nave exerted to disguise the most miserable common-places in the shape of a paradox."

But he has left us one work, much less generally known and read than it deserves to be, which is truly original in its subject, in its construction, and in its details. We allude to his Horæ Pauline. In this, he traces a new species of internal evidence for the authenticity of St. Paul's epistles, by observing the undesigned and less obvious coincidence of allusions and expressions, with the narrative in the acts of the apostle. In his statement of the value of this species of argument he is clear and judicious. In pointing out the several passages which furnish the proof, he shows a most intimate acquaintance with St. Paul's writings, the fruit of patient investigation, and most close attention. He is singularly ingenious in hitting on a casual agreement, where a common mind would have over looked it He appreciates with judgment, the true value of every head of evidence which he brings. He makes his deduction, just as far as that instance bears him out, and no farther; and, on proper occasions, he presses his reasonings with convincing force. Thus, he has furnished a mass of most valuable evidence, which is peculiarly his own, and which no one else could have invented so well, or traced so clearly. He has given, too, an admirable model for similar investigations on other subjects. Had he produced no other work, his fame would have stood on no weak or narrow basis.

Amongst the tracts and papers, with which Mr. Meadley has contrived to swell his volume, is a tract on the question of subscription to the articles published in 1774, in defence of a pamphlet of bishop Law's. In

bringing this to notice as an undoubted work of Dr. Paley's, we think that he suffers his zeal against the church, by law established, to outstrip his regard for his friend's reputation. He is by no means warranted in decidedly ascribing it to Dr. Paley. He produces no direct evidence; does not pretend that it was ever, in any circumstances, avowed; and merely pleads general report. We must be allowed to suspend, at least, our judgment on the subject. Internal evidence, we think, is strong against the fact. An acrimonious spirit of controversy pervades the tract, foreign to Paley's general manner. At times, there is a puerile flippancy of remark. The argument is, in some parts, directed against all means of securing a conformity of faith in the ministers of any established church, an opinion which Paley never maintained, and the bare supposition of his holding which is an impeachment of his understanding. We must contend, that a discreet friend to his memory, who had no prejudices of his own to gratify, would not have been thus forward to give, on very disputable grounds, the sanction of his name to this production.

On the whole, Paley was an amiable, and a respectable character, in ́ all the departments of life; one whe taught well, and defended ably, truths which he firmly believed, and duties which he admirably practised. Superiours he has undoubtedly had in those high talents and vast acquirements which dazzle and astonish; but still a place must be allowed him in the very foremost rank of eminence, if the consideration of his actual abi lities be combined with that of their useful application; if his claim on the applauses of mankind, be united with that on their gratitude.

young people quarrelled at their romps; and Amelia could not bear the haughty spirit of Ernest, who appears to have been a spoiled child. One day in particular, he endeavoured to make her swear obedience to him as her future husband; for with the same prudence which seems to have directed all the measures of this far sighted old gentleman, they had, even when children, been informed of their grandfather's will. Amelia stoutly refused, and struggled to get free. Her brother came to rescue her. Ernest knocked him down with a large book, and then made her own pretty mouth bleed by his endeavours to stop her cries of murder. What was still worse, he refused, even at his mother's entreaty, to ask Amelia's pardon, pleading his right to insist on his wife's obedience. His mother, who seems to have had more sense than her father-in-law, though she had as much pride as if she had been of his own blood, very wisely sent her son to the university of Leipsick, without insisting on an interview be tween the young couple in their present temper; and Amelia, enraged at his want of submission, as soon as it was reported to her, swore an oath of her own, that he never should be hers, the direct counterpart of the oath which Ernest had dictated.

In these dispositions Ernest and Amelia parted, and saw each other no more for many years afterwards. In the mean time, his preceptors at the university, though they acknowledged the superiority of his genius and his progress in his studies, complained of his haughty and inflexible spirit, and threatened, on that account, to send him back to his family. Provoked at the threat, he quitted the university by his own uthority, and returned home. Here he did not find Amelia, who was living with her parents. His mother, who was now a widow, intrusted him to the care of a steady young man, who, though but six years older than himself, and accustomed to reprove him with free

dom, had alone acquired an ascendant over him. With this companion she sent him to travel, and had the satisfaction of hearing that the most favourable changes were taking place in his character and conduct.

But Amelia, steady to the aversion produced by their childish quarrels, lent a deaf ear to his mother's representations, and listened only to the accounts of his former misdemeanors. There was, however, another cause, which contributed still more to her alienation from Ernest. She had fallen in love with Mansfield, a young poet, who, on account of his talents, was received by her parents with distinction and kindness, not as one who could ever think of aspiring to their daughter's hand, but as a man of genins, whom they admired and protected. We shall not follow all the progress of this courtship, which is very prettily detailed in a narrative of Amelia's. Only we beg leave to observe, that a well educated girl, who had any thing like a proper regard for her reputation, or a proper sense of her dignity, should have resented, as an insult, the proposal which her lover presumed to make, of meeting him privately in the evening, "under the great yew trees of the little park;" a proposal the more improper, as the only pretence which he alleged, was, that she might bid him farewell. In short, although her father, on his deathbed had insisted, and her bro ther had solemnly assured her, that her marriage with Ernest should be left to her own free choice, yet, with out condescending to wait a year or two, till she might have an opportunity to judge for herself, if her cousin was, indeed, as amiable as he was now represented, she forsook all for love, and eloped with the poet.

For this rash step she suffered scverely; and here, we presume, the history is intended for a warning to those young ladies who marry in haste. That her family should renounce her, was only what she must have expected. Her brother, however,

though provoked at her indiscretion, remained firmly attached to her; but Mansfield, for whom she had made such a sacrifice, and who had sworn that his love should end only with his life, Mansfield grew unfaithful and profligate, forsook her at last, and was killed by a Russian officer in a quarrel about an opera girl. From that period she lived at Dresden for three years in the most profound obscurity, having no comfort but her brother's tenderness, being permitted to see Blanche once only during all that time, and entirely disowned by every other relation.

But after this long season of distress, happier days arose again on poor Amelia. Her husband's uncle, Mr. Grandson, a plain but respect able old man, had retired to a delightful residence in Switzerland, where he lived in splendour on the fortune which he had made by commerce, and invited Amelia to be the mistress of his house, and to inherit his wealth. Warned as she had been of the miseries arising from imprudence, we may now expect that it can only be some external calamity which is to disturb her repose. We have no suspicion that she will ever forget the good resolutions which she expresses so beautifully in a letter to her brother.

In a dark and tempestuous night of February, Henry Semler and his at tendants were saved by the exertions of Mr. Grandson's domesticks from perishing in the snow, and welcomed with the utmost humanity and kindness to a safe shelter in the abode of wealth and beauty. Of this hospitality, Semler was unworthy. He came under a fictitious name for a most unmanly purpose. He was no other than our old acquaintance Ernest, the young count of Woldemar. Indignant that a man so low as Mansfield should have been preferred to him, he had stolen away from his companion, with the hope of finding some means to introduce himself to Amelia as a stranger; and his inten

tion was to gain her affections, and then to abandon her with contempt. This was certainly a design which no one who deserved the name of a gentleman, could entertain for a moment; yet with unpardonable inconsistency, the author evidently intends that Ernest should be regarded as a man of a high and generous spirit.

But as the wicked are often caught in their own snare, so our promising youth became desperately enamoured with Amelia, though he could not endure the thought of marrying Mansfield's widow, or of wounding, by such a union, his mother's happiness, to whom he was tenderly attached. And now the author puts forth all her strength in describing the struggles between love, pride, and filial affection, and the gradual, but fatal triumph of love. Although Ernest never condescended to give any account of his situation, and, for some time at least, declared, that to their marriage, there were obstacles which he knew not how to surmount, yet Amelia permits his tender assi duities. The good uncle, however, who never dreamed of any thing but an honourable courtship, but who thought it long in coming to a proper conclusion, hastened the catastrophe which he meant to prevent. Upon his remonstrances, Ernest declared that he would soon be free, and happy to marry Amelia, but declined an immediate union. He was ordered by Mr. Grandson to quit the house instantly; but Amelia was moved to compassion by his rueful countenance, and with inexcusable rashness, granted him a private interview at midnight. Here he swore to be her husband, and she, as might be expected, forfeited her title to a station among virtuous women. But after all bis oaths, the fickle youth was persuaded by his mother to renounce his mistress; and we have now a tale of sorrows, in many places admirably told, and deeply interesting Amelia, worn out with anguish, died at the moment when the countess of Wol