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Though thy corpse repos'd in ocean deep,
Yet sure thy spirit saw Ellen weep;
Did'st thou never see the lovely blossom,
That nestling lay in her widow'd bosom?
Yes, thou hast seen-for I felt thy kiss,
When sadly I press'd a sleepless pillow;
And thy spirit left the bowers of bliss,

And thy cold clay slept beneath the billow.
But I was poor, and the world unkind,
And thou camest no more to soothe my mind;
I could not love-but my hand I gave,

While my heart was thine, in thy wat'ry grave.
A spirit came-but it was not thee,

Though it bore thy form-for it frown'd on me;
It call'd my name 'twas a fiend of hell!
And did what my blood runs cold to tell.
From the bed our son it bore away,
And left a corpse where my darling lay!
My friend had fled, and my child was gone ;-
To seek for them I have stray'd alone;
I've climb'd the clouds-I have scal'd the sky,
And scoop'd the graves where the dead men lie;
But I've found my boy-he dwells in light!
See! there's the glance of his eye so bright!",
And she in frenzied rapture scream'd,
As on her cheek the light'ning gleam'd;
And cried, Come down-come hither, my boy!
Your father's here--we'll dance for joy!
See! our cherub sits on yon dark cloud-
He smiles and hark! he calls aloud;
But he will not come-we'll go together;
I know the way, and will lead thee thither!
I'll bear thee up-for I can fly-

Clasp round my neck, and reach the sky!'
She flung her arms around my waist,

And cried, as her head lay on my breast,

Now, now!-we mount-we swim-we soar! Cold earth, farewell for evermore!'

She heav'd a sigh-her spirit fled,
And slowly sunk her lifeless head!
Her clay-cold cheek on my bosom lay ;
I clasp'd her form till the close of day.
My spirit seem'd about to part,
And death-like torpor chill'd my heart.
Why burst not then the bolt of Heav'n,
On one who cannot be forgiven?
Ingulph'd in guilt's o'erwhelming tide;
A murderer!-a filicide!

But I am doom'd to live, and feel
The pangs that time can never heal:
In lingering age, like Cain, to bear
The mark-the burden of despair!

"That weeping willow's branches wave
Above the injur'd Ellen's grave;
In dews of heaven, the woodbines bloom
My hands have twin'd around her tomb,
But my wither'd heart has long been dead;
I heave no sigh, no tear I shed;
Some viewless hand has touch'd my clay,
It will not sicken nor decay;

The curse of lengthened years is mine,
When the sun of life has ceas'd to shine;
And midnight darkness closing round,
Has plung'd me deep, in gloom profound;
Like airy dream the world is gone,
And I in chaos placed alone,

A changeless form, am doom'd to bide,
Till countless ages round me glide.
I sometimes think that mental pain
Has chill'd my heart, and craz'd my brain;
But you have heard that it cannot be ;
For maniacs never talk like me;
"Tis Heav'n has shap'd my thorny path;
For I am guilty, doom'd to wrath.

"At morn, I mark the heath-bell nod,
Still stain'd with blood, on Hector's sod;
I sit and chide the lingering light,
And sicken for the shades of night;
They come affrighted and forlorn,
I, writhing, wish returning morn.

"Methinks the sun, that rolls on high,
Has sometimes smil'd, and bid me fly;
I joyous rise-prepare to go;

But hear a voice, that whispers, "No!'
It softly breathes, when summer glows,
And bellows loud, when the tempest blows;
When mountain torrents wildly sweep,
I hear its murmurs, hoarse and deep;
When thunder shakes the hills around,
It comes, with loud and startling sound,
And wakes me, from my frightful dream,
To the rushing rain and the lightning's gleam.

"I see my son in the dews of morn ;
And hear his song on the breezes borne;
He beckons me in the pale moonlight,
And fans my cheek with the winds of night:
While Ellen glides in her airy car,

Through fields of light, like a shooting star!
I stretch my hands-but they haste away—
I kneel-I pray-but they will not stay!

Oh! when shall I follow? They answer, Never!"
How long must I mourn? They cry, For ever!""

CURIOUS NARRATIVE-PORTRAIT OF AN ENGLISH DISSENTING

PREACHER.

Ir is common among those who dissent from the Established Church, on either side of the Tweed, to represent her ministers as peculiarly liable to be beset by the sin of lukewarmness, in the discharge of their duties; of courtliness, or rather sycophancy, to the higher ranks of society, to whom they look for patronage; and of a supercilious disregard of the concern of the people over whose spiritual interests they are

bound to watch. These heavy and sweeping charges, we have access t know, are preferred with little dis crimination, and, in connection with the constantly-reiterated accusation of the general unsoundness of doc trine taught in the national churches form the most efficient means em

ployed in making proselytes to Sed tarianism. On the other hand, must be admitted, that the condu of the ministers of the Establishe

co

Churches, is calculated to give louring to these attempts against the respectability of their order, and the usefulness of their functions.

It would not, however, be difficult to prove, that, notwithstanding the calumnious misrepresentations to which the Established Churches of the country are exposed, they are yet the great safeguards of that purity of moral character, as well as of those varied literary and scientific attainments, which ought to meet in men who "minister and serve at the altar." These advantages are secured, by the course of study prescribed, by the Church, to those who aspire to the sacred office, and by the authority and vigilance which she exercises over the administration of the ordinances of religion. The Sects, and even the congregations of the Dissenters, have systems of laws and modes of procedure peculiar to themselves. Many of them are fond of novelty, and studious of variety; and yet it is quite clear, that the excess of eccentricity, both in doctrine, worship, and discipline, to which the indulgence of these propensities naturally tends, is curbed and restrained by the commanding influence which the religious establishments of the country exert over the conduct even "of those who are given to change." This is abundantly evident, on the slightest attention to the prevailing practices, in matters connected with religion, in the opposite sides of our island. In England, most of the Sectaries have introduced instrumental music into their chapels; most of them read lessons from the Scriptures, as part of their public worship; many of them read their sermons, and even their prayers; and all of them have a funeral service, clearly in imitation of what takes place in the Church. In Scotland, likewise, where most of these things have been discarded, or forbidden by the Church, they are also, not only shunned, but absolutely abominated by the Dissenters. The truth is, custom, in both cases, produces a species of assimilation in what relates to religion, just as it influences the dialects of the language, and the social intercourse of life.

The Dissenters, however, from the concussion of discordant opinions, the affectation of singularity in some

VOL. X.

of their modes of worship, and the tendency which some of them, “having itching ears," too frequently display, "to heap to themselves teachers according to their corrupt affections," are exposed to the danger of making great aberrations from the precincts of "sound doctrine," reverent worship, and orderly discipline; and are apt to become the dupes of designing and selfish men, who, to gain some unworthy ends, flatter their prejudices, and inflame their party zeal, in order to secure that ascendancy necessary to realize the objects of their unworthy ambition. These remarks are illustrated by an incident, which some time ago happened to a member of the Church of Scotland, who was for several years employed as the minister of a Presbyterian chapel in England.

Some time ago, he remarks, I received a letter, of which I shall transcribe an extract :

"REVEREND SIR,

Ar the request of the Trustees of Bethel Chapel, I am appointed to write you, ardently wishing you to preach a sermon on the 11th of June, being the day on which said chapel is to be opened. 'Tis a New Interest, having lately left the Church of England, and we now think more favourably of the Scotch Kirk than of any other party.

"We are about 1200 or 1300 strong at present, but there is every prospect of greater increase. Your answer by post, and promise to favour us on this occasion, will oblige your's," &c.

This letter bore the post-mark of a considerable town, distant about thirty miles from the place of my residence, and in which I had not a single acquaintance. It was, therefore, impossible for me to conjecture by what means I was applied to, for the purpose mentioned in the above epistle; but after deliberation, I resolved to comply with its request, forthwith wrote to that effect, and in course of post received the following

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When you come to this place, ask for Mr Larkhall, and you will soon find us. Your name was this day put in the paper, as the person to preach on this occasion. We have likewise sent bills to be printed."

Both these letters had the same signature, and supposing it to be the name of one of the members of this infant Kirk, I hesitated not to prepare myself as well as I could, for opening it in a proper manner. As I was desirous of extending my knowledge of a part of the country not unworthy of observation, I did not delay my journey till the end of the week, but arrived at the town of, in which the "New Interest" was said to be situated, on the Thursday evening, previous to the Sunday on which I was requested to preach. Having secured a bed at the Angel Inn, I went out to perambulate the streets, not without hopes of falling in with the newly-erected Scotch Kirk, naturally thinking, that a house fitted to accommodate "a great increase, above 1300" individuals, would be no mote in an ordinary-sized provincial town. I was struck with the venerable appearance of the Established Church, dedicated, as I learned, to St Michael, and seated on a rocky eminence, with two abrupt sides, and lifting its massive towers to a considerable height above every other edifice in the town. I observed also several other places of worship, belonging evidently to the different classes of the Dissenters, with which every town in England abounds. I could, however, see nothing that at all came up to my idea of Bethel Chapel, ominous, as, from the first, I regarded that cant, and un-Scotch-like designation. After I had traversed the greater part of the town, I passed, for the second time, a large brick building, three stories in height, which I had at first taken for a warehouse, but now thought it had some resemblance to a place of worship. This opinion was strengthened, by observing men and women flocking towards it from all parts, as if going to hear sermon. I went with the crowd, and asked a man, whom I found standing at the door, for what purpose the people were assembling, and to what end

the building was devoted?" The people," he said, "are going to hear the evening lecture, and the building was erected for a Sunday School." I then asked if it belonged to the Church, or the Dissenters? "It belongs to no party," he replied, "but is

common to all, and is supported by voluntary subscription." He also showed me some of the class-rooms on the ground floor, (for it was divided into numerous compartments); but as the "evening lecture" was about to commence, I was prevented from obtaining further information on the subject. The place of worship was in the upper story, which, however, was sufficiently capacious to contain a congregation of upwards of 2000 people. It was fitted up in all respects like a church, and galleried around, except on the end occupied by the pulpit. It was obvious, also, that it was the common hall of the school, for the pews were formed so as to serve the purpose of writingdesks; and the blotches of ink with which they were stained afforded evidence that they were in the use of being applied to this end. The house, though not more than half full, contained many persons of a respectable appearance, sitting in silent expectation of the arrival of the preacher, who soon appeared, and took his station. He was a young man, of a melancholy and sickly air, with a voice too feeble for the size of the place in which he harangued. There was nothing peculiar in the service, which was conducted in the manner known to prevail among the most numerous body of the Dissenters in England. His discourse, from the petition in the Lord's prayer, "Give us this day our daily bread," seemed to be delivered without notes, and with a kind of feverish effort to be impressive; but was in itself neither elegant, eloquent, nor profound. It was nine o'clock when the service came to a close, and then, on inquiry, I was told that the preacher belonged to the sect which takes its name from Lady Huntingdon. I now made the best of my way back to my inn; and though it was but the 8th of June, sat down with several others to a supper, of which ducks and green peas were unexpectedly two, and not the least attractive, of the dishes.

Next morning, I went to search for Larkhall, which I asked for as the residence of my correspondent. A handsome villa, built on a gentle slope to the north-east of the town, was at length pointed out to me as bearing that name, but as the possession and the habitation of a person of a quite different name from that which I had been directed to inquire after, by the letter I had received. A person, however, of the name of my correspondent, lived in the immediate neighbourhood; and on whom I immediately waited. Though it was only a few minutes after twelve o'clock, I found him eating a solitary dinner; but it be hoved him, he said, to dine at that early hour, as he superintended a metallic foundery, or smelting house, I forget which, where his presence was always required, when the men employed on the concern were at work. He was a tall, thin figure, upwards of fifty years of age, with a face expressive of intelligence and benevolence and though he was quite a different person from my correspondent, and altogether unconnected with the chapel to be opened for public worship on the ensuing Sunday, yet he was able to give me a great deal of information respecting it "The formation of this 'New Interest' had originated," he said, "in a quarrel between its founders and the leading members of some other Dissenting congregation. They were but few in number, of a litigious disposition, and, in other respects, not very respectable. In the course of the preceding year, a person from Scotland had presented himself to the committee of the Sunday School, and had had the address to obtain an appointment to do duty in it as a preacher. Surmises, however, having been circulated respecting some moral delinquencies, previously to his acting in that capacity, caused him to be dismissed without much ceremony, and made him seek for refuge in Ireland. He first reached Dublin, and from Dublin went to Cork, where representing himself as having been educated at the University of Glasgow, and licenced by a presbytery of the Church of Scotland, he was taken under the protection of the Dissenting preach

ers of that city; and, by the interest of one of them, was recommended to a person, who had made some property in business, as a tutor to his children. But he had made some friends while resident in this place, among whom were the persons who had been cast out, or had withdrawn themselves from their former synagogue. These resolved to recruit a congregation for him, and to bring him back to be their minister. With that view, a deputation of their number was actually sent to him, with a formal invitation to that effect. With their proposals he thought proper to comply, and soon after followed them to this place, and has ever since been employed as their spiritual director. Since that time they have bought and fitted up an old copper smelting-house in Pyrites Street, as their destined place of meeting. My namesake, who has corresponded with you on the subject of the opening of this new temple, is an Irishman, who was here on a visit from Cork to its ministerelect, and has left with him two of his sons as pupils and boarders. This person, I suppose, had been prevailed upon to write you, as he says, in name of the Trustees of the chapel. "The chapel," he continued, " is at no great distance from this, and if you please, I shall shew it you in passing." To this I agreed, and was conducted to a low-lying street, composed of mean buildings, where we went into a house bearing no external marks of a church, but abundance of a smithy; and here we found carpenters at work, fitting up pews, in an apartment not capable of containing 300 inviduals at the very utmost. Here, also, we found one of the Trustees, to whom my conductor introduced me, and then left us together. This man was shabbily dressed, and his countenance and manners wore the impression of inveterate vulgarity; but, at the same time, he had that sort of easy assurance which springs from wealth, and that bustling activity which arises from office. When he understood on what purpose I came, he offered to accompany me to Mr M, (the Scotch preacher, and the chosen minister of the chapel, to whom the heads of the congregation had shewn so strong an attachment,) and to this proposal I

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