WE feel much satisfaction at the publication of these letters; and that, not merely because of the moral wisdom which they contain, nor yet because of the personal interest which we felt in the respected writers; but, because they afford us some tangible means of bringing before the minds of our readers a tolerably faithful representation of one of the most gifted and extraordinary individuals that ever appeared in Ireland. It was our privilege and felicity to have known the late Alexander Knox well; and never have we enjoyed the pleasure of conversing with one whose ordinary colloquy bore so much of the character of inspiration. We cannot better describe our impression of his general powers, than, by saying, that he was in moral, what Newton was in physical science, together with this great additional advantage, that his power of eloquence was such, as enabled him, without effort, to reveal, to very ordinary minds, the splendid systems of magnificent truths that were habitually the objects of his contemplation. And yet, with such powers, he was known but

very little beyond the circle which he vivified by his immediate presence. To be sure, that circle might be said to contain the elitè of the worth and the intellect of Ireland. And the

highest minds of his acquaintance were always the readiest and the most ardent in their acknowledgments of his transcendant eloquence and sublime philosophy. But, it was still a matter of astonishment, that, with such powers, he was contented to limit his sphere of usefulness to that didactic instruction which he so freely imparted to all who were privileged to attend at his intellectual levy, and did not embody, in some great and enduring work, those opinions, and those principles which he was known to entertain, and which, whatever might be pronounced respecting their absolute coincidence with perfect orthodoxy, (upon that we offer no judgment,) would, undoubtedly, be cherished by posterity, as, possibly, the finest specimen on record, of a rich and platonic theoretical theology.

But, extraordinary as this fact is, there are some considerations, partly moral, partly physical, which render it not surprising. Mr. Knox was a man who, from early youth, never enjoyed good health. Indeed, so feeble was his infancy, that his parents never ventured to send him to school, and his education might be said to have been altogether self-derived and selfdirected. This will appear not a little curious to those who remember his perfect knowledge of the Greek

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and Latin languages, and his intimate acquaintance with the choicest wisdom and the highest beauties which they contain. The maxims of the venerable ancients were with him as familiar as "household words," and, such was the tenacity of his memory, that he not only retained a strong general impression of whatever once struck him as valuable, but he could ever after refer to the very page and line in which it was contained, whenever the exigencies of his argument required an allusion to it, with a readiness that was the astonishment and the admiration of his hearers. Such, however, was his feeble state of body, that he could not calculate, to a certainty, upon any such continuance of good health as might afford a reasonable degree of encouragement to undertake any weighty literary or professional labours. When to this it is added, that, from a very early period of his life, he was a devotedly religious man, that the seeds of ambition had been radically extirpated from his heart, and that he was, literally, dead to earthly objects, our surprise will be much diminished that he did not devote himself, with zeal and assiduity, to some work, which would have required an intensity of labour, such as his health could not bear, in the absence of all the usual motives which ordinarily cheer and stimulate literary undertakings.

It will, we know, be said, that those very religious impressions which rendered him indifferent to mere worldly reputation, should not have been without their due effect in causing him, from higher motives, and in strict obedience to divine injunctions, to suffer his light, both moral and intellectual, so to shine before men, that they might glorify his Father who is in hea

ven.

This is true; and we can only say, that we believe Alexander Knox endeavoured, to the best of his ability, to promote the cause of true religion. He did not entertain the same opinion of his own powers of usefulness, that were entertained by most of his acquaintance; and he thought that the utmost which he was called upon to do, was, to give right notions, upon important subjects, to all those whom the reputation of his worth and wisdom drew around him. This was a labour of which he never tired. There was a

certain pleasing excitement in the exercise of his conversational abilities, which enabled him, for hours, to expatiate upon the important subjects that were ever nearest to his heart, and sustained him under continuous efforts of thought, by which, in the solitude of the study, he would have been exhausted. Besides, there was this peculiarity, that his conversation was immeasurably beyond his composition. Nothing surprised his friends more than the felicity of his language, the happy arrangement of his thoughts, the exquisite richness and force of the imagery by which they were illustrated and adorned, except the fact, that, when he came to put the same matter into a written form, the production had all the appearance of a tame translation of himself. If the reader will picture to himself John Kemble, making his exit in Roman or Grecian costume, and his next entrance in the plain garb of a primitive quaker, he will be able to form some idea of the difference between Mr. Knox when he spoke and when he wrote. In the former case, his noble imagination had free play, and, as it was always strictly under the influence of an exquisitely cultivated moral sense, it never transgressed its proper province, but acted, simply, as the internuncius between his noble intellect and the less gifted minds of his friends, simplifying and facilitating the apprehension of his profound and lofty philosophic communications. In the latter case, either the absence of the same degree of excitement, or the presence of a severer and more rigid judgment, or, probably both, prevented that fond and glowing expatiation upon moral generalities, in which he loved to indulge, and which, indeed, constituted the chief charm of his conversation. So that, those who can only know him as a writer, know him not half. They may, and no doubt they will, experience much pleasure, and derive much instruction from the important truths that have been stated with so much clearness, and the fine comprehensive views which have been sketched by such a master-hand. Many an eye will be gladdened, and many a thirsty lip will be moistened, by the stream that wells out of the rock, into which, whenever he composed, his intellectual powers, by an over

and the liturgy of the church of England.

The late Marquis of Londonderry, at that time a rising politician, was struck by his extraordinary powers, and induced him to fix himself in Dublin, as his private secretary, when he was himself appointed to the important office of Secretary of State for Ireland. This was a most critical period. Very soon the rebellion began to rage, and the government stood in need of all the vigour and all the ability of the sagest and most intrepid advisers. Of Mr. Knox's services during this time, we have no means of speaking from accurate knowledge; but, the strongest impression of their value was made upon the mind of the noble individual by whom he was employed, and who, when the legislative union was accomplished, endeavoured to prevail upon him to accept of a seat in the imperial parliament. The representation of his native town of Derry was offered to his choice, but he steadily and respectfully declined it. Neither his health nor his habits fitted him to take an active part upon the theatre of public life; and, besides, he had chosen, as he believed, the better part, and resolved to devote himself, assiduously and undividedly, for the remainder of his life, to a study of the doctrines, and a cultivation of the morality of the Gospel. Nor did he ever repent of this sublime determination. To him, the world and its vanities, from which he so instinctively turned away, presented not for a moment any availing counter-attraction to the pure delight which he felt in the practice and the privileges of true religion, which, indeed, he knew, by experience, to be

"more beautiful than the sun, and above all the order of the stars, and which, being compared to the light, was found before

it."

that time piety was at a very low ebb indeed; and Mr. Knox's great anxiety was, to rescue pure and undefiled religion from the fanaticism of one party, by whom it had been stolen and disfigured, as the gypsies steal children, and disfigure them when they wish to pass them as their own; and the coldness of the reputed orthodox, by whose neglect alone it could have been stolen, and amongst whom, if it was suffered to remain, its vital spirit must have been extinguished. He thought he saw, in Mr. Jebb, a fit instrument for the accomplishment of such a work; and the whole treasure of his learning and genius was employed in preparing him for the task. Nor was his labour unrequited. He had the satisfaction of perceiving, in his pupil, an apt recipient of his peculiar views, and one who not only derived comfort and instruction from them himself, but was able, efficaciously, to impart them for the edification of others. It is time, however, to suffer Mr. Knox to speak for himself. Mr. Jebb mentioned to him that he hoped to derive benefit from keeping up a correspondence with Dr. Stopford, the late revered rector of Letterkenny, and concludes by asking his opinion, as to the happy mean between cold morality and wild enthusiasm. To this his Mentor thus replies

"What you say of Stopford, is just, in every respect he is an uncommonly good man, and you cannot do better than keep up a correspondence with him. The grand deficiencies in right temper and conduct, arise, much more, from want of right feelings, than from want of knowledge; and right feelings cannot so certainly be either obtained or improved, as by communication and close intercourse with those who possess them. 'As iron sharpeneth iron, so doth the countenance of a man his friend.' Solomon said some true things, and this is not the least im

portant of them. You say that it is nearly impossible that many of those who attend Stopford's divinity lectures should not imbibe some of his spirit, and be warmed by a portion of his zeal. It is, indeed, impossible. True religion is, happily, contagious; and I am sure it owed its rapid progress, in the early ages of the church, infinitely more to the divine infection (if I may use such an expression) that attended the spirit of the apostles, than to the demonstrative evidence of