might admit of a doubtful interpretation. In this he satisfied neither party: not the king, who wished to have a sharp and stinging invective; nor the fathers, who looked on it as a capital offence, to have any thing said of them but what was honourable. Upon receiving a second command, to write more pungently against them, he began that production which bears the title of "The Franciscan," and gave it to the king. But shortly after, being made acquainted by his friends at court, that cardinal Beaton sought his life, and had offered the king a sum of money as a price for his head, he fled to England. But here things were in such a state of uncertainty, that on the very same day, and almost in one and the same fire, the men of both parties (as well Protestants as Papists) were burnt; Henry VIII. in his old age, being more intent on his own security, than the purity or reformation of religion. This instability of affairs in England, seconded by his ancient acquaintance with the French, and the courtesy natural to them, drew him again into that kingdom.

On coming to Paris, he found cardinal Beaton, his bitter enemy, ambassador there; to withdraw himself from whose fury, at the invitation of Andrew Govea, he went to Bourdeaux. There he taught three years in the schools which were erected at the public expense. During that time he composed four tragedies, which were afterwards occasionally published: but the one written first, called the Baptist, was printed last, and next the Medea from Euripides. He wrote them in compliance with the custom of the school, to have a play once a year, that the acting of it might wean the French youth from allegories, to which they had taken a false taste, and bring them back as much as possible to a just imitation of the ancients. This affair succeeding, even almost beyond his hope, he took more pains in compiling the other two tragedies, called Jephthe and Alcestes; because he thought they would be more severely criticized by the learned. While thus engaged, he was not wholly free from trouble, being harassed between the menaces of the cardinal on the one side, and of the Franciscans on the other. The former wrote letters to the archbishop of Bourdeaux, to apprehend him; but, providentially, those epistles fell into the hands of Buchanan's best friends; and soon after, the death of the king of Scots, and the plague which then raged over all Aquitaine, dispelled that fear.

In the mean time, an express came to Govea from the king of Portugal, commanding him to return, and bring with

him some men, learned in the Greek and Latin tongues; that they might teach the liberal arts, and especially the principles of the Aristotelian philosophy, in those schools which he was then building with great care and expense. Buchanan, on being applied to, readily consented to go for one; the rather because, seeing that all the rest of Europe was either actually engaged in war, or upon the point of being so, he thought that corner of the world would probably be the most free from tumults and combustions: besides which, he would have for his companions in the journey, not strangers, but acquaintance and familiar friends. Many of them had been his intimates for several years, and are well known to the world by their learned works, as Nicholas Grouchy, William Garent, James Tevius, and Elias Vinet. This was the reason that he not only consented to make one of their society, but also persuaded his brother Patrick to do the same. And indeed the matter succeeded very well at first, but in the midst of the concern, Andrew Govea was taken away from them by a sudden death, which proved very prejudicial to his companions. For, after his decease, their enemies, who had endeavoured to ensnare them by treachery, ran violently upon them as it were with open mouth; and their agents and instruments being equally inimical to the accused, they laid hold of three of them, and put them in prison; whence, after a long and loathsome confinement, they were called out to give their answers; and, after many bitter taunts, were remanded; but no one appeared in court against them.

As for Buchanan, they insulted him bitterly on account of his being a stranger; and knowing also that he had very few friends in that country, who would either rejoice in his prosperity, sympathize with his grief, or revenge his wrongs. The crime laid to his charge, was the poem he wrote against the Franciscans; of which he had himself, before he went from France, taken care to give an account to the king of Portugal: neither did his accusers perfectly know what it was; as the only copy ever delivered was to the king of Scots, by whose command it was written. They farther objected his eating of flesh in Lent; though there is not a man in all Spain, who does not use the same liberty. But the worst was, he had given some sly blows to the monks, against which, however, nobody but a monk himself could well except.

Moreover, they were grievously offended, because in a familiar discourse with some

young Portuguese gentlemen, upon mention made of the eucharist, he had said that, in his judgment, Austin was more inclinable to the Lutheran party than to the church of Rome. Some years afterwards, it appeared that two other persons, John Tolpin, a Norman, and John Ferrerius, a Genoese, had witnessed against him, their having heard, from many who were worthy of belief, that Buchanan was not orthodox as to the Roman faith and religion.

But to return: After the inquisitors had wearied themselves and him for almost half a year, at last, that they might not seem without cause to have vexed a man of some name and note in the world, they shut him up in a monastery for some months, there to be more exactly disciplined and instructed by the monks, who, to give them their due, though very ignorant in all matters of religion, were men otherwise neither bad in their morals, nor rude in their behaviour.

During this confinement he translated the principal of David's psalms into Latin verse. At length he was set at liberty; and, on applying for a pass, and accommodations from the crown, to return into France, the king desired him to stay, at the same time allotting him a little sum for daily necessaries and expenses, till some better provision might be made for his subsistence. But being tired out with delay and uncertainty, he embraced the opportunity of taking his passage in a ship then at Lisbon, and bound for England. He made, however, no long stay in this country, though fair offers were made him; for he saw that all things were in disorder, under a very young king; the nobles at variance one with another, and the minds of the commons in a ferment, on account of their civil combustions. Upon this he returned into France, and as this was about the time when the siege of Metz was raised, he was importuned by his friends to write a poem concerning that event. He complied, though somewhat unwillingly, because he was loath to interfere with several of his acquaintance, and especially with Melin de Saint Gelais, who had composed a learned and elegant poem on that subject. From thence he was called over into Italy, by Charles de Cosse, marshal de Brissac, who then governed with credit the Gallician and Ligurian territories about the Po. He lived with him and his son Timoleon, either in Italy or France, till 1560, being the space of five years; the greatest part of which period he spent in the study of the holy scriptures, that he might be able to form a more exact judgment of the controversies in religion, which employed the thoughts, and took up the time, of most men in those days.

As the preceding parts of the narrative, said to have been written by Buchanan, terminate in this place, the following particulars have been derived from other sources of information.

These disputes having somewhat subsided in his native country, in 1561 our author returned to Scotland, where he became a member of the reformed church. But although an avowed Protestant, he was admitted at court, where he assisted the unfortunate Mary in her studies. The parliament also appointed him one of the visitors of the universities; and the General Assembly employed him to revise the "Book of Discipline." In 1564 the queen settled upon him a pension of five hundred pounds, Scotch; which favour he repaid, by writing a libel entitled "Detectio Mariæ Reginæ.” About the year 1566 he was made the principal of St. Leonard's College, at St. Andrew's, where for some time he taught moral philosophy; but in 1567 he was chosen moderator to the General Assembly of the church of Scotland. He was now closely connected with his former pupil, the earl of Murray, whom he accompanied to England; and while there, he gained the particular favour of queen Elizabeth, by writing some encomiastic verses on her majesty, for which she rewarded him with several presents, and a regular pension of one hundred pounds sterling a year.

In 1570 Buchanan sustained a great loss by the assassination of his patron Murray : notwithstanding which, he still continued to be employed at court, and was actually appointed one of the members of the privy council, with the title of privy seal. He was also entrusted with the education of the young king, towards whom he never shewed much respect or lenity. One day, the little monarch being rather noisy at play, was told to be quiet. The youth, however, disregarded the injunction, and continued his sport, on which the tutor said, that if he did not cease he should have a good whipping. The royal pupil briskly replied, he should be glad to see who would bell the cat; alluding to the well-known fable of Esop. Buchanan upon this threw away his book in a passion, and, snatching up the boy, gave him a severe flagellation. The countess of Mar, who was in an adjoining room, hearing the king cry, ran in, and inquired what was the matter. He told her that the master had whipped him; upon which, turning to Buchanan, she asked him how he dared to lift his hand against the Lord's anointed? He sternly answered, "Madam, I have whipped him, and you may kiss the part if you please."

In 1579, Buchanan published his famous political dialogue, "De Jure Regni apud Scotos," which he dedicated to king James. This performance was followed in 1582 by his great work entitulated "Rerum Scoticarum Historia;" of which a new edition in English, with considerable corrections and additions by John Watkins, LL. D. has lately been published by Fisher, Son, & Co. of London. Of this work archbishop Spotiswood has observed, that "though the production of his old age, it was written with such judgment and eloquence, that no country can shew a better." The celebrated Thuanus also remarks, that "although, according to the genius of his nation he sometimes inveighs against crowned heads with severity, yet this work is written with so much purity, spirit, and judgment, that it does not appear to be the production of a man who had passed all his days in the dust of a school, but of one who had been all his lifetime conversant in the most important affairs of state."

Buchanan, who had spent the last twelve or thirteen years of his life upon this History, just saw its appearance from the press, and died at Edinburgh September the 28th, the same year. It is said that when upon his death-bed he was told how much the king was offended with his two publications on the Government and History of Scotland, he coolly replied, "that he was not much concerned about it, as he was shortly going to a place where there were few kings." We are also told, that when he was dying he called for his servant, and asked him how much money there was in the house; and finding that it was very little, he ordered it to be given to the poor. The domestic, upon this, asked, "Who would be at the charge of burying him?" Buchanan replied, "that he was indifferent about that; for if he were dead, and they would not bury him, they might let him lie where he was, or throw his corpse where they pleased." He was accordingly buried at the expense of the city of Edinburgh; but in the common cemetery, without either pomp or monument. In this state, neglected by his ungrateful country, the ashes of this truly great man remained without even a stone to distinguish his grave, until the year 1788, when an obelisk, one hundred feet high, was erected by subscription at Killearn, the place of his nativity, in honour of his memory. This was designed by Mr. J. Craig, nephew to the celebrated poet Thomson.

During the residence of our author at Bourdeaux, he was employed in the education of Michael Montaigne, who, in his

Essays, says, "George Buchanan, the great poet of Scotland, and Marcus Anonius Muretus, the best orator of his time, were among the number of my domestic tutors. Buchanan, when I saw him afterwards in the retinue of the Marechal de Brissac, told me that he was about to write a treatise on the education of children, and that he would take the model of it from mine."

The countenance of Buchanan, though strongly expressive, was austere; and his manners corresponded with his appearance. In regard to his person, he was slovenly to an extreme; and he seems to have affected a philosophical contempt of dress. With regard to his natural temper, there can be little doubt that it was harsh and unamiable in a high degree, and as a party man he was little inclined to indulge scruples. The persecution of priests, the turbulence of the times, and the pressure of misfortunes, all combined to augment the natural fretfulness of his disposition, and to give a keener edge to its asperity. However, in his conduct he frequently exhibited a noble independence, and, with respect to the public principles which he adopted, there is no reason to suspect, in his avowal of them, any want of integrity.

Sir James Melvill, who was of the opposite party to him, and therefore cannot be supposed to be partial in his favour, tells us, that Buchanan "was a Stoic philosopher, who looked not far before him; a man of notable endowments for his learning and knowledge in Latin poesy, much honoured in other countries, pleasant in conversation, rehearsing, at all occasions, moralities, short and instructive, whereof he had abundance, and inventing where he wanted. He was also religious, but was easily abused; and so facile, that he was led by every company that he haunted; which made him factious in his old days, for he spoke and wrote as those who were about him informed him; for he was become careless, following, in many things, the vulgar opinion; as he was naturally popular, and extremely revengeful against any man who had offended him; which was his greatest fault."

"His poetical character," says a very competent judge, "stands extremely high; yet his merit does not so much consist in sublimity or lofty flights of the imagination, as in splendour of diction, and harmony and variety of versification. He wrote in almost every species of composition. His psalms are in almost all kinds of measure, and some of them exquisitely beautiful. In tragedy he is charged with want of elevation, and with familiarity of style approaching to the comic. His didactic poem

"On the Sphere,' is elegant, but unequal. | His odes, epigrams, satires, eulogies, and miscellaneous pieces, possess merit of various kinds, not without many defects. They shew, however, extreme facility in the use of language, and an inexhaustible vein of poetical expression."

"As a poet," says Mr. James Crawford, "he imitated Virgil in heroics, Ovid in elegiacs, Lucretius in philosophy, Seneca in tragedies, Martial in epigrams, and Juvenal in satires. As an historian, he is said to have combined the brevity of Sallust with the elegance and perspicuity of Livy."

Of this celebrated author, Bayle in his historical and critical Dictionary has taken particular notice, animadverting in no very lenient terms on those papal writers by whom his character and writings have been shamefully traduced. "Some of his books," saysBayle, "have rendered him so odious to the Roman Catholics, that to this the horrible slanders published by them against him, may justly be imputed. He has been defamed as the most profane and impious drunkard that ever lived, as a traitor, a conspirator, a slave of impurity and satire, and a falsifier of history." These reproaches, and many others equally virulent and equally false, Bayle has justly exposed to the contempt and execration they deserve. The learned John Le Clerc has also very ably shewn, that "there is much reason to conclude, that many of the severe censures which have been thrown out against Buchanan, were the result of ignorance, of prejudice, and of party animosity." But we have neither time nor inclination to follow either of the above authors through all the particulars either of accusation or defence.

Of this extraordinary man, Dr. Robertson in his history of Scotland observes as follows:-"The happy genius of Buchanan, equally formed to excel in prose and in verse, more various, more original, and more elegant than that of almost any other modern who writes in Latin; reflects, with regard to this particular, the greatest lustre on his country."

Of his various works many editions have separately appeared. A complete collection of them was published at Edinburgh, in 1714, in two volumes folio. This was reprinted at Leyden, in 1725, in two quarto volumes.

In his day, the name of Buchanan was well known throughout the literary world, and although nearly three hundred years have elapsed since the period in which he flourished, his writings are still held in high estimation, by all who feel an interest in the transactions of departed years. The

In our preceding article we have endeavoured to shew, that the morality of the gospel is most reasonable in itself---most worthy of the character of the Divine Being-most perfective of human nature-and most conducive to human happiness; and that these circumstances constitute strong collateral evidence of the Divine origin of Christianity. We shall devote the subsequent observations, to prove that the effects produced wherever the gospel has been cordially embraced, are of the most extraordinary and beneficial kind, and such as no other system of morality, which has ever been proposed to the world, has been accompanied with.

In adverting, then, to the surprising and salutary effects produced by Christianity, it may be necessary to premise, that we make a marked distinction between those who are Christians merely in name, and those who are so in reality. The precepts of Christianity, and the example exhibited by its first disciples, have exerted no more influence on the minds of multitudes who profess the name of Jesus, than if the intelligence had never been announced in their hearing, that such a personage had appeared in our world. The same reasons which have led them to avow themselves the disciples of Christ would have induced them, in the event of their having been born and educated in Hindostan, to have professed the religion of that country. are to estimate the effects Christianity produces on mankind, not by the conduct of those who give a bare nominal assent to the truth of its doctrines, but by the conduct of those whose unremitting attention to the duties it enjoins, evinces that they hav

We

embraced it with the utmost earnestness of mind.

The doctrines of the Christian religion, produced, in the minds of its first recipients, love to the Supreme Being. Their strong affection to the Deity was conspicuously evinced through every step of their journey through life, subsequent to their reception of of the Christian scheme. It was this principle of love to the Divine Being, that prompted them to endure the greatest pri- | vations-submit to the most extreme fatigues-expose themselves to the utmost hazards by sea and land-and encounter the most severe and appalling persecution. Amid the diversified circumstances, which had a natural tendency to damp the ardour of their affection to Jehovah, their love, instead of experiencing any diminution, greatly increased.

So supremely were the affections of the first Christians fixed on the Divine Being, that they seemed totally indifferent to almost every earthly object. Perhaps there is no better test by which to estimate an individual's love to the Deity, than that of the obedience he yields to his revealed will. "If ye love me, keep my commandments," was the criterion which the Second Person of the Trinity laid down, as the rule by which to estimate the measure of love with which his creatures regarded him. Now, if we apply this exceedingly simple rule to the primitive disciples of Jesus, we shall readily perceive, that their affection to God was of the most intense description. Their uniform conduct evinced, that it was their meat and drink to do his will on earth, as the angels do it in heaven.

Reverence, or fear of God, was likewise a visible trait in the character of the primitive disciples of Jesus. In the New Testament we are presented with innumerable passages illustrative of their habitually cherishing this reverential disposition. It is unnecessary, however, to specify any of these, as every individual who possesses the least acquaintance with the recorded history of the first Christians, must be able to recall to his mind a multiplicity of instances directly bearing on the subject.

Confidence in God, was another disposition of mind cherished by the primitive followers of Jesus. Amid all the dangers to which they were exposed, and the necessitous circumstances in which they were situated, they still reposed unshaken confidence in the Divine Being. Their minds were impressed with an unalterable conviction, that he would do for them, and do to them, above all they were able either to ask or desire. "My God," says the

apostle, addressing himself to one of the primitive Christian churches, "My God shall supply all your wants, according to the riches of his grace." A striking illustration of the confidence he reposed in the Deity, regarding the spiritual part of his nature, is furnished us in his epistle to Timothy ii. 12. "I know," he triumphantly exclaims, "whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against the great day." The experience and disposition of the other early disciples of Jesus, were precisely the same in this respect.

The earlier disciples of Jesus were distinguished for their humility of mind. There is not one single circumstance in their history indicative of their possessing a haughty spirit. Through every step of their pilgri mage through life, they evinced the deepest humility. It was a maxim with them; individually, to esteem every one better than himself.

The duty of temperance was uniformly practised by the primitive followers of Jesus. Among the multiplied accusations which were brought against them by their enemies, there is no instance of their being charged with abusing the bounties of Providence. Agreeably to the precept and example of their Divine Master, they used the common mercies of Heaven, so far as they were possessed of them, without abusing them.

Contentment with their circumstances in life, was another duty invariably practised by the earlier disciples of Christ. If there were ever a company of men in the world, in whose minds we might have expected a discontented disposition to exist,that company would have been the primitive followers of Jesus. Frequently destitute even of the common necessaries of life-compelled to wander about in desert places, clothed in the skins of sheep and goats-exposed to the inclemencies of the weather, and to the greatest personal dan gers in whatever direction they travelled— and subjected to the hottest persecution, it would have excited no surprise, although they had occasionally given way to the workings of a discontented mind. no; we hear not one single murmuring expression escape their lips. The great apostle of the Gentiles, though more abundant in labours, and more frequently exposed to perils and privations, than any of his Christian brethren, assures us, that in whatever state he was, he had learned therewith to be content.--Had this sentiment, expressed under similar circumstances, been uttered by any of the ancient philosophers

But,