set forth; the motives which ought to influence a Christian in his choice of a religious community are also laid down in a manner which displays considerable originality of thought; an able and lucid development of the principles of the New Methodists is also given. Whilst at Bolton in 1823, Mr. Allin published a Letter to a Unitarian Minister living in the neighbourhood. This pamphlet must have inflicted a severe castigation on the person to whom it was addressed. Mr. Allin does not enter fully into the Unitarian controversy, but confines himself chiefly to an exposure of some glaring mis-statements which the Socinian teacher had published respecting orthodox writers. The book is written in a nervous and cutting style. In 1823 Mr. Allin's very able and splendid discourse on the Immortality of the Soul was also first issued from the press. In this discourse, the great fundamental truth of the soul's immortality is established by philosophical, moral, and scriptural evidence. For strength of argument, and eloquence of diction, it stands almost unequalled. It was afterwards incorporated in a volume of discourses on the Character and Folly of Modern Atheism. The object of the author in these discourses is, to refute the false and impious reasonings contained in Mirabeau's System of Nature. Mr. Allin's work is distinguished for depth of metaphysical argument, and for peculiar energy and beauty of composition. The philosopher and the Christian will read it with intense interest and delight-the Christian student, especially, will find the perusal of it invaluable, not only for the information it contains, but as a means of bringing the faculties of reason and abstraction into vigorous exercise. Of this volume, we copy the following review from col. 656 of the Imperial Magazine, for the year 1828. "The title of this volume indicates, that these discourses belong not to the common order of sermonizing; and we are led to expect in a perusal of them, a train of thought and argumentation, which will carry the mind of the reader into an unfrequented path. In these expectations we have not been disappointed. They have been gratified to the full, and in some instances even surpassed. "The region into which the author has entered is in a high degree metaphysical, argumentative, and abstract, but he has brought to the task a mind admirably adapted to the investigation, and, in support of his positions, has availed himself of the reasonings of others, whose names have always commanded respect, where the arguments adduced by them have failed to produce conviction. The more abstruse branches of investigation, he has indeed wisely reserved for the long and acute notes which are appended to each discourse. These may be considered as illustrative of what is advanced in the sermons, and may be read at leisure by those who can enter the vast profound, and trace in all its depths the coincidence between philosophy and revelation. "The sermons indeed, independently of the notes, are in general too recondite for common hearers, and it is only on particular occasions that such discussions should ever be introduced into the pulpit. Of this fact the author seems well aware; and the objection to which he saw he should expose himself, he has anticipated, and met in some paragraphs of his preface. The sufficiency of his grounds on the present occasion we most readily allow, but this does not remove the foundation of the objection, nor do we think that it can ever cease to operate until he can find a congregation composed of philosophers and metaphysicians. "It has frequently been observed, that sermons in general are heard with more advantage than they are read. Respecting those before us, we think this order will stand quite reversed. They were probably heard with more admiration than comprehension; and had they not been committed to the press, it is probable that eight-tenths of their excellence would have been for ever lost. ` Placed as they now are in the hands of the reader, he may pause on the sentences and paragraphs as they pass under his eye, and re-examine the links that have occupied his attention, without fearing the chain will be broken by his retrospect, or by the advances of the preacher, while he is reflecting on the past. In lis tening to a discourse delivered, attention must follow the speaker, and, on subjects like those before us, the most trifling intermission is frequently attended with injurious consequences to both. With the volume, however, in his hands, he can at any point of difficulty call upon the author to repeat what he had stated, until its import and bearing are fully comprehended, or desire him to suspend his discourse while he indulges in reflection, and then request him to proceed, with a full assurance of being implicitly obeyed: Discourses of this description, to be understood, should always appear in print. “ The author, we have been given to understand, is an itinerant preacher in the New Connexion of Wesleyan Methodists. Beyond this transient information, and what we gather from the volume, we know nothing of the writer; but we are assured from the perusal of his work, that he possesses talents which would do honour to any religious community. In those districts where the sophistries of Materialism, Atheism, and Infidelity are scattered, this work will be found of essential service in exposing fallacies assuming reason's garb, and in "putting delusion's dusky train to flight." "Independently of those who may be exposed to the assaults of such as are enemies to God, it would be well for every friend of truth and virtue to be prepared with arms. This the volume before us will furnish at a comparatively trifling expense. It has nothing to do with the localities of creed. In these respects, it is founded on a basis which all the contending factions acknowledge, and we should rejoice to find it occupying a conspicuous place in every Christian and Infidel library." In 1826, Mr. Allin published a discourse, entituled, "The Diffusion of Knowledge amongst the Labouring Classes promotive of the Public Good." In this discourse, the objections usually advanced against the education of the poor, are manfully met, and most successfully overthrown. From this sermon, which is now before us, we had intended to take some extracts, but the memoir having extended beyond our general calculation and accustomed measure, we are compelled to desist. To the enemies of Sundayschools, and such as think it dangerous to instruct the lower order of society in any branches of intellectual knowledge, we strongly recommend the perusal of this discourse. In 1827, during his residence in Huddersfield, Mr. Allin was drawn into a public disputation with a popular and talented minister of the Independent persuasion. The subject of discussion was, the lawfulness of taking away human life. Mr. Allin's opponent maintained that it was morally wrong to take away human life under any circumstances, or for any cause whatever, unless an express and special permission were given by the Almighty for that purpose. Mr. Allin, of course, advocated the opposite side of the question. The audience assembled on the occasion was overwhelming, and the interest manifested was most intense; and from the credible information which the writer has received, the vast numbers present gave their unanimous verdict in favour of Mr. Allin's principles. Mr. Allin married in the early part of his ministry, to one with whom he is still living in the enjoyment of domestic bliss. He has had a considerable family, many of whom are fallen asleep ;-one has very lately departed, whilst in the innocence of childhood. The remnant consists of daughters, two of whom have lately established a Ladies' School in Sheffield; in which town, their respected parent is now labouring with considerable success. He has lately had to submit to a temporary suspension from his ministerial labours, in consequence of an attack of cholera, but the Almighty has in mercy restored him. Long may his valuable life be spared to be a blessing to his family, to the Church, and to the world.— May he continue for many years to proclaim with undiminished zeal the glories of the Redeemer; and after having finished his Master's work, may he hear the joyful welcome addressed to him-"Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." THOUGHTS ON THE BREVITY OF HUMAN LIFE. "We spend our years as a tale that is told." THE chief occupation of man's life should be to prepare for death; therefore the chief burden of his reflections should be-that he is mortal. Trite and commonplace as such a sentiment is, its influence over the character is exceedingly limited; for an observant eye, judging by the actions of men, would scarcely credit that each individual was aware he is marked as a victim of death; although every thing around constantly reminds him of his perishable nature. Let him watch the mists of the morning enveloping the earth and obscuring the sun, or the distant cloud, with softly-blended hues and fantastic shape, and he will observe them gradually disappear: even such is life, a vapour! Let him contemplate the fair-streaked flower waving its light bells to the breeze, and unfolding its delicate elegance of form and colour; in the morning freshbathed with dew, in the evening cut down and withered: such is life. Let him gaze on these and many other objects around him, that the Sacred Writings have used as metaphors of his fleeting state. Let him ponder over his dreams, inconsistent, incomprehensible; let him listen to the tale that is often poured into his ears, and bear this reflection continually in his mind, "We spend our years as a tale that is told." How evanescent, then, must be the days of man! How little tangible the various incidents of his life, when they are past! Even the retrospection of memory appears through the vista as a dream, its realities for ever gone, and nothing is left but the fleeting present. Briefly summed up, briefly related, the varied events of his pilgrimage seem to be nothing more than an imaginative tale, where Time, "With a greedy ear, Devours up his discourse." He opens his life, a being as yet unconnected with the past, and springing, as it were, from nothing. Soon, like the swelling bud of a flower, his form expands, and his features take their unchanging mould; the dispositions of his mind are developed, and he not only receives but imparts an interest to those around him. He then forms a link in society, is affected by its changes, and possesses the power of influencing some of its motions. The tale proceeds, now warm with the throbbings of hope, now sad with the tears of sorrow. Anon some unforeseen events, like a magi cian's wand, dispel the one or usher in the other. The various incidents of life disclose the hitherto latent traits of character. Then, having passed through the different positions of his career, sympathy begins to flag, his union with the world becomes less immediate, and he seems, like the decayed leaf of autumn, clinging to its stalk. At length, Death appears, to close the whole, the tale draws to a conclusion, and Time stamps his finis upon the grave. Then how varied the tale. In the lives of some teeming with change and interest, or marked with important consequences, whilst in others there is nought but a dull monotony. Here is one who sought nothing but ambition, who toiled day and night to obtain an honourable distinction. He held it in his grasp a brief space, and then died. "The paths of glory lead but to the grave." By his side sleeps one who passed a hum. bler, yet more useful life, who aspired to no human applause, but dedicated himself to God, and the welfare of his fellow-creatures. Posterity too often admires the one, but forgets the benefits it receives from the other. There, the tomb closes silently over a being whose history, though brief, is replete with mournful interest; over one who felt that man is indeed "born to sorrow," whose very childhood was nurtured with tears, whose youth was withered with adversity, who was cut off at last with an untimely death. In another, this mournful tale was reversed. His life was but little embittered with the poisoning draught of care. Prosperity smiled upon him, and seemed to anticipate his liveliest hopes. In quick succession he moun ted, step after step, to the height of worldly happiness and glory, till, at length, with, "honours thickly blushing around him," he was gathered to his fathers in a good old age. Thus," one dieth in his full strength, being wholly at ease and quiet, and another dieth in the bitterness of his soul, and never eateth with pleasure. They shall lie down alike in the dust, and the worms shall cover them." There are many, whose lives seem but the fragments of a tale. Scarcely begun or carried on to the highest pitch of interest by important incidents or connexions, Death has suddenly snapped the ties asunder. Youth and beauty have just arrived at their perfection, when his blighting influence secretly destroys their unavailing charms. How many connexions have been formed, how many plans laid out-connexions that have been broken by unexpected death, plans that have been baffled by the sudden removal. How many fair-hued hopes have just burst into bloom, how many dreams have raised their fancied realities-hopes that have withered over the tomb, dreams that have been dissipated in the grave. So many uncertainties have attended the designs of man, uncertainties as respects his own foreknowledge that he knows not where he may plant his next step. Death does not always give warning of his approach; his dart often strikes suddenly. He does not always choose the aged or infirm; his victims are often the healthy, the young, and the beautiful. When then the tale of life ends so suddenly that it is nought but a fragment, what an important lesson does it convey! The perishable nature of all that is sublunary, the frail objects of man's affections, are but so many reeds on which he has leaned, and they have broken, pierce ing him through with many sorrows. How often is he called upon to weep over the wreck of all that he esteemed beautiful and lovely; to heave the sigh of parting regret over the broken, the unfinished tale. Yonder grave sums up the years of an aged patriarch. He had witnessed many changes, and had seen many days; but he died at last. His life was long, but it is now over. The tale extended itself to a considerable length, but it is now finished. To so great a length was it carried on, that when his setting sun was on the verge of departure, and the twilight of death was gathering around him, his memory had scarcely sufficient strength to penetrate into the dim obscurity of departed years. Reality seemed so blended with fancy, that he could hardly distinguish them, and the once trodden track of time now swam with the dizziness of retrospection, and now vanished in impenetrable gloom. Another generation had succeeded him, and he had somewhat retired from the busy scene of life. Children would stand around their venerable grandsire. "or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share," to hear the history of the past, to listen to the tale of the days that were gone. But the years of the patriarch are ended, and he is borne to the grave. The tomb bears a brief memento, and the tale is over. "Our visions are baseless-our hopes but a gleam, Our staff but a reed-and our life but a dream." We might ponder over the chequered condition of each individual, and the varied strain of every life; but whether mournful or comparatively happy, whether brief or long, they all bear the same distinguished trait: "We spend our years as a tale that is told." But yet, though the present state of existence has so little permanency, there is another that will endure for ever. 2D. SERIES, NO. 22.-VOL II. Though motives, thoughts, and actions quickly succeed each other and are for ever past, yet not so the consequences. The years of our life are indeed but a fleeting tale, yet how much hangs thereon! Whatever may be its tenour, it bears appended a moral of serious import. What are we to learn from the history of that man who has spent his life in bowing to the idol of ambition. Of him who has turned from the service of his Creator to worship the delusion of his own imagination? Of him who, not considering that this life is but probatory, has spent his all upon its evanescent pleasures? The moral is best obtained by turning to the humble tale of that man whose life was spent in dedication to God. What are we to learn from the mournful histories of life, from the various incidents of sorrow, that gather their gloom over the lives of many? This important truth, that man should be weaned from the world, and that these comparatively light afflictions, when duly profited by," work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." Such characters lead us to the contemplation of that world where "there shall be no more death" nor sorrow, and the anguish of time shall be forgotten in the joys of eternity. On the other hand, too great prosperity has often been seen to engender the basest ingratitude to God, love to sin, and the most dangerous attachment to the world. The possessor of worldly happiness has but little desire, and consequently but little anticipation of another and a holier state. Yet death will call upon him at last, and force him, however unwilling, to leave his possessions and earthly joys for ever. How important the moral of such a tale! But let us turn to the broken fragments scattered on every side, and listen to the voice of Death exulting over his victims. Youth and beauty blighted, connexions broken, plans baffled, hopes withered, and dreams dissipated! What are all these, but lessons to the survivors on the frail and perishable state of man. What are they, but warnings to each individual to be constantly prepared to meet his God, "for in such an hour as ye think not, the Son of man cometh." When we see a flower nipped in all its beauty and fragrance by the unrelenting hand of death, let it be some consolation to reflect that its loveliness is conveyed to another world, to bloom in a paradise whose characteristic is, that it "fadeth not away." And the patriarch's tomb, that sums up the fourscore years, how affecting its moral! Time had spread his ample wings over his venerable head; he had seen many days, but death came at last. Reprieved for 3 M many 166.-VOL. XIV. years, and yet as certainly marked out as a victim, as the youth taken from his side. He had passed the extended barrier of human life, but found that all beyond was labour and sorrow. As he drew towards his latter end, his faculties gradually decayed, his intellectual vision was darkened, and clouds obscured the memory of his soul. The keepers of his house trembled, the strong men bowed themselves, and the daughters of music were brought low. At length he went to his long home, and the mourners paced the streets. Then returned the dust to its original earth, and the spirit to that God who gave it. The tale closes; but how important its moral! For it is not only "appointed unto all men once to die, but, after death, the judgment" unfolds its awful realities. Death closes upon the brief career of this life, upon all its vanities, sorrows, and joys; but in such a period, the dying Christian can sing, "Heaven opens to my eyes; my ears Beaconsfield. IMPRUDENCE. J. A. B. "Compare the sketch with faces you have known, And ere you quite discard it—with your own." JANE TAYLOR. IMPRUDENCE! This is a strange, and, to not a few, misunderstood word. Perhaps with those to whom it applies more fully than to any other beings under the sun, it may be of unknown import. Do not imagine, my youthful readers, that I am about to prose again. I assure you I am not. To lecture? no. To scold? no. What then are you about to do? I am going to advise you to read my tale; and, after you have done so, inquire if you please, "of what, or of whom, have you been writing?" I may then, it is possible, be able to reply, of-YOURSELF. In almost every village of our country, there are to be found apers, that is, persons who, always overlooking the station in which they may have been placed by Providence, have their attention constantly directed to those who move above them; the consequence is, a desire to be equal with them, in appearances at least. Such imprudence is almost invariably attended with evil results. Among a number of such individuals, some are indeed more prominent than others; their folly is more apparent, because there is more absurdity in their conduct. I shall select one, whose actions may be viewed as the representa tion of many, with as much propriety, as being the conduct of an individual. The little town of Brigg, or, as writers on topography, and our map-makers, please to call it, "Glandford Briggs," which stands upon the river Ankholme, has never yet attained to a greater degree of celebrity than many other unheard-of places of the same dimensions, and yet it is a clean (that is, in fine weather,) and respectable place enough; what it might have been in the days when the priory for black monks, in the vicinity of its present site, existed, I am not able to determine. It is, however, but fair to suppose, that if the said town had at that remote period any existence, it must have been in humble bearing at least; somewhat in the same proportion to its present condition, as the frightful grub bears to the after-to-be butterfly. Since those rude days, however, and within the last twenty years especially, it has considerably improved. Most of the houses are modernized; a neat townhall graces its airy market-place, which stands at the point where two streets meet, like a modern Pharos at the mouth of two seas. Moreover, two modern bridges have been thrown across the streams, which run parallel to some distance at the north end of the town, furnishing the means of comfortable egress and ingress to its inhabitants and strangers. But what are these, and a variety of other improvements already made, or projected, which have been, and which are given up, compared to the improvement of its inhabitants, who are also modernized. Many of them sing charmingly, dance gracefully, and talk volubly. Others are skillful in the arrangement of the gamut, so as to form melodies, which would not disgrace some master genius in that delightful science; and one circumstance, which yet remains to be told, and which furnishes pleasure to think on even, and matter for converse, to many a Briggitonian, and proves, in the absence of all other proof, their improvement in true taste, that is, that a poet, of deserved popularity, once put up at one of their inns, of which convenient places there are two-in the person of the lamented HENRY KIRKE WHITE! Well, in this little, but greatly improved town, (or in another, about its size,) where coals, corn, and timber are traded in with Hull, and other places along the Humber and Trent, there lived a man, a little conceited person, who had more consequence than prudence. He was a general dealer, and I doubt not, that, with proper care, and less imprudence, he would have |