privately to themselves, than having been publicly useful, to be repaid with no other rewards than wrong and danger: by which means, society and community of services amongst men, greatly beneficial to public interest, are obstructed and dissolved. 4. An outward form of re-. ligion and of divine worship, into which foolish men, by carnal confidence, and superficial performances, do also put divers vanities, and make even God's service unuseful to their happiness. 5. Riches and great possessions, which are so far from satisfying the heart of man, as that they occasion more cares, less sleep, less quiet, are snares and occasions of much hurt to the owners of them, who, living, possess them with sorrow; and dying, part with them with wrath and indignation: having little benefit by them in their life, as having not power to enjoy them: nor in their death any comfort from them, as leaving them to they know not whom: being not at all exempted by them, either from misery or mortality.

peareth to have been Solomon; since no other son of David was king in Jerusalem, but he. He seemeth to have written it in his old age, when he took a more serious view of his past life; the honours, pleasures, wealth, wisdom, he had so abundantly enjoyed; the errors and miscarriages, which he had fallen into; the large experience, and many observations he had made, of things natural, moral, domestical, civil, sensual, divine; the curious and critical inquiry he had made after true happiness, and what contribution all things under the sun could afford thereunto. Concerning which, he doth, 1. In the general, discover the utter vanity and insufficiency of all things, here below, to make a man blessed, in regard of their mutable nature, of their weakness and disproportion to the soul of man of the weariness which is contracted by the studying of them: and the impossibility of ever drawing from them more than hath been formerly extracted; and consequently the fruitless attempt of any, that should ever after go about to receive satisfaction from them. 2. He demonstrateth this general proposition touching the most vain vanity of all things under the sun, by an induction of those particulars, from which, above all others, men usually expect the greatest contentment. Those are, 1. Wisdom and knowledge both natural and moral; for inquiry whereinto no man was ever furnished with greater abilities and stronger inclinations in himself; or with more fitting provisions and assistants from without, than Solomon was, in regard of the greatness of his dignity and estate and yet, after all, he concludeth, that wisdom and knowledge do but increase grief and sorrow; so far are they from bringing such blessedness to the soul, as may fully satisfy the desires thereof. 2. Pleasures and delights, which he had as much advantage by his greatness to enjoy, and by his wisdom to examine, as ever any other man should have: and yet all the content he expected from them, did end in hatred of them, and despair of ever mending his condition by them. 3. Honour, greatness, and power in the world; concerning which, he sheweth that it is so far from making men happy, as that, without the fear of God to correct and temper it, it is the occasion of much wickedness to those that have it, and of much misery to those that suffer under it; it usually breaking forth into oppression and violence, whereby men in power carry themselves like beasts towards their brethren, and shall themselves die like beasts, undesired, and unlamented.

:

It being likewise matter of much discouragement to men that are oppressed by it, making them weary of their lives, careless of their labours, resolved rather upon quiet idleness, than upon envied employments; and to get what they can

"And having thus discovered the vanity of the principal things, from whence the heart of man might have expected satisfaction: he doth thereupon prescribe many excellent means for healing and abating of that vanity, and for procuring tranquillity unto the mind, and peace and comfort to the life of a man. Such are, contentation of heart in the sweet and free enjoyment of all outward blessings, with thanksgiving, and in the fear of God:-Quiet and humble acquiescency under the holy and powerful providence of God, in all the events which befall us in the world :-- Sincerity of heart in his worship, and prudent piety in our vows, prayers, and addresses unto him :--Patience of spirit under all the oppressions we meet with in the world:--A composed preparedness of mind to undergo sorrows and afflictions:-Prudent and pious moderation of spirit in our behaviour towards all men, that so we may preserve our names from calumny, and our persons from danger: --Meekness, charity, patience towards such as offend, considering common frailty, and our own weakness:-Sobriety of mind, contenting ourselves with a measure of wisdom and knowledge, and not busying ourselves with things too high for us:Practical prudence, which may render us beautiful in the eyes of others :-Loyalty and obedience towards magistrates, that our lives may not be made uncomfortable by their displeasure:--Wisdom to discern of time and judgment :--Preparedness of heart against inevitable evils:--Submission to the holy and invincible providence of God, admiring his works, adoring his judgments :-Joyful fruition of comforts :

Conscionable and industrious walking in our particular callings:--Wisdom how to carry ourselves amidst the many casualties which meet us in the world, so as that

we may, by our loyalty towards our superiors, decline the danger of displeasure from them; and by our charity to inferiors, lay up a good foundation for ourselves, against the time to come :--Lastly, Moderation in the use of comforts here; and preparation by the fear of God, and keeping of his commandments, for death and judgment hereafter. That by these means, as our life is sweet, so our death may be welcome. That the piety of our youth may help us to bear the infirmities of our age, and to lift up our heads in the day of redemption."--pp. 33--35.

The Bishop's sermons are on a great variety of subjects; many of them are on important topics, and some of them were preached on public and trying occasions. There is an admirable discourse on the excellency of the Gospel, delivered before Charles II., to the statements and faithful counsels of which it had been well had that unhappy monarch attended. His sermons abound with appropriate quotations from Scripture, and are less interlarded with the language of other writers than the discourses of many of his contemporaries. There is a chasteness in his figures, and a raciness and vigour in his language, which render them worthy of the attention of the lovers of good writing, even at the present day..

The last volume contains his "Treatise on the Passions and Faculties of the Soul." It is, by his own account, "a philosophical miscellany, the fruit of his younger studies;" but which he published when far advanced in life; this led him to say, that "in the perusing and fashioning it for the press, I have found that true in writing, which I have formerly found true in building; that it is almost as chargeable to repair and set right an old house, as to erect a new one; for I was willing, in the most material parts of it, so to lop off luxuriance of style, and to supply the defects of matter, as, with candid, favourable, and ingenuous judgments, it might receive some tolerable acceptation."

sense

His metaphysics, and many of his views of mentalį phenomena will not, perhaps, be generally received; but there is a large fund of solid good sense in his dis-. sertations, and no ordinary acquaintance with the moral machinery of our nature. Indeed, we are strongly impressed with the conviction, that were many of the persons of the common school to study such a book as this of Reynolds's more, and display a little less confidence in some of the speculations of Reid and Stewart, it would not be unprofitable to themselves. Reynolds never forgets what these writers very imperfectly understood, or altogether denied, that man is a depraved creature, and that all right mental perception of moral truth and beauty, and all holy desires, are the result of a principle, not inherent in human nature, but derived from above. The connection between the admission or rejection of these principles, and correct speculations on the active and passive powers of man, and on his character as an ac-. countable creature, is much closer than the philosophers of the world are generally disposed to acknowledge.

But here we must draw our general notice of Reynolds's works to a close. We are greatly pleased with this valuable republication, and with the manner in which it is got up. It is beautifully printed, and there is an admirable portrait of the author prefixed to the first volume. The whole is creditable to the character of the author, and to the enterprise of the publisher, who, we have no doubt, will meet from the public his appropriate reward. Reynolds, if he does not occupy the first ranks, either among the nonconformist school to which he properly belonged, or among the Taylors and Barrows of the church in which he died, is, nevertheless, a man of no mean

name; his style and manner were superior to that of many of the distinguished nonconformists, while he possessed all their discriminating regard to gospel doctrine and evangelical holiness. If in genius he is unequal to some of the writers of the church who then flourished, he is far superior to them in the extent and accuracy of his knowledge of divine things, and in the simplicity and godly sincerity with which he advocated the grand principles of Christianity. We beg leave, therefore, to recommend most cordially this collection of his works to all the lovers of our common faith, whether Churchmen or Dissenters.

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promising Christian, who siders as he ought, religion and strict morality as superior to all other considerations, should learn to undervalue and hate what is so frequently opposed to both, or that he should not be able to distinguish that which has so often been abased from the vile purposes to which it may have been made subservient; that he should, not be able, for instance, to separate the idea of poetry, (which has, especially of late years, been so much the mouth-piece of vice,) from the idea of much that is degrading and pernicious in feeling, and sentiment, and passion.

The Amulet; or Literary Remembrancer. London; W. Baynes and Sons. 12s. pp. 420, with Twelve Engravings,

1827.

IT has ever been the reproach of the religious world, that it is indifferent to the charms of elegant literature, and careless about the embellishments and refinements of the liberal arts, and certainly this charge must, in some measure, be considered just; although, on the other hand, the very arts which it too often despises, have been so often abused to the very worst purposes, so often employed in the attempt to injure all that it holds sacred and valuable, that we cannot wonder that it looks upon them with a suspicious and halfaverted eye. Poetry has so often been made only the vehicle for conveying the most pernicious and injurious sentiments, has been so often only the stimulus to the worst and vilest feelings; and all the elegancies of literature have so often been enlisted into the service of lust, and voluptuousness, and impiety, and every kind of vice, that we cannot wonder, that the stern and uncom

They may, however, be very readily distinguished, and if any of the fine arts have been made can be only because they have been perverted from their proper and legitimate purposes. If, however, they had, abstractedly considered, any tendency to injure the interests of religion, we would be the very first to say, Let them immediately perish; let us return into the gothic darkness and barbarity of the middle ages, as it regards matters of taste and literature. But we cannot think that they have in themselves any such tendency, and we hail any attempt to rescue them from abuse.

We are happy to find, that there is sufficient taste in professors of religion, in the present day, to encourage the publication of so elegant and entertaining a volume, as that the title of which stands at the head of this article. The "Amulet," consists of short tales, and interesting and amusing sketches, interspersed with numerous poems; some of which are certainly of a superior order, and the productions of some of the more eminent poets of the day.

The whole is embellished by many elegant and highly-finished engravings. The design of the work has our hearty concurrence,

and the manner of execution cannot but entitle it to our praise; and we sincerely hope that the endeavours which the spirited individuals, who have published this volume at so much labour, risk, and expense, have made to please, will be repaid by the liberal patronage of the public. We certainly think that this work. will prove quite as fit a present, and quite as proper a companion for the work-table and the drawing-room, as the impious poetry of Byron, or the lascivious warblings of a Moore. It now only remains that we justify our assertions by appropriate extracts. The following piece on "The Shipwrecked," (to which, by the bye, a very spirited engraving is appended, and which we wish we could as easily copy as the poem,) we cannot but think a very beautiful piece.

"THE SHIPWRECKED.

"By L. A. H.

"THEY rolled above me, the wild waves-
The broken mast I grappled yet;
My fellow-men had found their graves,
On me another sun had set.
But, merciless, the ocean still

Dash'd me, then calmly round me lay, To wake another human thrill,

As tyrants torture ere they slay.
But when the foaming breakers rush'd,
And pass'd o'er me, or bore me high,
Then into circling eddies gush'd,

I struggled-yet I knew not why;
It was hope that bade me cling
Still to that only earthly thing,
I knew not then His mercy gave
To keep me level with the wave.
The tempest, when the day was gone,
More fiercely with the night came on;
But, howling o'er the trackless sea,
Gave neither hope nor fear to me;
Despair had made me brave my fate,-
To die-thus lone and desolate.
I saw another morning sun,
But yet my struggles were not done :-
A passing billow wafted then

A comrade's body to my side,
Who lately, with his fellow-men,

Had bravely stemmed the dashing tide. His calm cheek and half-open eye Betokened that in agony His spirit had not left him,--he Seemed as if slumbering on the sea. I calmly gazed, and without dread, Upon the dull eye of the dead;

But when his cold hand touch'd my cheek,
My voice came from me in a shriek:
At mine own voice I gazed around,
'Twas so unlike a human sound;

But on the waters none were near,
Save the corpse upon its watery bier,
And hungry birds that hovered nigh,
Screaming his sole funeral cry.
My sum of human pangs to fill,
There came a calm--more deathly still,
Because its sullen silence brought
A dull repose that wakened thought.
How my limbs quivered, as the sea

By some less gentle breeze was stirred,
As if I every moment heard
The ocean monsters follow me!
Then came the sun in all his might,
To mock me with his noon-day height:
When the waves lay beneath me long,
I felt his power grow fiercely strong
Above me, and would often dip
My burning brow and parched lip,
To cool them in the fresh'ning wave,
Wishing the waters were my grave.
But oft the sea-bird o'er me flew,

And once it flapped me with its wing: That I must be its prey I knew, And smiled at my heart's shivering; But yet I could not bear to see

Its yellow beak, or hear its cry Telling me what I soon must be ;

I moaned, and wept, and feared to die. And as the chill wave grew more chill, The evening breeze became more still, And, breathing o'er the awful deep, Had lulled me, and I longed to sleep: My senses slept, my head bowed low,

The waters splashed beneath, then broke, Suddenly o'er my aching brow,

With a convulsive start I woke,
And, waking, felt them o'er me float,
While gurgliag in iny parched throat.

Where'er I drifted with the tide,
My comrade's corpse was by my side.
Still to the broken mast I clung,
At times aside the waves I flung,
All day I struggled hard; but when
Another and another came,
Weaker and weaker grew my frame,--
I deemed that I was dying then.
My head fell on the wave once more,
And reason left me,- all seemed o'er;
Yet something I remember now,--

I knew I gazed upon the sky,
And felt the breeze pass o'er my brow,
Along the unbroken sea to die;
And, half with faintness, half with dread,
The spirit that sustained me fled.

There was an eye that watch'd me then,--
An ear that heard my frequent prayer;
And God, who trod the unyielding wave,
When human efforts all were vain,
Ere the death-struggle, came to save,
And called me back to life again.

I thought that I was yielding life,
To perish in that mortal strife,
And calmly lay along the sea,
That soon would calmly pass o'er me;
But my clench'd teeth together met,
As if with death I struggled yet—
That I was stemming it once more;
And then again the sea-bird's cry.
Was mingling with the billows' roar,
As I laid down my head to die.
Returning reason came at last,

And bade returning hope appear t
That remnant of the broken mast,
And my dead comrade--both were near;
Not floating o'er the billows now,

For they had drifted us to land—
And I was saved--I knew not how-
But felt that an Almighty hand
Had chased the waters from the strand.
Beside the corpse, and by the wave,

I knelt, and murmured praise to Him,
Who, in the fearful trial, gave
Strength to the spirit and the limb!"
pp. 179–183.

The following we copy into our pages, more on account of the justness of the sentiments, and the convenience of its length, than from its superiority to other pieces. We think, however, all must admire the beauty and spirit with which the paper is written.

"ON FRENCH OATHS.

[Written in the Year 1815.]

"By Maria Edgeworth.

"Among the many baneful effects of the French Revolution, the disregard of oaths which it has produced in France, is the most deplorable. On every new revolution there was a new oath. This seems to have been the grand resource of their politicians, the favourite amusement of their populace, till at last the words

'I

swear- -We swear!' repeated so frequently by the French on every change of government, or caprice of political fashion, have lost all power, all use, all meaning. In the Champ de Mars, at the commencement of the Revolution, at what they called the Grand Federation, they took an oath to be faithful to their constitution and their king. How this oath was kept, we too well remember! Then a new oath was taken to the Directory, another to the Consulate, another to the Emperor--to the great Emperor of the French, and to the little King of Rome! When Bonaparte was defeated and dethroned, and Louis the Eighteenth--Louis le desiré, returned, fresh oaths were eagerly sworn to their legitimate sovereign, and he was hailed as the best of kings; and to all the Bourbons fidelity was vowed voluntarily and vehe

mently. But no sooner did Bonaparte return from Elba, than all their oaths, though made with the most theatric enthusiasm, the most tremendous adjurations, were all violated and forgotten. Those very persons who had sworn to devote themselves to die in defence of their lawful sovereign--to stand to him to the lastto spill the last drop of their blood in proof of their loyalty--deserted him at his utmost need. Princes, dukes, marshals, senators, soldiers, all hurried to give a new oath of fidelity to Napoleon; and now the emperor himself has been called upon to take an oath of adherence to the constitution, and Bonaparte swears to Carnot, and Carnot to Bonaparte, and the whole nation resolve to act the old disgusting farce over again. • Because of swearing, the land mourneth,' said the prophet; but the Parisians find that because of swearing the land rejoiceth. Formerly they all swore on the Champ de Mars, and now they have all sworn on the Champ de Mai; and, according to their own fulsome phraseology, they that day presented a scene truly touchingthey formed a grand and imposing spectacle for the stranger and for all Europe.'-Yes, on the Champ de Mai, at a fête at the Champs Elysées, and in the midst of princes and monarchs, and belles, and beaux, and eagles, and flowers, and amphitheatres, and booths, and fountains flowing with wine, and orchestras for music, and stages for singers, and stages for dancers, and stages for amusing philosophy, and feats of horsemanship, and rockets, and balloons, and combustibles, and confectionary, and pâtés, and pullets, and sausages, and geese, and turkeys, and soaped ropes, and Merry Andrews,--the united people interrupted their emperor's speech with cries of We swear!'-cries of 'We swear!' a thousand times repeated, universally prolonged of 'We swear!' resounded throughout the assembly; and the great nation have sworn by all that is absurd and by all that is sacred,-by that honour which is dearer to Frenchmen than their lives,--by that liberty which they never knew how to use,--by that English constitution which none of them ever understood,--by that God in whom few of them believe. All this would be ridiculous, if it were not abominable.” It is truly abominable to see a nation, even of our enemies, so degraded. There is no word but a word of their own invention, that can describe their condition: demoralized, thank Heaven! is a word scarcely understood in England. It describes a situation hardly to be comprehended by Englishmen. To the people of France, an oath has lost its sanctity, and with its sanctity, its power and its utility. It is no longer awful as an appeal to Heaven: it is no longer binding as a contract be

cries