worship. Sometimes, in a hot and cloudless summer day, he and his congregation were under cover of the sycamores, which afford so deep a shade to some of the old farm-houses in Westmoreland and Cumberland. In such a scene, near Brough, he observes, that a bird perched on one of the trees, and sung without intermission from the beginning of the service till the end. No instrumental concert would have accorded with the place and feeling of the hour so well. Sometimes, when his discourse was not concluded till twilight, he saw that the calmness of the evening agreed with the seriousness of the people, and that "they seemed to drink in the word of God as a thirsty land the refreshing showers." One of his preaching-places in Cornwall was in what had once been the court-yard of a rich and honorable man. But he and all his family were in the dust, and his memory had almost perished. "At Gwenap, in the same county," he says, "I stood on the wall, in the calm, still evening, with the setting sun behind me, an almost innumerable multitude before, behind, and on either hand. Many likewise sat on the little hills, at some distance from the bulk of the congregation. But they could all hear distinctly while I read, 'The disciple is not above his Master,' and the rest of those comfortable words which are day by day fulfilled in our ears." This amphitheatre was one of his favorite stations. He says of it, in his old age, “I think this is one of the most magnificent spectacles which is to be seen on this side heaven. And no music is to be heard upon earth comparable to the sound of many thousand voices, when they are all harmoniously joined together, singing praises to God and the Lamb." At St. Ives, when a high wind prevented him standing where he had intended, he found a little enclosure near, one end of which was native rock, rising ten or twelve feet perpendicular, from which the ground fell with an easy descent. "A jutting out of the rock, about four feet from the ground, gave me a very convenient pulpit. Here well-nigh the whole town, high and low, rich and poor, assembled together. Nor was there a word to be heard, nor a smile seen, from one end of the congregation to the other. It was just the same the three following evenings. Indeed, I was afraid, on Saturday, that the roaring of the sea, raised by the north wind, would have prevented their hearing. But God gave me so clear and strong a voice, that I believe scarce one word was lost." On the next day the storm had ceased, and the clear sky, the setting sun, and the smooth still ocean, all agreed with the state of the audience.

Life of Wesley.

COWPER'S TASK.

Cowper's Task appeared in the interval when young minds were prepared to receive it, and at a juncture when there was no poet of

any great ability or distinguished name in the field. Gray and Akenside were dead. Mason was silent. Glover, brooding over his "Athenaid," was regarded as belonging to an age that was past. Churchill was forgotten. Emily and Bampfylde had been cut off in the blossom of their youth. Crabbe, having by the publication of his "Library," his "Village," and his "Newspaper," accomplished his heart's immediate desire, sought at that time for no further publicity; and Hayley ambled over the course without a competitor. There never was a season at which such a poem could have appeared with more advantage; and perhaps there never was a poem of which the immediate success, as well as the permanent estimation, might with so much certainty have been predicted. The subject, or rather the occasion, of the poem had been fortuitous; and the key in which it was pitched, as being best suited to the theme, was precisely that which enabled the poet to exhibit the whole compass of his powers.

The "Task" was at once descriptive, moral, and satirical. The descriptive parts everywhere bore evidence of a thoughtful mind and a gentle spirit, as well as of an observant eye; and the moral sentiment which pervaded them, gave a charm in which descriptive poetry is often found wanting. The best didactic poems, when compared with the "Task," are like formal gardens in comparison with woodland scenery. "One of his intimate friends," says Hayley, "had written in the first volume of his poems the following passage from the younger Pliny, as descriptive of the book: 'Multa tenuiter, multa sublimiter, multa venusté, multa teneré, multa dulciter, multa cum bile.' 'Many passages are delicate, many sublime, many beautiful, many tender, many sweet, many acrimonious.' Cowper was pleased with the application, and candidly said, 'The latter part is very true indeed. Yes, yes; there are multa cum bile."" He was in a happier state of mind and in more cheerful circumstances when he began the "Task:" it was therefore less acrimonious. Its satire is altogether free from personality; it is the satire not of a sour and discontented spirit, but of a benevolent though melancholy mind; and the melancholy was not of a kind to affect artificial gloom and midnight musings, but rather to seek and find relief in sunshine, in the beauties of nature, in books and leisure, in solitary or social walks, and in the comforts of a quiet fireside. *

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If the world had not liked his poem, the world must have been worse than it is. But Cowper himself, perhaps, was not aware of what it was that supplied the place of plan, and with happier effect than the most skilful plan could have produced. There are no passages in a poet's works which are more carped at while he lives, than those wherein he speaks of himself; and if he has any readers after his death, there are none then which are perused with greater

interest. In the "Task" there is nothing which could be carped at on that score, even by a supercilious critic, and yet the reader feels that the poet is continually present; he becomes intimately acquainted with him, and this it is which gives to this delightful poem its unity and its peculiar charm.

THE CHIEF OBJECT OF LIFE.

The object of a good and wise man in this transitory state of existence should be to fit himself for a better, by controlling the unworthy propensities of his nature, and improving all its better aspirations; to do his duty first to his family, then to his neighbors, lastly to his country and his kind; to promote the welfare and happiness of those who are in any degree dependent upon him, or whom he has the means of assisting, and never wantonly to injure the meanest thing that lives; to encourage, as far as he may have the power, whatever is useful and ornamental in society, whatever tends to refine and elevate humanity; to store his mind with such knowledge as it is fitted to receive, and he is able to attain; and so to employ the talents committed to his charge, that when the account is required, he may hope to have his stewardship approved.

JOHN FOSTER, 1770-1843.

JOHN FOSTER, the author of many well-known Christian essays, was born in Yorkshire, in 1770, and was educated in the Baptist College at Bristol. After completing his course of theological studies, he was settled as a clergyman in several different places, the last of which was at Donnend, near Bristol: but the character of his mind being such as fitted him for a life of meditation and study rather than for the regular exercise of the pastoral office, he retired from public engagements, and spent the remainder of his time in literary pursuits in Stapleton, near Bristol, where he resided-preaching only occasionally-until the time of his death, which took place on the 15th of October, 1843.

In 1805, he first published his "Essays, in a Series of Letters to a Friend," which took rank, immediately, as among the most original and valuable works of the day. These essays were four in number, namely, "On a Man's writing Memoirs of Himself;" "On Decision of Character;" "On the Application of the Epithet Romantic;" and "On some of the Causes by which Evangelical Religion has been Rendered less Acceptable to Persons of Cultivated Taste." These essays passed through many editions, and are "models of vigorous thought and expression, uniting metaphysical nicety and acuteness with practical sagacity and com

mon sense." He also wrote a volume on the "Evils of Popular Ignorance," and many critical contributions to the "Eclectic Review."1

The following notice of Mr. Foster appeared in the "Bristol Mirror,” a short time after his death :-"The well-known character of his various essays, instinct as they are with an energy of feeling and surpassing vigor of conception, such as at once make the reader feel himself listening to a spirit of pre-eminent powers, makes it unnecessary for us to attempt any lengthened portraiture of his massive intellect. Few writers in the whole range of literature possess in an equal degree the power to touch and set in motion the springs of serious reflection. A closer inspection of his mind convinced those who were admitted to the rare privilege of personal intercourse with him, that those really masterly productions, though much elaborated, were not exhausting efforts, but rather natural specimens of the thoughts and sentiments which habitually dwelt within him. They testify that, with a mind profoundly meditative, deeply imbued with the powers of the world to come,' and ardently, even to impatience, desirous of the advancement of mankind in freedom, truth, and piety, he united vast stores of knowledge on a great variety of subjects, and an exquisite perception and appreciation of whatever was sublime or beautiful, whether in thought, nature, or art. The same strong principle of benevolence which has tinctured his writings with so vehement a hatred of all that tends to make men vicious and miserable, communicated to his conversation and demeanor a kindness, and even gentleness, which could not fail to win for him the love as well as veneration of all who knew him. His piety toward God, and charity toward men, were as deep as they were unostentatious. He was an unaffectedly great and good man."2

CHANGES FROM YOUTH TO AGE.

If a reflective aged man were to find at the bottom of an old chest-where it had lain forgotten fifty years—a record which he had written of himself when he was young, simply and vividly describing his whole heart and pursuits, and reciting, verbatim, many passages of the language which he sincerely uttered, would he not read it with more wonder than almost every other writing could at his age inspire? He would half lose the assurance of his identity, under the impression of this immense dissimilarity. It would seem as if it must be the tale of the juvenile days of some ancestor, with whom he had no connection but that of name. He would feel the young man thus introduced to him separated by so wide a distance

These have been published in one volume, under the title of "Biographical, Literary, and Philosophical Essays, contributed to the Eclectic Review."

2 His celebrated friend, the late Robert Hall, bestowed upon him the following just and beautiful eulogium:-"He paints metaphysics, and has the happy art of arraying what in other hands would appear cold and comfortless abstractions in the warmest colors of fancy. Without quitting his argument in pursuit of ornament or imagery, his imagination becomes the perfect handmaid of his reason, ready at every moment to spread her canvas, and present her pencil. But what affords us the deepest satisfaction is to find such talents enlisted on the side of true Christianity; nor can we forbear indulging a benevolent triumph on the acces sion to the cause of evangelical piety of powers which its most distinguished opponents would be proud to possess." Read an article on his writings in the "North British Review," v. 281.

of character as to render all congenial sociality impossible. At every sentence he would be tempted to repeat-"Foolish youth, I have no sympathy with your feelings; I can hold no converse with your understanding." Thus, you see that in the course of a long life a man may be several moral persons, so various from one another that, if you could find a real individual that should nearly exemplify the character in one of these stages, and another that should exemplify it in the next, and so on to the last, and then bring these several persons together into one society, which would thus be a representation of the successive states of one man, they would feel themselves a most heterogeneous party, would oppose and probably despise one another, and soon after separate, not caring if they were never to meet again. If the dissimilarity in mind were as great as in person, there would in both respects be a most striking contrast between the extremes at least, between the youth of seventeen and the sage of seventy. The one of these contrasts an old man might contemplate if he had a true portrait for which he sat in the bloom of his life, and should hold it beside a mirror in which he looks at his present countenance; and the other would be powerfully felt if he had such a genuine and detailed memoir as I have supposed. Might it not be worth while for a self-observant person, in early life, to preserve, for the inspection of the old man, if he should live so long, such a mental likeness of the young one? If it be not drawn near the time, it can never be drawn with sufficient accuracy.

ADVANTAGES OF DECISION OF CHARACTER.

One signal advantage possessed by a mind of this character is, that its passions are not wasted. The whole amount of passion of which any mind, with important transactions before it, is capable, is not more than enough to supply interest and energy to its practical exertions; and, therefore, as little as possible of this sacred fire should be expended in a way that does not augment the force of action. But nothing can less contribute to vigor of effort than protracted anxious fluctuation, intermixed with resolutions decided and revoked, while yet nothing causes a greater expense of feeling. The heart is fretted and exhausted by being subjected to an alternation of contrary excitements, with the ultimate mortifying consciousness of their contributing to no end.

The long-wavering deliberation, whether to perform some bold action of difficult virtue, has often cost more to feeling than the action itself, or a series of such actions, would have cost; with the great disadvantage, too, of being relieved by none of that invigoration which, to the man in action, would have sprung from the spirit of the action itself, and have renovated the ardor which it was expending. A person of decisive character, by consuming as