his unconquerable devotion to the service of his heavenly Father. Every holy principle knew in Him its proper station and office; all acted harmoniously together; and all concurred to form that heavenly temper, which was visible in the whole tenor of His ministry, and which raised Him above the world, even while He was in it.-Bowdler.

BISHOP BERKELEY.

How instructive and memorable is the language of Peter to Cornelius! How fitted to extinguish an intolerant and bigoted spirit, and to kindle Christian charity and affection! Of a truth I perceive that Go is no respecter of persons; but in every nation he that feareth Him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with Him.' We know not whether one should be justified in referring, as an illustration of this truth, to the Indian with whom Brainerd conversed, and of whom he wrote, 'But I must say there was something in his temper and disposition that looked more like true religion than anything I ever observed amongst other heathen.' But, beyond all doubt, we may refer to such men as Fenelon among the Papists, and Berkeley among the Episcopalians, as evidence that the purest and most elevated piety may flourish under the shadow of pernicious systems, and in ages notorious for degeneracy and corruption.

On the person last referred to, Bishop Berkeley, we wish to make a few remarks. A man more transparent and lovely, more disinterested and generous, it is scarcely possible to find. He was a being of refined and penetrating thought, who soared with graceful ease through the cloudy regions of metaphysics, and felt at home in discussing the deeper problems of mathematics. He was solidly and extensively learned. He had a flowing speech, and an ardent, persuasive temperament, which not seldom turned ridicule into admiration. Lord Bathurst tells of a dinner-party who agreed to rally Berkeley on his Bermudas scheme. He listened patiently to the jokes and hits that rattled around him from the lively wits, who wished to banter him into an abandonment of his purpose. He then begged to be heard in defence, and displayed his plan so clearly, so eloquently, and with such an amount of earnest and intrepid enthusiasın, that his opponents were silenced, and, after a pause, rose all up together, exclaiming, 'Let us set out with him immediately!' Pope, whose waspish pen stung every body, was charmed into raptures by Berkeley, and placed him on a too-exalted pillar in the following lines:

Even in a Bishop I can spy desert; Secker is decent; Rundle has an heart; Manners, with candour, are to Benson given; To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.'

Bishop Atterbury, who was almost everything which a Christian bishop ought not to be; whose belief in Christianity was suspected; whose conversation was not always free from cursing; who one day was heard offering his services to proclaim the exiled House of Stuart, and the next was heard swearing fidelity to the House of Hanover; who was a dissembler, a slimy political intriguer, an unscrupulous polemic-in short, a kind of human comet that spread terror and conflagration around his rapid movements in Church and State; even this man felt, in Berkeley's presence, as if awed by an angel. He wrote of him, 'So much understanding, so much knowledge, so much innocence, and such humility, I did not think had been the portion of any but angels, till I saw this gentleman.' Swift, another dignitary of the same Church to which both Atterbury and Berkeley belonged-the Episcopal; inferior in rank, indeed, to the former, but equal in every point of spiritual unfitness; a sour, surly man-hater; a heartless trifler with the affections of two devoted women, who, withering under his freezing neglect, sank broken-hearted into the grave; even Swift thawed under the genial influence of Berkeley's presence, not, indeed, into the softness of a Christian Dean, or even of an attractive piece of humanity, but into a mollified bear, induced by the benignant vernal sun to come forth from his dark and dismal lair, to shake the outer wilderness with alternate gambols and growls. Swift wrote concerning Berkeley to Lord Carteret: And therefore I do humbly entreat your Excellency, either to use such persuasions as will keep one of the first men in the kingdom for learning and vigue quite at home, or assist him by your credit to compass his romantic design, which, however, is very noble and generous, and directly proper for a great person of your excellent education to encourage.'

In forming our opinion of Berkeley, it is not necessary that we rate him as high as these praises, or that we ascribe to him 'every virtue under heaven.' The truth is, virtue and piety were rare in those days, aniong the society in which Berkeley moved; rare, alas! even in ministers of religion. A person of ordinary excellence appearing among such society made as great a sensation by his piety, as a well-educated boy does by a display of his acquirements among a group of uneducated, or ill-educated bumpkins. The Court was sunk in licentiousness. The chief of the State were men of gallantry. The ministers in the Church were, in many cases, men whose

characters would have shut them out from membership in a well-conducted Christian congregation. In such an age, then, and amid such society, Berkeley appeared like Joseph in Egypt, or Daniel in Babylon. It was not only the whiteness of his own garments, but the impurity of the dress of all around him, that made him appear so beautiful and attractive.

Still, this man was rich in the beauties of holiness. The Spirit of God had evidently laid His sanctifying hands on him. The work of God is as easily distinguishable in the fields of grace, as in the fields of nature; and Berkeley's zeal for truth, his disinterestedness, his benevolence, his selfdenial, his humility, are no more to be confounded with the fruits of nature and education, than are the violets you gather from the mountain-side to be mistaken for their representatives in gum and wax. It has often been justly remarked, that Christianity has produced many advantages among us for which it does not receive credit. It has supplied the element of celestial life to many of our customs, and habits, and laws; but the source of the benefit is ignorantly misunderstood, or impiously explained away. The respiration of bees in their crowded hives was at one time thought to be impossible. It was supposed these insects were independent of the vital air; but no sooner were they placed in the vacuum of the air-pump, than they immediately perished. In like manner, place the most civilized society in any situation where the influence of Christianity is completely excluded, and it will speedily sink down, deprived of its chief beauty, activity, and life. In like manner, take such a man as Berkeley away from the atmosphere of the Saviour's cross, and Spirit, and Gospel, and his moral beauty, will become ashes, and his moral life, death.

In Berkeley's days, atheism was fashionable, and he wrote against it. He wrote, and admirably too, against the atheistical metaphysicians, and the atheistical mathematicians, and the infidel man of pleasure. His object in writing against the first was to cut up by the roots the scheme of materialism. Matter,' he says, 'being once expelled out of nature, drags with it so many sceptical and impious notions. Without it, your Epicureans, Hobbists, and the like, have not even the shadow of a pretence, but become the most cheap and easy triumph in the world.' His object was to disprove the existence of a material world altogether; to show-the existence of an intelligent Creator being admitted that He could communicate directly from Himself all our perceptions, without the intervention of matter at all. The existence of matter being disproved,

Berkeley held that the evidence of the existence of an intelligent Creator was proportionally increased. Remove an external material world as the substratum of perceptions, and you are brought into immediate and resistless contact with the eter

nal God himself. His theory is too refined ever to be popular; but the acuteness with which it is displayed and supported, the strong points in it which no assaults can demolish, and the sublime object which he had in view-the strengthening of the evidence of the existence of a supreme and glorious Creator-must ever entitle him to the admiration and gratitude of mankind.

His object in writing against the infidel mathematicians was to turn some of their arguments against Christianity, against their own favourite science, Halley, the celebrated astronomer and mathematician, had said, that the doctrines of Christianity are incomprehensible, and the religion itself an imposture. Berkeley maintained that mysteries in faith are unjustly objected to by mathematicians, who admit much greater mysteries in science, in their own beloved science, and particularly in the doctrine of fluxions, in that science. It may be observed here, that Berkeley did not do either himself or his cause justice in this argument; inasmuch, as an analogy between mathematical and moral difficulties is unsafe and unfair. The mathematical difficulties of one age are the easilyexecuted problems of another; and what puzzles even the Halleys of the eighteenth century, can be satisfactorily demonstrated by boys at school or college in the nineteenth century. Whereas the moral difficulties that arrested Augustine, and Calvin, and Jonathan Edwards, remain, and will remain, to puzzle mankind to the end of time.

In writing against the infidel men of pleasure, Berkeley had an easier task. Those persons were utterly ignorant of Christianity, and, like many of the same class at the present day, thought it worthy of being condemned without being tried. Lounging in drawing-rooms, coffee-houses, taverns, and such like places of resort, they listened to would-be wits and philosophers assailing Christianity with wit and raillery. Having collected some stale and putrid sneers against Noah's Ark, Balaam's Ass, and Jonah's Whale, these flippant gentlemen considered themselves possessed of a license to laugh at Christianity, and to practise all ungodliness and immorality with greediness. One of the methods which Berkeley took to confute | these persons, was to give their history, to paint their characters, and, holding up the! picture before a discerning public, to say, Are these the men who are to be allowed

to laugh Christianity out of the land?" There is a story told of a gentleman, who challenged another to fight a duel on the presumption of his being the author of a scurrilous pamphlet. The challenger held the manuscript of the pamphlet in his hand, and he would not be satisfied of the challenged's innocence, unless he would produce a specimen of his handwriting, which might be compared with the manuscript. The challenged took pen in hand, and thus began: 'I sartify that the bok called the snak in the gras'- -'Staystay, my lord,' said the challenger; 'I am quite satisfied you did not write this manuscript.' Now, there are hundreds of infidels to whom we might say, were their qualifications for judging of Christianity tried in a similar manner, Stop-stop; we are quite satisfied you are not qualified to judge of the merits of Christianity.'

Having made these remarks on Berkeley's writings, let us contemplate some of the acts of his useful and generous life. He was a true patriot; and he could not cast his eyes on Ireland, his country, without seeing that she, of all countries, needed the active patriotism of her children. He avowed his love for all his countrymen, whether Protestants or Roman Catholics, and laboured to bind them together in united enterprise for the common good of their country. He had an active hand in restraining the Roman Catholics from taking part in the Rebellion of 1745, and he stirred up their priests to encourage industry among their flocks. But the

crowning act of his life, was his effort to carry out a scheme for the conversion of the North American savages, by means of a missionary college to be erected in the Berniudas. He set his heart on this scheme, and nothing could induce him to forego it without a trial. Friends might pity, enemies might mock, the world might laugh; but he cared not, if he could be instrumental in reclaiming a miserable portion of mankind. He resigned his deanery, worth £1100 a-year; and, with a paltry salary of £100, set sail for Rhode Island. There, in that strange land, and among that strange people, neglected by the Government that promised to support him, teased by creditors, his hopes disappointed, his fortune expended on his scheme, he toiled for seven years, and then with a hopeless heart returned to England. Amidst these public afflictions, he seems to have found great comfort in domestic enjoyments. His wife and child were ministers of hope and joy to his soul; and it is truly beautiful to see the good man, when pressed down by public cares, springing back to his wonted elevation, by admiring the paintings, and listening to the music, of his wife!

We have only another scene to present concerning Berkeley. It is the closing scene of his life. It was at Oxford, and on a Sunday evening. He was lying on a couch. His lady was reading to him one of Sherlock's sermons. The Bishop is seized with a palsy of the heart, and instantly expires. The mortal blow is struck, the death pang endured, the spirit is gone from its clay temple, and is already commingling with sainted companions and angelic guides, and there is no noise, or sign of the solemn event. His lady continues to read sentence after sentence, all unconscious that she is speaking to the 'dull, cold ear of death!' He seems asleep. His daughter presents him with a dish of tea, and on touching him, starts back with amazement and woe. That was surely the cold touch of death! O, yes, too surely! He is gone-gone in a moment--gone for ever; and the soft tranquillity and serenity of that sweet Sunday evening are broken in upon by the sobs and tears of the widow and the fatherless, soon to be followed by the lamentations of the poor over their liberal benefactor, and of the Church and the world, equally agreed in acknowledging, that a prince, and a great man, had that day fallen in Israel.'

C. M.

INFIDELITY SUSTAINS NOT AT DEATH.

DYING CONFESSIONS OF A LIBERTINE. G. Villiers (Duke of Buckingham) to Dr Barlow.

DEAR DOCTOR,-I always looked upon you as a man of true virtue; and know you to be a person of sound judgment. For, however I may act in opposition to the principles of religion, or the dictates of reason, I can honestly assure you, I had always the highest veneration for both. The world and I may shake hands, for I dare affirm we are heartily weary of each other. O Doctor, what a prodigal I have been of the most valuable of all possessions

time! I have squandered it away with a persuasion it was lasting; and now, when a few days would be worth a hecatomb of worlds, I cannot flatter myself with the prospect of half a dozen hours.

How despicable is that man, who never prays to God, but in the time of his distress! In what manner can he, with reverence, supplicate that Omnipotent Being in his affliction, whom, in the tide of his prosperity, he never remembered with dread? Do not brand me with infidelity, when I tell you, I am almost ashamed to offer up my petitions to the throne of grace; or of imploring that Divine mercy in the next world, which I have so scandalously abused in this. Shall ingratitude

to man be looked upon as the blackest of crimes, and not ingratitude to God? Shall an insult offered to the king be looked on in the most offensive light, and yet no notice be taken when the King of kings is treated with indignity and disrespect? The companions of my former libertinism would scarce believe their eyes, were you to show them this Epistle. They would laugh at me as a dreaming enthusiast, or pity me as a timorous wretch, who was shocked at the appearance of futurity. They are more entitled to my pity than my resentment. A future state may very well strike terror into any man, who has not acted well in this life; and he must have an uncommon share of courage indeed, who does not shrink at the presence of God.

You see, my dear Doctor, the apprehensions of death will soon bring the most profligate to the use of their understandings. I am haunted by remorse, despised by my acquaintance, aud, I fear, forsaken by my God. There is nothing, my dear Doctor, so dangerous as extraordinary abilities. I cannot be accused of vanity now, by being sensible that I was once possessed of uncommon qualifications, as I sincerely regret that I was ever blessed with any at all. My rank in life made these accomplishments still more conspicuous; and, fascinated with the general applause which they procured, I never considered about the proper means, by which they should be displayed. Hence, to purchase a smile from a blockhead, whom I despised, I have frequently treated the virtuous with disrespect; and sported with the holy name of Heaven, to claim a laugh from a parcel of fools, who were entitled to nothing but my contempt.

Your men of wit, my dear Doctor, look upon themselves as discharged from the duties of religion; and confine the doctrines of the Gospel to people of meaner understandings; and look on that man to be of a narrow genius, who studies to be good. What a pity, that the Holy Writings are not made the criterion of true judgment! Favour me, my dear Doctor, with a visit as soon as possible. Writing to you gives me some ease. I am of opinion this is the last visit I shall ever solicit from you. My distemper is powerful. Come, and pray for the departing spirit of the unhappy BUCKINGHAM.

TESTIMONY OF A PENITENT RAKE.

For the benefit of all those, whom I may have drawn into sin by my example and encouragement, I leave to the world this my last declaration, which I deliver in the presence of the Great God, who knows the secrets of all hearts, and before whom I

6

am now appearing to be judged: That from the bottom of my soul I detest and abhor the whole course of my former wicked life: That I think I can never sufficiently admire the goodness of God, who has given me a true sense of my pernicious opinions and vile practices, by which I have hitherto lived without hope, and without God in the world;' That I have been an open enemy to Jesus Christ, doing the utmost despite to the Holy Spirit of grace: That the greatest testimony of my charity to such, is, to warn them, in the name of God, as they regard the welfare of their immortal souls, no more to deny His being or His providence, or despise His goodness; no more to make a mock at sin; no more to contemn the pure and excellent religion of my everblessed Redeemer, through whose merits alone, I, one of the greatest of sinners, do yet hope for mercy and forgiveness. Amen. Earl of Rochester.

20

From his nostrils bursteth fume,
As from the rush-kindled oven.

21 His breath kindleth coals;
Raging fire spreadeth at his presence.
22 In his neck dwelleth MIGHT;

And DESTRUCTION exulteth before him.

23 The flakes of his flesh are compacted together;

They are firm, and will in no wise give away.

24 His heart is as hard as a stone;

Yea, as hard as the nether mill-stone. 25 At his rising, the mighty are alarmed; Frighted at the disturbance which he makes in the water.

27 He regardeth iron as straw,

Copper as rotten wood.

28 The arrow cannot make him flee; Sling stones he deemeth trifling. 29 Like stubble is the battle-axe reputed; And he laugheth at the quivering of the javelin.

30 His bed is the splinters of flint,

Which the broken rock scattereth on the mud.

31 He maketh the main to boil as a caldron; He snuffeth up the tide as a perfume. 32 Behind him glittereth a pathway; The deep is embroidered with hoar. 33 He hath not his like upon earth, Even among those made not to be daunted.

34 He looketh upon every thing with haugh

tiness:

He is King over all the sons of the fierce.
Job xli. 13-34.

THE thirteenth verse commences a part of the description not previously given, and which is in beautiful agreement with the detailed pictures of the WAR-HORSE and BEHEMOTH, in preceding chapters. From the dignity which he had hitherto supported, the Poet does not descend, by representing Jehovah as displaying His own wonderful work, and calling upon man to observe the several admirable particulars in its formation, that he might be impressed with a deeper sense of the power of his Maker. The verse is somewhat obscure. The first line seems to describe the terrible helmet, which covers the head and face of the crocodile. The original might be translated, Who can uncover his mailed face?' If, in the days of Job, it was customary to equip the warhorse in complete armour, the question may refer to the removal of the armour. By such an image, the scales of Leviathan may be very fitly represented. The allusion, in the second line, may be to the bridling of him, for some other service, after the panoply has been stript off.

In the fourteenth verse, our attention is turned to the mouth of the crocodile. It is very large; and the apparatus of teeth, set in such numerous and formidable array, fully justifies the boldness of the description. The powerful images of the next three verses represent, in a manner equally graphic and truthful, the largeness, and the indissoluble texture, of the scales with which this creature is covered. With that recorded in the sacred text, exactly agree the accounts of those, who have had opportunities of examining the strength and compactness of the plates, by which, as in an envelope, the superior and exposed part of his body is protected.

The eighteenth verse is as beautiful in

expression, as it is accordant with fact. Of amphibious animals, it has been remarked, that the longer they hold their breath under water, so much the more strongly do they respire when they begin to emerge. The breath, confined for a length of time, effervesces in such a manner, and issues forth with such violence, that they appear to vomit flames. The eyes of the crocodile are small, but extremely piercing. Hence, the Egyptians compared his eye, when he first mounted to the surface, to the sun rising out of the sea, in which he was supposed to set. Indeed, so forcibly were they struck with the resemblance, that they made the hieroglyphic of Sunrise.

In the three following verses, the creature is described in pursuit of his prey on land. His mouth is then open. His breath is thrown out with prodigious vehemence it appears like smoke; and is heated to such a degree as to seem a flaming fire. The images here used are very strong and hyperbolical; not dissimilar to those which occur in the eighth verse of the eighteenth Psalm: "There went a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his mouth devoured: coals were kindled by it.' In figures equally bold, the enraged boar has been painted by one Latin Poet. 'Lightning issueth from his mouth, and boughs are set on fire by his breath.' Another employs a correspondent description. In his neck dwelleth MIGHT; and DESTRUCTION exulteth before him.' Might, and Destruction, are here personified. The former is seated on his neck, as indicating his power, or guiding his movements: the latter, as leaping and dancing before him when he pursues his prey, to express the terrible slaughter which he makes.

The strong similes in the twenty-third and twenty-fourth verses, may denote, not only a material, but a moral, hardness: the savage and unrelenting nature of Leviathan. One competent to speak as to his propensities and habits, represents him as a voracious devourer of flesh, and the most pitiless of animals.'-The five verses which follow describe, in a very lively manner, the strength, courage, and intrepidity, of this most formidable of quadrupeds. Whoever attacks him, engages in a most unequal conflict: neither swords, darts, nor javelins avail against him. On this point, there is a perfect unanimity among writers, whether in ancient or modern times-that the skin of the crocodile is impenetrable by the sharpest weapons.

The thirtieth verse is of rather doubtful import, and has been variously rendered. It seems to convey the idea, that the creature in question can repose himself on splinters of rock, or sharp-pointed stones,