Page images
PDF
EPUB

would destroy the lace and uniforms of the regiment, which even then were remarkably rich. "Well, then," said the prince, "let them do their duty as dragoons, and scour the country."

A heavy-heeled cavalry officer, at one of the Brighton balls, astounded the room by the peculiar impressiveness of his dancing. A circle of affrighted ladies fluttered over to the prince, and inquired, by what possibility they could escape being trampled out of the world by this formidable performer. "Nothing can be done," said the prince, "since the war is over: then, he might have been sent back to America, as a republication of the stamp act."

A PREDESTINED SON OF GRACE.†

THE corrupting and debasing influence of fanaticism, and the moral mischiefs which arise from indulging in distempered reveries respecting predestination and election, was never more strongly exemplified, than in Lawrence Claxton, cotemporary with Bunyan. His rare treatise, containing the impudent avowal of his vicious life now lies before us. This man was prevailed upon, so late as 1660, at the instigation, he says, "of a man of no mean parts or parentage in this Reason's Kingdom,' who had much importuned him to that effect, to publish the various leadings forth of his spirit through each dispensation, from the year 1630 to the year 1660;" in order that, as Mr. Claxton expresses it,‡ "he might appear stripped stark naked of his former formal righteousness and professed wickedness, and instead thereof cloathed with innocency of life, perfect assurance, and sight for discerning by the Revelation." Our limits as well as our inclinations render it impossible for us to give more than a very general analysis. Some of Claxton's debaucheries are too coarse and indecent to permit them being more than indicated. Yet it may not be useless to trace the career of a man, who started under a vague apprehension of an extreme tenderness of conscience, afflicted "with the toleration of Maypole dancing and riot

From the Quarterly Review.-No. LXXXVI. This rare tract is termed at length, the "Lost Sheep Found; or, the Prodigal returned to his

Father's House, after many a sad and weary Journey, through many religious Countries. Where now, notwithstanding all his former Transgressions and Breach of his Father's Commands, he is received in all eternal Favours, and all the righteous and wicked Men that he hath left behind reserved for eternal Mercy. As also every Church or Dispensation may read in his Travels their portion after this Life. By Lawrence Claxton, the only true converted Messenger of Jesus Christ, Creator of Heaven and Earth, London, printed for the Author, 1660."

ing," and ascended from one flight to another till he became in principle a materialist, almost an atheist, and in practice a coarse and profligate latitudinarian.

His reformation commenced with an abhorrence to railed altars, the Common Prayer Book, and the "Practice of Piety," together with an envy of those of his own sentiments who exercised with credit a gift of extemporary prayer. In a word, he was a presbyterian puritan. His next quarrel was with the presbyterians themselves, whose system, he now perceived, differed only from the episcopal in a few insignificant rites and ceremonies. He also was, or affected to be, displeased with their eagerness in pressing on the civil war. He therefore left them for the Independents, and, attaching himself particularly to one Dr. Crisp, became an antinomian or express disciple of those who protested against being still considered as under the law of the decalogue. Presently, however, Lawrence Claxton discovered that, as he phrases it, he was still burning bricks in Egypt, and had not as yet come within view of that uncircumscribed liberty of conscience which it was his aim to obtain.

Hereupon he took to the pulpit, where, if his own word can be taken, he turned out not inferior to any preacher of that time. By-and-by he was put in possession of a parish named Pulem, with a pension of 21. weekly; in which position, as he expresses himself, he thought himself very gallantly provided for; 66 so that," says he, "I thought I was in heaven upon earth, judging the priests had a brave time in this world to have a house built for them, and means provided for them to tell the people stories of other men's works." But from this paradise he was removed in about half a year-by the envy of the neighbouring clergy, as he insinuates, who called him sheep-stealer, for robbing them of their flocks by his superior gifts. His character had probably overtaken him, for his congregation and he parted with contempt on

both sides.

The fifth stage of his history exhibits Claxton as leading a rambling, unsettled life, in the course of which he commenced Dipper, or Anabaptist. He resided at Robert Marchant's, who had four daughters, of which he seems to have had the handsomest for his wife, or concubine. Claxton was now apprehended by parliament; but after remaining in custody six months, it appears ping, and by this sacrifice of his opinions prohe formally renounced the practice of dipcured his liberty.

Sixthly, he joined a society of people called Seekers, who worshipped only by prayer and preaching; in which new character he sent out a book, having something in the title analogous to the celebrated work of Bunyan, to wit, "The Pilgrimage of

[ocr errors]

Saints, by Church cast out, in Christ found seeking truth." "This being," he says, "a suitable piece of work in these days, wounded the churchers." At length this unhappy man came the length of affirming, that it was thought and not action which constituted guilt, and therefore if one practised any unlawful act under the belief that it was no sin, to him it became pure and lawful. He was now what was called a Ranter, and chief of a company who professed and practised, always under an affectation of religion, the grossest immorality; they had attained, they thought, in this outrageous license, the true privilege of enlightened minds. The ground of Claxton's faith at this period was, that all things being created originally good, nothing was evil but as the opinion of men made it so; under which belief, he apprehended there was no such thing as a theft, a cheat, or a lie, and accordingly (murder excepted) this precious proselyte broke the law in every respect without scruple. If the least doubt entered his mind, he washed it away, he tells us, with a cup of wine. In London, with his female associates, he spent his time in feasting and drinking, so that taverns I called the house of God, the drawers ministers, and sack divinity." This extravagant conduct once more scandalized and offended the parliament, especially the Presbyterians; Claxton was again taken into custody, and at length formally banished from the British islands.

68

course of study which all but fixed Bunyan in religions despair, burried into profligacy and atheism the less favourably constituted mind of Claxton.

[ocr errors]

THE BROKEN HEART.†

THERE was a large and gay party assembled one evening, in the memorable month of June, 1815, at a house in the remote western suburbs of London. Throngs of handsome and well-dressed women-a large retinue of the leading men about town-the dazzling light of the chandeliers blazing like three suns overhead-the charms of music and dancing-together with that tone of excitement then pervading society at large, owing to our successful continental campaigns, which maddened England into almost daily annunciations of victory;-all these circumstances combined to supply spirit to every party. In fact, England was almost turned upside down with universal feting! Mrs. the lady whose party I have just been mentioning, was in ecstasy at the eclat with which the whole was going off, and charmed with the buoyant animation with which all see:ned inclined to contribute their quota to the evening's amusement. A young lady of some personal attractions, most amiable manners, and great accomplishments-particularly musical-had been repeatedly solicited to sit down to the piano, for the purpose of favouring the company with the favourite Scottish air, "The Banks of Allan Water." For a long time, however, she steadfastly resisted their importunities, on the plea of low spirits. There was evidently an air of deep pensiveness, if not melancholy about her, which ought to have corroborated the truth of the plea she urged. She did not seem to gather excitement with the rest, and rather endured, than shared the gaieties of the evening. Of course, the young folks around her of her own sex whispered their suspicions that she was in love; and, in point of fact, it was well known by several present, that Miss was engaged to a Our philosopher, in short, had now found young officer who had earned considerable out, that the Scriptures were contradictory, distinction in the Peninsular campaign, and that the world was eternal, and arrived at to whom she was to be united on his return the point of believing neither in revelation, from the continent. It need not, therefore, redemption, or resurrection. To this dread- be wondered at, that a thought of the various ful result was he conducted by the bewil-casualties to which a soldier's life is exposed dered principles of his metaphysical theology, though he does not stop there any more than at any former stage of his deluded journey, but settles in becoming a follower of the prophet Reeves, and, as he has the audacity to call himself, "the only true converted messenger of the Deity." Such were the effects on different men of the then prevailing audacity of fanaticism. The same 3 L

He escaped, however, and forthwith endeavoured to conceal himself under another species of imposture-he aspired to the art of magic, and having found, as he says "some of Dr. Ward's and Woolerd's manuscripts, I improved my genius to fetch back goods that were stolen-yea, to raise spirits, and fetch treasure out of the earth. How ever, miseries I gained, and was up and down looked upon as a dangerous man; and therefore have several times in vain attempted to raise the devil, that I might see what like he was, but all in vain; so that I judged all was a lie, and that there was no devil at all, nor, indeed, no God neither, save one-Nature."

VOL, V.

especially a bold and brave young soldier, such as her intended had proved himselfand the possibility, if not probability, that he might, alas! never

"Return to claim his blushing bride"

From the Diary of a late Physician, in Blackwood's Magazine.-No. CLXXII

-but be left behind among the glorious throng of the fallen-sufficed to overcast her mind with gloomy anxieties and apprehensions. It was, indeed, owing solely to the affectionate importunities of her relatives that she was prevailed on to be seen in society at all. As, however, Miss -'s rich contralto voice, and skilful powers of accompaniment were much talked of, the company would listen to no excuses or apologies; so the poor girl was absolutely baited into sitting down to the piano, when she ran over a few melancholy chords with an air of reluctance and displacency. Her sympathies were soon excited by the fine tones-the tumultuous melody-of the keys she touched-and she struck into the soft and soothing symphony of the "The Banks of Allan Water." The breathless silence of the bystanders-for nearly all the company was thronged around-was at length broken by her voice, stealing, "like faint blue gushing streams," on the delighted ears of her auditors, as she commenced singing that exquisite little ballad, with the most touching pathos and simplicity. She had just commenced the verse,

"For his bride a soldier sought her,
And a winning tongue had he!"

when, to the surprise of every body around her, she suddenly ceased playing and singing, without removing her hands from the instrument, and gazed steadfastly forward with a vacant air, while the colour faded from her cheeks, and left them pale as the lily. She continued thus for some moments, to the alarm and astonishment of the company -motionless, and apparently unconscious of any one's presence. Her elder sister, much agitated, stepped towards her, placed her hand on her shoulder, endeavoured gently to rouse her, and said hurriedly, " Anne, Anne! What now is the matter ?" Miss- made no answer; but a few moments after, without moving her eyes, suddenly burst into a piercing shriek! Consternation seized all present.

"Sister-sister!-Dear Anne, are you ill?"-again inquired her trembling sister, endeavouring to rouse her, but in vain. Miss did not seem either to see or hear her. Her eyes still gazed fixedly forward, till they seemed gradually to expand, as it were, with an expression of glassy horror. All present seemed utterly confounded, and afraid to interfere with her. At length her lips moved. She began to mutter inaudibly; but by and by those immediately near her could distinguish the words," There!-there they are with their lanterns.-Oh! they are looking out for the de-a-d!-They turn over the heaps.-Ah!-now-no!-that little hill of slain-see, see!-they are turning them over, one by one.-There!-there he is!-Oh, horror! horror! horror!-Right

through the heart!” and with a long shuddering groan, she fell senseless into the arms of her horror-struck sister. Of course all were in confusion and dismay-not a face present, but was blanched with agitation and affright on hearing the extraordinary words she uttered. With true delicacy and propriety of feeling, all those whose carriages had happened to have already arrived, instantly took their departure, to prevent their presence embarrassing or interfering with the family, who were already sufficiently bewildered. The room was soon thinned of all, except those who were immediately engaged in rendering their services to the young lady; and a servant was instantly despatched, with a horse, for me. On my arrival, I found her in bed (still at the house' where the party was given, which was that of the young lady's sister-in-law). She had fallen into a succession of swoons ever since she had been carried up from the drawingroom, and was perfectly senseless when I entered the bed-chamber where she lay. She had not spoken a syllable since uttering the singular words just related; and her whole frame was cold and rigid-in fact, she seemed to have received some strange shock, which had altogether paralysed her. By the use, however, of strong stimulants, we succeeded in at length restoring her to something like consciousness, but I think it would have been better for her-judging from the event-* never to have woke again from forgetfulness. She opened her eyes under the influence of the searching stimulants we applied, and stared vacantly for an instant on those standing round her bedside. Her countenance, of an ashy hue, was damp with clammy perspiration, and she lay perfectly motionless, except when her frame undulated with long deep-drawn sighs.

"Oh, wretched, wretched, wretched girl!". she murmured at length-" why have I lived till now? Why did you not suffer me to expire? He called me to join him—I was going-and you will not let me-but I must go-yes, yes."

"Anne-dearest!-Why do you talk so? Charles is not gone-he will return soonhe will indeed”—sobbed her sister.

66 Oh, never, never! Charles is dead-I know it-I saw him! Shot right through the heart. They were stripping him, when"

-and heaving three or four short convulsive sobs, she again swooned. With great difficulty, we succeeded in restoring Miss once more to consciousness; but the frequency and duration of her relapses began seriously to alarm me. The spirit, being brought so often to the brink, might at last suddenly flit off into eternity, without any one's being aware of it. 1, of course, did all that my professional knowledge and experience suggested; and, after expressing my readiness to remain all night in the

house, in the event of any sudden alteration in Miss for the worse, I took my departure, promising to call very early in the morning. I felt the liveliest curiosity, mingled with the most intense sympathy for the unfortunate sufferer, to see whether the corroborating event would stamp the present as one of those extraordinary occurrences, which occasionally "come o'er us like a summer-cloud," astonishing and perplexing every one.

The next morning, about nine o'clock, I was again at Miss 's bedside. She was nearly in the same state as that in which I had left her the preceding evening-only feebler, and almost continually stupified. She seemed, as it were, stunned with some severe but invisible stroke. She said scarcely any thing, but often uttered a low moaning, indistinct sound, and whispered at intervals, "Yes-shortly, Charles, shortly to-morrow." There was no rousing her by conversation; she noticed no one, and would answer no questions. I suggested the propriety of calling in additional medical assistance; and, in the evening met two eminent brother-physicians in consultation at her bedside. We came to the conclusion that she was sinking rapidly, and that, unless some miracle intervened to restore her energies, she would continue with us but a very little longer. After my brother-physicians had left, I returned to the sickchamber, and sat by Miss -'s bedside for more than an hour. My feelings were much agitated at witnessing her singular and affecting situation. There was such a sweet and sorrowful expression about her pallid features, deepening, occasionally, into such hopelessness of heart-broken anguish, as no one could contemplate without deep emotion. There was, besides, something mysterious and awing-something of what in Scotland is called second-sight-in the circumstances which had occasioned her illness.

66 Gone-gone !" she murmured, with closed eyes, while I was sitting and gazing in silence on her, " gone-and in glory! Ah! I shall see the young conqueror-I shall! How he will love me!-Ah! I recollect," she continued, after a long interval, "it was the Banks of Allan Water' these cruel people made me sing-and my heart breaking the while!-What was the verse I was singing when I saw"-she shuddered "oh! -this

For his bride a soldier sought her,
And a winning tongue had he-
On the banks of Allan Water
None so gay as she!

But the summer grief had brought her,
And the soldier false was he'

Oh, no, no, never-Charles-my poor murdered Charles-never!" She groaned, and spoke no more that night. During the two

next days, she continued drooping rapidly. The only circumstance about her demeanour, particularly noticed, was, that she once moved her hands for a moment over the counterpane, as though she were playing the piano-a sudden flush overspread her features-her eyes stared, as though she were startled by the appearance of some phantom or other, and she gasped, "There, there!"-after which she relapsed into her former state of stupor.

R

How will it be credited, that on the fourth morning of Miss -'s illness, a letter was received from Paris by her family, with a black seal, and franked by the noble colonel of the regiment in which Charles had served, communicating the melancholy intelligence, that the young captain had fallen towards the close of the battle of Waterloo; for, while in the act of charging at the head of his corps, a French cavalry officer shot him with his pistol right through the heart! The whole family, with all their acquaintance, were unutterably shocked at the news

almost petrified with amazement at the strange corroboration of Miss's prediction. How to communicate it to the poor sufferer was now a serious question, or whether to communicate it at all at present? The family, at last, considering that it would be unjustifiable in them any longer to withhold the intelligence, intrusted the painful duty to me. I therefore repaired to her bedside alone, in the evening of the day on which the letter had been received; that evening was the last of her life! I sat down in my usual place beside her, and her pulse, countenance, breathing, cold extremitiestogether with the fact, that she had taken no nourishment whatever since she had been laid on her bed-convinced me that the poor girl's sufferings were soon to terminate. I was at a loss for a length of time how to break the oppressive silence. Observing, however, her fading eyes fixed on me, I determined, as it were, accidentally, to attract them to the fatal letter which I then held in my hand. After a while she observed it; her eye suddenly settled on the ample, coroneted seal, and the sight operated something like an electric shock. She seemed struggling to speak, but in vain. I now wished to Heaven I had never agreed to undertake the duty which had been imposed upon me. I opened the letter, and looking steadfastly at her, said, in as soothing tones as my agitation could command-" My dear girl-now, don't be alarmed, or I shall not tell you what I am going to tell you."-She trembled, and her sensibilities seemed suddenly restored; for her eye assumed an expression of alarmed intelligence, and her lips moved about like those of a person who feels them parched with agitation, and endeavours to moisten them. "This letter has been received to-day from Paris," I con

tinued; "it is from Colonel Lord, and brings word thit—that—that”—I felt suddenly choked, and could not bring out the words.

"That my Charles is dead-I know it. Did I not tell you so?" said Miss, interrupting me, with as clear and distinct a tone of voice as she ever had in her life. I saw she was collecting all the expiring energies of her soul to receive this corroboration of her vision-if such it may be called. She begged me to read her all the letter. She listened with closed eyes, and made no remark, when I had concluded. After a long pause, I exclaimed-" God be praised, my dear Miss, that you have been able to receive this dreadful news so firmly!"

"Doctor, tell me, have you no medicine that could make me weep?-Oh, give it, give it me; it would relieve me, for I feel a mountain on my breast-it is pressing me," continued she feebly, uttering the words at long intervals. Pressing her hand in mine, I begged her to be calm, and the oppression would soon disappear.

"Oh-oh-oh, that I could weep, doctor!" She whispered something else, but inaudibly. I put my ear close to her mouth, and distinguished something like the words "I am-I am-call her-hush"-accompanied with a faint, fluttering, gurgling sound. Alas, 1 too well understood it! With much trepidation I ordered the nurse to summon the family into the room instantly. Her sister Jane was the first that entered, her eyes swollen with weeping, and seemingly half suffocated with the effort to conceal her emotions.

"Oh, my darling, precious, precious sister Anne!" she sobbed, and knelt down at the bedside, flinging her arms round her sister's neck kissing the gentle sufferer's cheeks and mouth. I kept my fingers at the wrist of the dying sufferer; but could not feel whether or not the pulse beat, which however, I attributed to my own agitation.

"Speak-speak-my darling Anne! speak to me; I am your poor sister Jane!" sobbed the agonized girl, continuing fondly kissing her sister's cold lips and forehead. She suddenly started-exclaimed, "Oh, God, she's dead!" and sunk instantly senseless on the floor. Alas, alas, it was too true; my sweet and broken-hearted patient was no more!

VISIT TO THE SORDI-MUTTI AT

GENOA.†

THE institution for the sordi-mutti, or the deaf and dumb at Genoa, presents infinite attractions to one who would behold how

+ From the Literary Gazette.

far the latent faculties of the poor creatures labouring under these distressing afflictions may be brought forward and developed. It is, indeed, astonishing what the assiduous attention of the instructors enables them to accomplish. The institution is situated on the rise of the bill; the house is airy and clean, and all the arrangements admirable. The school-room, into which we were introduced, was crowded with intelligent-looking youths, of various ages, all of whom, with the exception of one little boy, appeared perfectly happy, and conversed together, after their own fashion, with rapid gesticulations. This little fellow, who had just arrived, seemed to consider the confinement irksome, as he ran about with great inquietude, making a low moaning noise. His companions treated him with great kindness and affection.

We were now introduced to the eldest pupil of the establishment, a young man of about twenty years of age, and requested to note down, in English, such questions as we wished to propose to him. After some trifling inquiries, which he answered with great readiness, the following questions were put to him by ourselves and a friend, who had been a frequent visiter of the insti❤ tution :-What were the causes of the En glish Reformation? in whose reign did it occur? and what influence has it had on the literature and government of England? :

In answer to this he wrote (we give the exact phraseology)" The Reformation oc+ curred in the reign of Henry VIII.-was caused by the dissidences among him and the Court of Rome, by which that prince, who had a skill in theology, profited of these, by separating the English church from that of Rome. Yet had this revolution not happened, the effects in literature would have now been the same; as religion ought to have no relation with natural science. An example of this consequence is to be found among the French. Whatever be the religion, the knowledges are the same among all people, if civilized, and their minds highly cultivated."

The next propositions were to sound his metaphysical faculties and poetical perceptions. His replies were given with little or no hesitation; and the reader will remark the excellent moral feeling which pervades them.

The great dispute among the learned of France and Italy, at this moment, is respect ing the merits of classic or romantic literature, which latter had its origin in Protestant countries. The Reformation had the effect of making people think, instead of having others to think for them. Do you differ from this opinion? "As romantic literaopinion in favour of the one or the other. I ture is not to my taste, I cannot give my dare only say, that romances are sometimes

« PreviousContinue »