nounced highly judicious, free from all violent accommodations of the literal meaning, and characteristically Evangelical.'

THE MONTHLY CENSOR notices under theology— I. Palæromaica, or Disquisitions, enquiring whether II. The the Hellenistic style is not Latin-Greek. BISHOP OF ST. DAVID'S Greek Original of the New Testament asserted. III. TEBBS's Essay on the Scripture Doctrines of Adultery and Divorce. IV. POLWHELE'S Essay on Marriage, Adultery, and Divorce. V. JACKSON'S Life of John Goodwin. No. I. Is condemned. II. Is approved. III. and IV. Are noticed without any particular character, except that Mr. Tebbs is approved, and Mr. Polwhele not so. JACKSON'S Life of GOODWIN, whether meritorious or not, has a dead fly to spoil its fragrance-he is a Wesleyan, and this sin is particularly noticed by the reviewer. Where prejudice so far prevails, what impartiality can be expected?

THEOLOGICAL CRITIC.

An ELEGY to the Memory of the late Rev. HENRY MARTYN, and other Poems. By JOHN LAWSON. Foolscap 8vo. pp. 47.

WE have here the cream of Mr. Lawson's pieces, and if they do not claim for him the laurels of a poet, then it is no longer to be allowed that they should be entwined on the brows of a Byron or a Moore.

The Elegy on Martyn consists of but 20 stanzas, of which we quote the two last:

There rests a child of genius, early fall'n;
A man of God, for heav'n was his on earth;
A friend of man, for all the world he loved;
A martyr, for he gave to God his life;

A hero, for he smiled at death,
And died to live for ever.

Rise, O thou wheeling moon with chasten'd ray,
Pale, and of sorrowing aspect! Come serene
Out of thy shrouding clouds that weep like urns
Their silver waters o'er his unknown grave,
Not lone, though in a wilderness,
For waiting angels watch.'-

Twenty-one other pieces follow; some of which are exceedingly beautiful. The following is elegant. O WHERE IS THE CLOUD.

'Your goodness is as a morning cloud.'-Hos. vi. 4.

'O where is the cloud of the morn?

Like the entrance of heaven 'twas bright;

The crimson that stretch'd far away,
Like the path of the seraph was light;
The dawn seem'd all holy and blest,
When the calm orb of inajesty rose,
And scatter'd abroad in the skies,
The splendour of heav'nly repose.
O where is the freshness of morn?
O where that fair promise of day?
The gold-edged effulgence is gone;
The pageant hath hasted away.
Frail morta!! thy light hath declined:
Thy fugitive glory now dies,

Thy goodness the glow of a dream-
A mutable cloud of the skies!'

The last stanza of the Pilgrim of Night has a sweet expression of sentiment:

O watch the lone pilgrim of night,
Throughout her magnificent range!
There is glory in all her vicissitudes still,
And she smiles in each beautiful change.

She walketh in brightness above,

To cheer some pale pilgrim below;

For mortals may learn from the path of the moon,
There is light or in weal or in woe.'

LIGHT, is a fine piece; we must give the two last

stanzas:

'O LIGHT, how divine is the influence that guides thee,
First born of creation! All hail thy blest ray!

Thou bidst the last starin his wild revolution

Shine forth from the gloom of his intricate way.
Thou visitest the earth in thy plentiful goodness,
Profoundly thou dwellest in the bottomless sea,
Thou kindlest all nature to rapture and gladness;
And the voice of thy praise is inspired by thee.

Yet thou'rt but the shadow of Him who first call'd thee,
The visible veil of the Father of Lights;
The cloud and the darkness about his pavilion;
The vision obscure of unspeakable heights:
He spake! and the throne of old Chaos demolish'd,
And light was the hope of creation new-born.
He speaks! and dispels the dark cloud of my sadness,
And hope is my light as I wander forlorn."

The Warrior's Song, page 26, has also much character and spirit, but if we copy it, it must be on another occasion.

REMARKS on the REPLY of the Rev. H. BERKIN, to a Candid Appeal to the Religious Public, occasioned by the dismissal of the Rev. Isaac Bridgman, A. B. from the Curacy of Trinity Church, in the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire, to which is prefixed, an Address to the Religious Public, by the Rev. RowLAND HILL, A.M.

THIS reply is candid and christian-like, and while it admits of some mistakes into which the author has fallen, proves Mr. Berkin to have been greatly misinformed on many points on which we before felt disposed to blame his ex-curate.

GOD WAITING TO BE GRACIOUS: being a short Memoir of a Recent Death. 12mo. pp. 35.

THE narrative before us contains the dying conversations of a person of respectability in life, who, though he had occasionally attended his church, and read his Bible, had nevertheless lived like thousands of others, wholly unconcerned about personal religion, and in his last moments was hastening into eternity with an undisturbed conscience, but with no other hope than "God, I thank Thee I am not as other men are." At this juncture, a pious lady of the establishment visited him, and her conversation, which is recorded at length, was rendered the means of convincing him of sin, and the subsequent visits of another, of confirming him in

the faith of Christ, in whom he departed in sure and certain hope of a resurrection to eternal life. The whole of the conversations are highly interesting, and the pamphlet seems extremely well calculated to produce the best effects on the minds of others, of whom alas, there are too many, dying under similar delusions.

POLYHYMNIA; or Select Airs, by celebrated Foreign Composers. Adapted to English Words, written expressly for this work, by JAMES MONTGOMERY, author of the 'Wanderer of Switzerland,' &c. The Music arranged by C. F. HASSE.

THESE Airs are very beautiful; the words are well suited to the music, and the arrangement displays considerable taste and elegance.

The following words are worthy of MONTGOMERY:
THE PILGRIMAGE OF LIFE.

How blest the Pilgrim, who in trouble,
Can lean upon a bosom friend;
Strength, courage, hope, with him redouble,
When foes assail, or griefs impend.

Care flies before his footsteps straying,
At day-break o'er the purple heath,
He plucks the wild flow'rs round him playing,
And binds their beauties in a wreath.

More dear to him the fields and mountains,
When with his friend abroad he roves,
Rests in the shade near sunny fountains,
Or talks by moonlight through the groves.
For him the vine expands its clusters,
Spring wakes for him the woodland quire;
Yea, though the storm of winter blusters,
"Tis summer by his evening fire.

In good old age serenely dying,

When all he lov'd forsakes his view,
Sweet is affection's voice replying-
"I follow soon to his "adieu."

Nay then, though earthly ties are riven,
The spirits' union will not end;
Happy the man who:n earth hath given,
In life and death a faithful friend.

MEMOIRS OF FRANCIS BARNETT, the Lefevre of 'No Fiction; and a Review of that Work. With Letters and Authentic Documents. 2 vols. 12mo. 'If we had been ducks,

We might dabble in mud,'

But as we are not so, we wish to avoid that pleasure. We shall therefore not enter into the details of these volumes. We are sorry that they have ever come forth to the world, as there are those who, in order to excuse their own indifference to religion, are always glad to seize upon the faults and follies of its professors. Mr. Reed does not appear to us to have ever imagined, that his publication of No Fiction' would be productive of injury to Mr. Barnett, and, from Mr. B.'s own account, made use of various methods to prevent it. We must, however, express our regret, that Mr. R. did not, in the most public and unequivocal manner, vindicate the character of Mr. Barnett, when it became so notorious, that his reputation was suffering with the public, who gave credit to all his statements as 'No Fiction,' though we were not among the number, and made large allowances for the manufacturing and embellishing of incidents, to render the narrative attractive and interesting.

Mr. Barnett has excited our sympathy. His mind appears to have been much diseased, and to have preyed upon every unfavourable incident of life. Thus some insinuation of Mr. Reed's, affecting his character, was for years eagerly seized, and subsequently the knowledge of his being the Lefevre of No Fiction, or any unfavourable allusion to it, as at the Orphan Asylum, threw his mind out of its natural equilibrium. The same disease manifested itself in religion, and like other morbid imaginations, his dwelt only upon reprobation. All through his book he certainly seems to take a very unfair view of Calvinism, and says that his firm opinion of Cowper is, that his Calvinistic notions were the cause of his settled melancholy.' We know many preachers of this persuasion, and we know that hey preach, without any circumlocution, the truth as