main and fore sails, and cut the moor-line. The ark of the rescued, obedient to the helm, stood away from the shore; and its prow cut rapidly through the waters of the Propontis.

We know that this vessel arrived in the Adriatic, and that Telecles and Lysippe found an asylum in Italy. The Turk took an affecting leave of the venerable Telecles and his daughter, whilst the ship touched at the Morea. It was never known who he was, nor did he at parting reveal to father or daughter the motives for his generous conduct. But a report reached Italy some time after, that a noble Greek, beloved by the emperor Palæologus, had fallen in the Peninsula.*

THOMAS ROSE.

Priestgate, Peterborough.

ANIMADVERSIONS ON FEMALE

PREACHING.

A FRAGMENT on this subject was inserted in the Imperial Magazine for June, 1827, col. 549, which professed to establish, among other points, that female preaching is only scriptural when addressed exclusively to female hearers. In the same work, for October, col. 922. is a reply to this "fragment," maintaining the unrestricted scriptural authority of female ministrations. On this, I beg to offer a few observations. Any lengthened remarks, where there is so small prospect of mutual conviction, would be out of place.

That many females possess pre-eminent talents, and by the institutions of civil society, and the providence of God, have been called to fill very important offices, (topics of inspiring eloquence in the reply of Z. T.) are no arguments on either side the question at issue. All this proves absolutely nothing, as to the scriptural propriety of female preaching.

And that women of unquestioned and eminent piety have considered it their duty to preach, and maintained the conviction to death; only shews, that eminence of grace does not preclude the indulgence of error, or liability to mistake. It establishes nothing on the subject in question.

The argument derived from success, is more weighty; but not, in this case, perti

It was supposed that, immediately after the death of Palæologus, Idas left the battle, to provide for the safety and escape of Lysippe and her father; but that a secret remorse, for having deserted the body of his beloved master, caused him to take part in the affairs of the Morea; and, at least, to lay down that life in the cause of Greece,

which ought not to have been protracted beyond

the fall of his own city.

nent. I did not contend that God blesses equally the ministry of good and bad men; nor will I now deny that he occasionally succeeds the preaching of women. That wicked ministers and female preachers have been instruments in the conversion of sinners, rests upon fair evidence. But, in all such cases, the "testimony" is given to "the word of grace," not to the authority of its dispenser.

The proper appeal on this question (here I agree with Z. T.) is, "to the law and the testimony." But what is the correct interpretation of its apparently discrepant statements on this point? On which view of the subject, do they most easily and perfectly harmonize? Our mutual friend, Dr. Clarke, has lent his suffrage to Z. T. of which he has well availed himself: but if the authority of names might decide for us, Z. T. is aware what an array of them, and even of the same communion, judicious expositors and profound divines, might be produced, who explain the apostles on my hypothesis. Authority, however, is not argument. Much of the confusion which has prevailed in the explanation of the texts involved in this question, arises, I humbly conceive, from adopting public teaching, or preaching, as the predominant sense of the word prophesying. According to Dr. C. himself, the first occurrence of the word "prophet" in scripture (Gen. xx. 7.) is in the sense of prayer. has that signification, (1 Kings xviii. 29.) "Prophesied" And not improbably also in 1 Sam. x. 9-13, and xix. 20-24, passages, which, in this view, receive from the Dr. a very natural interpretation. To persons of prayer or piety, the knowledge of future events was communicated; the publication of which, is the common and legitimate signification of the word prophesying. But since such men were generally the teachers of religion, the term was easily transferred to their public instructions. This derived sense is adopted 1 Cor. xiv. 3, et seq. (See Dr. C. on text.) If these distinctions be kept in view, all the texts that relate to female prophesying are readily, as in the "fragment," harmonized. Then, it will be seen, that women may words there not to be synonymous, be"pray, or prophesy;" or, admitting the come the organs of the divine discovery of future events; though not "speak or teach," as public preachers, unless, perhaps, to their own sex, because this would be to "usurp" an "authority" clearly prohibited. I dare not infringe upon my limits, by quotation; yet, as a counter

exposition to the one introduced by Z. T. beg to refer our readers to Mr. Benson's Commentary on the texts in question.

It need not be concealed, that women, in this country, mix in general society : but the only case quoted by Z. T. at all parallel to an exposure from the pulpit, is, their being "allowed to address companies of men in public theatres ;" the feminine, and more than the religious propriety of which, I am sure he will be the last of men to approve. In fact, the ministry is an office per se: its occupation involves an authority, as well as a publicity, incompatible with all general ideas of the proprieties of female character; and the impression that female preaching almost uniformly makes, is precisely what Dr. Johnson expressed, in his ludicrous allusion upon the subject—(I refer to it not for any invidious purpose, and therefore forbear the quotation)—and we only wonder that what is so unnatural, can be done, in any case, so well.

POETRY.

A. E. F.

(For the Imperial Magazine.) THE INCOMPREHENSIBILITY OF JEHOVAH.

"Canst thou by searching find out God? Canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection ?"

Job xi. 7.

"Hiero, in one of the conversations with Simonides, asked that philosopher his opinion with regard to the nature and attributes of the Deity. The latter desired one day's time to consider of it; the next day he asked two; and went on increasing in the same proportion. The prince pressing him to give his reasons for these delays, he confessed that the subject was above his comprehension, and that the more he reflected, the more obscure it appeared to him."-Rollin, 2d Edition, vol. iii. p. 301.

How can I comprehend my God,
Who cannot analyze the flower,
That sheds its sweetness all abroad,
And gaily decks yon sylvan bower?

Light, Ether, Water, Colours, Fire,
Have powers unsung, have paths untrod
By sage's foot, or poet's lyre:
Who then can comprehend his God?

A blade of grass, a grain of sand,

Have Whys or Wherefores dark as night;
And shall I hope to understand
The Eternal Mystic One aright?

I feel the wind, I see the tide,
I mark the quivering magnet well;
But whence impelled, where supplied,
Or how attracted, none can tell!

The stars, the sun, the sea, the wind,
The florid earth, the ambient air,
Puzzle the sage's mighty mind,
T'explore the vast arcana there.
Then who can fathom His profound,
Or rise to God's eternal throne?
His essence man can never sound,
Or soar the altitude unknown.
107.-VOL. IX.

Yon painted insect on the wing,

As soon might understand the globe,
As man define th' Eternal King,
Or sound the depth that baffled Job!

What hangs on every coming day
I do not know, I cannot see;
And can I hope to grasp (ah, nay!)
Who dwells in all Eternity!

The melodies that strike my ear,
Yon landscape pictur'd on my eye,
Are mysteries I cannot clear,
Nor can the learned, light supply!
With finest tact of human wit,
Who can decipher mortal man?
I for my spirit's portrait sit,

Let Locke or Malebranche sketch the plan!

Then who can trace the Eternal Cause?
Though Newton, Bacon, Milton try;
Mortals, it is beyond your laws,
Here ye are blind as well as I!
But humble minds can at His feet
Adore and pray, delight and wait,
God's presence in his temple meet,
While sages stand without the gate.
That love-reflecting Gospel glass,
The mirror where His mind is shewn,
Though clear to babes-is yet, alas !
To proud Philosophy unknown!
Worcester.

JOSHUA MARSDEN.

ON FRIENDSHIP. Composed for an Album.

THOUGH SOMе may delight in the rage of a battle, Where carnage and slaughter have dyed the blue wave,

And the quivers of death, amid war's horrid rattle, Have deeply been stained in the blood of the brave: The trumpet's shrill blast and the cannon's loud thunder,

Awake not my anguish, nor sadden my breast; Reposing in quiet, my muse shall, as under, Devote a few moments to Anna's request.

A piece for your Album, to head your collection,
My muse shall with pleasure contribute her part;
Which take as a proof of unfeigned affection,
And friendship which beats in the pulse of the
heart.

Though time may benumb the fine chords of sensation,

The brightness of science may vanish away; But the pleasure of friendship shall know no cessation,

Its bliss everlasting-eternal its day.

The dewdrops of evening, that robe vegetation, Descend not more sweetly in seasons of rest; Nor brighter the day-spring which gladdens

creation,

Than friendship that warms in the sensitive breast. "Tis this that gives being its worth and enjoyment, To mortals below and to angels above; It softens affliction and sweetens employment, And Eden without it a desert would prove. But Friendship supported by interest, what is it? A phantom that flies the approach of distress; And cold as the greetings exchang'd on a visit, Too formal-too feeble for words to express : To call it a shadow-too powerful the figure; It would then presuppose that the substance was

nigh;

But shade without substance, in logical rigour, Would shrink from the glance of the critical eye. Though friendship is interest, and yields lasting pleasure,

And springs from a fountain of endless delight; It gives FROM ITSELF the possessor a treasure Time cannot corrode, nor adversity blight: "Tis not on the caprice of fancy dependent, Though mortals, like times and the seasons, may change;

But friendship's blest beams, with a radiance resplendent,

Are constantly cheering where'er we may range. 3 U

ocean,

"Tis balm to the bosom which sorrows may rend; "Tis nature's blest impulse, and life's sweetest portion,

A faithful-a lasting-unchangeable Friend. The fondest endearments of kindred connexion, The filial regard and parental delight; The sweetest emotions in love's recollection, Which beam on the memory like meteors of light, Are worthless as dross, and of speedy transition,The concord of natures must rivet the chain; A oneness of feeling without intermission,

O this is the charm that will ever remain ! Without it how feeble the charms of variety, A mind, like a chasm which nothing can fill, May languish in vain for the joys of society, The feelings recoil, in despite of the will:" But similar minds when in unison blending, The pleasures of friendship alternately prove; But till thought answers thought it is fruitless contending,

There is no foundation for Friendship or Love. And who but a madman, without a foundation Would ever attempt superstructures to raise ; · Should he build on a false one, some fierce inundation

May waste in a moment the labour of days:
As light is to darkness, so is wisdom to folly,
Between them no union or concord is found;
So the brilliance of wit join'd to dull melancholy,
Where pleasures should flourish vexations abound.
And thus are the pleasures of Friendship superior,
To every delight which the world can impart;
The bonds of relationship all are inferior,
Unless they are bound by a union of heart:
Without this blest concord all bonds are but madness
And who can divine where the evil may end?
'They are only productive of sorrow and sadness,
But'tis Heaven's best gift-an affectionate Friend.
GEORGE HERRING.

Great Grimsby, Sept. 3d, 1827.

MELODY.

THE spirit of my joy is dead,
I sigh, but yet I cannot mourn:
My wonted liveliness is fled,
And, Oh! may never more return;
Unless thou, minstrel, softly fling
Thy fingers o'er each sounding string.
I yet can brook to hear thy strain
Pour'd plaintive from thy feeling soul,
It soothes the tenor of my pain:
I list, and own its sweet control.
O then commence, dear bard, anew,
Thy strain so tender,-yet so true:
I'll take the cypress from my brow,
That cherisher of moody gloom;
My heart shall with affection glow,
And scorn the secret of the tomb ;
If thou wilt to my bower repair,
To soothe the fleeting moments there.
Pure Phoebus, mighty king of day,
Reflects his sunny-fulgent beam
Upon the rilly-flowing way,
That branches from the silver stream.
O then, dear minstrel, come with me,
And glad the minutes as they flee.
Away with gloom ;-return again
Thou cheering hour of loveliness;
The minstrel tries his wonted strain,
Then cast away the cypress tress.
My bower be green,-my looks be clear,
For cheerful music lingers here!

AN ADDRESS TO THE ALMIGHTY.

O THOU, to whose unerring will
All nature reverence yields !
Whose power produced each lofty hill,
And spread these level fields.

Who made to grow those stately trees,
And sweetly scented flowers,
Which long have stood the frequent breeze,
And decked the lovely bowers.

Who formed the depths where billows roll,
And creatures range at ease;
Whose laws the restless waves control,
Yea, rule the mighty seas.

Whose powerful voice those wondrous orbs
On which we gaze-produced;
The thought of these our soul absorbs:
These glories wide diffused!

Whose matchless skill, in man displayed,
In man, surpassing all

.

The nameless works thy hands have made;
Yet man excels them all!
Jehovah has in man combined,
What in his works is great;
Yea, in his never-dying mind,
Raised him to highest state!

Alas! how strangely changed through sin,
A rebel, guilty, lost,

Mortal-in every part unclean,

And by his passions toss'd !
O God! is this once holy man,
Of all below the sun?
Has he defied fair Wisdom's plan,
And all God's works undone ?

How sovereign, boundless was Thy grace,
That gave Thy Son to die,
To die a ransom for our race,
That all might dwell on high !

Take then my heart, thou great Supreme!
Let me be only thine;

And though I pass down life's fleet stream, Be thou for ever mine!

R. TABRAHAM.

HARRIOT'S TOMB: OR STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.

""Tis not for the ravage of winter I mourn,
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save;
But when shall spring visit the mould'ring urn,
Oh! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?"
Beattie.
O cease, gentle muse, through creation to rove,
Nor ramble in fancy's gay bowers;
Though mountains and valleys are worthy thy love,
The streamlets, the woodlands, and flowers:
But the rose and the jessamines need not thy care,
Carnations and woodbines without thee will
bloom,

Sad emblem of mourning, the cypress prepare,
And scatter its leaves on the grave of the fair,
And plant it round Harriot's tomb.

Where slumber, of beauty the vanquish'd remains,
The cypress shall pensively wave;

Sweet maid, from the region where solitude reigns, No skill could thy loveliness save;

Nor beauty, which gracefully play'd in thy face, Could exempt from consumption thy delicate

form;

The lily and rose have deserted their place,
And fled is the coral, and faded each grace,
Like a flow'ret cut off by the storm.

Not so with thy virtues, no blight is their doom,
They shall live when forgotten thy name;
Like the blossoms of Eden, unfading shall bloom,
In richness and verdure the same:

What tongue can describe, or thy fortitude paint ? Never heard from thy lips was a murmuring word!

When wasted by sickness, with languishing faint, The Saviour benignly regarded thy plaint,

And became thy Redeemer and Lord.

To thy spirit, by faith, were expanded the skies
In visions from others conceal'd;
Thy senses were wrapt in angelic surprise,
By a glimpse of that glory reveal'd;
With praises extolling Emanuel's name,

While angels attended to guard thee above, Didst thou not when dying enraptur'd exclaim, "Ye friends of my heart, and ye seraphs, proclaim "Religion's fruition is Love?"

By sympathy forc'd, never more from thy eye
The tear-drop shall silently steal;

Thy sensitive breast shall no more heave a sigh,
Which others' misfortunes could feel:
Thy spirit has vanish'd, no more to return,

Privation and woe are the portion of time;
Affection her tribute shall pay at thy urn,
But thy exit from evil and sorrow to mourn,
Thy shade would regard as a crime.
No longer a subject of hope and of fear,
And pain, which on mortals attend;
The token of kindest remembrance-a tear,
I drop on the tomb of my friend:
The bosom that gives to thy memory a sigh,
Like thee must inhabit the regions of death;
May I with that sentence as meekly comply,
Like thee be enabled the grave to defy,
And as calmly resign my last breath.
Grimsby, August, 1827.

ANN WEBSTER.

MIDNIGHT HYMN. By Hannah More.

WHERE'ER I am, whate'er I see,
Eternal Lord, is full of Thee;
I feel Thee in the gloom of night,
I view Thee in the morning light.

When care distracts my anxious soul,
Thy grace can every thought control;
Thy word can still the troubled heart,
And peace and confidence impart.

If pain invade my broken rest,
Or if corroding griefs molest,
Soon as the Comforter appears,
My sighs are hush'd, and dried my tears.
Thy Wisdom guides, Thy Will directs,
Thy Arm upholds, Thy Power protects;
With Thee when I at dawn converse,
The shadows sink, the clouds disperse;
Then, as the sun illumes the skies,
Oh Sun of righteousness, arise!
Dispel the fogs of mental night,
Being of beings, Light of light!

THE DEPARTURE OF LIFE.

As evening rays that shed a kind farewell,
And bid tumultuous earth a fond adieu,
That whisper peace o'er woods and "rock or fell,"
The only limits of a boundless view;

Is the last breath that animates the clay,
And wings its flight on sad funereal knell,
That quits this world for realms of endless day,
And pants among the angel-choir to dwell,
And sing to harps that bright angelic seraphs play.
The final throb that sets the heart at rest,
Ceasing to vibrate, with a silent dread,
And, tremulous, fluttering o'er the aching breast,
Proclaims the vanished spirit of the dead,
Which seeks its last long bourn, its only home.
The chilly surge of ebbing life confest,
Where the high swelling waves, raising their foam
With utmost pride, sink at their God's behest,
Leave the vast shore, and in the trackless ocean
roam.

The spectre face of death, tinged with a flush
That animates the cold and lifeless cheek,
Confesses pity with a cruel blush,

And bursts the heart with the sad ruthless shriek.
Eden was fair; but view the black reverse,
Forth to their prey the venomed serpents rush,
Exulting in the gloomy grave's last curse,
Writhing their folds the woman's seed to crush,
Brooding o'er nodding sables and a plumy hearse.

A passing meteor lights the faded eye,
Glistens in tears, and softly dies away,
Gazes upon the heavenly star on high,
Then shuts itself to every kindling ray.
Like the pale primrose of a fading wreath,
Breathing its fragrance to an evening sky,
Closing its saffron leaves, shrinking beneath
The furied blast, loving the zephyr's sigh,
But with'ring with the bloody hand of sullen death.
Beaconsfield, Oct. 9, 1826.
J. A. B.

TWO SONNETS.

1.

Written in St. James's Park, on the Evening of the 3d of June, 1826.

"Nature as fresh and fragrant seems
As I have met her in my dreams."
MONTGOMERY.

Ir is the hour of eve; and all the sky
Is lit with glory; but unlike the day's :-
"Tis an effulgence which the sun essays
To throw on vivid clouds of varied dye ;-
When fast receding to his ocean-rest,

He kisses earth, and faintly smiles adieu ;
And, as a lover to the parting view,

More beauteous seems when travell'd to the west.
Now gilds his foliage, where the dark'ning boughs
Shade happy hearts, and eyes of sympathy;
Where whisp'ring tongues, in mutual melody,
Discourse their promptings, and repeat their vows
Ev'n my poor stricken heart forgets her woes;
And for a season revels in repose.

The poet fled

To walk in paths Elysian; where bright song
And never-withering flowers enchant the soul."
HAST thou ne'er heard the Poet's nightingale

Chant her sweet music in the midnight hour,-
Notes of unearthly tone, and magic power,
And in a bright enchantment wrap the vale ?-
When to her nest a loathsome adder crept,

And crush'd in death the bird of Poesy; As ceas'd her meekest moan to dim the eye, And all grew dreary silent where she wept.So the bright bard, denied a fleeting name, Unstrung his harp, and spurn'd his deathless song, Died of deep grief, for undeserved wrong, And left to worthless men his living fame:" Tears were his theme; but grief, that knows no tear, Veil'd his young eyes, and clos'd his brief career! June 5th, 1826. G. Y. H.

SONNET ON FOUNTAIN'S ABBEY.

IN days of monkish grandeur oft this pile,
Resounded with the solemn organ's peal ;-
Oft litanies have died along the aisle ;-
Or at the holy altar monks would kneel:
Proudshattered pile! where now thy grandeur, say?
Now desolation claims thee for her prey!
And when the moon shines on the ruined pile,
The poet, wrapt in ecstacy of thought,
Gazes in raptures on the heavenly smile,

The fairy landscape from the moon has caught.
Oh then his mind reverts to former days,
Ere desolation had despoiled the place;
When the cowled monks chanted the solemn

praise

Of Him who died to save a fallen race. Huddersfield.

S. J.

REVIEW.-The Amulet, or Christian Remembrancer for 1828. pp. 426. Baynes and Son, London.

roses

ALTHOUGH the season is past, which produces and carnations, that which gives birth to some beautiful literary annuals, has but just commenced. Among these, the Amulet is the first that has presented itself to our notice, and we hail it as a lovely flower, decorated with the charms of the muse, the elegancies of diction, and the splendours of the graphic art.

Enclosed in an elegantly coloured case, the Amulet appears in a covering of purple silk; the edges of its leaves are gilt; and, in addition to a number of very curious autographs, and fac-similes of eleven ancient coins, it is embellished with ten superb and highly finished engravings, which are accompanied with the tales or incidents to which they owe their birth. In favour of their design and execution many things highly flattering, yet strictly true, might be advanced; but those who have purchased the preceding volumes, will know how to estimate the value of this, when they are informed, that the Amulet of 1828 will reflect no dishonour on its predecessors.

The articles, both in prose and verse, have been communicated by various authors, among whom are some of the more celebrated of the present day. Its general aspect is that of religious cheerfulness, though sometimes the picture puts on a solemnity of features, that, in their local departments, would seem to give it another character. Yet, even on these occasions, we find, in the interest that is excited, a full compensation for the change that is introduced. We had intended to give a specimen both of its prose and verse, and for that purpose had marked the story of "Amy Vernon," by John Luscombe, which carries us back to the days of Queen Mary; and "The Druids," by N. T. Carrington; but our limits at present preclude their insertion.

As a literary present, we doubt not that the Amulet will, at the approaching Christmas, find its way into the hands of many young gentlemen and ladies. For such a transfer it is admirably adapted, as it will confer an equal honour on the giver and the receiver.

REVIEW.-Private Life of the Persecuted: or Memoirs of the First Years of James Nisbet, one of the Scottish Covenanters, written by Himself. 12mo. pp. 296.

Holdsworth. London. 1827.

THE biography of James Nisbet is preceded by an introduction that fills 44 pages, in

which are detailed the persecutions tnat were carried on against the Scotch covenanters from the restoration of Charles II. until the glorious revolution in 1688. The deeds of atrocity which are here recorded can hardly be exceeded by the dragooning under Lewis XIV. or the infernal cruelties

of the unholy inquisition.

James Nisbet was born in these troublesome times, and had to drink deeply of the cup of affliction through this dreary season of suffering. This memoir records the principal events of his life, his hairbreadth escapes from innumerable perils, the providential interposition of divine power his behalf, and, throughout his varied trials, his strong confidence in God. Of his sincerity and genuine religion, every portion of the biography bears the most decisive evidence, and his zeal was every way fitted for the ordeals he was called to endure.

in

His

In some instances it would appear that it carried him beyond the bounds of prudence, and that his unyielding resolution bordered upon obstinacy. Of this, however, we are not altogether competent to judge. trials were extraordinary, and these demanded a degree of energy and fortitude, which milder times would characterize as intolerant and fanatical:-a Luther's situation required a Luther's spirit.

The language in which this memoir appears, is quaint and obsolete, abounding with phrases and expressions that seem very Those, inharmonious to a modern ear. however, who peruse this narrative, will examine its pages with more exalted views than the peculiarity of language can inspire, and will find something much more interesting to engross their attention. They will lament the inhumanities that accompanied intolerance in former years, and rejoice to reflect that they have their lot in more auspicious days.

REVIEW.-Religious Education, a Series of Observations on the Instruction of the Young, principally with Reference to Sunday Schools. By A. H. Davis. 12mo. pp. 164. Westley and Davis. London.

THIS book has been several months in our hands, but it has rather been overlooked than neglected; and if we estimate its title to attention by its intrinsic value, it had a right to claim a much earlier notice.

The author appears to be intimately acquainted with the subjects on which he has written, and to have founded his remarks on observation and experience, rather than on theory. Information de