In regard to theological attain ment, there have undoubtedly been, and there are undoubtedly now in the world, men of wider research, more critical precision, and more copious and extensive learning. But still, generally speaking, he must be considered even in these respects to have ranked high in his profession. His knowledge of Hebrew literature, though he never made any display of it, was by no means in considerable. He was well versed in ecclesiastical history. The evidences of religion, natural and revealed, were in their whole extent familiar to him. He had made himself thoroughly acquainted with the different systems of theology, which divide the Christian world; and few undoubtedly had ever studied Scripture itself with greater care or more profound attention. He was, in short, in every view of the subject, a sound, well-informed, and able divine; and it is, in my judgment, a circumstance highly honourable to his character, that he had read divinity without imbibing any of that narrow, contracted spirit, which is known sometimes to attach to it. He was indeed on principle, and from a deep persuasion of its superior excellence, unalterably attached to the Church of England. He considered its doctrines, as exhibited in its homilies, its articles, and its liturgy, to be essentially and fundamentally scriptural. The Calvinistic interpre tation of them he would never admit to be the true one; and in this opinion he was uniform and consistent. He conceived them to speak the language of Scripture, which, in his view of it, was de

cidedly adverse to the sentiments of Calvin. Upon this point, I wish distinctly to be understood, as asserting on my own positive knowledge, that in no one article of faith, as far as they differ from our church, did he sanction the tenets of that school. On the con❤ trary, I have heard him repeatedly and in the most unqualified terms express his astonishment, that any sober-minded man, sitting down without prejudice to the study of the Sacred Writings, should so explain and understand them.

He was not less attached to the Church of England in its discipline, which he thought formed altogether on the apostolical mo del; and no one was ever more strenuous in resisting any depar ture from it on the part of its established ministers.

In parliament, the Bishop never spoke, except on points strictly ecclesiastical, connected either with the discipline and good order of the church, or the general welfare of religion. But when he did deliver his sentiments, he express. ed himself with ease, propriety, and firmness, and was always heard with attention. His political opinions were those of Mr. Pitt; and he entertained them, not blindly and submissively on a mere party principle, but from a conscientious deliberate conviction, that they were intrinsically right.

As a preacher, the Bishop's reputation has ever stood deservedly high in the public estimation. Few men, indeed, were ever so remarkably endowed with all the qualities, which give pre-eminence in the pulpit. the pulpit. His voice, without unusual loudness or strength, was yet uncommonly clear; and it was

combined with such a liquid, distinct enunciation, as rendered him completely audible even in the largest churches, and to the most crowded congregations. It also possessed great sweetness and flexibility; and he had the talent of modulating it so correctly, as always to please and satisfy the ear, and yet so easily and naturally, as never, even in the slightest degree, to incur the charge of affectation. His delivery was very impressive. It was chaste, earnest, spirited, devout. He had no studied action, no vehement and forced emotion. He spoke evidently as he felt. His whole soul was in his subject. He seemed to forget himself in the deep interest which he took in the edification of his hearers; and this circumstance gave, as it manifestly would, such a power and charm to his preaching, as never failed to extort attention even from the coldest and the most insensible. His style was admirably adapted to the pulpit. It was plain, without being too familiar; classical, without being pedantic. His great aim was, to express him self so clearly, that the meanest and the least informed might always comprehend him; and yet with such correctness and purity, as to be heard with satisfaction by men of taste and education. How perfectly he succeeded, his disCourses prove. They are distinguished throughout by the most elegant simplicity at the same time, when the occasion calls for it, they are strong, nervous, eloquent, sublime. His sentiments and language rise with his subject; and, heightened as they were by his peculiar elocution, they made a deep and most powerful im

pression. But it was neither style, nor manner, nor utterance, which alone gave such efficacy to his preaching. His sermons are conspicuous for sound judgment, solid argument, great knowledge of the human heart, accurate observation of the world, an unshrinking reprobation of vice, the most persuasive exhortations to piety, and an unqualified avowal of all the essential, fundamental truths and doctrines of the gospel. It has been said indeed, that there are in his discourses no deep views of religion; and unquestionably they contain no elaborate discussions on controverted points of theology; no visionary flights of fancy into things not revealed; no minute details of religious struggles, impulses, and feelings. But, for the grand object of practical and vital amendment; for all that can seize, excite, and interest the best feelings of the soul; for that energetic appeal to the heart and conscience, which can arrest the sinner in a course of guilt, strike him with compunction, urge him to repentance, save him from perdition; for that earnestness of parental counsel, which can fix the wavering and confirm the virtuous; for that power of spiritual consolation, which can soothe the afflicted, bind up the broken-hearted, cheer the suffering, comfort the desponding; for that gentle, meek, conciliating spirit, which can soften the asperity of religious dispute, and unite men of various and discordant sentiments in the bond of peace, amity, and affection for all these purposes, I know no discourses superior; and there are not wanting instances on record, in which they are known

to have been powerfully and signally efficacious.

Providence had blessed him with ample means, and he employed them freely and largely in removing, to the utmost of his power, the wants of the necessitous. The tale of distress never came to him unheeded. His heart and his hand were ever open; and many were his acts of charity, which were known only to himself and those whom he relieved. In him the poor had a kind, a constant, an unfailing friend; not that he wished to encourage a system of beging, much less that sordid, lazy wretchedness, which sometimes is allied to poverty. On the contrary, he endeavoured to select the virtuous and industrious; and, whilst he never refused to give something to those who seemed to be in need, he always gave more readily and liberally to those who really wanted, and who, he knew, deserved it. His principle was, in short, in all cases, if possible, to discriminate; but not to shrink from an act of charity through a general suspicion of artifice and deception. The very habit of giving was in his apprehension more than an equivalent for accidental imposition. To almost all our public charities he more or less contributed; and often, where it was necessary, to a large amount. Wherever, indeed, positive good could be done, or positive evil be removed, his aid was never wanting. He was "glad to distribute, willing to communicate."

To those of his clergy, in particular, whose situation and circumstances required assistance, his kindness was unceasing; and it

was always rendered doubly acceptable by the unostentatious manner in which it was bestowed. There are many living at this moment, who can bear ample testimony to the truth of this declaration; and who must often heave a sigh of regret at the loss of so warm a friend, and so generous a benefactor. But, though he himself can now no longer dispense it, his liberality will still be felt in that splendid, and almost unexampled donation of no less a sum than 6,7001. in the 3 per cents. consolidated annuities, which, during his life, he transferred into the hands of the five archdeacons for the time being of the diocese of London; and the interest of which he directed to be annually distributed at their discretion, in sums not exceeding 20., to a certain number of the poorer clergy in that see, who may be thought to stand most in need of relief. This was indeed a noble act of munificence; and it, will for ages yet to come render his name illustrious, and endear his memory to the church of England.

His mind, naturally active and vigorous, required employment; and long habit had made it easy and familiar to him. He was besides, a rigid economist of time. Unless illness prevented him, he rose constantly at six in the morning, and every part of the day had its proper, its allotted occupation. It was by this regular, methodical arrangement, from which he never deviated, that he was enabled to dispatch his public, official business with the ut most accuracy and precision, and yet to perform other duties not less imperative, in his judgment,

than those which strictly attached to his episcopal station. He could never satisfy himself with the mere formal discharge of certain stated functions. In every way that good could be done, he spared no pains to do it. He thought his hours well employed, his labours well repaid, if, by any exertion of his own, he could benefit a fellow creature: if he could assuage the anguish of distress, lighten the pressure of calamity, calm the disquietude of a troubled mind, inspire the timid with hope, or lead the wanderer into the way of truth. For all these acts of love, of sympathy, of kindness, he never wanted time. Whatever else might require his attention, he still found opportunity for these. He considered them, as in fact they are, an important and indispensable part of Christian duty, and admitted no plea of business, no private gratification, no personal fatigue, to be an excuse for the neglect of them.

But it was not only in the grand feature of benevolence that the Bishop displayed the power of religion over the heart and conduct. It was in him a governing and a ruling principle. It was the main spring, which constantly and uniformly regulated his thoughts and actions. He had, indeed, and who has not, his foibles and infirmities. They were, however, few, and venial, and almost unavoidable. For instance, amidst the toil and hurry of a laborious station, and from great anxiety in what he was engaged in, he sometimes betrayed, in the latter part of his life, a slight impatience of manner. But he instantly checked it, and no one more lamented it than himself.

His disposition, indeed, with the exception of such occasional transient interruptions, arising from the causes I have mentioned, was one of the mildest and the sweetest that can be imagined. It was the index of a heart warmed with all the charities and sympathies of our nature, and under the constant influence of a meek, a benevolent, and a kind religion. In all the offices of devotion, private and public, he was unfailing and exemplary. Firm in his belief of Christianity, every thing connected with it engaged his attention. It was his great end and aim to defend, to cherish, to promote it. The predominant object of all his wishes and desires was, "in every thing he did, to do it to the glory of God." Yet, amidst a conduct so holy and so pure, he had no melancholy, no austerity, no gloom. In him were never seen the sanctified look, the depressed brow, the sullen spirit, the dismal and desponding countenance. Piety, as he felt and understood it, was best exemplified by cheerfulness. He saw no incompatibility in the innocent pleasures of life with the most unfeigned devotion. He wished to render religion as amiable as she is venerable; to place her before the eyes of men in her most alluring and attracting formbright, serene, unclouded, and benign. In a word, to represent her, not as the enemy and the bane of happiness, but as the guide, the companion, the solace, the delight of man. His own character was framed on this principle. He was cheerful without levity, serious and devout without moroseness. He lived, in short, as he taught

others to live; and this it was which, far beyond any other cause, gave such power, such weight, such efficacy to his preaching.

CARDINAL OF SION.

From the Life of Ulrick Zwingle, the Swiss Reformer, by J. G. Hess: translated by Lucy Aikin.

The Pope's legate, Matthew Schinner, known in history under the name of the Cardinal of Sion, acted a very important part in Switzerland during a number of years. Born of poor parents in a village of the Valais, he chose the ecclesiastical profession, as being the only one which could open the path of honour to men of every class. After studying successively at Sion, Zurich, and Como, he returned to his own country, where he obtained a small cure. He led a sober and laborious life, devoting to study the leisure allowed by his clerical functions. Chance brought him acquainted with Jost de Silenen, bishop of Sion, who having stopped at his house on one of his visitations, was greatly astonished to find in the dwelling of a poor parish priest, books of jurisprudence and canon law; and entering into conversa tion with him, was struck with the extent of his knowledge and his facility of expression. He assured him of his protection, and soon performed the promise, by conferring on him the first canonry vacant at Sion. Some years after wards, Jost de Silenem had several contests with the people of the Valais, in consequence of which he was obliged to quit this country,

Schinner, who happened to be at Rome upon some affairs of his chapter, took advantage of this circumstance, and obtained of the pope the bishoprick of Sion for himself. This elevation would have satisfied an ordinary ambition, but Schinner carried his views further.

He felt himself possessed of talents sufficient to distinguish him on a wider theatre, and the situation of his country furnished him with the opportunity, France had neglected to attach him, but pope Julius granted him his entire confidence; he made him a Cardinal in 1511, and named him legate of the holy see in Switzerland, and from that time Schinner remained inviolably attached to Rome. We may imagine how great an ascendency was given him by his ecclesiastical dignities, joined to an artful and insinuating eloquence, and an austerity of manners rare among the prelates of his time. By his intrigues and his promises, he obtained permission of the cantons to levy troops for the assistance of the pope against Louis XII. who had just been excommunicated.

ZWINGLE.

From the Same.

When we think of all that he performed during his abode at Zurich, it seems as if a whole life would scarcely suffice for so many labours; yet it was in the short space of twelve years that he suc⚫ ceeded in changing the manners, the religious ideas, and the political principles of his adopted country, and in founding esta