fiery caverns broke,
And rolled in volumes high-
And past adown the crater wide;
No more they saw-deep horrors hide
That tale of mystery;

No more the gloomy spectre past--
That single gaze-the first-the last.
There are who say that this is true-
It might be fancy's guile;
When told in day's bright garish hue
It might but raise a smile.
But thought upon at night's still hour,
And when alone, each owns what power
That tale exerts the while.

But if thus potent fancy be,
What is the sad reality?

There is a dark abyss, more drear

Than Etna's gulph of flame;

Yet, strange to say! few think with fear
Upon its awful name,

Though thousands of their race must be
Chained there in endless misery.

And, yet still deeper shame!
They seldom think that that abyss
May witness their own wretchedness.

The worm--the worm that dieth not-
The ever-gasping breath,
And dark despair that flieth not

Those prison-vaults beneath;
Those fires that never drop their rage-
Those pangs that time can ne'er assuage-
The ever-living death-

O man! e'er thou art banish'd there, Think o'er those scenes of black despair!

The former part of this poem is allu. sive to a strange tale of a party of Englishmen having seen the sight in question, when lying off the coast of Sicily. It is at tended with such remarkable circumstances, that, for our own part, we can scarcely tell whether a man would be more chargeable with credulity for believing it, or incredulity for rejecting it.

WHY IS SPRING DELIGHTFUL? O! WHY is Spring so dear to me, Dizen'd in all her gayest flowers? Why love I nature's revelry,

Flaunting amid her fairy bowers? Why doats my spirit on the scene,

The freshness of the meads, the trees? Why love I thus the pearl-sown green? Why drink in gladness with the breeze? Is it because my life, like this,

Has been bestrew'd with joy-bright
flowers,

And ev'ry varying scene of bliss
Bears likeness to my passing hours?
Or is it that my spirit gay,

Spite of the clouds of woe that rise,
Creates itself its own bright way,

Like yonder sun 'mid Summer skies?
Ah! no-nor cloudless is my way,
Nor gladsome spirit can I boast;
'Tis after Winter's joyless day

That Sol's bright radiance pleases most. The eagle may defy the storm,

And place her firm-built nest on high; The swallow, with her fragile form, Takes refuge in a milder sky.

"Tis thus I seek the vernal ray :

Its genial influence can warm
A heart long us'd to sorrow's sway,

Oft sinking 'neath the wintry storm.
It tells of those sweet morning hours,
When life, like the young Spring, was

new,

And I was gay as Summer flowers

That glisten in the morning dew. And, ah! it tells of that blest clime,

Where fairer, purer beauties glow, Where flow'rets bloom, unhurt by time, Unchang'd by all the ills below. There everlasting freshness reigns,

And richest odours breathe around; Sweet peace broods o'er the happy plains, And love, and joy, and rest are found. With thoughts like these my bosom thrills-

I see a God of sov'reign love,
Who, while the earth his bounty fills,
Prepares still nobler scenes above.

A. G. L.

THE FRAILTY OF YOUTH.
I WATCH'D the dew upon the grass,
I saw it melt away:

1 press'd the flower at morn--alas!
At noon 'twas in decay.

Ah! dreadful thought that youth must fade,

In fullest, freshest bloom,
In beauteous brightening looks array'd,
To fill the silent tomb.

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