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15. The Veracity of the Evangelists demonstrated, by a Comparative View of their Histories, 12mo., 1816.

16. A Glossary, or Collection of Words, Phrases, Names, and Allusions to Customs, Proverbs, &c., occurring in English Authors, 4to., 1822.

17. A Volume of Sermons on Faith, and other Subjects, 8vo., 1825. In addition to the above, Mr. Nares assisted in the completion of Bridges' History of Northamptonshire, and wrote the preface for that work. He also wrote several occasional pamphlets, well calculated to check the torrent of revolution and infidelity, which at the time threatened to involve the nation in ruin.

With an eye to the same object, in connexion with Mr. Belóe, he commenced in 1793, the "British Critic," a review, which for a long season had a considerable influence on politics and literature. Of this periodical, the editorship was entrusted to the judgment, sagacity, learning, and acuteness of Mr. Nares; and the vigour and perseverance with which it was conducted through difficult and dangerous times, are too well known to require elucidation. To each of the half-yearly volumes, was prefixed a preface, always written by Mr. Nares, in which he recapitulated the leading features that appeared in letters within the given period. With this work he proceeded till the end of the forty-second volume, and then consigned the management to others.

An edition of Dr. Purdy's Lectures on the Church Catechism, may also be added to the works of Mr. Nares. To this he prefixed a biographical preface, giving some account of the author, and of his two friends, the Rev. T. Butler, and Lawson Huddleston, Esq. men of distinguished worth and talent.

In the formation of the Royal Society of Literature, established by his late Majesty George IV. Mr. Nares took an active part, and in forming its rules, selecting the most suitable individuals to enjoy the royal bounty, and the honours of the Society, his exertions appear in a highly favourable light. The difficulties to be encountered, he surmounted with triumph; and discharged with fidelity, the duties which the arduous task entailed. In transacting the various concerns belonging to this institution, the principal management was committed to the Bishop of Salisbury, who, among all his assistants, had no coadjutor who rendered him efficient service equal to Mr. Nares. It was, therefore, as a tribute of respect for his diligence, and an acknowledgment of his valuable services, that he was elected VicePresident in 1823. In all its councils and proceedings, he took a warm interest during the remaining part of his life; and contributed to the first volume of its Transactions, an interesting paper, entitled, "An Historical Account of the Discoveries that have been made in Palimpsest (or Rescript) Manuscripts."

The late Dr. Vincent, the learned dean of Westminster, always spoke of Mr. Nares as a profound scholar, and a most able critic; yet unassuming amidst his great acquirements, and wholly destitute of pedantry and ostentation. In private and domestic life, his manners were vivacious yet simple; and it has been thought that his innate modesty prevented him from attaining a higher ecclesiastical distinction than that to which he was preferred. With these estimable qualities, we feel no surprise at hearing, that "his intimacy was zealously courted, and that he ranked among his most constant friends, a number of the foremost men of the times which he himself lived to adorn."

For many particulars included in this memoir, we acknowledge our obligations to Part XX. of Fisher and Co.'s National Portrait Gallery.

ALLAN MACULLOCH; OR, CHARACTERS

CONTRASTED.

̓Εὰν πεινᾷ ὁ ἐχθρος σου, ψώμιζε αυτόν. ἐὰν διψᾷ, πότιζε ἀυτόν· τοῦτο γὰρ ποιῶν, ἄνθρακας πυρὸς σωρεύσεις ἐπὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν ἀυτοῦ.—ΡΩΜ. 1 β'. ή.

"He is dead," said Mary, as she bent over him, the tender tears falling fast upon the lifeless corpse beneath her: "oh! if we had but come out a little sooner, we might perhaps have saved his life."

"There is hope still," said her father, lifting the head from the ground; "run, Mary, run, and bring assistance as quickly as you can." The tender girl made off as fast as she was able; while the good Samaritan endeavoured to staunch the blood that flowed from a wound in the side of the sufferer.

It was on the borders of one of the thick and extensive woods of Canada, that Mary and her father lived. They had just settled down to their evening meal, when they were alarmed by the unwonted sound of fire-arms her father went to the door of their house, to listen he thought he heard a faint shriek; it was sufficient: he returned, equipped himself, and, taking a blunderbuss in his hand, he set out, followed by Mary, in the direction in which they heard the sound: they had hardly advanced one hundred yards into the wood, when they heard a deep groan, and, a little on the right of the narrow pathway, they saw a man weltering in his blood and now and then uttering a feeble moan, that seemed to be the last ebbing of vitality.

While Mary ran to fetch assistance, her father lifted up the poor victim, and, undoing his clothes, discovered that the ball had entered his right side, just above the elbow and the blood flowing copiously from the wound, had literally soaked the ground beneath there was, however, still a weak pulse and when they had removed him from the spot, by the assistance of two labourers who lived in a small hut near their cottage, and worked for them, they laid him upon a couch in their parlour; and, having succeeded in stopping the flow of blood, there seemed some hope of his ultimate recovery.

They watched by his side the whole of the night; and though he often groaned heavily, he continued still insensible. However, having forced down his throat some warm liquor that Mary had prepared, he revived so much as to open his eyes; but was too weak to speak: he made signs for

something to drink. When his wants had been supplied, he fell asleep, and awoke after a long rest, very much refreshed. In a short time he appeared out of immediate danger; and they then learned from him the attempt that had been made upon his life.

"My name," said he, "is, Allan Maculloch." "Allan Maculloch ?" exclaimed his host, with an emotion in his countenance which he strove to conceal. His guest did not seem to have observed it, and he soon recovered his equanimity. "Yes," said the other :" Allan Maculloch! and a bad name it is, too; if the possessor of it by one of the most wicked wretches on earth, can make it so. Trouble, that I well deserved, drove me, with a small sum of money in my possession, to take shelter with many others in this country and before I had landed three days, I fell into company with a man of the name of Williams, who invited me, to accompany him in search of employment, and I had reached this place in his company, when, suddenly turning upon me, he demanded all my money. I refused him, and he threatened to take away my life; at the same time pulling from his pocket a small pistol. I made a spring at him, and endeavoured to seize the hand that held it: but he was too sharp for me, and, retiring three paces, he fired, and I fell. I remember nothing more, till I found myself upon the couch in your house. How shall I repay you the kindness which you have shown me? In what manner can I repay you for my life? Poor as I am, I fear I must be infinitely your debtor, till I shall be able to render a similar service to you." His hospitable entertainer declared that he required no recompense; that his maxim was, to "do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again ;" and added, that the principles of humanity would neither suffer him to take away the life of another, nor let any one perish when it was in his power to preserve him. Here Allan sighed very deeply.

In about six weeks he was so far recovered as to be able to walk well without assistance; and he determined, unless his services as a labourer could be useful to his benefactor, to leave him, and wait for some other opportunity of showing his gratitude.-Mary's father was one who feared God. He had seen much affliction in his younger days, for he was now about forty years old, though early sorrow had written many wrinkles upon his forehead. loss of all that was dear to him in his native country, had driven him into an asy

The

lum in the colonies, to which he had fled with his young daughter: their residence here had been a very peaceful one; Mary knew no temporal joys beyond the pleasing of her father; and no temporal sorrows beyond his frown: and he, though early woe had chilled his affections, felt that he lived only for his 'Mary. Both set their hearts upon the eternal joys which await the redeemed, in a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God: and both lived in earnest expectation of that time when he should be pleased to call them thereto.

Few incidents had diversified their residence here they seldom saw the faces of men, beyond those of their own household, and now and then a stray Indian; or a neighbouring settler perhaps came, to share their hospitality, while on his way to Quebec otherwise they lived quite alone; and this event, together with its results, was the most remarkable circumstance that had occurred during a residence of fifteen years.

Mary's father had a whim, (and who has not some whim or other?) since he had left the land of his nativity, his own name had never crossed his lips; even Mary had not heard it; and the designation by which he was known among his neighbours was, "the new settler," which, however inapplicable now, he still retained.

This warm-hearted and worthy man pressed his guest very much to stay; but after a residence of three months, finding that he was rather a burden than otherwise to his benefactor, he fixed the day for his departure. During his sojourn, he had given ample proof that his heart was as yet a heart of stone. His host had taken the opportunity of his illness to converse much with him upon the subject of religion, and laboured hard to turn his eyes to the eter nal city but he remained callous. There was one thing that made a very deep impression upon him, and that was, the exemplary life which these two Christians led: shut out from converse with the world, they came out of it in the spirit as well as the letter; they lived for God, and therefore with God. Oh! that is indeed a blessed life; no trial can then, to real Christians, seem grievous; no sorrows can then bow down their heart; none can make them afraid; no evil finally hurt them, "for they shall be mine," saith the Lord, "in the day when I make up my jewels."

Allan often wondered whence it arose that they were always happy, while that sensation was a stranger to his bosom : and if these feelings were of short duration, they were of frequent occurrence, and at

least prepared the ground of his heart for the reception of the gospel.

But the time came when he had determined to depart. There was one apparently insurmountable obstacle; he had no money. Mary's father had scraped together a few pounds, which he had determined to keep, as a means of support in scarcity or illness. Here was, however, a fellow-creature in need of it; and without hesitation he consigned it to him, knowing that "the Lord will provide.”

Mary had been preparing him a few articles of clothing, against his departure; and thus, having equipped him to the best of their ability, they sent him forth. Mary's father accompanied him by his own request for a few miles of the way; and they soon fell into conversation. Allan began by blessing his benefactor for all his kindnesses; and assured him, that if ever it was in his power to oblige him, no difficulty on earth should daunt him.

"It is quite in your power now," said the other: "I will consider all your obligations fully cancelled, if only you will believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and be saved."

"Ah!" answered he, "you have asked a hard thing: I have been every thing that is execrable, from my youth up till now: my first great deed of wickedness, alas! was my worst; and that so horrible, that at this day I shudder to think of it. Hear my relation; and great will be your forbearance, if after it you do not curse me from the earth.

"I am a native of Argyleshire, in Scotland: my father was a small farmer, and at his death, at the age of twenty, I succeeded to the possession of his farm. Soon after this, I fell in love with a young woman, who possessed every thing that charms the heart or pleases the eye. Oh! my aching heart bleeds at the recollection; alas! she returned not my love, but avowed a preference for a near neighbour of mine, whose name was Robert Macleod; and, burning with disdain, I left her, and soon she was married to my rival. I could not divest myself of a feeling of love; but in me it almost amounted to madness: the feeling grew upon me, till, upon the mention of her name, I gnashed my teeth with rage. In two years she had two fine children-a son, and a daughter; and envy mingled with my frenzied love, or rather hate. One night, about this time, I lay upon my bed, unable to sleep: I thought of my rejected love, and rage began to thicken in my breast. The fiend who is always ready to prompt us to ill, whispered

in my ear a plan of revenge. I arose, dressed myself; and sallying forth, I reached the farm-house in which my rival dwelt : the night was dark ; but there was a brisk wind, and all was still but that. “I obtained a short ladder, and set fire to the roof and presently I heard the screams of the rousing inmates. The first that appeared was my former love, with her baby in her arms: she screamed on seeing me; and I drew a pistol from my side, and fired. The ball entered her right side; (just where I received my own wound ;) she fell, and, exclaiming, "Oh! Allan, my poor babes," she expired.

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"Her husband followed close behind ber, leading in his hand his little son. In the frenzy of my rage, I seized hold of the innocent babe, and, plunging my dirk into its breast, threw it at the feet of the agonizing father, and, smiling on him in maddened scorn, I turned my back, and walked, away. Returning reason shewed me the necessity of flight, and, crossing the country with the utmost speed, I reached a seaport. Oh! the horrors of that dreadful night who can depict? When all was still, and the scene of death far behind, and my blood cooled, then did the terrible feeling, that I was a murderer, press upon my reason, till it seemed to reel from its throne. There was a voice ringing in my ears, a voice I had once thought more tuneful than the lavrock, sounding in my ears, Allan, my poor babes! They were the last words from those sweet lips, from which, even in death, a bitter word could not escape; and they haunted me, till they well nigh drove me to suicide. I embarked on board a ship just ready to sail, and thought myself happy in having eluded the arm of justice. Fatigued with the length of my flight, I fell asleep upon the floor of the cabin. I had a dream : I seemed to be standing near the door of the house where I had committed the murder, when my innocent victim appeared, dressed in a vesture of snowy whiteness, except that down the right side there was a streak of blood, which seemed to be of so pure a nature, that it hardly stained the beauty of the garment.

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"Her countenance was lovely, beyond the power of language to express and her words seemed to drop as honey from her lips, as she uttered them: Allan, you have hurried me, without a warning, to my last great account; but I am happy through Him who died for me: oh! poor sinner, beware of the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched !"-There was a smile inexpressibly sweet on her

countenance, as she uttered the last words: her form then faded away, till there was only a gentle light, where she had seemed to stand over it there arose a thick heavy cloud, that spread with great rapidity on all sides, till it became utterly dark ; and the sensation in my dream was horrible! A hideous being, whom I had not the courage to gaze upon, then approached, and threw a net over me: he gave the signal, and four of his slaves, very much like himself, lifted me up, and hurried me with fearful rapidity down a steep descent; they forced me onwards till I could discern at a distance, a red glimmering flame, that seemed to rise out of the very mouth of hell. I gave a desperate struggle, in hopes of getting free, and in the violent effort I awoke. The terror I was in, made me scream for assistance : several persons came running down, to see what had happened; and I was obliged to invent a story about_the_night-mare, before they were satisfied. But from that time I have had that never-dying worm in my bosom : I have felt that hot flame burning in my breast, till life has become a burden too heavy for me to bear.

"When I reached America, I found a description of my person had already preceded me, and my name was execrated. I had landed at New York, but I embarked three days after as a sailor, in a ship that was sailing to the South Sea. I assumed the name of John Adams, and for some time I escaped notice; but I went by the name of the melancholy man, never being able to shake off the deep feeling of guilt which clung to me. I was shipwrecked once, and was saved by swimming to a desolate island with two others, where we had nothing to eat but the eggs of the turtles, till a ship touching at the island in hopes of finding water, took us off, and I visited the East Indies. Here I remained several years, and obtained a small post under government, and amassed about two hundred pounds, which I embarked in a mercantile speculation: the ship was lost, and I was reduced to poverty.

"I again scraped together a little wealth, and lost it again in a similar manner. About a year after I arrived in India, I married the widow of a serjeant, who had died about two years before; and by her I had two children. But the retribution of God became manifest now : the first perished by an accidental blow from an elephant, and the second was carried off by a royal tiger. I remembered the murder of the innocent babe, and writhed under a sentence of which I

could not deny the justice. Calamities followed in quick succession. My wife died; I lost my office; the little remains of my property melted like snow before the sun; and I left India as I entered it, without a rupee in my possession. Thence I went to England; but not daring to stay there, I soon found the means of setting off with a number of voluntary exiles for Canada, and arrived as I before related.

"But even now the voice of blood cries from the ground against me: that warning dream, "Beware of the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched”— still haunts me like a spectre, and points me to the life after death; reminds me of a worm, which, though it shall perpetually torment, shall never destroy; of a flame, which shall for ever burn, but never consume and I have had a fearful foretaste of those horrors, dark as hell: I have felt that loathing of life, which makes me cry out, "Oh! that I had never been born!" I feel, I feel, eternity is before me; an avenging God is above me; hell is beneath me; and torment all around me: oh! where can I fly, to escape from the wrath to come! My life is but a slow death; and, dreadful as it is, I can look for no relief in the consummation. I am lost for ever

No;

for ever. Shut out from all joy, I must eat the bread of sorrow, drink the waters of bitterness, and lie to rest upon a bed of thorns, till hell shall fill up the cup of my everlasting woe: oh! the horrors of sin, who can express!"

His companion endeavoured to still the agitation of his mind, by pointing to the Saviour of sinners; and though he could not think of mercy for such a wretch as himself, it quieted the ravings of his wandering fancy; and he listened calmly, while his kind friend explained the all-sufficiency of the atonement of Christ, and his willingness to receive all that would come unto him, even murderers; and his conversation evidently made a deep impression upon the poor sinner, who seemed on the very brink of the lake of everlasting wo.

They had advanced above two miles from the habitation, when Allan turned to bid his friend adieu. Mary's father knelt down upon the sod, and Allan Maculloch knelt down beside him; and the former, with streaming eyes, besought their heavenly Father to vouchsafe pardon and peace to the poor murderer; and while he prayed, "comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise ;" the Holy Spirit beamed upon his heart in one bright effulgence; and now he clung as fondly to the

name of his Saviour, as he had before in the bitterness of his soul rejected it. They arose from their knees: Mary's father bestowed a fervent blessing upon the parting penitent, and Allan grasped with convulsive emotion the hand of his benefactor. "To whom am I indebted for,"-he stopped: for words were not made to express a hope so sublime as that which had now sprung up in his breast. Pressing to his bosom the hand which he held, "To whom," said he, am I indebted ?" "To Robert Macleod," said the other! :

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AN ALLEGORICAL FABLE, FROM LAMOTTE,

Labour, the offspring of Want, and the mother of Health and Contentment, lived with her two daughters in a little cottage by the side of a hill, at a great distance from town. They were totally unacquainted with the great, and had kept no better company than the neighbouring villagers: but having a desire of seeing the world, they forsook their companions and habitations, and determined to travel. Labour went soberly along the road, with Health on her right hand, who, by the sprightliness of her conversation, and songs of cheerfulness and joy, softened the toils of the way; while Contentment went smiling on the left, supporting the steps of her mother, and by her perpetual good humour increasing the vivacity of her sister. In this manner they travelled over forests, and through towns and villages, till at last they arrived at the capital of the kingdom. At their entrance into the great city, the mother conjured her daughters never to lose sight of her; for it was the will of Jupiter, she said, that their separation should be attended with the utter ruin of all three. But Health was of too gay a disposition to regard the counsels of Labour: she suffered herself to be debauched by Intemperance, and at last died in the child-birth of Disease. Contentment, in the absence of her sister, gave herself up to the enticements of Sloth, and was never heard of after. Labour, in the mean while, who could find no enjoyment in solitude, formed an acquaintance with Carelessness, and, quarrelling with Industry, went among the wealthy, the titled, and the gay, in search of her daughters; but meeting Disappointment in her travels, she grew weary, and sat down to mourn over her misfortunes. In this situation she was seized by Lassitude, robbed of her activity, and at last died in misery. S. S.

Preston Brook, 1832.

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