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4 Sermon preached at the Temple Church, May 31/1, and

Berkley Chapel, Berkley Square, June 28th, upon the Conduct to be observed by the Established Church towards Catholics and other Diflenters, by the Rev. SYDNEY SMITH, A. M. late Fellow of New College, Oxford, 8vo. pp. 27. 1s. Carpenter.

N the reign of Elizabeth, the pulpit of the Temple In the morning the meek, learned, and judicious Hooker Jaid down and explained the sound principles of Christianity in a perspicuous manner; in the afternoon, one Walter Travers, a petulant and forward declaimer, preached the contrary opinions with great vehemence, so that, as one of the hearers pleasantly observed, "the forenoon spake Can, terbury, and the afternoon Geneva."

Such a discordance, we believe, never happened since that period, till the author of the present sermon, by fome unaccountable circumstance, obtained admission into a pul. pit, which, for above a century past, has been distinguished by discourses of the first rank in theological excellence.

The object of the preacher is to abuse the Church of England as intolerant in adopting measures for her own preservation; when, according to him, " she was never more powerful,” or more juftly respected, than at this moment.

This is a pretty bold assumption, which we fhould be very glad to see proved, but unfortunately every day and hour's experience convinces us that what is here taken for granted is the reverse of the real state of the case. In the definition of an ecclefiaftical eftablishment, there are many radical defcets; and, indeed, from what is observed of the utility and political expediency of such an institution, we should fuppose that the author considers the Church as possessing no o:ber rights or privileges, than what she receives from the state.

He is possessed of all that liberalizing fpirit which would concede all indulgence to every class and denomination of Christians, out of the establishment; but, as to the Church, she needs neither strength nor stay. The restrictions whereby Dislenters, as such, are kept from places of public truit, are very decently termed odious, and to deprive a man of the opportunity of obtaining certain honours in the state, is roundly called perfecution. The preacher, however, who deals in these assumptions and epithets, does not condescend to enter upon any thing like argument; so that we are saved

the

the trouble of entering into a refutation of his positions. In truth, a more flippant, empty, declamation we were never doomed to read; and therefore, after dismissing it from our table, we consoled ourselves with a page of Sherlock.

The Case of the Widow confidered, and the Confolations

applicable to it enforced. A Sermon, composed by particular Request, and since preached at White Waltham, Berks, September 8th, 1805. By the Rev. WILLIAM PALMER, B. A. 8vo. Pp. 30. Is. Rivingtons. HIS is a pathetic discourse upon a very affecting sub

, and the piety of the preacher.

The following extract will fufficiently confirm the cliaracter we have given of this sermon :

" Let us then enter into the house of mourning, and consider the widow and the fatherless. 66 * It is better,” saith the preacher,

to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for that is the end of all men, and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow," he continues, “ is better than laughter, for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning ; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.” And surely, there will be found mourning enough, whence all that caused joy and gladness liath been carried forth, and laid deep in the grave. In that house, upon which the Lord hath laid his own right hand, and which he has visited with the most particular dispensation of his providence, no sound of earthly comfort can be heard, because whatsoever part of its happiness was earthly, is returned for ever to its dust.

To the reasoning of worldly wisdom, which sorrowful experience has not corrected, the assertion of a mystical, and therefore incomprehensible union betwixt those who are coupled together in the sight of God, may appear visionary and unmeaning. The weak determinations of men are often found to oppose the sublimest mysteries of God, with little consideration of their necessary truth and importance, as coming from him, who can neither deceive nor exaggerate. The Lord God, however, when he had made man of the dust of the earth, and had breathed into his nos. trils the breath of life, because it was not good for the man to be alone, took no other portion of that earth, to make him an help meet for him, but the man's own flesh he took, even the bone from his side near unto his heart. " What,” says the author of the Ecclesiastical Polity, (Hooker's Eccles. Pol. Book i.) speaking on another subject, “ can be more immediale to our salvation, than our persuasion concerning the law of Christ towards his church? What greater assurance of love towards his church, than * Eccles. vii. 2.

the

the knowledge of that mystical union, whereby the Church is become as near unto Christ, as any one part of his flesh is unto another? That the Church being in such sort his, he must needs protect it; what proof more strong, than if a manifest law so require, which law it is not possible for Christ to violate ? And what other law doth the apostle for this allege, but such as is both commion unto Christ with us, and unto us with things natural;” viz. that “ No man hateth his own flesh, but doth love and cherish it.” If then the mystical union betwixt Christ and the Church be thus close, and they are identified by a law impossible to be vio. lated, which to mere reason seems suitable only to the propinquity of one atom to another atom in the same body, (whether it be flesh or stone, blood or water); how, strict and intimate that union ; how divine and worthy of reverence that bond of holy wedlock, which Christ instituted as its pattern, it were to waste words to describe.

“ The eyes and hands of the widow uplifted to Heaven for comfort, which earth cannot give, speak her sense that she was indeed, « bone of his bones," who hath been taken from her, “ and flesh of his flesh.” To 'surrounding friends she would in vain explain the excellency of her lost blessing ; that his presence was all that was needful to her happiness; that he had been the guide and counsel of her youih, the rock of her strength, the pillow of her repose. That under his influence, religion, and piety had taken up their abode in her heart ; that by him, her unsuspecting mistakes had been corrected, and the straight and peaceful path of wisdoni made known to her : that through many frowns of adversity, and amidst scorns which misfortunes alone had sanctioned from the world, they had passed together, less regarding, because of that love which rendered outward things indifferent to them, and softened the feeling of their mutual wounds; while, if they had ever rejoiced in the gleams of prosperity, which sometimes promised to shine upon them, the gratification of the other was ihe only delight that each of them had anticipated: this might indeed speak the regrets that oppressed her heart, but not de. scribe the pungent agonies of nature, thus divided from itself. Shall we, or does religion bid this wife, or those little mourners to cease from their weeping; or if we should do so, will she listen to our exhortation ; will she not rather say to her children, “ Weep

ve bereaved and mourning little ones, for him who is gone for ever from you—whom the world cannot restore : ye have lost him, who loved you as no man shall ever love you hereafter : ye have lost him, who, because he loved youi, chastened you, my children, as none will ever again chasten you ; with a trembling hand and unwilling heart, that he might bring you to God." Will she not for herself

, instead of ceasing to weep, cry ont with Job, that I might have my request, and that God would grant me the thing that I long for ; even that it would please God to destroy me ; that he would let loose his hand and cut me off. Then should

I yet

on

“ Oh,

I yet have comfort, yea, I would harden myself in sorrow ;-what is my strength, that I should hope; and what is mine end, that I should prolong my life ?”

What has the world to offer to this mourner?-what can it pro. mise that shall'hinder in her mind, the recurrence of past seenes so tender and so well remembered, which had rivetted her love to him to whom it was due, by the lasting tie of mutual and various fortune? Shall the giddy round of pleasure? Shall noise and tumult still such grief as this ? Shall folly stop her bleeding wounds ? Alas! when folly is weary of itself, and pleasure is driven to repose, in the stillness of the night, at that undisguised hour, which neither the guilty nor the wretched can escape, her griefs would gush out afresh ! -Let then Nature's work be first done, and the mourner utter her complaints, and fill

up

the measure of Christian sorrow,

and commune with her own heart, and in her chamber, and be still, while the silent work of his grace who hath thus cast her down, and can alone lift her up, is going on within her, and is disposing her to listen to the suggestions piety, and the voice of God.”

Poetry.

VIEW OF A MONASTERY.

By the Rev. THOMAS MAURICE.

B

UT not in splendid palaces alone,
The

pomp of Britain's scepter'd lords was shown
Sacred to Heav'n, that, o'er the anointed head
Its adamantine shield in battle spread;
In Sheen a stately fabric met the fight,
Of old, the hoary anchorite's delight!
And near, amid the groves for ever green,
Richly endowed a costly fane was seen.
In antique grandeur rose the spacious pile,
And richest sculptures deck'd each cloister'd ifle;
On the proud roofs, in air sublimely rais'd
The eye with pain, yet fill with rapture, gazed.
High tower'd the gothic arch ; and through the dome,
Dark clustering columns shed a twilight gloom :
Save when yon feryid orb's pervading rays
Lighted the pictur'd window's crimson blaze-
While from the lofty walls, suspended wave

The

The spoils of war, and banners of the brave!
Statues of 'Saints, for suffering worth renown'd,
In massy silver seem'd to breathe around;
Unbounded weaith the gorgeous fhrine o'erflow'd
That with the richest gems of Afia glow'd;
For many a pilgrim, from its distant fhore,
To that famed Thrine his hoarded treasure bore.

Refulgent shone the storied roofs--array'd,
In all the blended pomp of light and shade;
While gold and azure charm'd the wond'ring eyes,
And cherubs floated in cerulian skies!
A master's hand had sketch'd the bold design,
The fire of genius mark'd each glowing line;
Devotion's brightest symbols flam'd above
The dazzling wonders of Redeeming Love:
The star whose light, by eastern sects adored,
Its hallow'd blaze on humble Bethlem pour'd,
The Dove, resplendent with the silver wings,
That hov’ring paus’d o'er Jordan's facred springs ;
And settling on the Saviour's lowly head,
Bright as a thousand suns, its glory shed;
All that in faith transports, in virtue charms;
All that in guilt the shudd'ring foul alarms;
Heav'n's radiant visions, bursting on the fight,
The dark drear horrors of Cimmerian night,
Extatic raptures--agonizing woem
By Fancy's daring pencil taught to flow,
On the proud roofs, in brilliant tints pourtray'd,
Or on the breathing walls, the eye survey'd ;
While from the rich illumin'd windows beam'd,
As the meridian blaze unbounded stream'd,
With all the rainbow's varied beauty bright
Flow'd the rich torrent of reflected light-
Full on the altar flam'd the fervid ray,
And ope'd a gleam of heav'n's eternal day.
With transport warm'd, with facred awe opprerd,
Alternate passions heaved the throbbing breast.'

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