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REVIEW.-WESLEYAN PREACHER--METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS. 145

depicted with a degree of simple vigour, which no one can peruse without admiration.

Although this lady does not exonerate the idle and profligate from the censure which they merit, she finds the paralyzing power in a higher source, to which degradation, pauperism, and crime, are in debted for a considerable portion of their existence. On these topics, her reasonings are strong and luminous. Nothing is expressed in language of doubtful import, nothing is artfully involved in obscurity.

These tales will be read, we expect, with avidity, by an extensive class of the community, on whom their influence will be proportionably great. In a national point of view, these "Illustrations of Political Economy" are of no mean importance, we are, therefore, not surprised that this work should have attracted the attention, and awakened the solicitude, of men in power. Taken in the aggregate, this is perhaps one of the most influential publications that has appeared for many years.

may

In its local delineation, this volume be said to differ from all the preceding, but in every other respect the character and tendency are strictly uniform. It is divided into nine chapters, which bear the following

titles.-1. Home in a Paradise. 2. Homes

on the Waste. 3. Going in Search of

Home. 4. New Homes. 5. The Castles

(a family) at Home. 6. Law and Justice. 7. Christmas Amusements. 8. The More the Better Cheer. 9. True Citizenship. No person can read these chapters without admiring the great versatility of the writer's talents, and congratulating her on the judicious manner in which they have been employed.

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THE title of this work sufficiently develops its character. To facts and sober truth, the authors bid adieu, and indulge themselves in the wild rhodomontade of ghosts, omens, prodigies, and monstrosities, that never existed but in their own imaginations. We are not aware of any advantage, beyond what is pecuniary, to be derived from this series; and of this, but a small portion will fall to the share of the reader. In the mean while he will be conducted on clouds and broomsticks, through trackless regions, in which witches wander, and perhaps acquire a disrelish for the sober and moderate 2D. SERIES, NO. 27.-VOL. III.

realities of life, and even a disqualification to discharge the duties of his station, upon which the welfare of himself and family depends. To the thoughtless, the frivolous, and the gay, who seek mental gratification without inquiring into its character, or asking from what source it has been derived, this series will prove a valuable acquisition, and, unless we are greatly deceived in our estimate of human nature, the publishers may calculate upon an extensive sale.

REVIEW.-The Wesleyan Preacher; containing Sermons by the most Eminent Ministers in the Connexion. Vol. II. 8vo. pp. 448. Northcroft. London.

1832.

doubt that it records with fidelity the naTHIS is a neat volume, and we have little

ture and character of those discourses which are associated with the names of their re

spective ministers. In several instances we know this to be the case, and have little reason to indulge suspicions in others where the evidence assumes a less tangible form. By this mode of procedure, many a valuable discourse is preserved from oblivion; yet it cannot be denied, on the other hand, and taking down discourses on momentous that short-hand writers attending chapels, subjects, which the minister himself intended to publish, and thus forestalling the author, is a species of plagiarism which will scarcely bear a rigorous investigation.

of sermons being seized and published by Such are the benefits, and such the evils, short-hand writers. The only fair and equithe consent of the preacher be obtained table remedy that we can suggest is, that prior to the publication of any discourse. This, however, never can be reduced to practice, while pecuniary interest holds the dominion over type and eloquence.

This volume is ornamented with a portrait of the late Dr. Adam Clarke; which will be instantly recognized by all his friends, and many will esteem it an important acquisition. The volume has an imposing aspect, and promises to make a respectable appearance on the shelves of any religious library.

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and the prevailing wind east. The direction of the wind has been easterly 94 days; north-easterly 83; south-westerly 6; south-easterly 3; northerly 2; southerly; north-westerly; and westerly .

Rain has fallen on 12 days, and 2 have been accompanied with wind: hoar frost has been observed on 12 mornings, and icy efflorescences on 10; a little snow fell on the morning of the 28th, and also on the afternoon of the 31st. From the 4th to the 12th, inclusive, the weather was fine and frosty, and no rain fell, the wind being principally from the east and north-east; from the 13th to the 20th, also inclusive, the weather was warmer, and generally accompanied with rain, the wind being principally from the north-east; and from the 21st to the 25th it was very fine and frosty, the wind being generally from the east: the latter part of the month was wet.

The mean temperature of January, from the observations of 1831, 1832, and 1333, is 35.88 degrees. The maximum of 48 degrees was observed on the 10th, in 1832; and the minimum of 24 degrees occurred on the 23d, in 1833: the range of the thermometer is, consequently, 24 degrees. The prevailing winds are east and south-west; and the direction of the wind, during the three Januarys, collectively, has been easterly 18 days; southwesterly 18; north-easterly 15; northerly 10; westerly 91; south-easterly 8; northwesterly 6; and southerly 6.

ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN.

IN the contemplation of death, there is something at once gloomy and interesting, especially when considered in respect to young children; it is gloomy indeed to see the little germinating mind "nipped timeless in the bud;" the flowing streams of animated spirits checked suddenly in their buoyant course. But then, how pleasing the remembrance, that the infant soul, no longer a tenant of this polluted world, is far beyond the reach of all its crafty subtleties. Dangers before were thronging it on every side, waiting but the development of latent faculties to cease, and then to crush them. Temptations, even at this early age, were beginning to pour in their machinations; but these now, however potent, Oh! happy soul, have lost their potency: death strikes a withering, conquering blow; but the conquered wears the crown.

I have often been struck with the unwarrantable grief which some parents give way to on the death of their children, when, all things taken into consideration, I think

it should rather be a circumstance of thanksgiving than of sorrow, that the child, whilst young, and incapable of exercising its own reason, should be cut off; for who can look into futurity, and draw aside the curtain that veils all our coming actions? The father's hope may at once he ruined, by the villanies of the gamester and harlot. The mother's darling crushed in the opening bud, by the accursed deep-plotted schemes of the seducer; bringing down sorrow and anguish on those who, had they died whilst young, might now have been happy in the hopes of meeting their offspring in the abode of heavenly happiness; and not agonized with the thoughts of the burning hell, which awaits them as a punishment for their crimes.

The following brief sketches of real life, which have recently come under my notice, will perhaps illustrate, in a striking manner, the dangers which children, if they live, may have to wade through, but which, should they die, they avoid :

Towards the close of last November, I was called upon by an aged man, and requested to visit his daughter, whom he represented as dying. I accompanied him immediately, and, during the course of a few questions put and answered, on our way, was forcibly struck with his manner and mode of conversing, which led me to imagine, that he was a person who had seen better days, but was now labouring under distressed circumstances. After about ten minutes' walk, the old man stopped, and opening a door, said, "This is where my daughter is." I entered a low hovel; it was not dirty, but was poor; the walls were cleanly white-washed, but as for furniture there was none, excepting a three-legged stool, and an old broken deal table. I requested to see my patient-"This way, Sir, if you please," and, ascending up stairs, I entered another room, not less clean than the lower, but equally miserably furnished. Indeed, in this was no furniture at all to be seen, if we except a bed of straw, two wretched substitutes for blankets, with a bottle and half a cocoa-nut shell, which were standing on the floor. Stretched on this wretched pallet lay a young woman, apparently twenty-five years of age, with an infant about seven months old. The young woman, on my entering, sat upright on her bed, and, with a frantic look of terror, exclaimed (mistaking me for some one else) "Avenging heaven! can it be possible -am I really already in hell?—well, I knew I should see you there"-then she uttered a piercing shriek, and, turning round to her babe, said, raising it at the

"Villain,

same time in her bony arms, look at your child;"-" never mind" (sinking down exhausted on her pillow of shavings) "do you like gin?-since we are met once more, we may as well be friends--here take a drop"-and holding up the cocoa-nut shell, she poured from the bottle a quantity of gin, and offered it me. I turned round to the father, disgusted, and asked, "how is this,-you appear to be a man of sense; at least, your gray locks seem to warrant the assumption, how can you allow your daughter, who is evidently dying, to be diminishing her short moments by drinking poison?"

The old man (I shall never forget his look) first for a moment looked up in my face-but his eyes did not water-then sunk his head upon his chest, and, uttering a deep sigh, or rather groan, stood motionless with his eyes riveted on the floor. I saw I had struck upon some tender point, pierced some aching nerve, and therefore turned round to inquire more particularly into the state of my wretched patient, who I found muttering to herself something about never having refused gin before, at the same time emptying the full shell with one copious draught. Her case, alas! indeed, was hopeless; the ferrety eye; flushed cheek; delirium, though heightened by drinking; and rising pulse,-all pointed out too well the nature of her disease, and impossibility of her living many hours longer to ask her questions would have been absurd; for (continuing to mistake me) she raved incessantly the whole time I stood near her. It was therefore highly necessary that I should leave the room immediately, which I did.

When down stairs, I told the father of the utter hopelessness of his daughter's case, but, anxious as I was, refrained from asking any particulars, as I had before an evidence of the pain they cost him; I promised, however, though I knew it would be of no avail, to send a bottle of medicine of the same kind and size as the one the unhappy wretch was constantly sipping her gin from, which he was to substitute for it, hoping that in her frenzied state she would perhaps not notice the taste, but drink it instead of the other poisonous drug. I promised the father I would call again in the morning, but felt fully per. suaded that she would never survive that night.

My feelings were so affected by the scene I had just witnessed, that I determined, on my way home, to endeavour to dissipate my gloom, by calling on a friend whose house I should have to pass. I did

so, and, if any thing were likely to dispel my uneasy sensations, surely mixing in such a family circle, where nought but joy and happiness were visible, would produce the desired effect.

Entering the parlour, my little pet, Georgie, ran to me, with his usual salutation, "How do you do, old ?" the happy mother was engaged with her interesting charge, a lovely babe; while the father was reading some instructive book aloud to his wife; to complete the scene, a lovely daughter, about five years of age, was clambering up her papa's knee, teasing for a kiss, which, as soon as granted, was followed by a request of a repetition. This was, indeed, a happy family, and I felt it so much the more, having just left the abode of misery above described. After some kind inquiries and familiar conversation, I noticed the case I had just been called to, and the delightfully contrasting one I was now witnessing. Mrs. was much interested in the fate of the poor sufferer, and anxious to send some little things, which she thought might be of service to her; however, from the state of the father's mind, I thought it prudent not to interfere with his feelings, at least that evening, particularly as I knew that nothing would do the daughter any good, and that the father was not in want of a meal, as I had observed, standing on the stool in the lower room, a basin of broth. An expression of Mrs.

I have frequently thought of since the occurrences which rapidly followed, though, at the time, it certainly was nothing to occasion any surprise, and, no doubt, would have been the language of all affectionate parents; it was, "That, much as she loved her three children, and had she a dozen more loved equally as well, she would rather see them all die suddenly before her eyes, or even die most agonizing deaths, than that one of them should end its mortal career as the miserable case I had just related to her."

The following morning, as may well be supposed, my first place of calling was at the unhappy patient's I had visited the evening before. As I stopped at the door, the shutters, I perceived, were closed, confirming my prognostications of the previous night: somewhat surprised, on repeatedly knocking, to receive no answer whatever from within, I raised the latch, and, finding the door open, walked in. The lower room was just in the same condition as when I last saw it; the basin of soup, even, was not removed from the stool, nor did it appear as though its contents had been touched: up stairs I hastened; the door was

closed-all was silent. One moment I paused, hesitating whether to retire or no : however, receiving no answer, I entered— great God! can I describe the scene-my very blood runs cold at the bare remembrance; words are perfectly inadequate to picture it in its true colours. At the foot of the bed, sunk on his knees, with the gray locks straggling over his blanched cheeks, was the aged parent; his hands were clasped, as in the attitude of prayer, but his rivetted eye on the corpse of his daugh. ter, half-open mouth, and motionless appearance, shewed clearly that, though he might have been engaged in devotion, his mind, at any rate, was not now so occupied. The daughter was a corpse: by her side lay the little infant, gasping convulsively for breath; it, too, was dying; I gently raised it, hoping to render some little assistance; alas! gentle as the motion was, it was more than the exhausted state of the poor sufferer could bear-in my arms it breathed its last- it was dead. Leaning over the mother, to replace the child in bed, I for the first time distinctly saw her features; they were, indeed, the traces of beauty; the jet-black eyes, for so recent was her death that they were not yet dimmed, the raven locks, with perfect symmetry of countenance, however disfigured by the ravages of sin and disease, still shone through the wretched garb, and displayed the lineaments of once possessed beauty. The unhappy father, all this time, heeded me not; there he knelt, motionless as a statue: I endeavoured to arouse him, by hollowing in his ear, and shaking him, but all to no purpose; nor was it till after I had forced a large quantity of ammonia down his throat, that he at all recovered his senses. Gradually, however, he did recover; but I must draw a veil over the sequel. It would be sacrilege to attempt describing the poor man's feelings; suffice it to say, after rendering all the assistance, and giving all the advice I could, I left him, promising that he would call upon me in the course of a few evenings.

Four days afterwards, a funeral passed my door; it was followed by one solitary mourner, and, through the solemn garb of funeral attire, I discovered the features of my aged and wretched patient. That evening the mourner called upon me, and from him I obtained the following sketch of a life, once happy, but now miserable.

Seating himself in a chair in my study, the old man commenced. "According to promise, sir, I come to thank you for your kindness and humanity; yet, ungrateful as it may appear, I have yet one more tax to

make upon your feelings. My heart within me is as a burning hell: not a friend have I in this vast city-no, not even in the world; and, until I saw you, I thought brutality had usurped the throne of humanity. You, doubtless, must have been struck with the circumstances you have recently witnessed through me, and I think it will afford some relief to this bursting heart of mine, to pour its sorrows into the ears of one who appears so capable of sympathy. If you are a parent, listen, and learn a lesson which, would to God I had been taught before!

"I will not encroach upon your time and patience, by relating the history of my early days, but will merely state, that, at the age of twenty-four I was one of the happiest men in the world. I was just married, my wife and myself were devotedly attached to each other, nor were our temporal than our mental enjoyments less prolific; through the death of my father, I was possessed of a very handsome estate, and, added to this, was rapidly rising in my profession as a barrister. The world, indeed, was painted before me in gaudy colours; the golden sun of happiness appeared as though its meridian would never be passed; year after year rolled on in innocence and happiness, but, alas, the clouds began at length to gather, and the first pang I was called upon to suffer, after eighteen years of uninterrupted joy, was in the death of my eldest son, a lad of seventeen years of age; but here the tempest did not cease; in one short year, out of eight children, two only were spared us; my wife, too, was much injured in her health, by repeated watchings, and protracted grief.

Our temporal affairs, however, continued to prosper, and we did not murmur at the will of God: we had two children left, the one a son, of five years of age, the other a daughter of three; they were fondly loved by both of us, and anxious we naturally were for their welfare, having lost so many; our constant prayer, indeed our only prayer, was for their preservation in this world, the thoughts of the future seldom occupied our attention; terrestrial happiness, which in itself is but misery, was our sole desire. This was our sin. Beware, oh parent, lest, in your thirst for happiness, you neglect the one thing needful,' and bring down sorrow, as we did, on your declining years! Our children lived-ah! would to God that they had died whilst young; had they, the accursed machinations of the gamester, with the winning witcheries of the prostitute, would not have ruined a son, at one time kind and affectionate: yes, sir,

through a series of diabolical villainies, a son, who had once loved his parents as his life, at the age of twenty-one turned the unhappy beings who gave him life on the wide world, with nothing but a few pounds, the wreck of a once ample fortune, spent in endeavouring to retrieve his profligate character! This treatment killed his mother -a week afterwards I found her dead in bed, by my side." Here the old man could contain his grief no longer, but burst into convulsive sobs, till at length a copious flow of tears relieved his sorrow. "In about nine months after this period, my son finished his mad and short career, having squandered away the whole of a very handsome estate-he was found dead, one morning, in a common brothel. I cannot attempt to describe the state of my mind at this time. I was more than wretched.

But still I had one solitary spark of life left me; my daughter, then nineteen, was kind, affectionate, and loved her father; through the assistance of friends, and my practice, though greatly diminished, we managed in some measure to retrieve our circumstances, and live, though not affluently, comfortably. But, alas! the cup of adversity was not yet full, one more heavy drop was to be added before it overflowed. My daughter, my only child, my sole friend, was destined to become the food of reckless villany! But I feel exhausted my mind is somewhat eased by having poured out so much of its sorrow, and yet the heaviest weight still hangs attached. My daughter, merciful God!" (the agony of the poor parent was indeed intense.) "Yes, sir, my kind, my lovely daughter, was seduced by the very villain who had ruined my son, swindled him out of his estate, and at last robbed me of my only remaining earthly treasure. The closing scene, sir, you know too well; that wretched creature you visited five days ago, was my once much-loved girl, Maria.

"Gracious Father! now accept of the sincere repentance of a deluded parent, who heeded not thy judgments, but recklessly dashed headlong, trusting to his own impotency. And you, O parents, learn, learn, not to put your trust in man!"

In broken sentences, interrupted by frequent sighs and sobs, the old man informed me, that, after two years spent in fruitless research for his daughter, his little remaining stock of money being quite exhausted, he at last found her in a house of ill-fame, deserted by her deceiver, and abandoned to all the miseries of sin. The girl recognized her father; but the shock was so sudden, that it produced a brain fever, in

which state I found her; with difficulty, he persuaded her to be removed from the house of sin she was living in; and this was, at length, only yielded to on condition that she should carry with her her gin-bottle, and cocoa-nut shell. At the conclusion of this narrative, the old man paused; his grief appeared over, but a settled gloom pervaded the whole of his furrowed face. I gave him what advice I could, and, as he was pennyless, supplied him with a small trifle, promising to use my influence in obtaining some situation for him, as he appeared anxious, old as he was, not to be eating the bread of idleness; this, however, from his age, was impossible, and at length he was compelled to take up his abode in

workhouse. He is still living, resigned to his fate, and thanking God, that, through all his afflictions, he has at last brought him to see the vanity of human thought, and the nothinguess of earthly trea

sures.

The old man had nearly concluded his narrative of wo, when I received a message from my friend, whose happy family I have already attempted to describe, requesting me to visit a patient of his, as he was unable to attend, owing to the dangerous state of his little girl, who that morning had been taken ill. I visited his patient, and, alarmed at the message I had received, hastened to see if I could render any assistance to my friend. Poor little Mary Ann, the father's pet, indeed was ill : the bright blue eye sparkled no longer with vivacity; the golden fleecy locks lay tossed and dishevelled, as she unconsciously struck her little head against the sides of her cott. The once ruddy cheeks, too, had lost their healthy bloom, while the pulseless wrist, and cold extremities, marked, evidently, that death would not long have to wait for his prey. The father can I describe him stood leaning over his darling child, assiduously administering medicines, or attending to its wants. His hopes of her recovery were gone, and he was but watching for the last, the painful struggle. He was passionately fond of his daughter, perhaps more so, if possible, than his other children; every moan she uttered seemed to thrill through the centre of his nervous system. And little Georgie, too, who was my pet, was stretched upon the bed of sickness. The contrast with the scene I had witnessed, the evening on which I last called, was indeed great, and made very powerful impressions upon my mind: then all was health, happiness, and mirth; now sorrow and grief only were to be heard; anxiety was depicted on

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