burial fifty-two days, scarcely retained the human form. On arriving at Borodino, my consternation was inexpressible at finding the 20,000 men, who had perished there, lying uncovered.

"November 6th.--The soldiers vainly struggling with the snow and the wind, which rushed upon them with the violence of a whirlwind, could no longer distinguish the road; and falling into the ditches which bordered it, found a grave. How many unfortunate beings on this dreadful day, dying of cold and famine, struggled hard with the agonies of death. Stretched on the road, we could distinguish only the heaps of snow which covered them, and which, at almost every step, formed little undulations like so many graves. The Cossacs came to the succour of the peasants, and drove back to the great road, already filled with the dying and the dead, those who escaped from the carnage made among them. Tormented with hunger, we saw them run after every horse the moment it fell. They devoured it like dogs, and fought among themselves for the mangled limbs.

"November 13th.-It was horrible to see and hear the enormous dogs with shaggy hair, which, driven from the villages we had burned, followed us along our march. Dying with hunger, they uttered one incessant and frightful howl, and often disputed with the soldiers the carcasses of the horses which fell in the route. In addition to this, the ravens, attracted by the scent of dead bodies, hovered over us in black and innumerable crowds, and by their cries of mournful presage, struck the stoutest hearts with terror.

"Happily we were but two leagues from Smolensko. But what was our grief, when we heard that the ninth corps was gone, and that the provisions were all consumed. A thunderbolt falling at our feet, would have confounded us less than did this news,

"November 28th.--The wreck of the French army arrived at the Beresina; and Labaume says, Now began a frightful contention between the foot-soldiers, and the horsemen. Many perished by the hands of their comrades, but a greater number were suffocated at the edge of the bridge; and the dead bodies of men and horses so

choked every avenue, that it was necessary

to climb over mountains of carcasses to arrive at the river. Some who were buried in these horrible heaps, still breathed, and struggling with the agonies of death, caught hold of those who mounted over them; but these kicked them with violence to disengage themselves, and without remorse, trod them underfoot.

"At length the Russians advanced in a mass. At the sight of the enemy, the artillery, the baggage waggons, the cavalry, and the foot-soldiers, all pressed

on, contending which should pass first. The strongest threw into the river those who were weaker, and hindered their passage, or unfeelingly trampled under foot all the sick they found in their way. Many hundreds were crushed to death by the wheels of the cannon. Thousands and thousands of victims, deprived of all hope, threw themselves headlong into the Beresina, and were lost in the waves.

a

"December 4.-The route was covered with soldiers, who no longer retained the human form, and whom the enemy disdained to make prisoners. Some had lost their hearing, others their speech; and many, by excessive cold and hunger, were reduced to a state of frantic stupidity, in which they roasted the dead bodies of their comrades, or even gnawed their own hands and arms. Some were so weak, that, unable to lift a piece of wood, or roll a stone towards the fires which they had kindled, they sat down upon the dead bodies of their comrades, and, with haggard countenance, stedfastly gazed upon the burning coals. No sooner was the fire extinguished, than these living spectres, unable to rise, fell by the side of those on whom they had sat. We saw many who were absolutely insane. To warm their frozen feet, they plunged them naked into the middle of the fire. Some, with a convulsive laugh, threw themselves into the flames, and perished in the most horrible convulsions, and uttering the most piercing cries; while others, equally insane, immediately followed them, and experienced the same fate.

"On the morning of the 13th of December, of 400,000 warriors, who had crossed the Niemen at the opening of the campaign, scarcely 20,000 men repassed it, of whom at least two-thirds had not seen the kremlin. Arrived at the opposite bank, like ghosts returned from the infernal regions, we fearfully looked behind us, and beheld with horror, the savage countries where we had suffered so mnch."-pp. 45--49.

The moral evils of war, in its effect on the social ties, which subject occupies two letters, are strongly exhibited, fortified by the sentiments of Erasmus, Lord Clarendon, Archbishop Secker, Bishop Porteus, etc.

The whole Works of the Rev. Oliver Heywood, B. A. Now first collected, revised, and arranged, including some Tracts extremely scarce, and others from unpublished Manuscripts: with Me

moirs of his Life. In Five Volumes. Volume the Second. 8vo. pp. 500.

THE name of Oliver Heywood is fragrant and refreshing to our spirits! The memoirs of his life, published many years ago, by the venerable Dr. Fawcett, contain some peculiarly interesting anecdotes, illustrative of the mournful intolerance of the dominant party in the age of the Second Charles, and well adapted to strengthen the faith of the suffering Christian, in the time of trial. Those days are happily passed away; but the remembrance of them is calculated, not only to promote our devout gratitude, but to confirm our attachment to the great principles of Protestantism and Nonconformity -principles essentially identical, and to the influence of which may be ascribed, under a divine agency, the establishment of civil and religious liberty, and the preservation and extension of the still more important interests of evangelical Christianity. The men of that stormy period were giant-spirits, fitted to encounter its contests, and endure its heart-stirring agitations. Theirs was not a "carpetwarfare," a Xoyouaxia, in which they might flourish and declaim without fear. They entered the scenes of combat, and with holy daring retained a firm and unyielding grasp of their principles. They felt their importance; and forming comprehensive views of their results and connexions, they were led by an enlightened and prospective policy, to prefer suffering and privation to dishonourable subjection. They "endured as seeing Him who is invisible"

Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified;" and the wreath of their glory is amaranthine!

Amongst these illustrious confessors, many of whom suffered "unto death," and all of whom possessed the spirit, and deserve the appellation of martyrs, Hey

wood is entitled to our high and grateful veneration. During his life he was eminently laborious and successful. Before his ejectment by the Act of Uniformity, he was greatly honoured in the usefulness of his ministry; and though he suffered peculiar hardships and privations for many years before the revolution, he still continued, as opportunities were afforded, his self-denying labours. On some occasions he was reduced to the greatest difficulties; and the malignity with which he was treated by his ecclesiastical oppressors, served only to develop the strength of his faith, and the meekness of his spirit. When the dark storm of persecution had ceased, and he could again breathe the air, and enjoy the sunshine of liberty, he resumed his pastoral labours, and engaged so extensively in itinerating through all parts of the county in which he lived, that, as the esteemed editor of his work has observed, he might have been called "the Apostle of Yorkshire." His activity and vigour continued to the latest period of his life; and in many parts of the district where he laboured, his name is still held in grateful veneration through the traditional remembrance of his virtues and his usefulness.

The publications of this excellent man are not appreciated as they deserve. Their local influence must have been considerable at the time of their appearance; and some have gone through several editions since the death of their author. His style of composition is eminently marked by simplicity; and a rich vein of spiritual sentiment and holy feeling may be traced through all his writings. We are sometimes reminded of Philip Henry in his quaintness and faithfulness, and antithetical point; and sometimes, of Leighton, in the higher qualities of thought

and illustration. He has not the erudition of Owen, or the eloquent and original reasoning of Howe, or the overwhelming force and awful grandeur of Baxter; but we feel no hesitation in assigning him an eminent place in the second class of the theologians of his age; and sincerely rejoice that a uniform edition of his work is announced, under the judicious superintendance of the Rev. W. Vint, the esteemed President of the Theological Institution at Idle. The volume before us is the second of the series; and the first volume, which is to contain the memoirs, will not be published till the other volumes have appeared. We shall reserve, therefore, a more extended consideration of the life and works of Heywood, till the whole are before the public; and, at present, content ourselves with most cordially recommending this edition to the patronage and support of all the friends of evangelical religion; but more especially to those, who in this age of spurious candour, and unscriptural liberality, venerate the fathers of the nonconformist churches, and can appreciate the great principles by which they were actuated in their sufferings and labours!

The Amulet; or, Christian and Literary Remembrancer.-Baines and Son, pp. 396, with Twelve beautiful Engravings. 12s.

LONG before the Christian era gifts were presented amongst friends on new year's day, as the tokens of affectionate regard, and those who received such pledges of favour hailed them as the happy omens of a prosperous year.

The lapse of eighteen centuries, with all the revolutions which have attended it, has not abolished this kind-hearted usage, which, indeed, of late years, has been supplied by the diversified talents of ingenious artists, elegant writers, and

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enterprising booksellers, with new and rather tempting means of its continued observance. Elegant little volumes, in imitation of the German literary almanacks, are now annually published of this purpose, and, doubtless, many a copy of " the Literary Souvenir," the Forget me not," or of Friendship's Offering," has been received by our fair readers, as an acceptable expression of regard, and a pleasing omen of future happiness. Though we are not soothsayers, yet our profession is surely grave enough to allow us to predict, that should any of our youthful friends receive "the Amulet" now before us, as a new year's gift, and become thereby, for the first time, acquainted with that which constitutes its greatest charm, they will through life consider, that it was, indeed, a "token for good"-a good more permanent, a happiness more enduring than heathen sages could imagine, or time itself can bound. “The Amulet" is a Christian as well as a literary Remembrancer, and while it will bear comparison with any of its competitors which we have seen in the beauty of its typography, and the elegance of its graphic illustrations, yet it is the high moral and religious feeling which pervades its pages, that forms, in our esteem, its best attraction.

This pleasing miscellany comprises upwards of sixty contributions in prose and verse, from the pens of some of the most esteemed writers in the republic of sanctified literature. Where there are so many excellent papers, it is not easy, nor perhaps is it perfectly just, to individuate, yet we cannot help directing our readers to "Joan of Kent," as an able and affecting sketch. The description of the Primate Cranmer is admirable, and calls at once to mind his stern and melancholy air, as depicted by Gerbrius Flicciis, in his

nor ushered into undue prominence: a shade of indistinctness may even be suffered to cover them, that the whole light may rest on the principal figure. In the generality of works which pass under the name of biographies we are at some loss to discover the aim of the writer: whether it be to detail and defend his own opinions, or those of his subject. We have said biography should resemble a miniature: the portraits of but few men are required to be drawn at full length; the artist is content to show the face; he leaves the other parts of the body, by which men are less distinguished from each other, to the imagination of the beholder. By far the greatest proportion of modern memoirs appear to us to bear a strong resemblance to those elaborate pictures of sea-fights which adorn the walls of our country barbers, and other amateurs of the fine arts, where all the agreement to the original consists in the fact that, in both, there are ships and waves, confusion and destruction. As far as regards their appropriation to this or that particular engagement, they might, with equal felicity, be denominated the battle of Actium, or the arrival of the Danes. To entitle the history of any individual to publicity, there must be in that individual some unusual trait of character, some prominency in his mental features, something uncommon in the incidents of his life; and, to make the recital of them profitable, there must be the hand of a master to illustrate such peculiarities, and to deduce from them some general principles, which may inform and ultimately benefit the reader. If these objects be forgotten or undervalued, the lives of the illustrious warriors of the Cherokee or Chicksaw nations, with an account of their several depredations in burning, scalping, and tomahawking all

those miserable creatures who are so unfortunate as to be within their reach, might be obtruded on the world, with as much claim to attention, and with as great a probability of usefulness. We are thoroughly satiated with lives! No sooner is there a death announced in one paper, but there is a life advertized in another; as though we were determined to fill up a vacuum in the natural, by a superfœtation in the intellectual world. We have not time sufficient to inspect our own lives, in our anxiety to read the lives of others. If some remedy be not applied to this prolific disease, we have serious apprehensions that the monstrous progeny will eat up all our old and solid literature, and eventually effect the mortality of intellect. We have already lives of children who never attained their sixth year swelled into a hundred pages; and we think there is every prospect, if the rage go on progressively, that we shall soon have lives of those who never lived at all. We are not sure that some of these precious articles were not intended as a satire on the prevailing taste; if not, nothing less than the "Memoirs of the Blue-coat-school-Boys," with an appendix, descriptive of their gymnastic games, tops, marbles, and all, can be expected as the climax of this literary mania.

There was a happy period in English history, when the publication of a man's life was not invariably the death of his reputation; when his displayed effigy was not the sure precursor of his ignominious execution; in short, when the pen was employed pro fama, non fame. It is our comfort that a few relics of that golden age remain-a few gems which yet sparkle through the dark intervening centuries, and derive additional splendour from the cloudiness and opacity of the pebbles which our modern lapidaries vend. To such