child, may there be lurking some fatal, though as yet undiscovered, malady, which shall lay it in the dust; and the flowers of summer shall send forth their fragrance around its tiny grave for childhood and youth are vanity. How many a parent's tears have bedewed the bier on which were stretched the sad remains of some cherished object of affection cut off in early bloom! Happy that child, who, in life's early spring-time, is transplanted from a soil, at the best, bleak and barren, to blossom eternally in heaven's unchanging spring! Happy that child, which, washed in the blood of Jesus, shall be folded in his everlasting arms, and sheltered in his bosom from every blast! Blessed, for ever blessed, that child of fallen Adam, whose sun has gone down in life's early morning; and who, untried by the storms and tempests, the clouds and the darkness of a sinful world, shall bask in the beams of the Sun of Righteousness for ever and ever! T.

MEMOIR OF A FAITHFUL SERVANT.*
[Continued from No. XXXVIII.]

WHEN William first entered on service, he came daily and assisted the gardener, or the groom, or the cook; and in fact turned his hand to any little job that was wanted. His uniform evenness of temper, and readiness to oblige, made him here, as he had been at school, a great favourite with all the servants; -not that he could always please every one, but he never railed nor replied again; and so any little word said to him hastily, and we may add in general unjustly, was soon past, and the fire of anger extinguished for want of fuel; "a soft answer," &c. The rector had two boys about William's age; they had been for a year or two at a neighbouring grammar-school, and during their vacations were frequently permitted to have William as a companion in their sports-a circumstance which marked the great confidence placed by the rector in his prudence and good conduct; for these lads were never allowed to go beyond their father's grounds, nor to join children of whose conduct he could not be assured. When William was about fifteen he was taken into the family, and acted as footman; true, he would have been too young for that situation in the opinion of most persons; but his master knew him well, and never had reason to repent his choice. In this situation he remained for seventeen or eighteen years, when he died of a consumption. And now William's character unfolded itself more and more favourably; his parents found him repaying them for all their kindness and judicious care of him. Out of his moderate wages he always contrived to make them a considerable allowance-a necessary piece of kindness, for his sister was a delicate sickly child, who took up much of the mother's time in nursing, and cost them considerable sums for medicine. She, however, died when William was about twenty; and a plain head-stone, which marks her grave, close by the narrow path which the family at the rectory constantly trod in their way to the church, was placed there at the expense of William.

This purports to be the memorial of a faithful servant. The writer of it had good opportunities of knowing the truth of most of the facts here stated, and feels a pleasure in doing this simple justice to one whom he knew and respected, and whose dying moments he endeavoured to soothe upon whose attachment he counted when From the Family Monitor.

living, and the remembrance of whom he cherishes as faithfulness was shewn in a variety of ways. His that of a sincere though unpretending friend. William's

master's credit and good name, as also the interests of the whole family, seemed to be identified with his own. The best have enemies, and no goodness, religion, or benevolence, must hope to escape; but no one ever presumed to calumniate William's benefactor twice in his hearing. Although remarkable for gentleness and forbearance, he never wanted spirit to repel and resent any thing of this kind; and the goodness of his cause, and his manner of defending it, generally prevented any repetition of the attack, His master's property was sacred; that is, he not only took care of it as far as his place obliged him to care, but he was anxious to preserve every thing as long as possible, to avoid every expense that was not absolutely necessary, and never to spare his own labour, when by labour he could spare his master's purse. Whatever was said before him, in the dining-room or elsewhere, was safely kept; in no place perhaps was more care taken to avoid conversation which might injure a servant's mind, or expose him to unnecessary temptation; but still, with all imasionally be indiscreet, and observations upon the absent ginable care upon the master's part, guests will occamay be made, which if repeated might occasion serious mischief. William's invariable practice was to be silent upon every thing that was said in his hearing; and by this prudent conduct he not only preserved the confidence of his master, but secured his own peace of mind. Having grown up with the young gentlemen, he was regarded by them more as a foster-brother than a servant, and this feeling on their parts naturally led to a considerable degree of familiarity; but William's manner was unalterably respectful and civil: he never considered that their kindness warranted him in forgetting the real situation in which Providence had placed him; and while he punctually discharged the duties of it, by an active and zealous diligence, he remembered that the manners of a servant were also under the regulations of duty.

There is a period in every man's existence when the value of right principles and of good conduct will be fully understood. That period is the dying hour. Whatever a man may have been, or fancied himself to be, in the season of youth, of health, and of prosperity; however unvarying his cheerfulness, or however careless he may have appeared to be of futurity,-that hour is sure to try him, if it leave his senses unimpaired, and especially, if it come upon him slowly and by degees. The vast majority of those who have left us any record of their feelings at that serious moment have agreed in leaving us a clear testimony, that it is an awful thing to die-even to the good-to those who by the obedience of faith have hope in their death. One of the ablest of these men, and one who made his investigations, as he assures us, "from the neighbourhood of the eternal world," has the following among many striking observations:-" Like others of our race, I have relished several of these things (worldly goods), with at least the common attachment. Particularly I have coveted reputation and influence, to a degree which I am unable to justify. Nor have I been insensible to other earthly gratifications; either to such as, when enjoyed with moderation, are innocent, or such as cannot be pursued without sin. But.... all these things were vanishing from my sight. Had they been really valuable... their value was gone. They could not relieve me from pain; they could not restore me to health; they could not prolong my life; they could promise me no good in the life to come." Such is the testimony of one whose whole life had been actively devoted towards advancing the cause of religion, and promoting the welfare of his fellow-creatures. if it be so with the righteous, "where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?" The writer of this has been present at some of those fearful scenes where conscience

But

and remorse awake from their long slumbers, and seem to begin those scourgings here which are to be continued through eternity. May those who read be admonished to earnestly set about the great work of their salvation in the appointed time, while the evil days come not, when their souls shall say, they have no pleasure in them.

William inherited from his parents a constitution liable to the attacks of that most deceitful of all complaints, consumption. This, as was before observed, had deprived him of his sister, and had now undermined his own health. In the autumn of 1823, business had called the writer of this article into his native county; and one of his first inquiries, on reaching his friend at the rectory, was about William, who he had heard was afflicted with a troublesome cough. From one of the young ladies he learned that the poor young man had struggled manfully and patiently with his disorder through the summer: sometimes, for a day or two, so much better, according to the nature of that complaint, as to make him believe that he should at last recover; and then suffering under such increase of fever and cough, as to disable him from doing any thing. That he had, in consequence of this state of things, left the rectory about six weeks, in order to be more completely under the care of his mother, at whose cottage he was now residing. Upon hearing this account, the writer resolved, as soon as he had dined with the family, to go down to the cottage, and see how it fared with the invalid. This he was the more anxious to do as soon as possible, inasmuch as Mr. Freemantle himself was nearly confined to his house, from a general breaking up and decay of nature. Accordingly, in the evening he took his way down the well-known lane that led to William's humble cottage. It was one of those splendid sunsets which, although not uncommon at any period in the autumnal months, seem peculiarly to adorn the nights in September. As he entered the low cottage, that luminary was pouring a flood of golden light through the little casement opposite to the door of entrance: the light was softened and broken by a screen of jasmine, which nearly covered the window with its closely interwoven twigs. The floor was nicely sanded; a chest of drawers by the wall, a neat cupboard in one corner of the room, and an eight-day clock in the other, afforded proofs of the comfort, order, and cleanliness, with which industry and good husbandry stock an English cottage. A turf fire was burning upon the hearth; the tea-things still remained, although the humble evening repast seemed to be concluded.

William was sitting by the fire-side-for, warm as the weather was, he found the artificial warmth agreeable

his father was placed with his back to the door; and his mother first perceived my approach, exclaiming, as I stood in the door-way, "Oh, William! here is Mr.

come to see you. Indeed, sir," said she, "this is very kind of you. My poor boy has often spoken of you since he came from master's (so they all called Mr. Freemantle); and it was only this very day that we were hoping something might bring you from London before

Here a slight faultering in the poor woman's voice clearly discovered to us the feelings which this image of the future had raised in her bosom; but William, without change of countenance, his eyes still bright with the unexpected pleasure that had lit them up at my entering, finished the sentence by saying, " before I'm laid near that quiet pathway by my sister, is what mother intends to say, sir." He then, in the same tone of cheerfulness, expressed his satisfaction at seeing me; told me how often he had thought upon former days when he was so happy at his kind master's; how much he felt for all their goodness to him; adding, with a great deal of energy, "Especially, sir, for the care that both master and the young ladies took with me in explaining to me the holy Scriptures, and teaching me the importance of remembering my Creator in the days of

my youth,' before the evil days came, in which I should say that I had no pleasure in them." "Well, William," said I, "I hope that, notwithstanding the bodily suffering which you have to bear, you are able to derive comfort from the promises of that book which you seem to have valued while in health, and that you have not been fretful or repining, nor found your spirits so much sunk by a sick-bed, as many suppose they must be in such a case as yours." "Indeed, sir," he replied, "I thank God I am able to answer your question tolerably satisfactorily. The promises of that blessed volume, so much above all that, of myself, I could ask or think, are a great cordial to my spirits. I do not say that my spirits are always the same. Some days I feel so much better, that I can hardly help thinking that I shall recover, and at such times I am naturally more gay at other seasons I feel nature sinking very fast; and, besides leaving my mother and other friends, with whom, had it pleased God, I could have been well contented to have remained a few years longer, I used, particularly at the beginning of my illness, to suffer a good deal from the fear of death; but all these things, which I believe are natural-I mean my hopes of recovery, my unwillingness to be parted from my friends, and to part with life, and particularly my fear of dying-are much abated; and I owe it to the Bible- to its promises and its explanations." "Can you call to mind," said I, any of the promises which have contributed especially to support you under these circumstances?" "O, sir," he replied with considerable energy, a great many; but I have been most struck and comforted with the concluding chapters of St. John's gospel, especially that first verse in the thirteenth chapter, where it is said that Jesus, having loved his own which were in the world, he loved them unto the end,' As also the three first verses of the fourteenth chapter, in which our blessed Lord expressly tells his disciples that he will go and prepare a place for them in his Father's house. But, above all the rest, I find comfort in the whole of the seventeenth chapter." I asked him whether he thought those promises, and the prayers which our Lord offered up in that chapter, referred to all the followers of Christ, as well as to the blessed apostles. Upon which he instantly referred to the twentieth verse, 66 Neither pray I for these alone, but for all them which shall believe on me through their word." This, sir," he added, "is what makes me sure that I have an interest in these glorious promises, because I am sure that God has given me grace and strength to believe in his Son as the way, the truth, and the life;' and therefore I am one of those for whom our Lord prayed that his Father would keep them from the evil. My mother and all my friends are very kind to me, and they would willingly keep me with them, and if it were God's good pleasure I should be contented to stay; but I am thankful that I feel the truth of what the apostle says, that to depart and be with Christ is far better.'" A little after he said, " I have been and am a great sinner; but I believe in Jesus Christ, and he is the propitiation for all sin." Upon his mother expressing her sorrow at losing so good a son, he said, "Mother, you have always loved me, and done every thing you could for my advantage; and you were very glad to get me to master's house, which, to be sure, is a very much finer place than our own. know our Saviour speaks of many mansions in his Father's house, and of his preparing a place for his followers; and in another passage he tells them, I ascend to my Father and to your Father;' so that you should rejoice in the prospect that is before you of your son's going to his Father's house, where you will certainly join him if you do not sorrow as one without hope.'

66

Now you

As the evening was advanced, I took leave of this happy Christian; and as my affairs called me away, I saw him no more. He died a few days after this inter

view, with, if possible, yet more confirmed faith and brighter hopes; and left behind him a name for integrity, sobriety, and piety, which is still fresh in the memory and affections of the family with whom he lived, and makes them, whenever they wish to express any particular approbation of a servant's conduct, say, "How much that man reminds us of our poor William!"

THE CONNEXION OF RELIGION WITH CIVIL GOVERNMENT;

Or the Ancient Foundation of the British Constitution in Church and State.*

"Thus saith the Lord God, Behold, I will lift up mine hand to the Gentiles, and set up my standard to the people; and they shall bring thy sons in their arms, and thy daughters shall be carried upon their shoulders. And kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and their queens thy nursing mothers: and they shall bow down to thee with their face toward the earth." THE rise, prosperity, and renown, the succeeding intelligence, the naval and military glory, and the enterprise of Britain, in her past and present position amongst the nations of the earth, may solely be traced from, and attributed to, the invaluable constitution and the dignified character of her religious and civil institutions. The outline of such a system had, indeed, struck the admiring imagination of one or more of the sages of antiquity, but was considered by them far too perfect to be capable of attainment, or practical application to the purposes of human government.

Without religion as a foundation, and that religion based on the hope of rational immortality, a nation may not inaptly be compared to a heavily laden vessel, cast on a sea of many currents, exposed to conflicting elements and storms, to rocks and shoals, and to quicksands, without a rudder and without a compass, and in consequent peril of destruction! Man, in his vain presumption, has indeed attempted the direction of her precarious course, on the ocean of worldly events, by the aid of his own unassisted judgment; but the utter ruin of his ambition, and the shipwreck of his hopes, have been the general result; for, however repugnant to his pride, the imperfectibility of the human character has been the theme and the standing truth of all ages, from the first fallen man in Paradise, to the generation now rising to maturity.

Although states and empires have risen, flourished, and passed away in succession, and ages still roll onward, with the growth, possession, and loss of mental power, man must necessarily remain imperfect, until he shall, under the beneficent dispensation of Eternal Providence, attain that station where he will be placed in seposition from the concomitant cares and anxieties, the necessities of his worldly existence, and the great end of his creation be perfected.

In the general pursuit of a steadily consistent principle, England, from the humble condition described by the Roman poet, a mere insignificant state, or sequestered spot in the Western Ocean, has attained that station of pre-eminence and independent rule, which has never been realised nor maintained on a similar footing by any other power in the history of the world! Shall she, by encouraging any fatal delusion, become the leading instrument of effectuating her own premature downfal? Shall she, by the changes of her domestic polity, part with that pure and humanising religion, in which is placed the greatest consolation and the best of hopes; and, under a momentary infatuation, embrace the shadow, the semblance of liberty, in exchange for independent rule, rational sccurity, and social order? It can hardly be expected, that any thing short of a general national insanity could tend to so direful a calamity in human events.

From Mr. Grey's constitutional work, "The Lords and the People; or, Illustration of the Principles of Christian Governin Britain," &c. London, Edwards. 1835.

It is no longer a matter of difficulty to illustrate, that the primary and ostensible causes which led to the prosperous advancement of Great Britain at home, and the proud attitude she had long since attained amongst the other nations and states of the European world, in the progress of her political career, arose solely from her having embraced, cherished, and maintained, during successive ages, a fundamental principle as the guide of her actions; that principle was nothing less than Christianity; and, in proportion to the respect paid to the superior power and moral influences of Christian rule, in her established system of government, England has experienced, alternately, her periods of splendour, of happiness, and misfortune.

We have assumed, then, as a solid position, that Great Britain started with a substantial principle, the improvement upon which, in succeeding ages, essentially contributed to the moral greatness of her people. To the more than partial neglect, and even perversion, of that principle, amounting, in some instances, to its entire desertion, during the latter period of her progress, may reasonably be attributed the political turmoil, the jealousies of party, and the ambition of sectarian interests, the anxiety for political changes, the hostility towards her venerable establishment in Church and State, and, above all, her loss of confidence in the estimation of foreign powers, to say nothing of her domestic perils, or her local distresses, which, under a more religiously prudent conduct amongst her general population, might have been avoided: for God renders the retribution of anarchy and despair to an unrighteous and factious people.

Our ancient forefathers have left incontestable proofs of their having laid their foundation for the security of civil liberty, or, what Edmund Burke elegantly termed the "chartered rights of men," and which in every civilised community are deemed sacred possessions, on the broad basis of religious security; and that they were duly sustained by Divine authority, and human experience of its high importance in their most solemn state proceedings. They did not entangle themselves with metaphysical disquisitions on popular rights abstractedly considered, but committed the grave interests of the entire commonwealth to the general and equal construction of their laws, leaving the full and perfect recognition of those rights secured by the religion they had identified with the state, binding the chief magistrate to their protection and due observance, as the supreme head of the civil law. It remains to be seen, if the present generation of Englishmen, enlightened with knowledge, as it assumes itself to be,

will continue to profit by the example of those eminent men, who did not merely consult their own temporary advantage, but laboured assiduously, like true patriots, for the benefit of their posterity, in the means they adopted for the preservation of their country's happiness, her religious prosperity, and her moral independence.

The origin and true nature of our religious and political institutions, as a Christian people, should ever form a subject of the mightiest interest for the study and reflection of Englishmen. But at no former period of the history of this country were there so many striking inducements to reflection, as at the present national epoch. From the uniform and strong attachment, that, during many ages, has been shewn to these institutions by men of the highest genius and learning, including enlightened foreigners and statesmen highly distinguished in letters, it follows, that something of inestimable value must of necessity have been interwoven with their construction, which the united and calm wisdom of succeeding generations, under the aid of investigation into the lore of antiquity, comparison, and lengthened experience, has moulded into practical adaptation to the real wants and interests of an aspiring and intelligent people

breast of Henry, and they lived together seventeen years. The king and queen had several children, none of whom, however, with the exception of Mary, survived the period of infancy. At length Henry, on account of the failure of male issue, alarmed lest the threatenings of the Jewish law (Lev. xx. 21) were to be put in force against himself, revived his former scruples as to the legality of this marriage with his brother's widow; and made proposals for a divorce to Clement the Seventh, who was then pope. Clement could hardly have been placed in a situation more perplexing. To give a flat denial to Henry's proposition, would incur the serious displeasure of the headstrong and powerful monarch of England: while concession to his wishes was no less certain to give offence to the emperor, on account of the relationship which existed between him and Catharine. Indeed, the political intrigues and vacillating counsels of Clement had already placed him too much at the mercy of Charles to allow of further provocation. To act either way was impolitic, considering the corrupt means by which he had obtained the popedom, and the existing state of Church affairs. Under various pretences, therefore, and by ambiguous promises, he deferred his answer from time to time. But such trifling ill suited the impatience of Henry's disposition. By the advice of Thomas Cranmer, a priest of Cambridge, who secretly favoured the reformation, the king was induced to apply to the most learned universities for their advice on this question; and Cranmer himself, at his request, undertook to conduct the inquiry. The result was in accordance with the king's wishes. To marry a brother's widow was declared an illegal act; and Catharine was divorced accordingly. From this time Cranmer rose high in the royal favour, and was shortly afterwards promoted to the see of Canterbury. His firm perseverance against papal corruptions, and the ascendancy he had acquired over the capricious temper of Henry, rendered him an important agent in the cause of truth.

Immediately after the divorce of Catharine, the king married Anne Boleyn, which was another step towards reform; for the new queen was decidedly opposed to the religion of Rome. Nevertheless Henry was still desirous to avoid an open rupture with that see; and even sent to justify his conduct in the divorce and new matrimonial engagement. But the obstinate and ill-judged indignation which Clement shewed at these proceedings not only prevented a reconciliation, but urged the king to throw off all dependence upon Rome.

In the spring of 1534 a parliament was summoned, which transferred from the pope to himself the supremacy of the English Church, and with it all the emoluments and revenues arising from ecclesiastical benefices, which had hitherto been paid to Rome. Not long after this, commissioners were sent throughout the kingdom, requiring subscription to an act, which declared the king head of the Church, and settled the succession upon the issue of the present marriage. Sir Thomas More, who, as chancellor, had been a faithful servant to Henry; and Fisher, bishop of Rochester, were the only persons of note who refused to comply. The penalty of the law was severe. They were committed to the Tower; and, after much vain entreaty to renounce their mistaken notions, were beheaded. The death of these two men, considering their age, character, and the sincerity of their religious professions, leaves an indelible stain on the memory of Henry.

In the autumn of the same year (1534), which is distinguished by the emancipation of our Church from Roman thraldom, Clement, who, by his unyielding conduct, had been greatly instrumental in effecting this important measure, was called to his awful acHis successor in the popedom was Alexander Farnese, under the title of Paul the Third.

count.

The

policy adopted by the new pontiff effectually put a stop to all compromise between England and Rome. For the proceedings against More and Fisher had no sooner reached the Vatican, than a bull was issued, threatening the plenitude of papal vengeance upon Henry, if he persisted in his present line of conduct. Paul had expected that this vain display of power would intimidate the English king; but his expectations were not answered. The great work of reform continued. Under the direction of Thomas Cromwell, a visitation of the monasteries was entered upon; and shortly after, an act was passed for their suppression, and the transfer of their several revenues to the

crown.

In the prosecution of this measure, both this king and Cranmer showed great earnestness. The former, probably from a desire to become possessed of the ample revenues of these establishments, in order that he might employ them in the active purposes of national improvement; but the latter, from a well-grounded assurance that the soil best suited to foster the growth of papal errors was to be found within the precincts of the cloister. This visitation was every way of infinite importance to the re-establishment of the truth. The gross immoralities that were discovered to exist, under the veil of monastic dedication to the service of God, opened men's eyes to the folly of a vicarious religion, of trusting to others the salvation of their own souls; nor were ignorance and idleness allowed any longer a luxurious retreat within buildings professedly dedicated to spiritual improvement. When it was known at Rome that the monasteries, those strongholds of papal usurpation, were to be suppressed, the black cloud of anger, which, ever since the issue of the last bull, had been suspended over the English nation, was permitted to discharge itself. Henry was excommunicated; the throne was declared vacant; and an impious sanction was afforded, as in the time of John, to all who might feel disposed to disturb the peace of society, and throw off allegiance to their lawful sovereign. Such futile declarations, however, were treated with merited contempt by the king and people of England. The day was now past for the national independence of this country to be insulted by the arrogance of the court of Rome.

(1541.) At the earnest request of Cranmer, the Bible was ordered to be introduced into all churches, and publicly read to the people. It should be mentioned, that as early as the year 1534, since but few copies of Wickliffe's edition had escaped the struggles of former times, Cranmer obtained the king's permission for a new translation of the Scriptures. In the course of the next year, Myles Coverdale, a native of Yorkshire, published at Zurich his English version of the Bible; and this, which was immediately introduced into our country, became the first English edition of the Scriptures sanctioned by royal authority; for Cranmer's Bible did not appear until 1538, about three years later.

But although Henry had thus resolutely withdrawn from the dominion of Rome, he still adhered to the monstrous errors of the old religion. With a strange inconsistency, he persecuted those Papists who denied his supremacy, and those Protestants who renounced the doctrines of papacy. The prudence and learning of Cranmer, however, counteracted, in a great measure, the king's extravagances; and the useful publications and wise counsels of the pious archbishop diminished daily the influence of superstition. wards the close of Henry's reign, popery made a violent effort to regain its lost power in England. The Duke of Norfolk, the great patron of Romanism, proposed in parliament six articles to enforce the observance of papal tenets. Notwithstanding the arguments and eloquence of Cranmer, these articles passed into a law, which, from the severe and cruel penalties affixed to it, is commonly known by the name of the

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