563 Review-Application of Christianity, &c. 564 It is to convict him of treason against the majesty of heaven. It is to tions, we introduce this volume to loyalty to God. our readers. These Discourses are eight in num-press home upon him the impiety of not caring about God. It is to tell him, that the hourly ber, all bearing on the same common point, which is expressed in the title- and habitual language of his heart is, I will page. The first of these, is on the mer- not have the Being who made me to rule over me. It is to go to the man of honour, and, cantile virtues which may exist with- while we frankly award it to him that his out the influence of Christianity; the pulse beats high in the pride of integrity-it second, on the influence of Christianity is to tell him, that he who keeps it in living in aiding and augmenting the mercan- play, and who sustains the loftiness of its tile virtues; the third, on the power movements, and who, in one moment of time, of selfishness in promoting the ho- could arrest it for ever, is not in all his nesties of mercantile intercourse; the thoughts. It is to go to the man of soft and fourth, on the guilt of dishonesty not gentle emotions, and, while we gaze in tenderto be estimated by the gain of it; the ness upon him, it is to read to him, out of his own character, how the exquisite mechanism fifth, on the great Christian law of reciprocity between man and man; the who framed it is forgotten; while he who of feeling may be in full operation, while he sixth, on the dissipation of large ci- poured into his constitution the milk of human ties; the seventh, on the vitiating in-kindness, may never be adverted to with one fluence of the higher upon the lower orders of society; and the eighth, on the love of money. The subjects of these excellent discourses are so immediately connected with one another, that it is not easy to select a single paragraph, without doing some degree of injustice to its author, by breaking it from others which give it an additional force. Dr. Chalmers' views of Christianity, are exalted, sublime, and comprehensive. His mind seizes on the grand outlines of the system, and connects the doctrines of the gospel, with permanent principles from which no one can rationally dissent. In combating those objections with which the theory that he advocates may be assailed, he makes all the concessions that can reasonably be required, but still retains a sufficiency of ground to support his doctrine, and to render triumphant the cause which he undertakes to defend. After granting that "the nature of man does not offer one unvaried and unalleviated mass of deformity," and allowing that" the classic page of antiquity sparkles with repeated exemplifications of what is bright and beautiful in the character of man," he thus proceeds to state the depravity of our common nature. single sentiment of veneration, or one single purpose of obedience; while he who gave him his gentler nature, who clothed him in all its adornments, and in virtue of whose appointment it is, that, instead of an odious and a revolting monster, he is the much loved child of sensibility, may be utterly disowned by him. In a word, it is to go round among all that Humanity has to offer in the shape of fair, and amiable, and engaging, and to prove how deeply Humanity has revolted against that Being who has done so much to beautify and exalt her. It is to prove that the carnal mind, under all its varied complexions of harshness or of delicacy, is enmity against God. It is to prove, that let nature be as rich as she may in moral accomplishments, and let the most favoured of her sons realize upon his own person the finest and the fullest assemblage of them—should he, at the moment of leaving this theatre of display, and bursting loose from the framework of mortality, stand in the presence of his Judge, and have the question put to him, What hast thou done unto me? this man of constitutional virtue, with all the salutations he got upon earth, and all the reverence that he has left behind him, may, naked and defenceless, before him who sitteth on the throne, be left without a plea, and without an argument. "God's controversy with our species is not, that the glow of honour or of humanity is It is, that none of never felt among them. them understandeth, and none of them seeketh after God. It is, that he is deposed from his rightful ascendency. It is, that he, who in fact inserted in the human bosom every one 'The way, then, to assert the depravity of principle that can embellish the individual man, is to fasten on the radical element of de- possessor, or maintain the order of society, is pravity, and to show how deeply it lies incor- banished altogether from the circle of his haporated with his moral constitution. It is not bitual contemplations. It is, that man taketh by an utterance of rash and sweeping totality his way in life as much at random, as if there to refuse him the possession of what is kind in was no presiding Divinity at all; and that, sympathy, or of what is dignified in principle-whether he at one time grovel in the depths of for this were in the face of all observation. sensuality, or at another kindle with some geIt is to charge him direct with his utter dis- nerous movement of sympathy or of patriotism, 565 Review-Providence and Grace. he is at both times alike unmindful of him to whom he owes his continuance and his birth. It is, that he moves his every footstep at his own will; and has utterly discarded, from its supremacy over him, the will of that invisible Master who compasses all his goings, and never ceases to pursue him by the claims of a resistless and legitimate authority. It is this which is the essential or the constituting principle of rebellion against God. This it is which has exiled the planet we live in beyond the limits of his favoured creation-and whether it be shrouded in the turpitude of licentiousness or cruelty, or occasionally brightened with the gleam of the kindly and the honourable virtues, it is thus that it is seen as afar off, by him who sitteth on the throne, and looketh on our strayed world, as athwart a wide and a dreary gulf of separation."pp. 20-24. Of the violation of the Sabbath in large commercial towns, the Author thus traces the awful consequences; and who ever has watched the progress of vice, principally originating in this shameful prostitution of the sacred day, will acknowledge with a sigh, that the delineation is too striking to require any comment. " Another, and still more specific is beginning, we understand, to be exemplified in our own city, though it has not attained to the height or to the frequency at which it occurs in a neighbouring metropolis. We allude to the doing of week-day business upon the Sabbath. We allude to that violence which is rudely offered to the feelings and the associations of sacredness, by those exactions that an ungodly master lays at times on his youthful dependents—when those hours which they wont to spend in church, they are called upon to spend in the counting-house-when that day, which ought to be a day of piety, is turned into a day of posting and of penmanshipwhen the rules of the decalogue are set aside, and utterly superseded by the rules of the great trading establishment; and every thing is made to give way to the hurrying emergency of orders, and clearances, and the demands of instant correspondence. Such is the magnitude of this stumbling-block, that many is the young man who has here fallen to rise no more-that, at this point of departure, he has so widened his distance from God, as never, in fact, to return to him—that, in this distressing contest between principle and necessity, the final blow has been given to his religious principles—that the master whom he serves, and under whom he earns his provision for time, has here wrested the whole interest of his eternity away from him—that, from this moment, there gathers upon his soul the complexion of a hardier and more determined impiety and conscience once stifled now speaks to him with a feebler voice and the world obtains a firmer lodgment in his 566 heart-and, renouncing all his original tender ness about Sabbath, and Sabbath employments, he can now, with the thorough unconcern of a fixed and familiarized proselyte, keep equal pace by his fellows throughout every scene of profanation-and he who wont to tremble and recoil from the freedoms of irreligion with the sensibility of a little one, may soon become the most daringly rebellious of them all--and that Sabbath which he has now learned, at one time, to give to business, he, at another, gives to unhallowed enjoyments-and it is turned into a day of visits and excursions, given up to pleasure, and enlivened by all the mirth and extravagance of holiday-and, when sacrament is proclaimed from the city pulpits, he, the apt, the well trained disciple of his corrupt and corrupting superior, is the readiest to plan the amusements of the coming opportunity, and among the very foremost in the ranks of emigration-and though he may look back at times, to the Sabbath of his fabecoming dimmer, and at length it ceases to ther's pious house, yet the retrospect is always disturb him—and thus the alienation widens every year, till, wholly given over to impiety, he lives without God in the world."-pp. 219-222. These discourses, from which, if we gladly have given more copious excould have spared room, we should tracts, are replete with strong sense, and great originality of thought; displaying much acuteness of investigation, and exhibiting a noble effort of vigorous intellect, and highly discriminating powers. The diction is nervous, clear, and dignified; and the appeals which the author has made both to the understanding and the heart, in advocating the best of causes, if not irresistible, are such as cannot be urged in vain. REVIEW.-Providence and Grace, as exemplified in some account of Mrs. Sarah Baker, now living at 12mo. pp. 116. London, Whittemore, Paternoster Row, and Hill, Waterlane, Blackfriars. 1821. WE had written a critique on this book, but it is suppressed, from a full conviction that when the reader has lay before him, he will not think that perused the extracts which we now this volume requires any other recommendation. We have only to state, that as Mrs. Baker is still living, the place of her residence is suppressed; and for the same reason, the author, who appears to be the pastor whose ministry she attends, has concealed 567 Review-Providence and Grace. 568 his name. But notwithstanding these|ther, who, being extremely ill and not expected "The infant part of my life was spent at ; where, I believe, I was born. My father lived there on a pension he received from the government, as the reward of meritorious service, assisted by some little property he had contrived to save, by habits of economy in former life. He had been abroad in the civil service, and for some years resided at Colombo, in the island of Ceylon, and was useful to his country in some service, (the particulars of which I have forgotten,) which he performed with the king of Candy, a government in the interior of the island. From Ceylon he removed to Madras, where he resided some time, and then resigning his office, he was permitted to return to England upon a pension. After travelling about the country for the confirmation of his health, he at last took up his residence at-- —, where he engaged a pretty house, pleasantly situated. I believe he was induced to do this, from having formed a connection with a Miss Millward, whom he soon married, and whom I had the happiness of calling mother. Though my father was somewhat advanced in years, he had never been married before, but having now finished, as he supposed, the fatigues of an unsettled life, he thought it best to marry, and became a permanent resident at "Though my mother was considerably younger than my father, I believe they lived very happily together. There was, indeed, a want of experience in my mother, and a too great readiness to catch at new plans and schemes, which soon gave way to something newer still, so that, if my father had complied, we should have had a fresh house every year. But my father's judgment and experience were a very proper check upon my mother, in such cases; not that he was unaccommodating: by no means. He maintained authority, and ruled in his family, but it was in such a way, as seldom, or never, gave offence. par "I was the second of three children. The first died when I was only three years old, and the third, a boy, was two years younger than myself. Partialities in families,' my father used to say, are wrong; I love both my children alike.' My mother however was not so judicious, and certainly had a decided tiality for my brother. When I was four years of age, I went to a boarding school at a neighbouring town, where every care was taken of my health, and some attention paid to my morals. Nothing worth relating took place while I was there. The holidays, as they came were regularly spent at home, where every indulgence was afforded me; and when they were expired, I as regularly was sent back to resume my learning at school. "When I was about nine years of age, and pursuing my education with some advantage, an event occurred which completely changed my prospects, and my course of life: an event to me truly mournful, my dear father's death! I was one day called out of school, and informed that a messenger had arrived from my fa he died. "As soon as my poor dear father had departed, my mother fell into an agony of sorrow; it seemed as if we should have been deprived of both our parents on the same day. Her moans were distressing beyond measure, and continued so till after the funeral had removed from her sight the lamented cause of her wretchedness. Time, at length, connected with the kind condolences of friends, mitigated her distress; and the acuteness of her anguish gave way to the domestic engagements that called for her attention. The loss of my father's society and protection was not the only misfortune she had to experience; but with it the largest part of her income, as my father's pension ceased of course at his death. One consequence of which was, that, when I returned to school, I conveyed a note to my governess to inform her, that at the ensuing vacation I must leave her. My mother found herself under the necessity of leaving the house she occupied; she took a smaller one near it, and selling a part of her furniture, became possessed of a little additional ready money. This, with the strictest economy, and a little sewing of the lighter sort, she thought would prove sufficient for the support of herself and two children. My mother had not been long in her new situation, before she was visited by some relations from London. It is very common for persons when at home, to magnify the excellency of every thing at a distance; and when abroad, to do the same of every thing at home. My mother's friends were not exempt from this weakness; and from their constantly extolling the advantage of a residence in London, made her dissatisfied with her own residence in the country. Such persons are pests to a family, and surely a righteous God cannot approve of their conduct. They destroy content, the richest jewel of the mind, and leave in its room a restless and unsettled disposition. "The suggestions of her relatives left my mother in a very uneasy situation, and some pressing trials increased her fretfulness. She felt her circumstances greatly straitened too, and the peevishness attendant on a discontented mind had given such offence to some of her friends, who had furnished her with employment, that they withdrew their support. Thus she found herself getting more and more embar rassed. The property left by my father was fast consuming, and no immediate prospect presented itself of bettering her condition. In this situation she resolved, at all events, to try London, and accordingly made arrangements for disposing of her furniture, and removing at once. "The prospect of seeing London was to me very gratifying, and I pleased myself with the anticipation of all the fine sights I should feast my eyes upon; when, all at once, my expectations were destroyed, by my mother's proposing to take only my brother, and leave me at school, till she found how things succeeded in London. I remember the distress I felt. In vain I urged her to take me with her; she promised to send for me, and, by these promises, somewhat pacified me. She spoke to my governess about providing me board and lodging 569 Review Providence and Grace. till she could send for me, and having settled a few other articles, took places for herself and my brother in the stage coach. ever, "I have not forgotten, and perhaps shall never forget, my anguish when I saw them depart! Alas! I little thought I should see my poor mother no more! My eyes followed them as long as the coach was in sight, and when I could see it no longer, my distress was indescribable. I cried and sobbed bitterly. I thought my heart would break; and, notwithstanding the tenderness of my governess, tears continued to flow a considerable time; howthe recollection of my mother's promise to send for me, after a time, quieted me. "Almost a month passed away before we heard any thing of my mother. A letter at last arrived, from which we learnt that her expectations had not been realized, and that the very relations who created her first feeling of discontent, had blamed her for coming to London, and had given her many cold and shy looks; that she had experienced many trials, but hoped to do better, and soon send for me. This was the first and the last letter we received, for from that time we never heard a single word concerning her; and though inquiry was instituted by my friends at and by the officers of the parish, not the least tidings were heard, nor any clue afforded, by which to discover what became of either my mother or brother. "About a month after the receipt of my mother's letter, my governess became uneasy about me. She did not know how to act, she knew not where to look for the payment of my expences, and though she was very affectionate and kind, she could not afford to support me without some remuneration. The matter became noised abroad, and a few persons who had known my father, contributed something and raised a trifling sum for my support, in the hope that my mother would soon send for me. When a few months had elapsed, and no tidings of my mother arrived, these friends became tired of supporting me, stating, that although they wished me to be taken care of, yet as they had families of their own, they could no longer assist me, and adding that there was support to be obtained from the parish for such as were destitute. "The case was considered among themselves, and at the vestry meeting was submitted to the persons present; the result, was an order that I should be removed to the workhouse, where, however, the master promised that I should be tenderly treated. 570 workhouse called for me, and spoke to me very civilly, telling me that I should be with his own children, and should want for nothing. I took leave of my governess with an almost broken heart, and then went to my residence. "You will suppose that I did not forget my mother. I often inquired of Mr. Conway if he had heard from her, and every time the postman brought a letter my hopes were raised, but raised only to be the more depressed. When I was told no letter had arrived, I used to go and sit upon one of the steps at the garden wicket, and cry till I sobbed again. I often went to some cross roads not far off, where was a guide-post, upon one of the arms of which was painted To London.' Here I would sit down, and look first at the post and then at the road, wishing I could see my mother coming. I would then turn slowly away, and with tears in my eyes, return to the workhouse. One day I was wonderfully delighted to hear that an old man had been brought to the workhouse from London. I immediately ran to find him, and eagerly inquired if he had seen my mother. My sorrow, however, was only augmented by this incident, for he said, rather surlily, that he had not seen her, and did not know her. 'At length the day fixed on for my removal came. My governess, with tears in her eyes, called me aside, and said, Sarah, my dear, I would not part with you if I could afford to keep you, but I cannot. I have spoken to Mr. Conway, the master of the workhouse, and I believe he will use you well. Be a good girl. Remember your prayers, and God will bless you. Here is a little testament which belonged to my poor Jane that died. I will give it you as a keepsake: but remember to read it, and pray to God to help you to understand it. Then kissing me most affectionately, she added, I shall always be glad to see you when Mr. Conway will let you come.' I could make no reply, but cried exceedingly. "In the course of the day the master of the No. 28.-VOL. III. "One day, however, as I was sitting near the guide-post I have mentioned, the London stage waggon passed along. I had several times noticed it before, and as I read upon its painted cloth in front, TO THE BULL AND MOUTH, BULL AND MOUTH STREET, LONDON; I wondered how the driver could find his way so far. But seeing it this time, I immediately thought that the waggoner must have gone right before, and as he must now know the road well, he would go right this time too. It immediately entered into my childish mind, that if I were to follow this waggon, it would take me to London, and there I should see my mother and brother. The thought no sooner entered my mind than it was acted upon, and letting the waggon go some distance before, yet not so far as to be out of sight, without any thing except the clothes upon my back, and even without a bonnet, I actually commenced a journey to London. "I did not proceed without sorrow. thought of the place I was leaving! I thought how angry Mr. Conway would be when I was missed! I thought too they would fear some accident had befallen me, and they would distress themselves on my account, and I almost resolved to go back! but the dread of their anger on the one hand, and the hope of seeing my mother on the other, induced me to proceed, and I continued to follow the waggon. "I continued on my way about nine miles, when the horses stopped to bait. I was also obliged to stop, and, at some distance behind the waggon, I sat down on a large stone by the road side, and found rest very desirable and pleasant. I had not been there long before an old woman came up, and accosting me very civilly, asked me several questions. I told her I came from and was going to London, to find my mother; and also that I intended to follow the waggon there. She seemed a little surprised, but said I could never hold out to follow the waggon, and reminded me of what had never entered into my calcu lation; viz. that food would be necessary 20 571 An Essay on the Utility of Sea-Bathing. But it's very lucky,' said she, for I'm going to London, and if you'll be content to travel with me, I'll take you safely.' I was overjoyed to hear this, and directly passing by my former guide, the waggon, travelled on with my new guide. [To be concluded in our next.] REVIEW. An Essay on the Utility of Sea-Bathing, &c. By J. W. Williams, Member of the Royal College of Surgeons in London, and President Practitioner in Portsea. Mills, Portsmouth; and Baldwin, Cradock & Joy, Paternoster-Row, London. pp. 224. 1820. 572 ridge of hills stretching several miles, and the gales from the ocean are attempered and interrupted by the picturesque bigh lands of the Isle of Wight."—p. 12. It will occur to the reader, that the above account of Southsea, is given by a "Resident Practitioner." But it so happens, that we can vouch for its accuracy; having ourselves visited the spot. Among the thousands who frequent the bath, there are comparatively but few, who inquire into the principles by which it invigorates or restores the constitution; but few who enter into the science of the subject. And hence, there are not wanting instances, in THE subject of this volume will cer- which the injudicious use of the bath tainly recommend itself as one which has promoted, perhaps confirmed, the has claims on public attention. Bath- evil it was intended to remove. A ing has been the practice of all ages, book, therefore, which professes to from the remotest antiquity to the pre-trace bathing to those physiological sent time; of all nations, the most barbarous, the most civilized; of all climes, torrid, frigid, or temperate. For amusement, for exercise, or for health, we still quit the land for the water, and live in an element not our own. In this country, and especially among the fashionable circles, bathing has become the popular, the luxurious employ of the summer months. To those, who during the winter are shut up in the smoke, and bustle, and crowds of the town, the pure air and natural scenery of a watering-place, form such a transition, as is better known by experience than by description. The sun, as he approaches the northern solstice, half desolates our cities; attracting thousands of gay and trifling, thousands of emaciated and dying creatures, to the edge of springs, to the banks of rivers, and to the shores of the ocean, where his fervid rays are tempered by the cooling breeze, or evaded in the cooling flood. principles, by which it so variously acts upon various constitutions, deserves the notice of those, especially, who seek the bath to recruit the energies, and repair the wastes, of a diseased or debilitated frame. Such are the professions of the volume before us; and as far as we are capable of forming a judgment upon the subject, they are professions very ably supported. Mr. Williams is not the first who has treated the subject of bathing as connected with the doctrine of animal heat. This is a department of his work, which he seems most maturely to have investigated, and therefore he speaks upon it with decision and assurance. We submit the following quotation, as expressing the author's views upon this particular; for which we beg leave to make the author himself responsible. 66 'It may not be unseasonable to repeat the conclusion to which our inquiries led us, when treating on the use of the cold bath in health, viz. to avoid the erroneous and mis We learn from a note in the volume before us, that the author is of opi-chievous custom of cooling, before the act of nion, that Southsea, in the island of Portsea, is not the least among the watering places which adorn the whole circuit of our coast. "The superiority of Southsea, in the island of Portsea, for a Bathing station, consists in the fine shingle beach, which slopes off gradually into the sea, which is by consequence exceedingly transparent and pure. Bathing may be performed here, at any time of tide. The whole island is a desirable residence for the invalid, being defended on one side by a bathing. We have, we trust, fully shown, that a large demand on the vital energies, in such a state of exhaustion, would occasion a wasteful expenditure of the natural strength, and expose the body to the most serious effects. In these resorts of the invalid, (watering-places,) we too frequently see persons slowly walking down to the sea side, lest they should become heated, and even reposing with careful solicitude on the open beach, exposed to the keen blast until they are cool enough to bathe. Of all errors, this is one of the most fatal; and it were better, like Fal |