thus furnish our readers with a fuller and more accurate view of the religious state of society at the period in question, than could be effected by any other means. Nothing is farther from our design than to attempt a consecutive narrative of her ladyship's life. Our limits forbid this, and the object we have in view will be better secured by a different course.

In relinquishing our original design we must not, however, be understood to regard the subject we had intended to discuss as of trifling or temporary importance. On the contrary, we believe it to be of vast interest, and capable, if thoroughly investigated, of throwing light on principles and systems, beyond almost any other period of our history. It is scarcely possible to conceive of a contrast more perfect, than that which existed between the early and middle portions of the seventeenth century, and the commencement of the eighteenth. The two periods are marked out by broad and palpable lines of distinction, so that no intelligent mind can permit its admiration to rest on both. The time is now happily past for indiscriminate and sweeping condemnation of the former of these periods. We have learnt to distinguish the gold from the dross,-to separate the good from the evil; to admit the energy and power, the indomitable firmness and seraphic devotion of the religion of that day, notwithstanding the bigotry, and fanaticism, and hypocrisy which were rife. With every allowance which a severe but upright judge can claim, it is now generally admitted that religious principle and religious passions were in more vigorous existence, put forth more vitality, and shaped more potently the ways of men, than at any former period of our history. Admitting the truth of this statement, as we most assuredly do, the question has often recurred to us,and we had designed to attempt its solution-what were the causes of the change which took place, the declension as we must term it of the life and power of religion? What were the several stages of the process through which the public mind passed, in its transition from fervor to coldness, from activity to indolence, from an enlightened and sympathizing appreciation of the spiritual in religion, to a quiescence in outward forms and carnal obser'vances?' These are questions which we have never seen satisfactorily answered, and as the reply, if honestly rendered, would, probably, reflect little credit on any of the religious organizations of the day, it may be possible to prosecute the inquiry without having our judgment warped by party feeling. He who should so conduct the investigation would render an invaluable service to the Christian church, and though somewhat mistrustful of ourselves, we hope nevertheless speedily to do our best. In the meantime, and without further preface, we recur to the volumes before us.

Selina, Countess of Huntingdon, was descended from the

ancient and honorable house of Shirley, which was as remark'able for a long successive union of piety with nobility, as for the 'rarely-equalled purity of its genealogical tree, one of whose 'ancient branches is coeval with the time of Edward the Con'fessor.' She was a daughter of the second Earl Ferrers, and was born August 24, 1707. Her religious impressions were almost coeval with the development of her intellectual faculties, and gathered strength as she advanced in years. For a considerable time, however, she was a stranger to the distinctive features of the Christian dispensation. Her deportment was characterized by the strictest propriety, and considerable attention was paid to the outward offices of religion. An abiding sense of the reality of spiritual things, restrained her from indulging in the follies of the fashionable world, and led her to a diligent perusal of the inspired Scriptures. Ignorant of the righteousness which is by faith, she sought to establish a righteousness of her own, endeavoring by prayer, and fasting, and alms-deeds, to commend herself to the favor of the Most High.' The history of her mind in this respect was by no means singular. It presented the common features of unrenewed human nature, partially alive to the verity of divine truth, and the past deficiency of its own performances. In the meantime her ladyship was married, June 3, 1728, to Earl Huntingdon, the head of a house' whose ancient 'dignity and propriety of manners, honorably distinguished it from others.

At this period, the fathers of Methodism were seeking to arouse the dormant sensibilities of a slumbering Church, and had already accomplished great things. Their voice was as of men coming forth from the innermost recesses of the divine temple. They spake with power, and their words mightily prevailed. Crowds attended their preaching wherever they appeared. The largest edifices were too small to contain their auditors, and the power of the Spirit was present to convince. All classes of society sympathized more or less with the new movement, for there was a happy adaptation to all the diversities of human character and station, in the agents raised up by God. The time to favor Zion; yea, the set time, was come,' and the extremes of society were consequently brought together, by the simple but energetic exhibition of the doctrine of the cross.

The introduction of evangelical religion into the family of the Countess, is attributed to the Ladies Hastings, the sisters of her noble husband. Induced by curiosity to attend the preaching of the first Methodists, their hearts yielded to the truth they heard, and became instantly and deeply concerned for the welfare of those dear to them. In this they acted under the genuine impulse of religious principle, and the happiest results followed.

'Lady Margaret Hastings was the first who received the truth as it is in Jesus; and the change effected by the power of the Holy Spirit on her heart, soon became visible to all. Considering the obligations she was under to the sovereign grace of God, she felt herself called upon to seek the salvation of her fellow-creatures, and the promotion of their best and eternal interests. Next to her own soul, the salvation of her own family and friends became her care. She exhorted them faithfully and affectionately, one by one, to flee from the wrath to come;' and the Lord was pleased to make her the honored instrument of Lady Huntingdon's conversion, as well as of many others of her family.

Conversing with Lady Margaret one day on this subject, Lady Huntingdon was exceedingly struck with a sentiment she uttered, 'that since she had known and believed in the Lord Jesus Christ for life and salvation, she had been as happy as an angel.' To any such sensation of happiness, Lady Huntingdon felt that she was, as yet, an utter stranger. The more she examined herself, and considered the subject, the more she was convinced of the momentous truth. This conviction caused many reflections to arise in her mind; and beginning also to see her sinfulness and guilt, and the entire corruption and depravity of her whole nature, her hope of being able to reconcile herself to God by her own works and deservings, began gradually to die away. She sought, however, by the most rigorous austerities, to conquer her evil nature, and dispel the distressing thoughts which continually engrossed her mind. But, alas! the more she strove, the more she saw and felt that all her thoughts, words, and works, however specious before men, were utterly sinful before Him who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.

A dangerous illness having, soon after, brought her to the brink of the grave, the fear of death fell terribly upon her, and her conscience was greatly distressed. She now perceived that she had beguiled herself with prospects of a visionary nature; was entirely blinded to her own real character; had long placed her happiness in mere chimeras, and grounded her vain hopes upon imaginary foundations. It was to no purpose that she reminded herself of the morality of her conduct; in vain did she recollect the many encomiums that had been passed upon her early piety and virtue. Her best righteousness now appeared to be but filthy rags,' which, so far from justifying her before God, increased her condemnation. The remorse which before attended her conscience, on account of sin, respected only the outward actions of her life; but now she saw her heart was deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked-that all have sinned and come short of the glory of God;' and that, the thoughts of man's heart are only evil, and that continually.' When upon the point of perishing, in her own apprehension, the words of Lady Margaret returned strongly to her recollection, and she felt an earnest desire, renouncing every other hope, to cast herself wholly upon Christ for life and salvation. From her bed, she lifted up her heart to the Saviour, with this important prayer, and immediately all her distress and fears were removed, and she was filled with peace and joy in believing.

Now the day began to dawn. Jesus the Sun of righteousness arose, and burst in meridian splendour on her benighted soul. The scales fell from her eyes, and opened a passage for the light of life which sprang in, and death and darkness fled before it. Viewing herself as a brand plucked from the burning, she could not but stand astonished at the mighty power of that grace which saved her from eternal destruction just when she stood upon its very brink, and raised her from the gates of hell to the confines of heaven; and the depths from which she was raised, made the heights which she had reached only the more amazing; she felt the rock beneath her, and from that secure position looked with astonishment, downward, to that horrible pit from which she was so mercifully delivered-and upwards, in ec. stacy, to that glory to which she should be raised. The sorrow of the world, which worketh death,' was now exchanged for that godly sorrow which worketh repentance unto life; and joy unspeakable, and full of glory,' succeeded that bitterness that comes of the conviction of sin; she enjoyed, already, a delightful foretaste of heaven. Her disorder from that moment took a favorable turn; she was restored to perfect health, and what was better, to newness of life. She determined thenceforward to present herself to God, as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable, which she was now convinced was her reasonable service.' -Vol. I. pp. 14, 15.

The subsequent life of the countess was a beautiful exemplification of the reality and nature of the change thus effected, and throws back in triumph, the sneer with which profane wits and mere religious formalists, are accustomed to regard such facts. But we must not indulge in reflections. The change wrought in her views was soon known throughout her circle, and persons were not wanting, under the guise of friendship,' to urge the earl to interpose his authority. His lordship, however, though differing from her ladyship's views of religion, spurned the unworthy counsel, and continued to manifest towards her the same respect and affection. Recourse, however, was had to one of the bishops of the Church, and the following is a brief account of the interview which took place.

'His lordship was too generous to yield to such insidious advice, but he recommended her to converse with Bishop Benson, who had been his tutor, and with this request she readily complied. The bishop was accordingly sent for, and he attempted to convince her ladyship of the unnecessary strictness of her sentiments and conduct. But she pressed him so hard with scripture, brought so many arguments from the Articles and Homilies, and so plainly and faithfully urged upon him the awful responsibility of his station under the Great Head of the Church, that his temper was ruffled, and he rose up in haste to depart, bitterly lamenting that he had ever laid his hands upon George Whitefield, to whom he attributed the change wrought in her ladyship. My lord,' said the countess, mark my words: when you are on your

dying bed, that will be one of the few ordinations you will reflect upon with complacence.' The bishop's conduct at that solemn season verified her prediction: for when near his death, he sent ten guineas to Mr. Whitefield, as a token of regard and veneration, and begged to be remembered by him in his prayers!' *-Ib. p. 18.

The countess at once avowed and acted on her convictions of religious duty. She had no reserve in this matter, but repaired to the places where Mr. Whitefield and other Methodists preached, and derived from their ministrations both instruction and pleasure. She promptly entered, with characteristic yet welltempered zeal, on that course of personal service to which religion invites its disciples; and as her previous attendance at Court, and the interest she had taken in the politics of the day, had associated her with a large circle of the chief nobility of the land, she now sought to render her intimacies subservient to the propagation of religious truth. Amongst other persons whom she invited to attend the preaching of the Methodists, was the celebrated Duchess of Marlborough, now far advanced in years, in open collision with her own children, and neglected, and, for the most part, hated by all. Two short letters from this remarkable woman are given, which are so characteristic, and at the same time, present her under an aspect so seldom contemplated, that we cannot refrain from transcribing them.

'My dear Lady Huntingdon is always so very good to me, and I really do feel so very sensibly all your kindness and attention, that I must accept your very obliging invitation to accompany you to hear Mr. Whitefield, though I am still suffering from the effects of a severe cold. Your concern for my improvement in religious knowledge is very obliging, and I do hope that I shall be the better for all your excellent

* In connexion with this anecdote, an instance of Dr. Southey's partiality -to use no stronger term-is pointed out by the author, for which we must make room. It is as follows. 'Dr. Southey has, with a partiality little to his credit, related the former, but suppressed the latter portion of this anecdote, and has prostituted his talents in order to heap sarcasm, ridicule, and contempt upon the countess. Her religious feeling, he insinuates, originated in a 'decided insanity in her family !'—an assertion as wicked as it is falseand tells us that all the arguments of Bishop Benson were ineffectual to bring her to a saner sense of devotion.' In the next edition of his caricature of Mr. Wesley, it would be candour to notice the bishop's dying gift to Mr. Whitefield-his dying professions of regard for Mr. Whitefield-and his dying request for Mr. Whitefield's prayers; a luminous commentary on the almost prophetic language of Lady Huntingdon, and a decisive reproof to the Poor Laureate's fiction of hereditary insanity, which indeed is sufficiently disproved by her every act, her every letter, and her every word.' How much it is to be deplored that so noble an intellect, capable of such varied and splendid achievements, should suffer itself to be so tampered with, and misled, by the prejudices and passions of the partizan.