had no letter of introduction, as was sometimes the case, to the wealthy or the powerful. We took up our abode in some waste apartments belonging to the The traFrench consul, with naked walls and floor. veller here, as throughout the East, must bring his own utensils and bedding with him; but fatigue and novelty sweeten all things. Yet it was somewhat melancholy to look round, and see no preparations for a repast, after a long and dinnerless day. Our mattresses were placed against the wall: even the pan of charcoal, that now would have been welcome, was missing; for the night-breeze from the sea began to come chill through the long vaulted passages and broken casements. In the evening we paid a visit to a merchant's family of Sidon: the contrast was vivid and delightful. We sat on soft carpets and cushions; the pipe and coffee were presented to us; and some light oriental dishes, with some excellent wine, were soon served. The lady of the house presided at the supper; and the conversation was easy and agreeable. She assured us she had made one or two of the sweet dishes with her own hands. The experience of this evening made me resolve, wherever I went in future, to seek the dwelling, whether poor or rich, of the native, rather than the walls of the monastery or the khan. In Jerusalem I had good reason to applaud this decision, being lodged in the house of a native, near the gate of Bethlehem. My apartment opened on the battlements of the strong and ancient wall, at a short distance from the tower of David. They served my repasts every day on a little table about a foot and a half high: fresh cream and honey, bread and coffee, for breakfast; the wine of Jerusalem, which Chateaubriand calls excellent, at dinner; and in the evening the family assembled and sung some native air to the sound of the guitar. From this calm and pleasant retreat, that had quite a feeling of home about it, I was seduced by the persuasions of the superior and monks of St. Salvador, who gave me in exchange a small and wretched cell paved with stone, a chair, and a table, a chill and damp air,-for the light dimly struggled through a low and grated window. At sunset the gate of the monastery was always shut; and the captive in his dungeon did not look forth with more desire on the mountain and stream, than did the traveller, as he paced the gloomy passages and halls, look on the ruinous and memorable places of the city, where it was so sweet to wander in the freshness of the evening. On the following morning we walked on the shore; a pleasant and healthy promenade in front of the ancient mole, which was broken by Facardine, whereby a beautiful basin for shipping was destroyed. On the opposite side a long ridge of rocks projects from the shore; the beach is broad, sandy, and firm, excellent for bathing; and the shipping, the boats, and the fishermen, gave an air of industry and animation to the scene. The air of Sidon, like that of most of the Syrian towns on the coast, is very healthy; its dryness and purity, and the refreshing breezes from the sea morning and evening, prevent the heat from being too oppressive and relaxing. The necessaries as well as some of the luxuries of life are very cheap in Sidon. Butcher's 's meat, of which there is no regular market, is very moderate; the fruits are various and excellent; the wines of Lebanon, as well as those of Samos and Cyprus, are some of them of very fine quality and flavour, and sold at a low price. The celebrated Vin d'Oro of Lebanon is one of the most delicious in the world. In fine, there is no recommendation wanting to make Sidon or Beirout most desirable places of residence, but society. On many a lovely spot along this coast the traveller might wish to pitch his tent for years, even for life, could he but gather a little circle of friends or companions around him-could he but rally some of the associations of his native land, see a few familiar faces draw around his fireside at evening, to talk of the past, and dwell on the brilliant prospects of the future. But his joys and his griefs in Syria and Palestine must all be felt alone. After spending hour after hour-for time flies unheeded-amidst the ruins of glorious temples, and amid the hills and vales of the prophet and the patriarch, he must return to a silent and desolate home, where no voice of kindness or of love greets him, no kindred spirit can enter into his feelings and sympathise in his details. Biography. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM CHILLINGWORTH, THE name which stands at the head of this article is "There Selden, and he sate hard by the chair; Weniman not far off, which was very fair; Sands with Tounsend-for they kept no orderDigby and Shillingsworth a little further." His most intimate friends at the university were all men of high character, and who afterwards figured greatly in the world: Sir Lucius Cary, afterwards Lord Falkland; Mr. John Hales, of Eton, usually known by the name of the " ever-memorable;" but more particularly Mr. Gilbert Sheldon, who succeeded Dr. Juxon in the see of Canterbury in 1663. The study and conversation of the university at that time turned on the controversies between the Church of England and the Church of Rome. The popish priests, having been emboldened by the indulgence shewn to popery towards the close of the reign of James I., proceeded with great confidence in their attempts to gain proselytes. The men of that time had, in a great measure, forgotten those fearful days that had gone before, when kingly favour and support had been given to papal claims: those times had been almost forgotten; and there was no fear that the fierce monster would endeavour to rise again into all his ferocity. Hence, though the power of the Roman Catholics was reviving at that moment, men seemed very free from apprehension of serious mischief. Its wakeful adherents did not fail to employ the occasion which the slumbering suspicions of Protestants offered to them. The man of sin is never to be lulled asleep: he will" die hard," even when the period appointed in God's purposes for his extinction shall have arrived: meanwhile, with a hydra-like fertility, he will rise, apparently fresher, after each occasion of his defeat. There were several priests living at that time in or near Oxford, who were most industrious in their attempts to work upon the minds of the younger members of the university; and they had some success: for several students, deceived by their subtleties, became converts to the Romish creed, and were carried to the English schools abroad, to be more fully instructed in the tenets of that Church to which they had subscribed. There was a famous Jesuit, known under the name of John Fisher, but whose real name was John Perse, or Percey, who was extremely active at this time. He had left England in his youth, to reside at Rheims, and afterwards at Rome, at which place he entered the order of Jesuits. On returning to England, he gave himself up to the work of proselytism; and it is said that he was both very skilful and prosperous in his labours. The mother of the Duke of Buckingham yielded to his arguments; and King James had been led to form so high an opinion of his talents, that he proposed to him several questions on points wherein he differed from the Romish faith, and required him to give an answer on each point. This Fisher was then at Oxford; and, knowing the great talent of Chillingworth, he selected him for attack. He plied him with that argument, which is the papist's citadel-for which he must fight, and which, if he be brought to yield, he yields up therewith the whole of his cause-viz. the necessity of an infallible living judge in matters of faith. Fisher was well read in all the sophistical arguments by which this primary article of his Church was to be defended; and the consequence was, that he proved too much for Chillingworth. He could neither confute the Jesuit, nor could he gain satisfactory answers to those perplexing doubts which his adversary had injected into his mind. He gave up, therefore, the point of infallibility: the surrender of the rest necessarily followed. Chillingworth having now forsaken the Church of England, the loss of his fellowship was the necessary consequence of his abandoning Protestantism. He soon after retired into the country; and thence wrote to Sheldon, to examine the arguments that had previously weighed with his own mind. These were the questions which he proposed for Sheldon's consideration:-" 1. Whether it be not evident, from Scripture, and fathers, and reason, from the goodness of God, and the necessity of mankind, that there must be some one Church infallible in matters of | faith? 2. Whether there be any other society of men in the world besides the Church of Rome, that either can, upon good warrant, or indeed at all, challenge to itself the privilege of infallibility in matters of faith ?" At the conclusion of his letter, he says, "When you have applied your most attentive consideration upon these questions, I do assure myself your resolution will be affirmative in the first, and negative in the second. And then the conclusion will be, that you will approve and follow the way wherein I have had the happiness to enter before you; and should think it infinitely increased, if it would please God to draw you after." Fisher, fearing lest he should lose his conquest, if Chillingworth should remain among his old associates, persuaded him to go over to the Jesuits' college at Douay; and, before he went, he prevailed on him to set down in writing the reasons that had led him to quit the Church of England and to embrace Romanism. Laud, who was now Bishop of London, heard with much sorrow of this change of opinions in his godson; but, as he knew that Chillingworth was candid and open to conviction, he did not despair of being able to recall him to the ground he had forsaken. Accordingly, he began to correspond with him; and "Chillingworth's first answer, written in a tone of moderation, candour, and impartiality, encouraged Laud to proceed with him, and press him with arguments against the doctrines and practices of the Church of Rome." This set him on a new inquiry; and, as the college of Douay was a place unfavourable to an unrestricted search into the merits of the question, he resolved to leave that college and return to England, where he arrived in 1631. Laud received him with great kindness; and expressed his approbation of the design which Chillingworth had formed of retiring to Oxford. There he had been first drawn aside from Protestantism, and there he was minded, if God should so will it, to unlearn the sophistry that had misled his steps. It is said that Laud gave him his blessing on his departure for Oxford, and promised that he should have full liberty to follow out his inquiries. At Oxford, Chillingworth thoroughly examined the subject before him. He occupied himself with the most important books and men of both communions, to find out where the truth lay and being convinced that Protestantism was agreeable to the word of God and sound reason, he took leave of his Romish professions, declared for Protestantism, and wrote a confutation of the reasons which had induced him to go over to the Church of Rome. This paper was written in 1634, but not published. : Chillingworth was a sincere lover of truth. His desire to find it led him aside into the Church of Rome : the same unaffected desire brought him back to the spot whence he had strayed. And because he wished to be grounded and settled in his new decisions, he reexamined the reasons which had led him to return to Protestantism. The roots of conviction, already deep within him, he desired to strike deeper still. This afforded his adversaries a handle against him; they said he was again wavering; that he had become a second time a Papist, and a Protestant again. It is true that he had written to Dr. Sheldon a letter "containing some scruples about leaving the Church of Rome, and returning to the Church of England:" but these were not the expressions of any misgivings of the truth of Protestantism, but only the expressions of a mind conscientiously desiring to pursue no path but the right, and freely uttering itself to a confidenial and discreet friend. A Jesuit, named Edward Knott, (who was for several years professor of divinity at the English college in Rome,) wrote a pamphlet against him, insinuating that he had no principles at all, and that he was ready to be carried away by the arguments of those, whether Protestant or Romish, with whom he might chance to have the latest en counter. But he himself knew that conscience had been his guide in the changes he had made: he says, that they were "the most satisfactory actions to himself that ever he did, and the greatest victories that ever he obtained over himself and his affections to those things which, in this world, are most precious, as wherein for God's sake, and (as he was verily persuaded) out of love to the truth, he went upon a certain expectation of those inconveniences which, to ingenuous natures, are of all the most terrible." To the raillery of Knott he replied, that he was prepared to make even another change, if he could be brought to see more cogent reasons for changing than for remaining as he was. He says to him: "Had you represented to my understanding such reasons of your doctrine, as, being weighed in an even balance held by an even hand with those on the other side, would have turned the scale, and have made your religion more credible than the contrary; certainly I should have despised the shame of one more alteration, and with both mine arms, and all my heart, most readily have embraced it." To an His return to Protestantism made a great noise, and led him into disputes, particularly with an Essex clergyman, named John Lewgar, who had formerly, at Chillingworth's persuasion, become a papist. He wrote a severe letter to Chillingworth on his return to the Church of England, which gave him great pain, as they had been intimate friends. To this letter he returned a mild and kind reply: his "soft answer turned away" the "wrath" of his friend; and they afterwards held a personal conference, and also wrote letters to each other on the subject of the pretensions of the Church of Rome. He was now so notorious from his conversion and re-conversion, that he became, as might be expected, the object of much angry attack. Knott the Jesuit had published a book called "Charity mistaken, with the want whereof Catholics are unjustly charged, for affirming, as they do with grief, that Protestancy unrepented destroyeth salvation." This book had been answered by Dr. Potter in 1633; but Knott replied to the answer. swer this second production of Knott was Chillingworth's aim; and in order to get together materials for doing this with effect, he went often, during the year 1635, to visit Lord Falkland at Great Tew, in Oxfordshire his lordship having a good library, and being able to assist Chillingworth in his inquiries, from his acquaintance with many apposite passages in his books, and being himself a sensible and learned man. This same year, which, by his researches for his future work, laid the foundation of his lasting fame as a Protestant champion, bore witness also to the integrity of his principle. Sir Thomas Coventry, lord keeper of the great seal, offered him preferment; and if Chillingworth had consulted his finances merely, he would have accepted the offer; for he was any thing but well off. But he had scruples about the Thirty-nine Articles, and those clauses of the Athanasian creed usually called damnatory; neither did he see his way respecting the obligation of the fourth commandment upon Christians. He wrote to Dr. Sheldon on the subject of his doubts; and a correspondence passed between them, in which Sheldon answered his objections to the above matters, though he did not succeed in convincing Chillingworth. old antagonist, Knott, felt vehemently displeased at the idea that a book was about to appear in defence of Protestantism, from one on whom the opposite interest had once calculated as one who should prove its most strenuous and effective advocate; and so impatient was he, that he could not wait until the book came out; but he wrote an intemperate pamphlet against Chillingworth, in the hope of poisoning the public mind against him before his book should ap pear. His He even charged him with being a Socinian. Chillingworth offered to meet him, for the purpose of arguing the matters on which they differed, calling upon him" to choose out of his whole book any one argument whereof he was most confident, and by which he would be content the rest should be judged of; and if he could make it appear that he had not, or could not, answer it, that he would desist from the work which he had undertaken." But Knott was more wise than candid; he declined any other than a paper battle. Chillingworth's book (which was a reply to Knott's work), after having been revised by Dr. Prideaux the professor of divinity, by Dr. Fell the Lady Margaret's professor of divinity, and by Baylie the vice-chancellor, appeared at the end of the year 1637, under the title of "The Religion of Protestants a safe way to Salvation; or, an answer to a book entitled Mercy and Truth, or Charity maintained by Catholics,' which pretends to prove the contrary. By William Chillingworth, M. A. of the University of Oxford." The work was highly applauded, and in five months reached the second edition: a success which mortified Knott, and roused him to new efforts. He wrote a reply to the work, and dedicated it to the king. But Chillingworth had more attacks yet to come. His book brought a whole nest of waspish Jesuits about him: they would have stung the book to death if they could; but they could not, for it contained the seed of immortal truth. John Floyd, a Jesuit, who went under the name of Daniel, or Dan à Jesu, wrote a pamphlet against him in 1638, which was printed at St. Omer, under this title, "The Church conquerant over Human Wit; or, the Church's Authority demonstrated by William Chillingworth (the proctor for wit against her) his perpetual contradictions in his book entitled The Religion of Protestants a safe way to Salvation.'" In the next year Floyd wrote an appendix to the above pamphlet, calling it "The Total Sum; or, no danger of damnation unto Roman Catholics for any errors in faith; nor any hope of salvation for any sectary whatever that doth knowingly oppose the doctrine of the Roman Church." A Jesuit named William Lacy also wrote a scurrilous book, entitled "The Judgment of an University Man concerning Mr. William Chillingworth his late pamphlet in answer to Charity maintained."" [To be concluded in the next Number.] MEMOIR OF A FAITHFUL SERVANT.* IN one of the eastern counties of England lived William Grimes, the subject of the following memorial. The parents of William were honest, industrious labourers. His father worked with a farmer in his native parish; and his mother, besides the care and labour attendant on the bringing up of a young family, assisted the different wealthy families of their neighbourhood in washing, and, during the summer months, employed herself in the hay and harvest-fields. They had a small cottage upon one of those slips of waste land which border many of the public roads in the villages of that county. This land, which belonged to the lord of the manor, and might amount to somewhat more than half an acre, furnished them with many of those little comforts which soften the condition and gladden the hearts of the labouring poor. It produced also the potatoes which form so important and useful a portion of their sustenance, and which enabled them to feed the pig, purchased by the father's industry. Nor was their cottage without its little ornaments. A small slip of land in its front produced the wall-flower and the rose-tree, together with some bunches of those useful pot-herbs, which make the homely fare of the cottager more pleasant and more wholesome. The care of this little garden fell chiefly upon William's mother, who took much natural pleasure in it; and From the Family Monitor. who was often gratified by the undisguised approbation of those who passed by it. As soon almost as little William could run alone, he began to be made useful; and by the time that he was six years old, he was a very great help to his poor mother, in watching the cradle of an infant brother, and by keeping his little sister, who was three years and a half old, in good humour and out of harm's way. William was very proud of the trust which was placed in him, and never seemed weary of attending to what was thus left to his care. He appeared to have a spirit of sobriety and order above his years; and his conduct, even thus early in life, was a fountain of comfort to his parents. This, however, although very pleasing, was not at all surprising; it arose out of the conduct of the parents themselves. It was the example which they placed before his young eyes, more than any formal tutoring, which produced these happy effects. His father and mother were never idle; and he never heard them murmuring or discontented. What he saw was good, and he naturally-for children are all imitatorsimitated what he saw; and thus the most valuable things in his character grew up with him, and became a part of that character, without his knowing or remembering how they had first been taught him. What the blessing of a good and dutiful child is, they only can fully know whose grey hairs have been almost brought down to the grave in sorrow by the conduct and character of one who is froward, profligate, and disobedient. Happy is it for such parents, if they can truly say that their own careless, idle, and dissolute habits, their own daily neglect and contempt of God's holy word and commandments, have not laid the foundation of their child's ruin, and their own bitter sorrow. But the parents of William did not, however, imagine that their good conduct, any more than their health, and their other blessings, was the product of their own wills; they had learned by times to pray unto God that "he would put into their hearts good desires, and enable them to bring the same to good effect;" and they read' in his holy word, that the "heart of man is desperately wicked, and deceitful above all things." These truths put them upon considering their ways; and they soon came to see, and humbly to acknowledge, that whatever was good in them was not of their own production, but was the gift of God; and that whatever was evil arose from their own perverse hearts, and their natural desire to prefer their corrupt wills to his divine and fatherly commandments. This view of their case led them to aim at obedience to God, as the best way of overcoming their evil thoughts and desires, and of obtaining that peace of mind which cannot be had while the conscience is not at rest. But God, they found, had ordered them to love their neighbours; to labour diligently with their hands, that they might not eat the bread of idleness; and to think upon, and practise, whatsoever things are honest, lovely, and of good report. As they seriously and honestly designed to obey their great Master, whenever they understood his will, they of course made the reading of his word a part of the business of their lives, because there only is that will clearly made known to us. Now these things were productive of happy effects; and William's parents were soon noted of all men as followers of their Master, Christ; not only because their knowledge of the Scriptures was much greater than that of their neighbours, but because their industry, their sobriety, their love to one another, and their kindness to all around them, were qualities that went on continually brightening and improving. They never seemed to be wearied in well doing; there was no fickleness, changeableness, and partiality, in their way of life; and therefore it was clear that the foundation of all their conduct was something that did not depend upon their wish to please men, or to get to themselves a good name by a fair outward show; since, whenever these things form the ground-work of men's actions, a looker-on will always observe a change, accordingly as one course or another seems the more likely to gain the end proposed. The conduct of this worthy couple had long drawn upon them the notice of the rector of the village, and they were ranked among his best friends. As this notice of them had a great influence upon little William's future life; and as the rector will be often mentioned in the progress of this little memoir, it may be agreeable to our readers to know so much of his history and character as our short limits will allow us to give them. The Rev. Mr. Freemantle was, at the time we are speaking of, about forty-five years old. He had succeeded to his father in the rectory, which had now been held in their family for nearly fifty years - Mr. F.'s father having been the incumbent for about thirty years of that period. We mention these little particulars to shew the close connexion which might thus naturally be supposed to exist between Mr. Freemantle and his parishioners. This connexion, which a clear view of his awful and important duties as a Christian minister rendered deeply and solemnly interesting to his heart, was yet, if possible, still more interesting, because more dear to his feelings as a man, from past sorrows and present recollections. He had brought among his people his newly espoused wife-a help meet for a Christian minister. Largely sharing in his pastoral cares, as far as unceasing anxiety for the temporal good of her husband's flock was concerned, Mrs. F. was the nurse, the doctress, and the friend of every family in the village. But a premature and painful death had deprived the flock of their benefactress, and their pastor of his dearest earthly tie; the desire of his eyes was taken from him at a stroke! Left a young widower with five children, his time, when not occupied with them, was passed among his people. His own sorrows had instructed him in the best methods of comforting the afflicted. Having himself gone to that gracious Being, who declareth that he is sent "to bind up the brokenhearted, and to comfort all that mourn," he was well calculated to lead the way, to direct the steps of other mourners to that same gracious, affectionate, and all-powerful Friend. Accordingly, in such moments, when the soul is bowed down and smitten, the worthy rector was ever found at his post; and as the heart of man, softened by sorrow, even as the stubborn glebe is mellowed by the rain, is then in its fittest condition to receive the grain committed to it, he was especially careful to sow the seed in tears, being well assured that, though the husbandman went his way weeping, he should doubtless return with gladness, and bring his sheaves with him. But the labours and the efforts of this worthy man were not confined to the house of mourning. Christianity with him was a religion of joy and gladness. Its promises, its hopes, and its unseen glories, were rendered present and visible by faith. He endeavoured, and God crowned his endeavours with success, to lead his people to those fountains of living water which furnished the refreshment of his soul: no house in his village was deemed above, or below, his parental care; and never had that Church (so rich in affectionate zeal) sent a more zealous, prudent, or affectionate labourer into her Lord's vineyard. Such was the clergyman who was the friend of little William's parents, and upon whose future counsels and kindness so much of the present, and it may be eternal, happiness of William himself was to depend. [To be continued.] IMPORTANCE OF A TIMELY ATTENTION TO ETERNAL THINGS: A Sermon, BY THE REV. J. DAVIES, B.D. Rector of St. Pancras, Chichester. "If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace! but now they are hid from thine eyes." AN enlightened regard to futurity is an exclusive attribute of rational and intelligent beings. This is one of the most decisive evidences of a wise, considerate, and comprehensive mind. To be entirely engrossed by present objects, to have all the thoughts and feelings confined within the narrow circle of the senses, to be unmindful of the past and reckless of the future, undoubtedly evinces a total absence of all the higher and more intellectual endowments of character. The chief end, indeed, of all the discipline of the mind and of all the lessons of experience is, more effectually to teach men the exercise of forethought, and the science of prudent calculation. Many events, having a most important bearing upon his security and welfare, are completely out of the range of man's observation, and are to be viewed as parts of a providential arrangement, which he can neither obviate nor control. Others there are, which, in a subordinate sense, may be considered as in a great measure contingent upon circumstances of prior occurrence, which it may be in his power to regulate or prevent. Of all the events connected with the character and destiny of man, the most important, beyond all comparison, are those which relate to his spiritual and eternal interests. And it is a very remarkable circumstance, that, by a due regard to the records of Divine revelation, man may obtain a much clearer and more definite knowledge of what is about to befal him in a future world, than of what may occur during the remaining portion of his earthly pilgrimage. By bringing his character to the unerring test of Scripture, he may determine with far greater certainty what is likely to be his doom throughout eternity, than what may be the colour of his fate here below during the short season of his probation. This was, doubtless, graciously vouchsafed in consideration of the unequalled magnitude of the interests which are at stake, and in order to afford man every opportunity to exercise a provident care for his welfare. Of all the neglects and imprudencies, therefore, of which he can possibly be guilty, the most culpable and unwise is unquestionably that of disregarding his destiny beyond the grave. Compared with this, every other interest is trifling and insignificant. Ignorance or inconsider ateness upon all other points, when put in the balance against thoughtlessness or wilful blindness upon this, loses its character of imprudence, and scarcely deserves our censure. The consummation of an infatuated indifference about futurity is, doubtless, that of a heedless unconcern about the stupendous events of eternity. And, in reference to those, we may well address the unreflecting and profane in the impressive and affecting language of our Saviour, applied more immediately to the approaching downfal of Jerusalem : "If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace! but now they are hid from thine eyes." We forbear to notice, at present, the peculiar tenderness and pathos which characterise these words; the emotions of intense commiseration which they express; and the sentiments of affectionate, but unavailing regret, which they convey. We shall now consider them simply as they apply to the case of the heedless and unreflecting sinner in general. But it may be just remarked, that the peculiar form of expression here employed, "If thou hadst known," is a Hebraism, denoting the strongest possible desire that those addressed had really known the things belonging to their peace-"O that thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things belonging to thy peace!" In accommodating this pathetic effusion of the Saviour's compassion to the character and prospects of men as they relate to a future world, I shall endeavour to point out a few of those things most intimately belonging to their peace, which it is of the utmost importance that in due time they should know, and which, it is to be feared in a vast majority of instances, are now hidden from their eyes. (1.) As the first of the things belonging to their peace, I would notice, the guilt and danger of their present condition. In a case in which offence has been committed, penalties have been incurred, and danger is imminent, a knowledge of the real position of the question, in all its aggravation and extent, is obviously one of the first requisites to safety. It was the ignorance of this-it was the infatuated blindness to their actual condition as they stood in the eye of God, which made the case of the inhabitants of Jerusalem, at the time that the Saviour uttered over it this plaintive lamentation, so melancholy and hopeless. Their eyes were closed in utter and unconscious security, and caught not a single glimpse of that awful storm of divine indignation which loured so darkly over their heads, and was so speedily to burst in a torrent of fire and blood, and to overwhelm their persons, their families, and their habi |