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THE BISHOP AND HIS BIRDS.

A WORTHY bishop, who died lately at Ratisbon, had for his arms two fieldfares, with the motto-" Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?" This strange coat of arms had often excited attention, and many persons had wished to know its origin, as it was generally reported that the bishop had chosen it for himself, and that it bore reference to some event in his early life. One day an intimate friend asked him its meaning, and the bishop replied by relating the following story :

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Fifty or sixty years ago, a little boy resided at a little village near Dillengen, on the banks of the Danube. His parents were very poor, and, almost as soon as the boy could walk, he was sent into the woods to pick up sticks for fuel. When he grew older, his father taught him to pick the juniper berries, and carry them to a neighbouring distiller, who wanted them for making hollands. Day by day the poor boy went to his task, and on his road he passed by the open windows of the village school, where he saw the schoolmaster teaching a number of boys of about the same age as himself. He looked at these boys with feelings almost of envy, so earnestly did he long to be among them. He knew it was in vain to ask his father to send him to school, for he knew that his parents had no money to pay the schoolmaster; and he often passed the whole day thinking, while he was gathering his juniper berries, what he could possibly do to please the schoolmaster, in the hope of getting some lessons. One day, when he was walking sadly along, he saw two of the boys belonging to the school trying to set a bird-trap, and he asked one what it was for? The boy told him that the schoolmaster was very fond of fieldfares, and that they were setting the trap to catch some. This delighted the poor boy, for he recollected that he had often seen a great number of these birds in the juniper wood, where they came to eat the berries, and he had no doubt but he could catch some.

The next day the little boy borrowed an old basket of his mother, and when he went to the wood he had the great delight to catch two fieldfares. He put them in the basket, and, tying an old handkerchief over it, he took them to the schoolmaster's house. Just as he arrived at the door, he saw the two little boys who had been setting the trap, and with some alarm he asked them if they had caught any birds. They answered in the negative; and the boy, his heart beating with joy, gained admittance into the school. master's presence. In a few words he told how he had seen the boys setting the trap, and how he had caught the birds, to bring them as a present to the master.

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A present, my good boy!" cried the schoolmaster; you do not look as if you could afford to make presents. Tell me your price, and I will pay it to you, and thank you besides."

"I would rather give them to you, sir, if you please," said the boy.

The schoolmaster looked at the boy as he stood before him, with bare head and feet, and ragged trowsers that reached only half-way down his naked legs. "You are a very singular boy!" said he; "but if you will not take money, you must tell me what I can do for you; as I cannot accept your present without doing something for it in return. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Oh, yes!" said the boy, trembling with delight; "you can do for me what I should like better than anything else." "What is that ?" asked the schoolmaster, smiling. "Teach me to read,” cried the boy, falling on his knees; "oh, dear, kind sir, teach me to read."

The schoolmaster complied. The boy came to him at all his leisure hours, and learnt so rapidly, that the schoolmaster recommended him to a nobleman who resided in the neighbourhood. This gentleman, who was as noble in his mind as in his birth, patronised the poor boy, and sent him to school at Ratisbon. The boy profited by his opportunities, and when he rose, as he soon did, to wealth and honours, he adopted two fieldfares as his arms." "What do you mean?" cried the bishop's friend.

"I mean," returned the bishop, with a smile, "that the poor boy was MYSELF.'

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IS SPONGE A VEGETABLE OR AN ANIMAL? THE sponge is allowed now to be a living being; but it long remained a question, whether it was a vegetable or an animal one, Its animality is now the belief of the best naturalists. It is described as fixed and torpid; of various forms, composed of network fibres, or of masses of small species interwoven together, and clothed with a gelatinous flesh, full of small mouths on its surface, by which it absorbs and rejects water. The officinalis species, or common sponge, is found in the Archipelago, the Mediterranean, and in the Indian Ocean, adhering to rocks by a broad base. It often is seen with some small stones, shells and particles of sand inclosed within its cells, and is sometimes pierced and gnawed by marine animals into irregular winding cavities; but it gives no indication of a sensitiveness greater than that of plants. The Oculata species, in the British Seas, is from five to ten inches high. One kind, on the rocks of Guinea, has a stem as thick as a finger, and branches as quills, surrounded with small obtuse shaggy tufts. Some are in the fresh-water ; and one, in the ocean, is full of gelatinous flesh.

COURTS OF JUSTICE AMONG THE CRows.

Those extraordinary assemblies, which may be called crow-courts, are observed here (in the Feroe Islands) as well as in the Scotch isles; they collect in great numbers as if they had been all summoned for the occasion. A few of the flock sit with drooping heads; others scem as grave as if they were judges, and some are exceedingly active and noisy, like lawyers and witnesses in the course of about half an hour the company generally disperse; and it is not uncommon, after they have flown away, to find one or two left dead on the spot.-Landt's Description of the Feroe Islands.

PALEY.

This great man, whose mind was so remarkably expert, was particularly clumsy in body. "I was never a good horseman," he used to say of himself, "and when I followed my father on a pony of my own, on my first journey to Cambridge, I fell off seven times: I was lighter then than I am now, and my falls were not likely to be serious. My father, on hearing a thump, would turn his head half aside and say, 'Take care of thy money, lad.' "— Meadley's Memoirs of Dr. Paley.

YOUTHFUL SPIRIT.

Mr. Urquhart visited Alyzea, a city which, he tells us, once possessed the "Labours of Hercules," by Lysippus, and "the walls" whereof "are in the best Hellenic style."

"The excitement which the arrival of Europeans everywhere produced, was here called forth in a most striking manner. They thronged round me, anxiously inquiring where the limits really were to be; and when I told them that they were without, they stood like men who had listened to a sentence of death. A fine, intelligent boy, certainly not more than ten years of age, and who for an hour had been leading me about the ruins, exclaimed, We never will allow the Turks to come here again! Will you prevent them, my little man?" said I. With a look and attitude full of indignation, he replied, You may laugh, if you please, but the Turks will never take alive even a little child. I would shoot my sister,' pointing to a girl older than himself, sooner than that she should again be made a slave.'"Urquhart's Spirit of the East.

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A GOOD COMPANION.

A companion that is cheerful, and free from swearing and scurrilous discourse, is worth gold. I love such mirth as does not make friends ashamed to look upon each other next morning; nor men, that cannot well bear it, to repent the money they spend when they be warmed with drink. And take this for a rule: you may pick out such times and such companions, that you may make yourselves merrier for a little than a great deal of money; for "'tis the company, and not the charge, that makes the feast."-Izaak Walton.

DEER FORESTS OF SCOTLAND.

Many are still the deer-forests of Scotland, but they are not what they were. Once a whole forest was dedicated to the service of the chase alone. You might have travelled from Banffshire to Ben Nevis without deviating from the region possessed by the noble Huntly. Sutherland, throughout the whole of its extent, was one prodigious forest, and so it still is, although the introduction of sheep-farming has made it lose its old pre-eminence. We need not mention more: the time has been, and it is not yet far distant, when a herd of deer was to be found on every mountain north of the Tay, and the slaughter at each tinchel was as great as that of the dolorous hunt which caused the fight of Chevy Chase. Did we say north of the Tay? The time has been when a fairer forest than any in the rugged Highlands grew on the banks of Ettrick and of Yarrow, and "down by Teviotdale." That forest has been sung by many a bard, and, though now destroyed (all save a few old trees on the banks and scaurs of St. Mary's Lake, melancholy memorials of the rest!), will flourish in memory as long as the Scottish minstrelsy is sung, and the deeds which it celebrates remembered with affection and with pride. Yes, the days have indeed altered since

"King James and a' his companie Rade down the Meggat glen;"

and the echoes of Loch Skene will never more be wakened by the baying of the hound and merry blast of the horn!-Sporting Magazine.

VALOUR.

I love the man that is modestly valiant; that stirs not till he must needs, and then to purpose.-0. Feltham.

FISHING CORMORANTS AND FIGHTING QUAILS IN CHINA. The fishing cormorant, which is trained to dive and catch the unwary fish, proves very useful. To prevent it from swallowing its prey, an iron ring is put around its neck, so that it is obliged to deliver its quota to its owner. It is as well trained as the falcon in Europe, and seldom fails to return to its master, who rewards its fidelity by feeding it with the offals of the fish it has caught. On the coast, a great number of curlews are to be found. Quails, which are to be met with in great quantities in the north, are greatly valued by the Chinese, on account of their fighting qualities. They carry them about in a bag, which hangs from their girdle, treat them with great care, and blow occasionally a reed, to rouse their fierceness. When the bird is duly washed, which is done very carefully, they put him under a sieve with his antagonist, strew a little Barbadoes millet on the ground, so as to stimulate the envy of the two quails: they very soon commence a fight, and the owner of the victor wins the prize. Good fighting quails sell at an enormous price, and are much in request.—Gutzlaff's China.

CHINESE APHORISMS.

He who toils with pain will eat with pleasure. No duns outside, and no doctors within. Forbearance is a domestic jewel. Something is learned every time a book is opened. To stop the hand is the way to stop the mouth. Who aims at excellence will be above mediocrity; who aims at mediocrity will fall short of it.-The Chinese, by J. F. Davis, Esq.

ORIGIN OF BUTTERFLIES.

When Jupiter and Juno's wedding was solemnised of old, the gods were all invited to the feast, and many noble men besides. Among the rest came Chrysalus, a Persian prince, bravely attended, rich in golden attires, in gay robes, with a majestical presence-but otherwise an asse. The gods, seeing him come in such pomp and state, rose up to give him place; but Jupiter, perceiving that he was a light, phantastick, idle fellow, turned him and his proud followers into butterflies: and so they continue still (for aught I know to the contrary), roving about in pied coats, and are called Chrysalides by the wiser sort of men; that is, golden outsides, drones, flies, and things of no worth.-Burton.

SOLITUDE.

He had need to be well underlaid that knows how to entertain the time and himself with his own thoughts. Company, variety of employments or recreations, may wear out the day with the emptiest hearts; but when a man hath no society but himself, no task to set himself upon but what arises from his own bosom, surely, if he have not a good stock of former notions, or an inward mint of new, he shall soon run out of all, and, as some forlorn bankrupt, grow weary of himself.-Bishop Hall.

RECREATION.

Make thy recreation servant to thy business, lest thou become slave to thy recreation. When thou goest up into the mountain, leave this servant in the valley; when thou goest to the city, leave him in the suburbs; and remember, the servant must not be greater than the master.-Quarles.

MARCH OF UMBRELLAS.

When umbrellas marched first into this quarter (Blairgowrie), they were sported only by the minister and the laird, and were looked upon by the common class of people as a perfect phenomenon. One day, Daniel M—¤ went to pay his rent to Colonel M'Pherson, at Blairgowrie House: when about to return, it came on a shower, and the colonel politely offered him the loan of an umbrella, which was politely and proudly accepted of; and Daniel, with his head two or three inches higher than usual, marched off. Not long after he had left, however, to the colonel's surprise, he again sees Daniel posting towards him with all possible haste, still o'ertopped by his cotton canopy (silk umbrellas were out of the question in those days), which he held out, saluting him with-"Hae, hae, Cornel! this 'll never do; there's no a door in a' my house that 'll tak' it in: my verra barn-door winna tak' it in !"-Glasgow Constitutional.

ADVERSITY.

The lessons of adversity are often the most benignant when they seem the most severe. The depression of vanity sometimes ennobles the feeling. The mind which does not wholly sink under misfortune rises above it more lofty than before, and is strengthened by affliction.-Chenevix.

POISONOUS BEADS.

Those beautiful red seeds with a black spot brought from India, which are sometimes worn as ornaments of dress, are said by the natives to be so dangerous, that the half of one of them is sufficiently poisonous to destroy a man. This account, however, seems to exceed probability; but that they have a very prejudicial quality I have no doubt; for within my own knowledge I have seen an extraordinary effect of the poison of one of these peas. A poor woman who had some of them given to her, and who did not choose to be at the expense of having them drilled to make a necklace, put the seeds into hot water till they were sufficiently soft to be perforated with a large needle. In performing this operation, she accidentally wounded her finger, which soon swelled and became very painful, the swelling extending to the whole hand; and it was a considerable time before she recovered the use of it. The botanical name of the plant that produces this pea is Abrus precatorius.-Elements of the Science of Botany, as established by Linnæus.

ECONOMY.

All to whom want is terrible, upon whatever principle, ought to think themselves obliged to learn the sage maxims of our parsimonious ancestors, and attain the salutary arts of contracting expense; for without economy none can be rich, and with it few can be poor. The mere power of saving what is already in our hands must be of easy acquisition to every mind; and as the example of Lord Bacon may show that the highest intellect cannot safely neglect it, a thousand instances every day prove that the humblest may practise it with success.-Rambler.

SECRETS OF COMFORT.

Though sometimes small evils, like invisible insects, inflict pain, and a single hair may stop a vast machine, yet the chief secret of comfort lies in not suffering trifles to vex one, and in prudently cultivating an undergrowth of small pleasures, since very few great ones, alas! are let on long leases.-Sharp's Essays.

London: WILLIAM SMITH, 113, Fleet Street. Edinburgh: FRASER & Co. Dublin: CURRY & Co.-Printed by Bradbury & Evans, Whitefriars.

THE

No. XXIV.

PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM SMITH, 113, FLEET STREET.

SATURDAY, JUNE 15, 1839.

[PRICE TWOPENCE.

to see the beasts in the Zoological Gardens in the Regent's Park, or to get an appetite for dinner in Hyde Park. But Greenwich Park swarms with those who have already dined, and who are dunned by female "touters," all obligingly tormenting passengers, by asking if they will step in and take tea. As the fashionable world rolls homeward to dinner, to close their morning, and begin their day, the religious world comes forth to hear the evening sermon. Meantime, roads and river are alive;-steam-boats and small boats smoke, jostle, and float on the river; and omnibuses, coaches, gigs, and tradesmen's light carts, swarm on the highways. Public-houses, re-opened at five, expect a choice portion of custom during the remainder of the evening; and tea-gardens in the suburbs, after a winter fast, look for a summer feast on Sundays.

PREACHERS AND PREACHING IN LONDON.* SUNDAY in London is indeed a motley thing; and to the provincialist, who pays a visit to the metropolis during summer, must present a curious subject for speculation. In the morning of a fine summer Sunday, there is a stillness in the atmosphere which contrasts strongly with the jarring chaos of sounds that stuns the ears on the six secular days. Groups of working men may be seen at corners, or sauntering up and down, or loitering about the doors of the public-houses; barbers are busy in their vocation; butchers, green-grocers, butter-men, and other venders of kitchen wares, are waiting for that portion of the Saturday's late-paid wages which has not yet reached them; and omnibuses are already beginning to be filled with slaves of the desk, the counter, or the workshop, who are anxious to escape to the outskirts. Bells of many tones begin to ring over the huge city; carriages convey stately inmates to church and chapel; and well-dressed crowds pour forth on foot. Idlers hang over the parapet of London bridge, gazing on the busy scene below; steamers are smoking, hissing, and cramming. Eleven o'clock arrives, and the publichouses close their doors, and eject their customers; while the bakers' shops remain open a little longer, to receive the latest-of whom at least six hundred must be considered as men of made pie, or the recently-bought round of beef or leg of mutton, with which some dawdler hurries over, still asseverating that she "aint a bit too late."

This may be called the first act of the living drama; now for the second. About six hundred places of worship, large and small, from the spired church to the humbler hall or room, contain congregations of all opinions, and join in varied services. Working men in the outskirts are dressing their portions of garden-ground. Mothers and daughters, in streets containing a working population, are busily employed in scrubbing and cleaning, and preparing for the dinner at one; Sunday's dinner being the all-important dinner of the week. The streets are comparatively quiet, but the great thoroughfares are busily thronged. Here and there a street preacher gathers a small group around him. Walkers, as they pass a church or chapel, look in, to see or hear what is going on. But, on the whole, the second act, which lasts from eleven till one, is a period of quietness and repose.

At one o'clock commences an entirely new portion of the London Sunday. The churches and chapels are emptying; the public-houses open, and pot-boys, in clean shirts and aprons, sally out with their porter, and make the bye-streets to echo with their cry; fathers, sons, mothers, daughters, and servants, stream out from bakers' shops, and send abroad a savoury smell of pies and pork, beef and pudding; and the whole world of London, except the fashionable world and its imitators, sit down to dinner. Three o'clock draws on, and the public-houses are shut once more. But those who have staid at home to eat their dinner now go forth to enjoy the fresh air. It is afternoon at the east end, and morning at the west. From four till six the fashionable world wheels out, *The Metropolitan Pulpit; or, Sketches of the most popular Preachers

in London. Two volumes. London, Virtue, 1839.

VOL. I.

There may be about eight hundred clergymen and religious teachers employed in London on a Sunday. What are they doing? Busy, doubtless; and as doubtless is there a prodigious outpouring of intellect and eloquence during a Sunday's ministrations. Busy, earnest, and zealous many of them are; but the amount of intellect and eloquence distributed amongst the London congregations on a Sunday is not exceedingly high. Out of the whole eight hundred

education, many of them scholars, and, we presume, all of them devoted to their work, and giving their time to it,—not more than a dozen or eighteen could be picked out, whose mental qualifications rise above mediocrity. Preaching is no part of Christianity itself; it is but a human means of recommending the truths of Christianity; and as it deals with the highest interests of humanity, the very highest powers of the human intellect should be devoted to it. But the general level of London preaching is low. If it were possible for a man to go round all the churches and chapels of the metropolis in a day, and to listen to all the sermons preached, he would be annoyed at the small amount of solid instruction and wisdom he could extract from the mass. Many earnest men he would assuredly have heard-many zealously affected to their work, and anxious to do good. But, if he were a man of any scriptural information at all, he would be surprised, as he walked from church to chapel, to hear how frequently the same common-places were repeated-how often assertions went in place of proofs-how often an entire hour would be filled up with a torrent of words. In truth, any auditor, of the slightest mental activity, and accustomed to pulpit oratory, might, in nineteen cases out of every twenty, as soon as a London preacher gave out his text, anticipate the entire scope of the discourse,-if, in fact, he could not lay down the heads, and guess the paragraphs.

This lamentable waste of moral and intellectual power and opportunity is followed by many bad results. Ministers of very ordinary capacity are elevated into demigods, and become the worshipped, each of a coterie. Within their charmed circle, they have a certain potency; out of it, they are powerless. To dissent from the extravagant adulation bestowed on "our own minister," is to provoke almost the certainty of hatred from some people; while the character of any other clergyman, equally good and

Bradbury and Evans, Printers, Whitefriars.

BB

equally clever, may be freely canvassed in their presence. Each congregation may be said, to a certain extent, to bottle up its own Christianity for its own use-the "wells of salvation" are made private property. And while particular ministers are worshipped and run after, their very defects are marked, and changed into virtues, and, in the strong language of Dr. Chalmers, they are borne onwards amid "the hosannahs of a drivelling generation." If any proof be required of our assertions, or rather of our opinions, we would point to the volumes which have led us to make these remarks. We do not set up for critics, and have no ambition to undertake the ungracious and sometimes spiteful task of reviewing books. But here are two handsome-looking volumes, got up by an author, who boasts of having had 20,000 copies sold of his "Random Recollections of the Houses of Lords and Commons," and 15,000 copies of his "Great Metropolis." The author has some facility in sketching the externals of a character, and has a lively, gossiping style; and as he professes to have picked up his information amongst religious people, we must (after allowing for the artist's defects) take his picture as something like a resemblance. Let us see, then, what he tells us about London preachers and preaching. To do justice, however, to the subject, we must premise, that the writer has a most indiscriminating and capacious swallow; he believes most religiously everything he hears; takes an apocryphal story, which has been appropriated to half-a-dozen individuals, on the faith of the last person who repeated it; and makes some ludicrous blunders.

As an instance of the latter, take the following about the late well-known Dr. Waugh :

"Perhaps of all quotations which he ever made from profane writers, none surprised his people so much as one he made from one of Burns's songs, on a sacramental occasion. I am indebted for the anecdote to a lady who was at the time, and continued till his death, one of his members. The communicants were seated at the sacramental table, and he, according to the custom of the Presbyterian church of Scotland, was addressing them, or, as it is technically called, serving the table,' previous to the distribution of the elements. In the middle of his address he said, as nearly as my informant could remember the words, 'You are all, communicants, acquainted with the popular song of your countryman, in which, speaking of the warm affection which a lassie cherishes for her lover, he represents her saying,

His very foot, there's music in't,

As he comes up the stairs.'

A feeling of surprise at a quotation from such a writer as Burns, on such a solemn occasion as that on which they were at the time met, was simultaneously experienced by all present; and every one wondered in his own mind how the Doctor could convert such lines to a spiritual purpose. He soon satisfied them on the point," &c. &c.

Now, we fancy our English readers are all acquainted with the popular song of "Nae luck about the house," and are aware, not only that it was not written by Burns, but that, instead of being an expression of "the warm affection which a lassie cherishes for her lover," the song is the joyous outpouring of a wife on hearing of the safe arrival of her husband. We dare say, if Dr. Waugh did quote the lines, he quoted them correctly, in that sense, so familiar to Scottish theology, that "the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church." The matter, however, is too refined to be appreciated by our worthy author, who, nevertheless, is reputed to be himself a Scotchman: he heard the story; it was enough; and accordingly made a "prief" in his note-book.

Again, speaking of the Hon. and Rev. Baptist Wriothesley Noel, the well-known minister of St. John's Chapel, Bedford-row, he exclaims, "Oh! it is a delightful thing to see a man, whose rank and fortune and accomplishments would ensure his ready admission into the very highest circles of society, and whose nearest relations constantly associate with the élite of the land, choosing rather to be the humble, self-denying minister of Christ, than to enjoy the fascinating, though, in a moral sense, too often fatal, pleasures of fashionable life!' To this he appends a note, in which he coolly informs us, "Lord Farnham, his brother, and Lady Farnham, his sister-in-law, form part of the household of the Queen." If one name is, to our author, just as good as another, he might, out of respect to his readers, before he committed this information to press, have looked into a Penny Almanac, and, perhaps, have substituted the name of Lady Barham for that of the two Farnhams.

Such are specimens of our author's facts-here is one of his

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opinions. Speaking of earnestness in preaching, he says, conceive it quite possible that a preacher's mind may be so deeply interested in the truths he is proclaiming, as to impart a more than ordinary vehemence to his manner, without in the slightest degree transgressing the dictates of a sound judgment. Whitfield was a striking instance in point. He threw his whole heart and soul into his sermons, and his manner altogether was of the most impassioned kind of which we can form any conception; and yet we know, from his published discourses, that there was nothing extravagant in his matter." And this is said of Whitfield ! Of him, who from the pulpit called on the angel Gabriel to stop ere he entered the sacred portals ! Of him whose preaching matter was one continued extravagance, only redeemed by his earnestness, and the almost inimitable artificial skill of his manner!

We have noticed these incidental matters, merely to show that we are quite aware of the value of the volumes we are noticing : still, we think that the book is not an absolute caricature; and though, we doubt not, many clergymen, as well as their friends, will have no great reason to be flattered, still one may see from it that the superficial author fancies that he has hit off some striking likenesses. The book is mainly composed of twaddling stories picked up in religious coteries, and is a sort of indiscriminate daub, wherein every clergyman described is lauded as great, good, and clever. The author tells the following indelicate story about the late Rev. Matthew Wilks.

This reverend gentleman, according to our authority, was very anxious to get up a matrimonial connexion between a brother minister and a lady of fortune. He accordingly sent him with a letter of introduction, which ran thus:"My dear Madam-Allow me to introduce to you my worthy friend, the Rev. Mr. A. "If you're a cat, You'll smell a rat!

"Yours truly, MATT. WILKS."

This very creditable epistle is accompanied by a descriptive narration, about how the lady was confused, and the gentleman was confused, and how they recovered their confusion, and how the gentleman waited on the lady afterwards without the intervention of any such introductory epistles, and how they got happily

married.

Of Rowland Hill, on whose memory is plastered almost every odd or droll story that is told of cccentric clergymen, we have, amongst others, the following. It seems that a number of ministers were assembled in the house of a friend, and, in conversation, had got over head and ears in the profundities of the origin of moral evil, and the freedom of the will. "Mr. Hill had all the while been alternately reading a book and looking out at a window which com manded a rather pleasant prospect. When the party had finished their discussion, one of them remarked to Mr. Hill that he had not expressed his opinion on the point in dispute. The remark was echoed and re-echoed by nearly all present, when at last one of them, who was a great stickler for the freedom of the will, asked him point-blank his opinion on the subject. Mr. R.' said Mr. Hill, turning himself to the gentleman in whose house the party were, Mr. R., I have been amused with a pig of yours which was running about on the green-sward below the window, [the window, be it recollected, "commanded a rather pleasant prospect," while you were all immersed in metaphysics. Does your pig shave?'

"Every one present looked at the other in utter amazement at the oddity of the question. Mr. R. replied, with a sort of smile, Shave, Mr. Hill! who ever heard of a pig shaving? [ay, who?] "Then your pig does not shave, does she?' interrogated the eccentric old gentleman.

"No-certainly not,' replied the other. [A very proper and decided answer.]

"And why does she not shave?' was Mr. Hill's next question. "This was confusion worse confounded. Mr. R. knew not what answer to return to the query, and accordingly hesitated as if thinking what he ought to say.

"Ah! you can't answer my question, I perceive,' observed Mr. Hill. The continued silence of Mr. R., as well as that of the company, was a virtual admission that the interrogatory was a

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shave, is simply because there are neither razors nor barbers in a piggish community; and that a calf don't wear breeches, because it has got no tailor. But, in the words of our author, "it were impossible" to depart from this pig's story, without giving the winding-up reflections, which may be taken as a general specimen of how to improve a joke.

"It were impossible to describe the effect which this happy piece of ridicule of those who can dogmatise with so much complacency on matters which are utterly beyond their comprehension, had on all present. Every one felt more mortified than another, and each came to a resolution in his own mind, that if he ever again engaged in a dispute respecting the freedom of the will, it would not be in the presence of Rowland Hill." (!!!)

We must pass from the dead to the living; and shall begin with the Rev. Henry Melvill, of Camden Chapel, Camberwell, who is, in the words of our sketcher, "the most popular preacher in London. I am doing no injustice to other ministers, whether in the church or out of it, in saying this. The fact is not only susceptible of proof, but is often proved in a manner which all must admit to be conclusive. When a sermon is advertised to be preached by Mr. Melvill, in any church or chapel in the metropolis, the number of strangers attracted to the particular place is invariably greater than is ever drawn together in the same church or chapel, when any of the other popular ministers in London are appointed to preach on a precisely similar occasion."

"His

Mr. Melvill, it seems, "only preaches one sermon on the Sunday, and does not preach at all during the week." discourses," continues our gossip, "ought to be finished compositions; for I am assured by those who know him, that, on an average, he devotes from seven to eight hours each day, during six days of the week, to the preparation of the sermon which he delivers on the Sabbath evening. He shuts himself up in his study, refusing to be seen by any visitors, except in very peculiar circumstances, for the above length of time, every day, from Monday till Saturday. And when thus as completely shut out from the world as if buried in one of the cloisters of some monastery, he presses all the powers of his mind, and all his varied reading, into his service, while preparing for his pulpit exhibition on the following Sunday evening. He displays as much solicitude about the composition of each successive sermon, as if that sermon, instead of being heard by only 2,500 persons, were to be preached to the entire population of the kingdom."

At least forty hours every week spent on the composition of a single sermon! Where did our gossip get his information?

"The personal appearance of the reverend gentleman is far from being striking. He has a small, thin face, with features which are by no means calculated to inspire the spectator with an impression of his being a man of superior intellect. His eyes are less than the average size, and are of a light blue. His forehead is straight, but not very high. His complexion is of a darkish hue, and would at times lead to the conclusion that his ardour in the discharge of his ministerial duties, or some other cause, had to some extent affected his health." "Some time ago, while the passages of his chapel were most densely crowded by strangers anxious to hear him preach, he observed an old and frail man among the number. He immediately opened the door of his own pew, in which there was just room for one more person, and desired the aged infirm man to step into it, and take a seat. What made the act more kind and condescending, was the circumstance of there being so many ladies and gentlemen in the crowded passages. The reading of the service had but just commenced, and Mr. Melvill turned up the various parts of the Prayer-book which the clerk referred to, and shared the book with the old man. The latter was so overcome with a sense of Mr. Melvill's condescending kindness, that he could not refrain from shedding tears while he thought of it."

We know not which most to admire in this anecdote:- the exquisite delicacy which marvels that an aged infirm man should be preferred to stout ladies and gentlemen, or the fawning adulation which talks about "condescending kindness."

Another very popular preacher belonging to the establishment, is the Rev. Thomas Dale, vicar of St. Bride's, Fleet-street, and evening lecturer in St. Sepulchre's, Snow-hill. "Though his discourses exhibit all the traces of great care in the preparation, I never could observe anything either about them or him which could justify the opinion, that when addressing his people he is more solicitous about what should be thought of himself as a man

of talent, than about the faithful and effectual exhibition of the truth. His manner has all the appearance of sincerity about it. No one could hear him, even for a few minutes, without quitting the place with a thorough conviction, that his heart is in the work." "Mr. Dale's personal appearance is not imposing. He is under the middle stature, but rather firmly made. In his gait he has a slight stoop. Usually when walking in the streets, his eyes look towards the pavement, as if he were lost in contemplation. I believe his mind is often occupied with some train of thought, when proceeding along the streets or lanes of London. His complexion is of a dark pale, if there be not a contradiction in the expression. His face is somewhat thin; his brow is narrow, and slightly contracted. His eyebrows are prominent and projecting. His features" but we shall not give any more of Mr.

Dale's marks.

With the exception of Mr. Dale, the few clergymen of the established church in London, who are run after, preach in epis. copal chapels, in most cases purchased for them by their friends. Such is the case with Mr. Melvill; Baptist Wriothesley Noel preaches in St. John's Chapel, Bedford-row, of which the late well-known Cecil was minister; and the Rev. Thomas Mortimer preaches in Gray's-inn-lane Chapel, which was purchased by him. self, aided by his friends. The Rev. T. J. Judkin, of Somers'. town Chapel, "is," says our author, "what is called a lady's preacher. He is greatly run after by the sex. Even when he preaches in any church or chapel in the neighbourhood, there is always a marked preponderance of ladies among his hearers." John Cumming, of Crown-court Church, Little Russel- street, Amongst preachers of the Scotch church in London, "the Rev. Covent-garden, is one of the most rising preachers of any denomination in the metropolis. When he accepted the pastoral charge of the church and congregation in Crown-court, five years ago, the number of his stated hearers did not exceed eighty: now the average attendance is between four hundred and fifty and five hundred." He is only thirty years of age, and, "from the footing he has already gained in the metropolis, and with the advantages of youth and energy, and enterprise, on his side, he has the prospect before him, if his life be spared, of a lengthened career." There are several very clever men among the Independents, of whom Professor Vaughan, and the Rev. Thomas Binney, of Weighhouse Chapel, London-bridge, may, on the whole, be considered

as the most intellectual.

A BUFFALO HUNT.

A PARTY of boors had gone out to hunt a herd of buffaloes, which were grazing on a piece of marshy ground, interspersed with groves of yellow-wad and mimosa trees, on the very spot where the village of Somerset is now built. As they could not conveniently get within shot of the game without crossing part of the vallée, or marsh, which did not afford a safe passage for horses, they agreed to leave their steeds in charge of their Hottentots, and to advance on foot; thinking that, if any of the buffaloes should turn upon them, it would be easy to escape by retreating across the quagmire, which, though passable for man, would not support the weight of a heavy quadruped. They advanced accordingly, and, under covert of the bushes, approached the game with such advantage, that the first volley brought down three of the herd, and so severely wounded the great bull-leader, that he dropped on his knees, bellowing furiously. Thinking him mortally wounded, the foremost of the huntsmen issued from the covert, and began reloading his musket as he advanced to give him a finishing shot. But, no sooner did the infuriated animal see his foe in front of him, than he sprang up and rushed headlong upon him. The man, throwing down his heavy gun, fled towards the quagmire; but the beast was so close upon him that he despaired of escaping, in that direction, and, turning suddenly round a clump of copsewood, began to climb an old mimosa-tree which stood at one side of it. The raging beast, however, was too quick for him. Bounding forward with a roar, which my informant described as being one of the most frightful sounds he ever heard, he caught the unfortunate man with his terrible horns, just as he had nearly escaped his reach, and tossed him into the air with such force, that the body fell, dreadfully mangled, into a cleft of the tree. The buffalo ran round the tree once or twice, apparently looking for the man, until, weakened with loss of blood, he again sank on his knees. The rest of the party, recovering from their confusion, then came up and despatched him, though too late to save their comrade, whose body was hanging in the tree quite dead.-Pringle. в в 2

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