the Literary Precautions necessary in the Study of Theology, and III. On the Doctrine of Predestination; or Mode rate Calvinism considered as the safe Path between two Extremes,) Mr. R. endeavours to be philosophical; and he has suggested some good remarks on the limits of the human understanding, and on the errors which result from interpreting the figurative language of Scripture literally and its plain language metaphorically. He has also well exposed the presumptuous language of the high Calvinists, on the subjects of Election and Reprobation: but he will probably afford little satisfaction to profound metaphysicians, while to common Christians he may seem too deep. The very definition of his subject will at once shew that it is beyond the ken of human knowlege: Predestination is the determined plan of all God's works, considered as in his eternal mind. After all that the wisest of men can think or write on this topic, how ignorant must they remain! Yet illiterate sectaries will dispute and quarrel with each other about the Divine decrees! Let them be satisfied with knowing that God punishes the wicked, and has chosen the righteous for himself. Milton assigns to the fallen Angels the task of reasoning on Foreknowlege and Free Will; and let us leave this dispute to form one of the amusements of Pandemonium. Mr. R. confesses himself bewildered in mystery;' and he is glad, therefore, no doubt, to excape from mystery and metaphysics to his garden and his bees. What a relief must it be to diverge from so crabbed and perplexed a subject to such a piece of pastoral piety as the following: From the simple hoeing round a cabbage, to the solemn faith of treaties, effects flow from causes, causes from laws, or, what is the same, from the nature of things. O glorious and inviolable decree, watching and warning thy sons! Thou hast not spoken in secret in a dark place of the earth; thou hast not said to the seed of Jacob, seek ye me in vain! Dost thou destroy our liberty? The Lord hears the heavens, and they hear the earth, and the earth hears the corn, and the wine, and the oil, and they hear the lisping of the child Jezreel. Perhaps I may have harboured the wish that I had been born a prince, and have reigned a king. But why should I have preferred this to another station? Because, through inattention and prejudice, I have associated ideas which indeed have no relation at all. I have imagined greatness and happiness in union; whereas God, who seeth not as man seeth, who knows that not greatness and happiness, but goodness and happiness are associates, has providentially cast me in a retired station. My dominion extends over three acres, and I am happier than a prince; no neighbouring monarch disputes my title, nor harasses my frontiers. My frugal and industrious subjects form regular communities, swell into colonies, are quietly governed by their OWn own laws, yet neither rebel against God's nor mine; they, happy in. superior protection, the crown rich with their productions, ແ Undreaming ill, The happy people in their waxen cells THOMSON'S AUTUMN. Do princes taste what I taste when seated on an elm stump, my domestics bask in my presence? When my gentle cow, my willing horse, my faithful dog, my fluttering, prating poultry, surround my throne, watch my motions; and, by a thousand acts of unsuspected loyalty, tell me that I am in league with the stones of the field, and the beasts of the field are at peace with me. Without Raphael's or Angelo's imitation, supremely delighted with grand originals of a great master, "Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells, With hues on hues, expression cannot paint, THOMSON'S SPRING. Not Handel, with all his concords, can furnish such a symphony as mine! My musicians, heaven's pensioners, twitter in the thatch, thrill in the bushes, echo in the grove: melody, harmony, all the day long. We go out with joy, we are led forth with peace; the mountains and the hills break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field clap their hands. O! how infinitely preferable to the world, its pomp, its pleasures, is the unpolluted joy of that still small voice, that waiketh in the garden in the cool of the day; that wraps the face in a mantle, expands the soul in attention, and whispers, There is none like the God of Jeshurun, who rideth upon the heaven in thy help, and in his excellency on the sky.' Having considered various abuses of the doctrine of Predestination, Mr. Robinson thus concludes: We are told that the decrees of God "should be publicly taught from the pulpit and the press; that even the meanest of the people may not be ignorant of a truth which reflects such glory on God, and is the very foundation of happiness to man."-Well, let the doctrine be publicly taught as Scripture teaches it, as a way of God past finding out. Let it be guarded against the various abuses to which men of corrupt minds frequently warp it. Let it be taught with all its benign consequences. Discharge the decree from conspiring the destruction of a sinner, and lay on him his own guilt. Console the faithful soul by assuring him that fury is not in God. Do not so teach the doctrine as to fortify the wicked, alarm the weak, or encourage the indolent. Preach it as a mystery calling for modesty, diligence, faith, gratitude, and every grace. Leave to God the arranging and executing his own decrees.' Instead of directing that the doctrine should be preached to the multitude as a mystery, would it not be preferable not to preach on it at all? The The historical discourse being of a local nature, we shall pass it over; and we shall merely remark on the letters, that they relate to Mr. R.'s researches in the Cambridge University-library for materials for his General History of Baptists. MONTHLY CATALOGUE, For MAY, 1814. POETRY and the DRAMA. Art. 13. Buonaparte, a Poem. 8vo. 1s. 6d. Murray. 1814. He who for so considerable a period has been the astonishment and the scourge of Europe is fallen; and such a fall, from unexampled pride and greatness, who can contemplate in silence: who can contemplate it even with calm philosophic perspicacity, unmoved by popular feelings, or unswayed by popular sentiments? Bonaparte was a meteor of the very first order, bright and destructive in its passage, yet sinking on a sudden into darkness and insignificance! Universal history affords not one instance of a carcer of such splendor, or of a fall so degrading and unpitied. In future, poetry, overlooking the examples of Xerxes, Alexander, Hannibal, and Charles XII., will descant on the history of Napoleon Bonaparte as prominently illustrative of the evils of "vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself," and will tell us, if not in the words, at least in the spirit of Johnson, that "He left a name at which the world grew pale, To point a moral or adorn a tale." Many years must elapse before the history of this wonder and horror of our days can be dispassionately written; and before Europe, recovered from her disasters, will be in a condition dispassionately to read it. In the mean-time, however, verse-men and prose-men will endeavour to gratify themselves and the public by aiming a kick at the hunted-down lion; and, to make sure of the favour of the triumphant party, they will attempt to deprive the prostrate foe of every talent and of every virtue. Much as we reprobate the crimes of Bonaparte, and much as we rejoice at the deliverance of Europe from his iron grasp, we would not ungenerously exult over him. It may be urged, however, in palliation of the present style of invectives, that nothing less than the most unqualified condemnation of him can be tolerated, and that not to hate him with a perfect hatred is to be destitute of all loyalty and public virtue. With feelings of this kind, the poem before us is in perfect unison; the author of which, though all his verse is not highly finished, will please his readers by the warmth with which he congratulates Europe that The gloom of years at once is pass'd away,' by the animated eulogies which he bestows on the conquerors, and by the dark colours with which he sketches the portrait of Bonaparte. • And And thou, lost Chief! in spite of all thy guilt But Truth, stern guide! reproves the weak desire, The public will excuse the author for trying to squeeze out a tear for the object of his execration, and will not question his report when he wrote him down all evil; yet something very ungenerous, certainly very unchristian, appears in the insinuation that Napoleon ought to have filled up the measure of his crimes by suicide. We could not avoid making this remark in our last Number, and we cannot refrain from repeating it now. Art. 14. The Exile of Elba: a Poem on the Downfall of Bonaparte and his Dynasty; with The Deliverance; an Ode, pourtraying the principal Events of the Year 1814. By John Gwilliam, Author of "The Battles of the Danube and Barrosa," &c. &c., 8vo. 3s. Jennings. Yielding to the same impressions which animated the author of the preceding poem, Mr. Gwilliam holds up Bonaparte to universal detestation as the greatest monster of the world, as monstrum nulla virtute redemptum à vitiis; and, in order to make him more sensibly feel the disgrace of his fall, he reminds the Exile' of what he might have been if he had exercised a little prudence : Had prudence mark'd his reign-had justice thrown The poet now follows Bonaparte to his exile, and contrasts his hour of glory with that of disgrace; but he has written with too much haste to attend to the polish of every line: • Where is the man whom millions late obey'd, Whom assisted, then betray'd, He who confounded Europe at a breath, And smote her children with continual death, Whose footsteps shook the world-made sov'reigns own And tremble at the power of his throne Who put to flight all Prussia's marshall'd force, Nor stopt till Russia trembled at his course, Whose dauntless spirit—whose ambitious mind Not Europe, in one mighty league combin❜d, Could awe, or from its deadly purpose win, Till base desertion made the wretch give in? REV. MAY, 1814. H.. Where -08 Where is he now? and whither does he Lo! where he goes to hide his face in shame, In the little island of Elba, (how little, when compared with the vast circuit which his power once embraced!) Bonaparte is represented as on the very worst terms with his conscience, and in course as goaded by the stings of remorse; yet the poet kindly finds out one balm for his woes, and recommends him to soothe the anguish of his tortured mind by the fervour of a woman's love." Turning to the restored monarch, Louis XVIII., Mr. G. congratulates France on the joyous event, and cautions the King against a confidence in men (particularly Talleyrand) who once assisted Napoleon and then betrayed him. The hero of the North, the magnanimous Alexander, is extolled for the prominent part which he has acted in the recent drama of the downfall of Bonaparte. But for thy vigor France had still remain'd But thou hast crush'd the monarch who betray'd And drive him into exile and disgrace!' This praise the Emperor of Russia eminently deserves; and it would be indeed a proof of a generous concern for Europe, if, after having restored the balance of power by diminishing the overgrown empire of Bonaparte, he would content himself with "all the Russias," and not annex Poland to his own already colossal dominions. The ode intitled The Deliverance,' Mr. G. informs us, was written for the most part in January last, but was with-holden 10 from |