...

turmoils of a court, where his claims are little heeded."

"And by my life, thou speakest truth;" replied the wily Mary, in a soothing tone, at the same time tearing the warrant, and scattering the fragments on the floor; "talk not of leaving our court, my Lord, and we will say nothing more of the execution of Amy Vernon for the present: but we would ourselves see this model of perfection; thinkest thou she would visit us at our court, an we were to invite her?" she asked in a sarcastic manner.

"She will, doubtless, as it befitteth her, attend your Majesty's summons," said the Cardinal coldly; and four yeomen of the guard were forthwith despatched to his residence, with an order for the person of Amy Vernon.

The conversation grew less interesting until the arrival of the prisoner; who was instantly admitted to the Queen's presence. Her fetters had been removed at the command of the Cardinal; and when she appeared before Mary, she stood fearlessly, and returned her scrutinizing glance by one of equal firmness. Her late sufferings had somewhat impaired her beauty; but no trace of sorrow or dismay was visible on her pale countenance. She was attired in a dark garb of coarse camlet; and one of the guards, more compassionate than his comrades, had thrown a cloak of scarlet cloth around her, to shield her from the inclemency of the night wind, which formed a strong contrast to the whiteness of her neck and arms; though they were in many parts discoloured by the application of the torture. Even the boldest hearts felt awed at the mild appearance of this young creature, who thus relinquished her brilliant station in the world, for the joys and happiness which were in store for her hereafter. The silence which had succeeded the entrance of Amy, was suddenly broken by a long, loud, and piercing shriek, apparently proceeding from one of the anterooms; it was like that which bursts from the lips of a dying wretch, when all hopes of succour are fled;-or the fearful ejaculation of a raging maniac; and the hearers quailed with alarm, as the sounds rapidly advanced towards the room. A brief but ineffectual struggle was heard at the door of the apartment, and with speed and violence an aged female strode into the room.

She cast a wild and eager glance on those who stood near her; and, unappalled by the presence of royalty, ceased not her search until the form of Amy met her view. "Ha---ha-ha!" she shouted, "I doubted not that I should find thee;"-and she

...

threw her arms around her, and laid her head on Amy's bosom; who pressed her convulsively to her heart, while a few tears rolled down her pallid cheek:—“ I could have borne all my sufferings," she said ;— "but this sight has overcome my firmness. Mother,-mother," she paused abruptly, and sobs of bitter anguish burst from her. “Hush, hush!” replied Lady Vernon, “ I do not own the title of mother; for when I passed the crowd in yon court-yard, they did all point at me, and say I had no daughter. But was it not a hideous vision? I see thee again, my Amy, and hold thee in my arms: thou, why hast thou donned thy silken robe, and put on this coarse one;" she looked earnestly at Amy as she spoke, and then placed both hands on her brow, saying, "I know not what ails this poor heart; it is strange to see no familiar face but thine, my child. Who are they?” she continued, pointing to Mary, and her counsellors. During the frantic harangue of this poor maniac, whose disorder appeared to have been occasioned by the loss of her daughter, the Cardinal had in terror viewed the gathering storm on the countenance of the Queen. Her sallow visage flushed, and grew pale by turns; and her dull grey eyes appeared suffused with blood, thus rendering her face doubly revolting: she clenched her hand amid her hair, and tore many of the ornaments from her head-gear, and dashed them on the ground. But ere her wrath broke forth, Lady Vernon again spoke, "Why dost thou not tell me who they are?" she said, her thoughts still dwelling on the forms before her, and speaking în the tone of one accustomed to command. Your sovereign," replied the Queen in a voice of thunder; "who, methinks, thou mightest have learnt to reverence and fear."

"The Queen! the Queen!" shrieked Lady Vernon; "then it is in vain for me to sue for mercy, for she was never known to grant it yet. I do remember a story, which was told me in my youth, of a shipwrecked mariner, who, when tossed and buffeted by the waves, did ask and implore the wild sea to have pity on him; surely his appeal was not more vain than mine!" and she clung to her daughter as if for protection. Contrary to the expectation of the Cardinal, the Queen seated herself calmly on her throne, and motioning Bonner to her, she spoke for some minutes in a low whisper. He presently quitted the room; and in a short space of time returned again, and placed a roll of parchment beside her, to which she subscribed her name. It was the warrant for the execution of Lady Ver

non and her daughter Amy. This act appeared to have quelled her rage, and a flush of satisfaction appeared visible on her face, which was again composed.

"When I told thee," she exclaimed, turning to Cardinal Pole, "that the execution should be deferred, I did not think to have been insulted in mine own palace: nay, interrupt me not; thy pleading will avail nothing, my Lord; their doom is sealed;" and she cast the parchment on the table with violence, mingled with ill-concealed delight, and soon quitted the assembly.

The mother and the child were publicly executed; and to strike deeper terror into the breasts of those who knew them, their funeral pile was erected in the park of their country seat; and the traveller, should his wanderings lead him to the spot, may still view a moss-covered, rock, which marks the place where the bodies of Amy Vernon and her mother were consumed.

EXCEPT the Lord the new-built house sustain,
The united labour of mankind is vain;
Except the Lord the crowded city keep,
The careful watchmen may retire to sleep.
In vain you rise before the rosy morn
The eastern hills with golden beams adorn ;
In vain you active toil, and late take rest,
Till God your work and residence hath blest.
That power which fills infinitude of space,
Alone can give prosperity and peace;
All we enjoy is from the heavens above,
And all creation proves that God is love:
Nature, profusely good, with bliss o'erflows,
And still is pregnant, tho' she still bestows.
He, while His angels constant vigils keep,
Gives wealth to whom He pleases, while they sleep!
God is thy life-the length of all thy days,
And life's grand business is to sing His praise;
He tunes thy voice to sweet seraphic strains;
The nerve that writes, his secret hand sustains
He bade Hygeia crown thy life with health,
And gave thee power and wisdom to get wealth.-
Obedient children are an heritage
Lent in rich mercy, to support our age.
He gives the treasures of a fertile womb,
And generations hail their years to come!
As mighty men with either hand could throw
The feather'd shaft, to give the fatal blow;
So, for protection, are our active youth
Shielded by wisdom, and the love of truth."

O Lord of life !---of every land and clime,
Thy church shall flourish till the end of time.
A virtuous son, by heavenly wisdom wise,
Shall fill bis father's heart with sacred joys;
No anxious pain corrode his mother's breast,
Her life one aim to make her darling blest :

He breath'd at first unconscious of the power,
Nor knows heaven's wisdom at his latest hour:
For wisdom's blessings shall o'er earth extend,
Blessings that know no bound---that know no end ;
Her inexhausted treasures never cease,
And all her ways are pleasantness and peace.
Celestial wisdom will her sons secure
From every woe that mortals can endure !

Thy quiver, fill'd with sons, O happy sire!
Shall round thy mansion be a wall of fire!
Thy foes accumulated woe shall meet,
And in oblivion sink beneath thy feet;
And, blest like Jacob, shall thy offspring rise
Till earth shall bloom a second Paradise.
Thy sons, like David's, shall thy fame extend,
And ages bless thy name, till time shall end:
Obsequious hands thy sacred dust entomb,
To rise triumphant in a life to come.

No conscious guilt shall tinge their cheek with shame,

Their happy lives build one unsullied fame ;
Their bright philanthropy, and fam'd renown,
The sons of wisdom through the world shall own:
Assembled kings shall hail them at the gate,
While faithful millions well support the state;
Time on his tablet shall their worth record,
And children's children rise to praise the Lord;
Where kings and priests empyreal mansions own,
And glowing seraphs guard Jehovah's throne.

That peerless fair by men shall be ador'd,
Whose heart delights to fear and serve the Lord :
For all of beauty, in his ample round
The sun surveys, in her is richly found.

Thy virtuous daughters shall their charms display,
And add new beauty to the light of day:
Thy home, well order'd by their care and love,

A happy emblem of the heaven above;

Bid earth's dark realms with realms celestial vie,
A lower heaven of sweet connubial joy:

Their heavenly manners, their obliging care,
And all the sacred eloquence of prayer,

That antedate the bliss beyond the sky,

"The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy."

When life recedes, with thy last dying breath, Thy heart-strings breaking by the hand of death, Their gentle hands thy aching eyes shall close, And waft thy soul, by prayer, to heaven's serene repose

Life without end---the spirit's blest abade---
Home of the just---the bosom of our God!
Lancaster, Oct. 9, 1827.
W. HADWEN.

CHILDHOOD'S HOME.

THERE is a spot we ne'er forget,
The earliest flower in mem'ry set-
My heart has never left it yet,

"Tis Childhood's Home.

There the warm sunbeam shines most bright, There Cynthia smiles with soften'd light, And sweetly glow the gems of night:

Round Childhood's Home.

There first I saw the poplar tower-
There first I mark'd the op'ning flower-
The sounds of music first had power,
At Childhood's Home.

Earth has no place so dear to sight-
Tell me, ye seraph-sons of light,
Is ought so like your mansions bright,
As Childhood's Home?

The links that child to parent bind;
And all that's sacred, good, or kind,
Is round my thrilling heart-strings twin'd
With Childhood's Home.

Can I forget those friends that be
For ever sever'd now from me;
Whilst ocean rolls 'twixt them and thee,
Sweet Childhood's Home?

Oh no!-for them the tear still flows,
Their worth, this bosom only knows,
I still have friends-but not like those
Of Childhood's Home.

The present may unheeded flee,
The future melt from memory,
But oh! the past shall fadeless be,

And Childhood's Home.

Long Marton, Westmorland. GEORGE PEARSON.

THE SAILOR-BOY'S FAREWELL IN A

STORM.

THE spirit of the tempest raves,
And Boreas rears aloft the waves;
Tremendous thunders shake the sky,
And blazing lightnings vengeful fly.
Above me all is storm and gloom,
Around me frightful billows foam;
And this poor bark, life's only stay,
Tossing amidst the flying spray,
Reels o'er th' abyss that roars beneath,
Dragging its victims on to death.
Left I for this my happy home?
And shall stern ocean be my tomb?
And must this wildly-dashing surge
Sound the poor sea-boy's funeral dirge?
No more shall I my father see,
Or mother kind, ah! hapless me!
Why left I such a home, to brave
The perils of the treach'rous wave?
Adieu, my friends, a last adieu-
Oh hard's the task to part with you!
The rosy smiles of rising morn
For me will never more return;
And glorious Sol no more shall rise,
Till closed in death these tearful eyes.
And when again he lights the floods,
Glittering between the parting clouds,
His heavenly beam upon the sea
Shall gild the surge that swells o'er me;

Oh Thou, the Lord of earth and wave,
Thine aid this awful hour I crave;
On Thee my trembling soul would lean,-
Support me in this dreadful scene.
The smiles of hope would banish fear,
Could I but think my Saviour near!
These whirling gulfs should dreadless be,
Might I but rise from them to Thee;
Oh, to this heart thy grace extend,
Jesus, in death, be Thou my friend.
While I have breath I'll call on thee-
Jesus, in heaven remember me!
Kirkby Stephen.

TRAVELLER.

THE BABE OF BETHLEHEM, A Fragment.

"O! whither art thou rais'd above the scorn
And indigence of him in Bethlehem born;
A needless, helpless, unaccounted guest,
And but a second to the fodder'd beast?"-Young.
DIDST thou, Aspasio, say it was a stable,
Where the mysterious Babe of Bethlehem smiled?
Why, the poor peasant has a softer bed!
But this was Mercy in its mightiest measure,.
And condescension worthy of a God.
Go ask Philosophy to stoop so low;
Philosophy, though humble in pretence,
Likes not a stable for its Tusculum;
Nor poverty the caterer of its fare.
Come see the Royal Infant, purpled chiefs!
And say, is he allied to regal power?
The veriest beggar, with his tatter'd robe,
Has sure a better resting-place than he,
"Who had not where to lay his sacred head."
Go, Pomp and Pride, and in his cradle look;
This glass may cure your soaring self-esteem,
And teach you where true grandeur may be found.
How mean are all the trappings of the great,
The ribbon-garter-coronet-and star,
Which deck the worm as he were deity;
But here the Deity becomes a worm!
For love to man, he laid aside his crown,
And wrapt his glory in a robe of earth,

As the bright sun, when mantled o'er with clouds.
Come, kings, and pay your tribute at his feet!
This houseless babe is King of highest heaven;
Your thrones are baubles till you worship Him;
His sinile alone can make you kings indeed,
And shed its living radiance round your state
Rich with the treasures of eternity,
He begs a humble hovel for his throne,
And there he keeps his solitary court:
Alas! few pay their court to such a prince;
Yet thrones and seraphs worship at his feet,
And all the glory-crowned saints adore!
The Babe of Bethlehem! O theme divine!
How my whole soul adores thy humble state!
Thy name has made my heart a lyre of love,
And every chord still vibrates with thy praise!
The Babe of Bethlehem, I speak with awe,
Is my creating, my redeeming Lord!
The babe-the mau-the sufferer-yet the God!
In his dear hands my destiny I place,
Without a fear the issue will be well:
"He holds me up ;" He holds the universe,
"Winds in his fist, and waters in his hand,"
And all its systems rolling 'neath his feet!
The Babe of Bethlehem! O rapturous thought!
Has writ his name within my worthless heart,
And wash'd the album in bis precious blood;
"I trust in him, and know in whom I trust,"
For love, that lowly to a manger stoop'd,
Shall raise my spirit to a jasper throne!

Ab! well might eastern kings their presents bring-
Gold, for he came to bring the "Golden Age;"
Myrrh, his pure word is "incorruptible,"
And frankincense, he is the world's High Friest,
Who with his fragrant intercession stands
Before the "Golden Altar" with my prayers.
Kings, touch his sceptre, and your crowns are gold,
That shall not tarnish with the breath of time.
Warriors, dispread your laurels at his feet,
And they shall never fade upon your brows!
Poets, entwine his glory with your bays,
Yea, teach your sweetest minstrelsy his name,
As pensive Cowper, and Montgomery thou!
Let sages learn, all true philosophy

Is but to know him, "the eternal life."
While saints adore, and flaming seraphs praise,
And broken hearts catch mercy from his smile
Him publish, all ye heralds of the cross,
In highest mountains and in lowest vales;
Where the sun flings his light o'er eastern skies,
And the wide Gauges glistens with his beam;
Or where he tinges far Columbia's pines,
Shedding a flood of flame o'er western hills.
Tell Pagan nations his mysterious name,
His birth, life, death, and resurrection's power;
Bid them repent, believe, adore, and love,
And lisp, in death, the Babe of B MARSDEN.

Worcester.

Bethlehem!

IN Libra, lo, the Sun again
His merry countenance displays;
Now, kind Autumnus holds his reign,
And Earth her willing tribute pays.
Fair Ceres and Pomona join,"
Their varied bounties to impart;
And hope, and fear, to joy resign
Their empire in the farmer's heart.
Blithe Plenty, with her well-fill'd horn,
Displays her animating face; ex

A chaplet, wrought of new-reap'd corn,
Does well her lovely temples grace.
How faithful is our God of love!
His promises do never fail ;

His truth revolving seasons prove
Vicissitudes his care reveal.

To Him, th' eternal source of good,

Whose blessings through the year extend, May consecrated gratitude,

From th' altar of our hearts ascend!

A PENNSYLVANIAN TALE,

A NEGRO man, once, taken up on suspicion
Of having stolen property in his possession:

"Massa justice," said he," me not be no knave, Me know me get dem tings from Tom dere, de slave. Me tink too, Tom teal dem; but, massa, what den ? Dey be piccaninny corkscrew,and knife to make pen; And me honestly pay for dem, massa, (no villain) De one cost me sixpence, and tudder a shilling."

"A pretty tale truly!" his worship replies, "You knew they were stolen, but you gave him a price!

I'll teach you'law better than that, sirrah! if
You think the receiver's not bad like the thief:

A whipping severe, you black rascal, shall teach you
What seems in no other way likely to reach you.”

"Yerra well, massa, if de black rascal be whip For buying de tolen doods: white rascal strip, Me hope, and be whip for de same ting, to match him, As Juba be whip for, when me able to tatch him,"

"To be sure," said the magistrate. "Well den,

here be

Tom's massa, hold him, massa tonstable! he Buy Tom for his money, as me buy from tief De piccaninny corkscrew and piccaninny knife: 108.-VOL. IX.

He know poor, Tom tole from his mudder and fadder,

De knife and de corkscrew, me no tink, have neddur;"

Here Juba struck home, and the keen application Saved him, and transferr'd to their conscience the lashing.

But what will the stout compensationist say, I
When both knife and corkscrew were taken away?
And though for his money he pleaded most stoutly,
He'd nothing for his one-and-six-penny outlay.
G.

REVIEW.- Memoirs of the Life of the Rev. David Bogue, D.D. By James Bennet, D.D. 8vo. pp. 445. Westley and Davis. London. 1827.

In our Number for February, 1826, we published in the Imperial Magazine, a portrait of the late Dr. Bogue, accompanied with a brief sketch of his life, but without entering into the details and connexions which form a conspicuous part of the present volume. During a number of years, Mr. Bennet was intimately acquainted with the deceased, and on that account was admirably qualified to become his biographer. This task we think he has accomplished in a manner that is at once creditable to himself, and honourable to his friend.

We must not, however, forget that some little allowances should be made for the partialities of individual attachment, and the influence of congenial sentiments; but after these have been deducted, a sufficiency will remain, to place the character of Dr. Bogue. in an amiable light; and such as were favoured with his friendship, and benefited by his ministry, will be able to bear their testimony, that the pen of the biographer has, in all its general delineations, been uniformly guided by truth.

The volume before us is divided into six chapters. The first comprises Dr. Bogue's early life, until the commencement of his ministry at Gosport. The second embraces the period from his set. tlement at Gosport, to the formation of the seminary for the ministry. The third, from the commencement of the theological seminary, to the formation of the Missionary Society. The fourth, from the formation of the above Society, to the afflictions of his latter days. The fifth records his last afflictions and death. The sixth contains a summary of his character and works.

In these several chapters, the biographer has traced, with considerable ability, the leading characteristics of Dr. Bogue's life; and, in some few instances, has descended to a degree of min which must be less interesting

4 c

eaders, than to the circle of his friends. On some occasions, the narrative is interrupted with observations, to which various Occurrencess give birth, and at other times we are led into digressions, that have only a remote connexion with the subject of the volume. It is, however,

but fair to state, that the digressions are not devoid of interest, and that many of the observations are judiciously made, though it can hardly be denied, that in another soil they would have appeared to a much greater advantage.

In this memoir, Dr. Bennet seems always to have some weapon at hand, for occasions that may occur, even when his fire-arms are not loaded, primed, and ready to be discharged. The decisions of truth and justice, he assumes without hesitation, to be in favour of Calvinism and dissent; and hence he embraces every opportunity to deliver his own opinions, under the disguise of what Dr. Bogue thought, or said, or did, or would or should have said or done; and thence takes occasion to inveigh, with some severity, against those restrictive laws which place dissenters under disabilities.

On the subject of experimental religion, the language of Dr. Bennet is sometimes vague and even equivocal, apparently

approximating to what some of his more fastidious readers would call indifference. In this light they will perhaps view the following passage, which refers to Dr. Bogue's conversion :—

• "The manner in which he rose to a settled assurance of his interest in Christ, was such as is common in early conversions,-by means of a religious education; and is described by the words of the prophet,--." Then shall we know, if we follow on to know the Lord; his going forth is prepared as the morning." That most inestimable treasure, a solid satisfaction that the soul is regenerated and justified, was, with him, the result, not of a sudden influence on the mind, but of a long conflict with sin in the world. Eminent consecration to God gave him his final certainty, that he was born of God."" pp. 391.

Having thus reduced the doctrine of "a settled assurance," to a mere matter of inference, from "a religious education,' and an "eminent consecration to God," even the inference itself, and the ground on which it rests, are in a subsequent page presented to our view under a suspicious aspect, by the worthy divine to whose experience they are ascribed. Dr. Bogue being called on to preach at Ringwood, Hants, in July, 1788, takes an occasion we are told, in this discourse to observe as follows:

"The subject allotted to me, is to shew the unspeakable importance of having just views of Christianity, in opposition to heresy. Persons

holding very different sentiments, profess to be the disciples of Christ, and some say, 'It is of no consequence what we believe, if our life be good."" pp. 423.

This latter system being condemned, the distinguishing marks of right sentiments are thus pointed out.

"

They represent God as clothed with every perfection, and doing all things in an entire consistency therewith; man as in a fallen and deplorable state; Jesus Christ as endued with snpreme dignity, power, and love; the Holy Spirit as the author of all that is holy and good in our hearts; religion as commencing with deep conviction of sin, at length inspiring peace and joy, habitual dependence on God, and zeal for the salvation of others." pp. 424.

In this latter passage "peace and joy" are said to be "inspired," and so far assurance loses its inferential character. Yet on combining these quotations together, we can scarcely avoid suspecting that "right sentiments,"

"Like Aaron's serpent, swallow all the rest ?" and then, amidst the strange diversities of character which they assume, when coming from the crucibles of sect and party, we feel half tempted to ask"And who but heaven can tell us what they are;"

That Dr. Bogue was a divine of conconsiderable eminence in the Christian church, all will bear witness who had the advantage of sitting under his ministry; and those who were favoured with his more intimate acquaintance, will recollect with pleasure, that his personal piety was of a sterling character. His official situation demanded a more than common portion of active energy, but the powers of his mind, and his unremitting diligence, were equal to the arduous task. These were of themselves sufficient to furnish constant employment to ordinary capacities; but amidst these various occupations, he contrived to find time for several literary productions, which, by their number and importance, now raise a durable, if not a lofty, monument to his memory.

distinguishing features of his public and Of these publications, as well as of the private character, Dr. Bennet has taken distinct notice, in the last chapter of the work before us; and so far as we are he has administered justice with an imcompetent to form an accurate judgment, partial hand. That he should expatiate on the excellencies of his deceased friend,

is no more than every reader acquainted with their long intimacy might very naturally expect; but the following passage on studying in unseasonable hours, will shew that he was not ignorant of his friend's defects, and that he has not passed them over in silence.