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earefully and correctly composed, and contain very striking paragraphs. Sermon XIII. on the Saviour's power over evil spirits,' (from Ephes. vi. 10-12.) is at once argumentative and practical; furnishing altogether a very fine specimen of an expository discourse. The last discourse in the volume is founded on 1 Tim. i. 17. " Now unto the King eternal, im"mortal, &c." and is very modestly entitled the Fragment of

a Sermon.' It contains some very ingenious and profound remarks on the Divine attributes enumerated in the text; but it is too abstract and metaphysical to be popular, and we wish that some other discourse had been substituted in its place.

To the Sermons are subjoined two Table Services or Communion Addresses. The one is founded on John vi. 67, 68. "Then said Jesus to the twelve, Will ye also go away?" and the other on John xxi. 15. “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou 66 me more than these?" These two Table Services are, next to Mr. Lavington's, the finest specimens of this sort of sacramental addresses that we have met with. A volume of such addresses would furnish a very acceptable addition to the stores of our sacred eloquence.

We take our first specimen from the Sermon on 1 Cor. xv. 57.

It is impossible to deny that a principle of final decay seems to pervade every thing on which the eye can rest. Within the records of the present inhabitants of the world, the stars have gone out in the firmament-mountains are decreasing to the level of the plainsthe stupendous cliffs that for ages threw back the tide of the ocean, slip down, at last, in fragments, and the ocean itself, by a deposition of rivers and the formation of rocks, is removed from its bed, and expands over a new channel, to the gradual destruction of the habitable globe. In organised bodies the effect of this tendency to decay is more visible: vegetation hardly arrives at perfection, when it dies!-the plant is finished, but, before we can contemplate its texture, it is withered; and the forest, whose hoary branches have flourished during ages, unsubdued by the hurricane and the wintry blast, ceases at last to decorate valley and hill, and is no longer to be traced but in the stinted copse, that lies scattered over a bleak country. The higher orders of frames endued with animal life, whose construction exhibits so rich a display of the wisdom of their Creator, and whose preservation calls forth so much of his care, even these are the victims of the same decay, and by the very superiority of their structure are more liable to derangement, and by their mutual wants and instincts, more exposed to destruction.' pp. 77, 78.

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The following characteristic passage occurs as the conclusion of the first division of the Sermon on the Privileges of the Sons of God.'

Such is an attempt to speak of the privilege of becoming the sons of God. But to think or to speak aright here, who is able for these

things? who knows the value of this privilege? Sinners! ye do not know, for ye know not the need of a Saviour. Believers! ye do not know, for ye know not yet the blessedness of heaven. Glorified Saints! ye know not, for ye know not the misery of divine wrath in hell. Angels! ye know not, for ye never fell. Son of God!......... Yes, thou knowest, for thou didst pay its price.' p. 129.

As our last specimen, we shall give part of the second Sacramental Address; and, long as it is, the reader, we are sure; if he has not seen it before, will regret that it is not longer.

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It was the last time he was to break bread with his disciples: often had they assembled around him, at their simple repast-this was a farewell meeting. They were probably ignorant of it, but he knew that the family would never again meet thus in this world. And what he knew as a God, did he not feel as a man? moistened eye went round the circle of his beloved associates, and as it dwelt in succession upon them, the circumstances of the commencement of their friendship, the incidents of their connexion, the evils they had endured in common, the comfort they had ministered to him, and their simple and oft-repeated declarations of unaffected attachment, presented themselves in melancholy array to his meditation. The disciple whom he loved lay on his bosom-on him, unobserved, he bent his look, and, scanning his placid features, said within himself" Yet a little while, and thou shalt be left alone; and yet thou shalt not be alone, for I shall be with thee; my guardian arm shall be around thee as now; I will give my angels charge concerning thee; and when this hair is silvered with years, and this brow is furrowed with suffering, I will honour thee above thy brethren, and admit thee before thy time, to behold the glory which the Father hath given me." Awakening from the fond contemplation, he raised his eye, and fixed it on one that reclined opposite: "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?" "He reproaches me"-would the rash apostle first say; but he looked again, and there was no reproach on his Master's countenance. No! it was his own guilty conscience that shaded the light and distorted the features of that face, in which heaven-born kindness beamed. Affected with the injustice of his momentary suspicion, he burst into tears, and exclaimed, "Lord, thou knowest all things, thou knowest that I denied thee; but thou knowest too, that I love thee."

Is there a disciple of Christ at this table, who will not acknowledge that the character of Peter, in its worst aspect, has been too strikingly his own? Who has not often said, in communion with his Saviour, 66 Though all men shall be offended because of thee, yet will I never be offended; though I should die with thee, yet will I not deny thee?" And who has not as often been offended at and denied him-been offended at his law, because it restrained a favoured inclination, or excited to an irksome duty?-denied his authority, in the indulgence of carnality of thought, irregularity of feeling, deadness of affection, coldness of zeal, sufferance of inward sin, vex

ing the Spirit, heartlessness in prayer, remissness of vigilance, neglect of opportunities, perversion of privileges, conformity to the world, indolence of exertion, indifference to his cause, carelessness of example, and actual sin? Yet thou art again placed at his table! And were he now on earth, thinkest thou not that he would address to thee the question repeatedly addressed to his apostle? And although not seen, is not he now, by his Spirit in thy conscience, and in thine ears by his minister, saying, "Lovest thou me?" To my eye thou art saying, and oh! it is to me a crown of rejoicing and of joy unspeakable-"Thou knowest that him, having not seen, I love." " Ah, but canst thou look upwards, as seeing Him who is invisible, Him who sits on the throne, yet bends his eye to behold the things that are in heaven and that are on the earth, Him who in this hour is marking every change of feeling, every struggle for devotion in thy soul, and sending forth his angels to minister to thee-as seeing Him, canst thou raise thy hand to heaven and say in the confidence of sincerity, Lord, thou that knowest all things, thou knowest that I love thee!" Your appearance at this table, Christians, is emblematic of this answer; it testifies to angels and to men, that you are followers of Jesus of Nazareth; that indecision and pusillanimity no longer constitute the features of your character; that lukewarmness of affection, and indifference of concern, no longer sully your profession-but, that you are now awakened to a reasonable sense of the importance of the cause to which you have attached yourselves, and that your hearts are warmed with respect, gratitude, and love to the dignified, the beneficent, the amiable Saviour.' pp. 330-333.

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Most of our readers, we should think, will wish to possess a volume containing such passages as these, and it contains many such passages.

To this volume there is prefixed a brief, but interesting memoir of the Author, from the pen of his venerable father. It is written with touching simplicity, unaffected modesty, and the greatest delicacy and propriety; and is in every respect worthy of the high reputation of him who penned it. It presents an admirable combination of dignity and pathos, and furnishes an instructive and affecting development of the mingling influences of natural affection and religious principle. The protracted illness of Mr. A. Waugh is understood to have been eminently blessed to him; and the information given as to his religious feelings and experience during this period, is so interesting, that every reader must wish to have been furnished with a still more minute detail on the subject. If the Writer of the Memoir has erred at all, he has erred on the side of reserve; an error not very common in this age of publicity and ostentation.

Art. V. Dartmoor: a descriptive Poem. By N. T. Carrington, Author of "The Banks of Tamar." With a Preface and Notes, by W. Burt, Esq. Secretary of the Chamber of Commerce, Plymouth; and eight Vignettes and four Views illustrative of Scenery, drawn and etched by P. H. Rogers, Esq. Plymouth. Royal 8vo. pp. cvi. 204. Price 11. 1s. London, 1826.

WE should hope that few of our readers will have forgotten the extracts we gave from Mr. Carrington's former poem, even if they have not done him the justice of purchasing the volume. Six years have elapsed since that unpretending little publication crept forth into daylight from a provincial press; (it was three years in finding its way to us;) we rejoice to find that in the interval the Author has not been idle, and that the encouragement bestowed on his first effort, has given him heart, and given him voice, for a louder and longer strain. The circumstances under which the present poem appears, are alike honourable to himself and to his friends. While one of his townsmen has supplied graphical illustrations in the form of etchings, another Plymouth gentleman has contributed a long prefatory memoir and a body of notes, which render the volume altogether a very interesting accession to our topographical literature; and an ornithological and entomological catalogue relating to this interesting district, has been supplied by the kindness of two other friends. We notice with particular pleasure these generous and well-directed endeavours to promote the interests of a man of genius and modest worth.

It might be mentioned as an ample justification of Mr. Carrington's choice of a subject, (if such were needed,) that the Royal Society of Literature offered, a few years ago, a premium of fifty guineas for the best poetical effusion on Dartmoor. The present poem was not among those which were rejected on that occasion, but was subsequently undertaken at the suggestion of Mr. Burt, who has supplied the prefatory matter and notes. Dartmoor has received a brief but spirited notice in the Banks of Tamar.

'Dartmoor rears

In the dim distance his cloud-covered head,
With granite girdle sweeping nearly round
The varied map, until he plants his foot
Sublimely in the loud Atlantic wave.'

In fact, what such regions want in attractive beauty and the solid recommendations of fertility and local convenience, they gain in those qualities which give scenery its greatest power over the imagination. Regions like this,' says the Rev. Mr. Gilpin, speaking of the kindred scenery of the great Wilt

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shire Plain, which have come down to us rude and untouched from the beginning of time, fill the mind with grand concep⚫tions far beyond the efforts of art and cultivation.' To endure a residence in such savage wilds, a person must be born in their neighbourhood, and become assimilated to them by the force of that mysterious local attachment which is almost uniformly strongest where there seems the least to sustain it ;— as the lichen clings to the barren rock with a tenacity unknown to the vegetable offspring of a genial soil. And even to enjoy the impression they are adapted to excite, a person needs be a genuine lover of Nature in her varying moods, and have an eye for the shifting lights and changeful hues which relieve the monotony of a barren landscape, and have an ear for the murmur of distant waters, the hum of insects, and the tremulous swell or louder music of the winds. Poets, anglers, and geologists are, indeed, the only people to hold actual converse with such wild scenes as are described in the following lines. -Adown the rock-strewed slope

I haste, and seek the bosom of the Moor,

Before me wildly spread. Here Spring leaves not
Her emerald mantle on the vales, her breath
Upon the breeze; but all the seasons pass
In sad procession o'er the changeless earth.
"The hills arise monotonous: one form
They wear; one dreary hue is on them all;
And through the faithless dank morass below,
The sluggish waters creep. Yet, even here
The voice of joy resounds! The moorland lark,
Sole bird that breaks th' unnatural repose,
Springs from the heathery wild, and pours a lay
Inspiring; and though o'er his breeze-swept nest
There bends no cheerful grass, nor in the gale
Of Summer stoops the golden corn, he owns
The influence of the vernal hour, and makes
Heaven's concave echo with a livelier song
Than swells above the flowery mead. Behold
How swiftly up the aërial way he climbs,
Nor intermits his strain, but sings and mounts,
Untired, till love recall him to the breast
Of the dark Moor.'

How strangely on yon silent slopes, the rocks
Are piled, and, as I musing stray, they take
Successive forms deceptive. Sun, and shower,
And breeze, and storm, and haply ancient throes
Of this our mother earth, have moulded them
To shapes of beauty and of grandeur, thus ;
And Fancy, all-creative, musters up
Apt semblances. Upon the very edge

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