to say, that in giving his support to the present bill, he had no intention to hold out any delusive expectation to the country, that the condition of the general body of the people would, on its passing, be ameliorated. He supported the measure strictly because he believed that the feeling of the country was so strong on the subject, and public opinion so disjoined and separated from the existing state of things, that it was impossible for any government to refuse with safety to place the representation of the people on a broader and more extended basis. The vices and imperfections of the present system were plain and prominent. They stood upon the surface, and struck every body's view, and had excited the indignation of the people. On the other hand, all the advantages of the system, and he did not deny that it possessed many, were concealed and hidden from observation, and could only be discovered by abstruse reasoning. When he saw that the feeling of dissatisfaction with the existing state of things was deeply rooted in the public mind, he felt it to be absolutely necessary for parliament to try and extend the basis of the representation, and place it on a foundation more agreeable to the feelings, and more suited to the understanding, of the country. When the noble lord told him, that by so doing he was yielding to the mob, and giving himself up to the winds and waves of democracy, he replied, that he was yielding to the understanding of the people. To that alone he would yield, and to that, it was one of the terms and conditions of a popular government to yield. The noble lord then proceeded to refer to the opinion expressed by the Duke of Wellington when in office, on the subject of reform, and attributed the breaking up of his administration to his determination not to bring the question under the consideration of parliament. He did not remember that at the time the present ministers accepted office, and declared that they would propose an efficient measure of reform, any other person but the noble duke had expressed his disapprobation of the principle upon which the government was determined to act. The principle seemed to be generally acquiesced in; and government felt themselves bound to propose their measure as soon as they conveniently could. But it was objected that the present measure went too far. He was of a very different opinion; and he thought that when the legislature determined to make concessions, it was absolutely necessary that the concession should be full, fair, and complete. It was impossible to bring in a bill of less extent than that which was now before the house; and if those persons who objected to it had an opportunity of trying a plan of moderate reform, they would find themselves involved in much greater difficulties, absurdities, and contradictions, than those of which they accuse the authors of the present bill. He implored the house not to conceive that the silence which at present prevailed in the country was the silence of indifference. He admitted that the bill proposed great changes; but he was convinced that not only would the advantages which were anticipated from it be produced, but there would also arise on every side collateral blessings and unexpected benefits, which would shew the genial nature of the soil in which the seed had been planted. Few persons, we conceive, can peruse Lord Melbourne's speeches, of which the above specimen are but detached fragments, without being convinced that he was not languid in the great cause of Parliamentary Reform. Tempering his zeal with prudence, offensive epithets, and terms of violence, are of rare occurrence in any of his harangues. With calm deliberation, he always kept the great object in view, and having seen the all-important question brought to safe anchorage, he now enjoys, with his veteran colleagues, the triumphs of liberty, and the plaudits of a grateful country. REMARKS ON DEVOTION. "Devotion, when lukewarm, is undevout, WE Contemplate the soul of man in its present state with feelings similar to those with which the traveller ponders over the remains of a magnificent temple. Ruin and sadness have spread their melancholy mantles around; yet fragments of former splendour are still scattered on every side, by which its ancient symmetry may be discovered, so that we may say with the poet, "Beautiful fabric! even in decay And desolation, beauty still is thine." For there are undoubtedly many noble qualities yet remaining in the soul of man, by which its divine birth and sinless origin are attested. Though his nature at present is, alas! mournfully depraved, yet various dispositions manifest themselves amidst his vicious inclinations, which stamp him as a being that was once the image of God. With such reflections as these, we may be prepared to acknowledge that there is generally in man, even in his natural and unregenerate state, a disposition to venerate the Supreme Being. According to he constitution of his mind, man is peculiarly susceptible of all that is vast and sublime; nay, in the contemplation of infinity, his mental qualities are absorbed in astonishment and awe. However vicious he himself may be, there are seasons when virtue will command respect, and noble generosity melt the heart's best feelings. So that the silence of solitude will often impress upon the minds, even of the thoughtless, such ideas of Jehovah, that, overcome with his majesty, they perceive at a glance the vanity of their pursuits. Thus the untutored savage, that roams at large over the magnificent tracts of his country, receives, from a frequent contemplation of the beauty and grandeur of nature's scenery, a veneration for the Great Spirit, equal, if not superior, to his more civilized fellow-creatures. Such persons, likewise, as have been in the habit of dwelling upon the benevolence and good ness of God, are constrained to confess that the mercies of the Most High far transcend the aggravated iniquity and rebellion of man. This in some measure accounts for the great ascendency of priests, even in the most idolatrous nations. For though there have always been a few exceptions, yet the great mass of people have ever professed a veneration for their Maker. It is true, that the numerous heathen rites had turned them from a just conception of the nature and attributes of the Supreme Being, yet, comparatively speaking, the individual that disbelieved the existence of God, was a solitary one. A certain undefinable awe crept over their feelings, as they gazed upon the mysterious ceremonies and veiled solemnities of religion. Their temples were placed in sacred groves, that, with impenetrable shade, cast an indistinct gloom over every transaction, and served to aid the production of that sensation of the sublime, which operates so strongly on the devotional capacities of man. Yet it must be confessed, that the principal feeling which priestcraft excited, was terror of an offended Deity. The kind affections of man were untouched, and, though he feared, he scarcely loved his God. It was left for the Christian religion to develop the veiled character of Jehovah in such a manner, that the lustre of his attributes might be less dangerous to the overwhelmed sight of mortality; that fear might be softened into love, that man might be reconciled to his Maker. The terror that an uninformed judgment would feel in contemplating divine justice and power would in some measure be dispelled by the scheme of salvation revealed in the New Testament dispensation, where "mercy and truth meet together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other." Difficult must it be, when the mind has dwelt on these revelations, to refrain from giving way to feelings of penitence and gratitude; feelings that are of themselves the sincerest evidences of devotion of which man is capable. Yet it is not to be supposed that any feelings, however wrought upon, while the heart remains in its unregenerate state, are entirely acceptable to God, since even these are mournfully soiled with sinful motives and unhallowed thoughts. According to scripture, it is the intercession of the Spirit alone that availeth with God, for the bosom in which this does not reign is still at enmity with God. In devotion there are two extremes into which man is prone to fall. The first leads him to mistake the fervour of animal feeling, for those aspirations which nothing but true piety can inspire. Hence, seasons of solemnity, scenes of mournful grandeur, the rich cadence of sacred music, the irresistible appeal of eloquence, when enforcing divine love or justice-above all, the painful events of Providence-tend to leave such powerful impressions on the mind that he is often deceived as to the state of his heart. He imagines that nothing but divine grace could have wrought the powerful change in his feelings which he experiences, while his heart may still remain the same, and its failings may gradually re-appear as the impressions subside. These impressions, it is true, are often, perhaps generally, the means of leading the sinner to God, because they serve to incline him to seek after salvation with deep and heartfelt sincerity; yet they are as often no more than the mere evanescence of feeling, which will soon subside, and leave his dispositions entirely unchanged. And as fancy leads her deluded votaries through her With moon-beams paved and canopied with stars, And tapestried with marvellous energy,' so does mental excitement in religion lead many beyond the regions of experience and truth. But there is another extreme to which some are liable; and that is, to divest devotion of the warmth of feeling, and the fervour of passion. Observing the errors of enthusiasm, they place the whole of religion in cold mental speculations and dull formality. But let us mark the scriptural graces of the Christian character. Faith, it is true, is an operation of the mind, yet it is likewise a firm and lively persuasion of the heart; so lively, that it clears the film of depravity from the exercises of reason, overcomes the solicitations of sin, and induces a love towards that to which it was formerly most repugnant. Then springs hope in his bosom, which, piercing into futurity, realizes all that the imagination can conceive of, when expatiating through the regions of happiness and love; and this, it must be confessed, is a feeling far beyond the frigidity of mental speculation. Finally arises love, the breathing energy of the Christian's character, that which gives life to the most exquisite sculpture. A grace like this, it must be confessed, so far from rising on the basis of rational disquisition, is the grand master-passion of the human breast, ruling it in all its actions, words, and thoughts. Perfectly distinct from vague and mysterious feelings, that have their source unknown to the possessor, it is founded on a due perception of the excellence of God, united to a grateful sense of his goodness. If these are, then, the distinguishing features of a Christian, it is certain that they must display something of their character in his devotion. Sterling devotion, it is true, can rise upon no foundation but the sober exercise of reason, yet how faintly would be its effects, if it had no other auxiliary! Sin and evil passions are of such a nature, that unaided it could never be a sufficient opponent to them, in the frail and guilty bosom of man. On the other hand, if devotion sprang only from supernatural influences and unaccountable excitements, it could never be depended upon. It therefore, properly consists in a union of the mental faculties with the lively feelings of the heart,-an harmonious union, which constitutes its intrinsic excellence, and displays the wisdom of God. When devotion, assuming this character, tunes her seraph strains, the notes are resounded with all their beauty in the heavenly world, and "The bower of interwoven light Seems at the sound to grow more bright," These observations receive some testimony of their truth from a contemplation of the different modes of worship among Christians. Such a regular gradation is there in the forms of the different religious denominations, that a character can scarcely be conceived of, which is not by nature or education adapted to receive one of its existing modes. Those who place the chief part of religion in warm feelings and a lively imagination, prefer those forms and ceremonies which, from their pageant, are most imposing. The cold and phlegmatic, on the contrary, endeavour to abstract from religion all that nature bestows as auxiliaries in its favour. That man acts the wisest part, who in his devotion dispels the deluding mists of enthusiasm, and cultivates the nobler exercise of reason; who, notwithstanding, does not disdain the assistance his Maker has given him, in inducing a suitable solemnity of feeling when coming into his presence. These remarks might furnish a theme of speculation on the peculiar adaption of different individual temperaments to the different denominations of Christians; for it seems that the disposition of a man, whether phlegmatical or of a delicate susceptibility, generally directs him in the choice of that sect of religion which he joins. Devotion may, perhaps, be defined the religious exercises of the soul; not of some faculties to the prejudice of others, but the complete union of the heart and mind in the service of God. Of these, the exercise of prayer stands foremost, the unveiling of the soul to God in all its destitution, sincere humility, and ardent desires after that holy perfection which is the attribute of Jehovah alone : It is evident that prayer can neither be warm nor effective, if the feelings be dormant, for in this case it would be nought but the mere passive ejaculations of the mind, and must soon become the empty articulations of formality. Again, the lively imagination of him who may in some respects be sincere, and yet in others deceives himself, will often prompt a man to conceive too highly of himself because of his seemingly ardent devotion, and yet, in the words of an elegant writer, "If we imagine that we experience the feelings or pleasures of devotion, while we live in any known or habitual sin, we fatally deceive ourselves; they are the fervours of a heated fancy, or the delusions of Satan."* In conclusion, it may be observed, that though devotion may exist in the mind or feelings of an unregenerated man, it only has complete and effective exercise when inspired by the Spirit of God. As Homer ingeniously describes them, prayers are the offsprings of God, and He will hear them, were there no other reason. That which descends from God, must, according to the laws of nature, return to God, and the desire of holiness must be communicated by its source. "Devotion allied to any presumptuous sin, is enthusiasm and hypoerisy." It scorns the indulgence, nay even the very thought, of sin. Cursed is the man that enters the holy of holies with polluted fire. It shall consume the guilty victim in all the anguish of remorse. Devotion is too pure to be sullied with enthusiasm or hypocrisy. She is the messenger from earth to heaven. She brings down to man the realities of an unseen world. She draws from their perennial streams the enduring virtues of the Christian. While his heart is fixed on heavenly things and celestial employments, the world loses some of its fascination, and he sighs with the poet, "False the light on glory's plume, And love, and hope, and beauty's bloom, J. A. B. GENIUS AND PIETY COMBINED. MR. EDITOR, SIR,-I have always considered that part of your valuable Magazine, which occasionally records a short memoir of the lives and deaths of pious persons, exceedingly useful. By inserting the following short * Bowdler's Essay on Prayer. account of Mr. John Downs, one of the first lay-preachers sent out by Mr. J. Wesley, a man of eminent piety, of great affliction, and of uncommon genius, I am persuaded you will gratify many of your readers, and perpetuate the memory of a man who deserves to "be had in everlasting remembrance." Blagdon, May 15th, 1832. Of this good man, Mr. John Wesley says, "I suppose, he was, by nature, as great a genius as Sir Isaac Newton. I will mention but two or three instances of it. When he was at school, learning Algebra, he came one day to his master, and said, Sir, I can prove this proposition a better way than it is proved in the book." His master thought it could not be ; but, upon trial, he acknowledged that the pupil was right. Some time after, his father sent him to Newcastle with a clock which was to be mended. He observed the clock-maker's tools, and the manner how he took it in pieces, and put it together again and when he came home, he first made himself tools, and then made a clock which was as fine as any in the town.-Another proof of his genius was this: Thirty years ago, while I was shaving, he was whirling the top of a stick; I asked, 'What are you doing?" He answered, 'I am taking your face, which I intend to engrave on a copper-plate.' Accordingly, without any instructions, he first made himself tools, and then engraved the plate. The second picture which he engraved, was that which was prefixed to the Notes upon the New Testament. Such another instance, I suppose, not all England, or perhaps Europe, can produce. For several months past, he had far deeper communion with God than ever he had in his life. And for some days he had been frequently saying, 'I am so happy, that I scarce know how to live. I enjoy such fellowship with God, as I thought could not be had on this side heaven? And having now finished his course of fifty-two years, after a long conflict with pain, sickness, and poverty, he gloriously rested from his labours, and entered into the joy of his Lord." The circumstances of his death, which were singularly remarkable, are thus related by Mr. Charles Wesley. "John Downs has lived, and died the death of the righteous. For several months past he has been greatly alive to God, walked closely with him, and visibly grown in grace. On Friday morning, November 5th, 1774, he rose, full of faith, and love, and joy. He declared it was the happiest day of his life, and that he had not been so well in body for years. He expressed his joy in showers of tears-he was led to pray for the people so as he never prayed before. Going out to the chapel at West-street, he said, "I used to go to preach tremblingly, and with reluctance, but now I go in triumph. His text was, "Come unto me, all ye that labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” His words were unusually weighty and full of power, but few. He perceived that he could not finish his discourse, and gave out this verse of the hymn, "Father, I lift my heart to thee, His voice failing, he fell on his knees, as meaning to pray; but he could not be heard. A preacher ran, and lifted him from his knees, for he could not raise himself. They carried him to bed, where he lay quiet and speechless till eight on Saturday morning, and then fell asleep. O for an end like his! It is the most enviable, the most desirable, I ever heard of! His widow I visited yesterday afternoon. She surprised me, and all who saw her; so supported, so calm, and so resigned. A faithful friend received her into her house. She had but one sixpence in the world. But her Maker is her husband. We are all agreed it is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes." DUTY OF THE PHYSICIAN: (From Sir Henry Halford's Essays.) THE question has frequently been agitated among medical men, whether, when visiting their patients, it is their duty to conceal or to make known the danger that is perceived. On a point of such delicacy and moment, the following opinion of Sir Henry Halford may not be unacceptable to the reader. "And here you will forgive me, perhaps, if I presume to state what appears to me to be the conduct proper to be observed by a physician in withholding, or making his patients acquainted with, his opinion of the probable issue of a malady manifesting mortal symptoms. I own, I think it my first duty to protract his life by all practicable means, and to interpose myself between him and every thing which may possibly aggravate his danger; and, unless I shall have found him averse from doing what was necessary in aid of my remedies, from a want of a proper sense of his perilous situation, I forbear to step out of the bounds of my province in order to offer any advice which is not necessary to pro mote his cure. At the same time, I think it indispensable to let his friends know the danger of his case, the instant I discover it. An arrangement of his worldly affairs, in which the comfort or happiness of those who are to come after him is involved, may be necessary; and a suggestion of his danger, by which the accomplishment of this object is to be obtained, naturally induces a contemplation of his more important spiritual concerns, a careful review of his past life, and such sincere sorrow and contrition for what he has done amiss, as justifies our humble hope of his pardon and acceptance hereafter. "If friends can do these good offices at a proper time, and under the suggestions of the physician, it is far better that they should undertake them than the medical adviser. They do so without destroying his hopes, for the patient will still believe, that he has an appeal to his physician beyond their fears; whereas, if the physician lay open his dangers to him, however delicately he may do this, he runs a risk of appearing to pronounce a sentence of condemnation to death, against which there is no appeal-no hope; and on that account, what is most awful to think of, perhaps, the sick man's repentance may be less available. But friends may be absent, and nobody near the patient in his extremity, of sufficient influence or pretensions to inform him of his dangerous condition; and surely, it is lamentable to think, that any human being should leave the world unprepared to meet his Creator and Judge, "with all his crimes broad blown!" ther than do so, I have departed from my strict professional duty, and have done that which I would have done to myself, and have apprised my patient of the great change he was about to undergo." PRIDE EFFECTUALLY REBUKED. Ra WILLIAM PENN and Thomas Story, travelling together in Virginia, being caught in a shower of rain, unceremoniously sheltered themselves from it in a tobacco-house; the owner of which, happening to be within, accosted them with, "You have a great deal of impudence, to trespass on my premises, you enter without leave. Do you know who I am?" To which was answered, "No." "Why, then, I would have you to know I am a justice of the peace." Thomas Story replied, "My friend here makes such things as thou art-he is the Governor of Pennsylvania." The would-be great man quickly abated his haughtiness. |