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4 Sermon preached at the Temple Church, May 31ft, and Berkley Chapel, Berkley Square, June 28th, upon the Conduct to be observed by the Established Church towards Catholics and other Diffenters, by the Rev. SYDNEY SMITH, A. M. late Fellow of New College, Oxford, 8vo. Pp. 27. 15. Carpenter.

N the reign of Elizabeth, the pulpit of the Temple Church was the theatre of a very remarkable controverly In the morning the meek, learned, and judicious Hooker laid down and explained the found principles of Christianity in a perfpicuous manner; in the afternoon, one Walter Travers, a petulant and forward declaimer, preached the contrary opinions with great vehemence, fo that, as one of the hearers pleafantly obferved, "the forenoon fpake Canterbury, and the afternoon Geneva."

Such a difcordance, we believe, never happened fince that period, till the author of the prefent fermon, by fome unaccountable circumftance, obtained admiffion into a pulpit, which, for above a century paft, has been diftinguished by difcourfes of the first rank in theological excellence.

The object of the preacher is to abufe the Church of England as intolerant in adopting measures for her own prefervation; when, according to him, "fhe was never more powerful, or more juftly refpected, than at this

moment.'

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This is a pretty bold affumption, which we should be very glad to fee proved, but unfortunately every day and hour's experience convinces us that what is here taken for granted is the reverse of the real ftate of the cafe. In the definition of an ecclefiaftical establishment, there are many radical defects; and, indeed, from what is obferved of the utility and political expediency of fuch an infiitution, we should fuppofe that the author confiders the Church as poffeffing no other rights or privileges, than what the receives from the state.

He is poffeffed of all that liberalizing fpirit which would concede all indulgence to every clafs and denomination of Chriftians, out of the establishment; but, as to the Church, fhe needs neither ftrength nor flay. The reftrictions whereby Diffenters, as fuch, are kept from places of public trust, are very decently termed odious, and to deprive a man of the opportunity of obtaining certain honours in the ftate, is roundly called perfecution. The preacher, however, who deals in these affumptions and epithets, does not condefcend to enter upon any thing like argument; fo that we are faved

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the trouble of entering into a refutation of his pofitions. In truth, a more flippant, empty, declamation we were never doomed to read; and therefore, after difmiffing it from our table, we consoled ourselves with a page of Sherlock.

The Cafe of the Widow confidered, and the Confolations applicable to it enforced. A Sermon, compofed by particular Requeft, and fince preached at White Waltham, Berks, September 8th, 1805. By the Rev. WILLIAM PALMER, B. A. 8vo. pp. 30. 1s. Rivingtons.

HIS is a pathetic difcourfe upon a very affecting fub

Tjest, and does equal credit to the talents, the feelings,

and the piety of the preacher.

The following extract will fufficiently confirm the cliaracter we have given of this fermon:

"Let us then enter into the house of mourning, and consider the widow and the fatherless. "* It is better," saith the preacher, "to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for that is the end of all men, and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow," he continues," is better than laughter, for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth." And surely, there will be found mourning enough, whence all that caused joy and gladness hath been carried forth, and laid deep in the grave. In that house, upon which the Lord hath laid his own right hand, and which he has visited with the most particular dispensation of his providence, no sound of earthly comfort can be heard, because whatsoever part of its happiness was earthly, is returned for ever to its dust.

"To the reasoning of worldly wisdom, which sorrowful experience has not corrected, the assertion of a mystical, and therefore incomprehensible union betwixt those who are coupled together in the sight of God, may appear visionary and unmeaning. The weak determinations of men are often found to oppose the sublimest mysteries of God, with little consideration of their necessary truth and importance, as coming from him, who can neither deceive nor exaggerate. The Lord God, however, when he had made man of the dust of the earth, and had breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, because it was not good for the man to be alone, took no other portion of that earth, to make him an help meet for him, but the man's own flesh he took, even the bone from his side near unto his heart. "What," says the author of the Ecclesiastical Polity, (Hooker's Eccles. Pol. Book i.) speaking on another subject, "can be more immediate to our salvation, than our persuasion concerning the law of Christ towards his church? What greater assurance of love towards his church, than

Eccles. vii. 2.

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the knowledge of that mystical union, whereby the Church is be come as near unto Christ, as any one part of his flesh is unto another? That the Church being in such sort his, he must needs protect it; what proof more strong, than if a manifest law so require, which law it is not possible for Christ to violate? And what other law doth the apostle for this allege, but such as is both common unto Christ with us, and unto us with things natural;" viz. that "No man hateth his own flesh, but doth love and cherish it." If then the mystical union betwixt Christ and the Church be thus close, and they are identified by a law impossible to be violated, which to mere reason seems suitable only to the propinquity of one atom to another atom in the same body, (whether it be flesh or stone, blood or water); how strict and intimate that union; how divine and worthy of reverence that bond of holy wedlock, which Christ instituted as its pattern, it were to waste words to describe.

"The eyes and hands of the widow uplifted to Heaven for comfort, which earth cannot give, speak her sense that she was indeed, "bone of his bones," who hath been taken from her, "and flesh of his flesh." To surrounding friends she would in vain explain the excellency of her lost blessing; that his presence was all that was needful to her happiness; that he had been the guide and counsel of her youth, the rock of her strength, the pillow of her repose. That under his influence, religion, and piety had taken up their abode in her heart; that by him, her unsuspecting mistakes had been corrected, and the straight and peaceful path of wisdon made known to her: that through many frowns of adversity, and amidst scorns which misfortunes alone had sanctioned from the world, they had passed together, less regarding, because of that love which rendered outward things indifferent to them, and softened the feeling of their mutual wounds; while, if they had ever rejoiced in the gleams of prosperity, which sometimes promised to shine upon them, the gratification of the other was the only delight that each of them had anticipated: this might indeed speak the regrets that oppressed her heart, but not describe the pungent agonies of nature, thus divided from itself. Shall we, or does religion bid this wife, or those little mourners to cease from their weeping; or if we should do so, will she listen to our exhortation; will she not rather say to her children, "Weep on, ye bereaved and mourning little ones, for him who is gone for ever from you-whom the world cannot restore: ye have lost him, who loved you as no man shall ever love you hereafter: ye have lost him, who, because he loved you, chastened you, my children, as none will ever again chasten you; with a trembling hand and unwilling heart, that he might bring you to God." Will she not for herself, instead of ceasing to weep, cry out with Job, “Oh, that I might have my request, and that God would grant me the thing that I long for; even that it would please God to destroy me; that he would let loose his hand and cut me off. Then should

I yet

I yet have comfort, yea, I would harden myself in sorrow;—what is my strength, that I should hope; and what is mine end, that I should prolong my life ?"

What has the world to offer to this mourner?-what can it promise that shall hinder in her mind, the recurrence of past scenes so tender and so well remembered, which had rivetted her love to him to whom it was due, by the lasting tie of mutual and various fortune? Shall the giddy round of pleasure? Shall noise and tumult still such grief as this? Shall folly stop her bleeding wounds? Alas! when folly is weary of itself, and pleasure is driven to repose, in the stillness of the night, at that undisguised hour, which neither the guilty nor the wretched can escape, her griefs would gush out afresh!-Let then Nature's work be first done, and the mourner utter her complaints, and fill up the measure of Christian sorrow, and commune with her own heart, and in her chamber, and be still, while the silent work of his grace who hath thus cast her down, and can alone lift her up, is going on within her, and is disposing her to listen to the suggestions piety, and the voice of God."

B

Poetry.

VIEW OF A MONASTERY.

By the Rev. THOMAS MAURICE.

UT not in fplendid palaces alone,

The pomp of Britain's fcepter'd lords was shown

Sacred to Heav'n, that, o'er the anointed head

Its adamantine shield in battle spread;
In SHEEN a ftately fabric met the fight,
Of old, the hoary anchorite's delight!
And near, amid the groves for ever green,
Richly endowed a coftly fane was seen.
In antique grandeur rofe the spacious pile,
And richeft fculptures deck'd each cloifter'd ifle;
On the proud roofs, in air fublimely rais'd
The eye with pain, yet ftill with rapture, gazed.
High tower'd the gothic arch; and through the dome,
Dark clustering columns fhed a twilight gloom :
Save when yon fervid orb's pervading rays
Lighted the pictur'd window's crimson blaze-
While from the lofty walls, fufpended wave

The

The fpoils of war, and banners of the brave!
Statues of Saints, for fuffering worth renown'd,
In maffy filver feem'd to breathe around;
Unbounded weaith the gorgeous fhrine o'erflow'd
That with the richest gems of Afia glow'd;
For many a pilgrim, from its diftant thore,
To that famed thrine his hoarded treasure bore.
Refulgent fhone the ftoried roofs-array'd,
In all the blended pomp of light and fhade;
While gold and azure charm'd the wond'ring eyes,
And cherubs floated in cerulian fkies!

A mafter's hand had sketch'd the bold defign,
The fire of genius mark'd each glowing line;
Devotion's brighteft fymbols flam'd above
The dazzling wonders of Redeeming Love:
The ftar whofe light, by eaftern fects adored,
Its hallow'd blaze on humble Bethlem pour'd,
The Dove, refplendent with the filver wings,
That hov'ring paus'd o'er Jordan's facred fprings;
And fettling on the Saviour's lowly head,
Bright as a thousand funs, its glory fhed;
All that in faith tranfports, in virtue charms;
All that in guilt the fhudd'ring foul alarms;
Heav'n's radiant vifions, burfting on the fight,
The dark drear horrors of Cimmerian night,
Extatic raptures-agonizing woe-
By Fancy's daring pencil taught to flow,
On the proud roofs, in brilliant tints pourtray'd,
Or on the breathing walls, the eye furvey'd;
While from the rich illumin'd windows beam'd,
As the meridian blaze unbounded ftream'd,
With all the rainbow's varied beauty bright
Flow'd the rich torrent of reflected light-
Full on the altar flam'd the fervid ray,
And ope'd a gleam of heav'n's eternal day.
With transport warm'd, with facred awe oppreff'd,
Alternate paffions heaved the throbbing breaft."

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