Dingle for the purpose of establishing there a place of meeting for the Home Mission. At that time Mr Gregg preached a sermon partly in English, partly in Irish, in the town. The room was crowded while the preacher spoke in Irish; and there was present a young Roman Catholic who endeavoured to drown the preacher's voice, or to disturb attention, by beating a stick against the table under which he sat. Nine years after, Mr Gregg again visited Dingle, when that same person who, on his former visit, sat under the table making a noise to drown his voice, stood by his side upholding his hands, and blessed be God, a minister of that faith which before he sought to destroy. That minister is the Rev. T. Moriarty, whose faithful exertions in that neighbourhood have been blessed with successes the most cheering and remarkable.”

The date of Dr Moriarty's ordination we therefore fix as the third and most momentous era in the history of this Society-not only because of the Divine blessing that has followed it, but because thennot before-did the Society fulfil the Saviour's whole behest, which requires us to preach the Gospel, as well as to teach it to every creature.

Dr Mason does not enable us to state exactly the results of these operations in Kerry. But we believe that six or seven congregations containing upwards of a thousand converted Romanists-many of them being men of exemplary piety—are to be found clustered round the colony of Dingle.

"But because they continue stedfast in the Apostle's doctrine, they are destitute and afflicted. The most dreadful persecution is carried on against them. Curses are denounced upon all who aid them in any way. None are permitted to sell them any article of food. The whole county seems in a state of siege,—and the priests have spies at the markets, watching the converts, and forcing them to return what they purchase. Immediately on coming out from Popery every calamity stares them in the face-they are at once forsaken by the world-employment ceases, and persecution waits them. Notwithstanding this, a friend writes, three families joined Christ's little flock last week; more would follow, only they would not have where to lay their heads, as no lodging would be given them for ten times the rent. In Listowell four men came out, one of whom, a clerk to an attorney, lost his employment the day after he went to church, and his father lost all his customers, thus a very large family are left beggars. The same tale is re-echoed from all parts of the kingdom, and thanks be to God the same cry is re-echoed also, 'none of these things move us.' There are no baits, no inducements here, but the Scriptures, God's powerful word, handled by men who go forth in the strength of the Lord. The real devotion and ardour in grasping at the word of life, is most encouraging,—and it is cheering to know, that in the midst of all this fierce persecution, they stand firm,—the schools are fuller than ever,—the attendance of the converts on divine service is more regular,—so that it may be said of them as of God's people of old, the more their enemies afflict them, the more they multiply and grow.”.

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We must not close these notices of Dr Mason's history,' without expressing our satisfaction in observing, that he does not overlook the

kindred labours of the home mission of the Presbyterian Church. Perhaps he might have accompanied his allusion to it with a more decided mark of approval; but, of course, he is not to be presumed to know particularly either the extent of its labours, or their success. We have not overlooked it, but have omitted all notice of it, because we must return to the subject, in order to close this unfinished view of the hopeful, yet critical state, of Ireland's evangelization.

But upon what has been said we call for a verdict. Is it true that the Reformation in Ireland has failed? Is it true that Popery is inevitable there, and that Ireland must be Popish for ever? Noa thousand voices from Kerry cry, and a thousand voices more reecho it through the land:We are witnesses-living monuments and proofs, that Popery is not indestructible. Look at our bruised and bleeding bodies-look at the green graves of our murdered relatives-look at our wasted gardens and desolated hearths; and by the pangs of hunger that assail us-by the rags of poverty that cover us-by the priests' awful curse that rests upon us-all fruits of our adopted faith-will you not know and own us to be Protestants indeed? What made us so? The Bible, and the blessing of God upon it; nothing else. Then, take that Bible and teach it to our children, and to our brethren and companions. Carry that light into every dark region-preach that gospel to every creature, and protect liberty of conscience. Make it penal for the priest to curse-make it safe for the people to recant, and Ireland shall yet become a delightsome land, and rest, after her many troubles, under the smile of God.

Now

It becomes the Christian Churches of Britain, at this crisis, to reconsider prayerfully their duty to their sister Ireland, and to inquire whether they have in any degree adequately discharged it. that, AS A NATION, we have abandoned Ireland to the sway of Popery, are we not, AS A CHURCH, peremptorily called upon to seek her deliverance? If half the energy that has been spent in protesting against the Maynooth Bill had been used for successive years in propagating the blessed gospel through Ireland, doubtless she would not have been a thorn and a curse to us as she is this day. Is it too late? This bill, which stamps the name of the beast upon Britain's forehead-which seals the doom of our beloved land-may not this very measure, so big with woe to us, have a blessing in its bosom for Ireland? Yes it may-if the zeal, and resolution, and spirit of prayer, which have been kindled, be now brought to bear upon her, and be expended in a direct assault upon Popery. The events of Providence seem to be saying to us, Your petitions, addresses, remonstrances, are vain. The beast that ascendeth out of the bottomless pit shall make war against you, and shall overcome you, for God hath put in their hearts to fulfil his will, and to agree and give their kingly power unto the beast, until the words of God shall be ful

filled, (Rev. xvii. 17.) But now turn your arms, and your efforts, and your prayers, directly against the beast. Attack him in his den; by the sword of the Spirit you shall wound him, and by the blood of the Lamb you shall overcome him. Go and carry the light of the gospel to the dark population of Ireland-go and preach the word of life to them, for they will hear you.'

Most merciful God! how long shall the churches of this favoured isle feed in their green pastures, and sleep under thy shadow, while seven millions of their countrymen are bleeding under the curse of Popery! Surely it is time for us to awake out of sleep. • Behold I come quickly, and my reward is with me, to give every man according as his work shall be,' (Rev. xxii. 12.)

Let every Christian inquire, When Christ sits upon the throne of his glory, and reckons with Britain for her deeds to Ireland, shall I be able to wash my hands from her guilt? Shall I be able to point, not only to my protest, but to more active and decided proofs of my hatred against Popery? What marks shall I be able to show that I made war against the beast?"

ART. IV.-1. Shelley's Poetical Works. 4 volumes. London. 1839. 2. Wordsworth's Poetical Works. A New Edition, in Six Volumes. London. 1836.

3. Poems by William Cowper, with a Biographical and Critical Introduction. By the Rev. THOMAS DALE. London. 1841.

It has been said that the tendency of blending into a consistent theory, all facts with which they become acquainted, whether in the history of mind or matter, is the peculiarity of genius. • Men of genius,' says Coleridge, have an instinctive habit of endeavouring to bring, and never resting till they have brought, into unity, the scattered facts which occur in conversation, or in the statements of men of business.' The peculiarity referred to consists not, we imagine, in the bare capacity of reducing to system a mass of isolated facts; for this men of talent have in common with men of genius, but in the original and inveterate tendency to extract therefrom the pregnant principle. To arrange and combine, and marshal in convenient order, the different points that bear upon any question, or go to establish any theory, though not within the reach of every one, is yet attainable by any man of moderate ability; for orderly arrangement, which is all it amounts to, is the natural fruit of a judicious education-applying that word in its original and fullest sense -and is seldom found wanting where nature is not willingly violated, or where truth is the main object aimed at. Men of talent, no

doubt, carry this power of systematizing to an extent not to be reached by others; but still it is the same power, acquired by the same means, exercised for the same ends, and the arrow reaches farther, only because the arm that drew the bow was more powerful. The man thus gifted is distinguished from another by the adroitness and force with which he arranges and applies the materials before him. If history is his study, he is enabled to bring to bear on his estimate of any characters or action, a vast number of facts, with which the narrative has supplied him. If to satisfy himself, or convince others, of some novel doctrine, is his object, every argument that suggests itself as favouring it is sifted or urged, and first to his own mind, and then to that of others, the theory is presented in the most orderly, and, it may be, persuasive and irresistible manner that the subject admits of. In short, to whatever he may apply his mind, still the process in acquiring knowledge, the weapons made use of in the defence of truth, and the means employed in the diffusion of an opinion, are the same-the discovery, arrangement, and application of facts. Beyond facts he cannot see-they are his horizon. From them he ascends to theories, to systems; but his theories and systems are not the essence, they are but the arrangement of his facts. With the man of genius it is far otherwise. If a set of disjointed facts or statements are presented to his mind, he naturally, irresistibly, or, as Coleridge expresses it, 'instinctively, endeavours to bring them into unity; in other words, to extract the principle which is contained in them, and of which they are but the form-the body. This is the peculiarity of his mind. It is his constant, but, perhaps, generally unconscious aim. When left to himself, he naturally starts from principles. The great principles that obtain throughout this universe-the mysterious agencies, that urge onwards and adjust the involved machinery of this world,-the meaning of our present life; its object and its relation to the systems of which we form a part —these, and such as these, are the restless inquiries of genius. He may vary the expression of them according to the peculiar bent of his mind; but in all such men, in one form or other, the incessantly repeated question is and must be, what is the object,-what are the secret springs of this system?

There is another and wider distinction between the man of talent and the man of genius. The former, by the analytical process we have been describing, is ever aiming at the discovery of truth. With great patience and labour he prosecutes his researches, compares the results of them, and having satisfied himself as to the accuracy of his facts, slowly and surely mounts to certain conclusions to which these facts naturally lead him. The latter, on the other hand, starts at once, with an indistinct, perhaps, but still a deep and confident insight into the secret principles of things. It were more correct,

probably, to call it a feeling than an insight—a feeling, to use Wordsworth's language, in harmony with nature;' but it is a feeling which, however hazy, does not, and cannot, mislead him. As far as he follows its dictates, so far is he safe. It was given him for guidance, and it is an original gift. The same truths which the man of talent, after patient thought, and by his slow process, has arrived at, are supplied, per saltum, to the man of genius. Both may have minds free enough from prejudice, and hearts beating in harmony with nature;' but in the one it is the result of labour; in the other, it seems instinctive-it has been unbought. With strictest justice we may appropriate for the former the confession of the chief captain in the Scriptures, With a great sum obtained I this freedom;' while, for the latter we may adopt St Paul's boast, But I was born free." We were led to these remarks on genius as distinguished from talent, from a belief that they are strikingly illustrated in the three poets whom we have selected as the subject of this article.

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Shelley, Wordsworth, and Cowper, have essentially 'freeborn,' independent minds. Each intensely sympathises with nature, and is ever overmastered by some idea that has come to him in solitude,' -some secret solution of the mystery of our being that struggles for utterance. We never felt so strongly, as in reading their works, the truth of Carlyle's favourite remark, that every really original man is possessed by some all-comprehending idea, and that his life is spent in an endeavour to utter it.'

Thus far the three poets resemble each other;-they come charged with a message for mankind, and they lay all nature under tribute in delivering it. But they differ alike in the character of the message they utter, and in the degree of clearness with which that message is seen by themselves. To Wordsworth and Cowper the revelation (so to call it) is clear and intelligible; in other words, it is matter of distinct consciousness: while to Shelley it is hazy, dim, and at times shrouded in deepest mystery,-in other words, it is truth felt, but almost unconsciously known. In reading the two former, we constantly feel that they write in fullest consciousness of their own opinions, never losing sight of their limits, or their bearing upon each other, or the colouring they receive from the channel through which they come. In the case of the latter, it seems as if his mind were too full to allow of definite impressions,-as if his ideas were too vast or too vague to find vent in common language. The poetry of the first two impresses us with something of the same feeling as we would have in tracing the lovely windings, and richly wooded banks of a smooth and transparent river,-the poetry of the latter, with its crowding of thought on thought, and prodigality of imagery, reminds us of some swollen and impetuous stream, too rapid to flow within ordinary channels. And this difference is not