Ah! where are now those dreams of gold?
Ab! where the laugh so loud?
The dashing beau in death is cold,
The fair one in her shroud!

Thus Death presides in every sign,
Earth has no living bowers,
Where amaranthine beauties twine,
With undecaying flowers!

But there's a land, O Muse! where death
And folly are not known;

For wisdom only wins the wreath,

And love the emerald throne!

A living landscape, never seen
By folly's rolling eye;

A spring, for ever gay and green;
A clear, but sunless sky.

Then, lovely youth, redeem the time!
The moral of my theme;
Give God the rose-bud of thy prime,
Life is a passing dream!

SALOP.

"FRIENDSHIP'S Offering," is one of those beautiful flowers of literature, which, for the last few years, have appeared in the depth of winter, clothed with all the gaiety of spring. In our number for November, we noticed the "Amulet," another of these captivating annuals, and found occasion to speak of its graphic decorations, and literary varieties, in terms of no languid panegyric. Several others, we apprehend, of rival excellence, are in the market, but hitherto they have not fallen within the range of our observations.

The work now before us presents the edges of its leaves in raiment of gold, and its boards beneath a delicate paper, decorated with figures emblematical of its character and name. To prevent these from being soiled, a case equally neat, and beautifully embossed, accompanies the volume; and unless we suppose that no fingers but those of fairies, or of ladies equally unsullied, are to be favoured with a touch, we can hardly avoid regretting that a coarser case had not been provided, to protect the exquisite texture of this; and then, perhaps, we should have wanted another; so that to our requisitions we should scarcely perceive any termination.

The engravings, eleven in number, are executed in a most elegant style, by some of our first masters in the graphic art. Among these, selections of decided superiority will be variously made, according to to the caprice, taste, or judgment, of the connoisseur; and were this to be pursued 97.-VOL. IX.

to any considerable extent, there can be little doubt, that every plate would find its admirers and friends. In a common volume, the worst among them would be praised for its beauty, and, standing alone, would command the tribute of admiration.

In its literary department, the articles, including prose and verse, amount to nearly ninety, many of which are the productions of authors well known in the republic of letters. The subjects are sometimes grave, but more frequently sprightly, and always interesting. Nothing, however, is suffered to appear that can offend either the ear or the eye of delicacy; it is a volume which uncontaminated friendship may offer and receive without a blush.

A book so exceedingly miscellaneous, and made up of articles from so many pens, can hardly furnish any one composition that may be considered as a fair specimen of the rest. The following Norwegian tale will, however, shew the spirit of vivacity and energy that animates the whole. To comprehend the story aright, we must suppose ourselves introduced to a company of goatherds, who, on a dreary winter's night, relate their adventures among the mountains to one another. Having told their tales, an elderly hunter, who had sat in silence during the narrations, thus introduces himself

to our notice.

"It is now about twenty years ago, that I got sight of a chamois, and was advancing was, one day, out hunting, as usual. I had upon him, when, having almost got within shot, I sprang across a chasm a few yards wide, upon a ledge of snow opposite. The outer part of this was, alas, only of snow-it was frozen hard-but as I came upon it with considerable force, I felt it giving way beneath me. The man who says that he never felt fear, never was in a situation such as this. The agony of terror,-and what agony is greater?-rushed throughout my frame. My first impulse was to spring forward, to reach the firm ground. But the very effort I made to save myself, accelerated my fate,-the mass broke short off, and-I fell!

"I have since been to view the spot; and standing in safety on its brink, my nerves have shivered, as I have looked down the awful precipice. How I escaped being dashed into as many atoms as there are pebbles at its base, it is impossible to divine. The height is upwards of seventy feet: there was no projecting rock, no jutting tree, to break my fall. Perhaps the snow, which fell along with me in vast quantities, and which crumbled as it fell, served to protect me. When I perceived my footing yield, the earth, as it were, to sink from under me, I felt the common hyperbole, that my heart sprang to my throat, almost cease to be one. One gasp of mortal agony, as it burst from my lungs, gave me the sensation of choking, which the phrase I have mentioned strives

F

to express. The feelings of my mind may be all summed in the exclamation which, I believe, escaped me: Oh, God,-I am gone! My next thought was one momentary appeal to that God's mercy,-and then, I thought no

more.

"When I recovered my senses, day was beginning to close. I lay enveloped in snow. My hunting spear was beside me broken; and, stretched upon my bosom, lay my faithful dog, spread out, as it were, to protect me from the cold, and breathing upon my face, as if to communicate his life to bring back mine. 'Poor fellow,' the old man continued, and the tear glistened in his eye as he spoke, 'poor fellow, he is dead long since, and his son,' stooping and fondling the dog at his feet, is old now; but if I had but one crust of bread and one cup of water in the world, old Thor should share them with me, for his father's sake."

The dog looked up, as though he understood his master's meaning; for he smiled in his face, with that expression of thankful fondness which the countenance of his race alone shares with that of the human species.

"I felt," continued the hunter, "I felt numbed and stiffened, and in considerable pain all over; so much so, that I could not distinguish any particular hurt as being more severe than the rest. endeavoured to rise, and that soon shewed to me where my chief injury lay. I fell back again instantly; my thigh was broken. In addition to this, two fingers of my right hand, and one of my left, were broken also, and I was bruised in almost every part. But I was alive! As I looked up to the pinnacle from which I had fallen, I could scarcely believe that to be possible.

"The spot where I lay was in a narrow cleft behind two cliffs, which diverged from each other as they advanced, leaving a sort of triangular platform open between them and a third. A torrent threw itself, like a wild horse's mane, from the rock above me; but, in the numberless eddies which whirled in the hollow, it was dispersed into air before it reached the place, distant through its depth, where I lay.

Night now began to thicken fast,-the faster, ou account of the deep den in which I was. The wind blew as though all the quarters of heaven sent forth their blasts at once, and that they all met and battled there. I had escaped one fearful death, and I now began to fear another more dreadful still, because more slow, and more felt. I feared that I should die through cold, and hunger, and untended hurts. The cold, too, I now felt more severely; for, shortly after I had given up, in despair, all attempts to extricate myself from my situation, my dog, after whining and yelping piteously for some time, went off. As he turned the corner of the rock, which hid him from my sight, I felt as if my last hold of life had gone from me,-as though the friend of my bosom had left me to die. He, too, abandons me!' I exclaimed, and, I blush to confess it, I burst into tears. Being forsaken by that which I thought faithful, cut me to the heart. Who, indeed, can bear that?

"The world now seemed to have closed upon my sight for ever;-my wife, my children, my dear home,-I should see them no more! I figured to myself all the delights and charities of that home, and I felt how bitter it is to be torn from life, while life is yet strong all its ties firmly knit-all its affections glowing. As darkness settled around me, I thought of my wife anxiously listening for my step,-or rather for the well-known step of Thor preceding me, and the bright fire gleaming on smiling children's faces; the fairest ornament, and the dearest comfort, of a fire-side, and the rosy lips held up for a father's kiss,and the little hands clinging round the knees, to attract a father's notice,-and their gladsome smile of welcome to me, and unchiding reproof to them; such was the picture I drew mentally such was the group which I knew was awaiting me. I looked around me, and the contrast of the reality flashed upon me in through the darkness, and, in the lull, the all its horrors. The wind raged and howled spray of the torrent bedewed my face, and froze there. I was encompassed by awful precipices, here and there visible only by being covered with snow. Snow, also, was the bed on which I lay; the bed on which I was to die. And to die, oh God! to die thus! Alone, through pain and famine,-through cold, and the exhaustion of suffering nature! The terrors of tempest and of night, were the precursors of the terrors of death. From hence I was never to stir more; this was to be my end!

"We often forge to ourselves causes of unhappiness, and allow slight things to mar our quiet. But he who has undergone-not what I underwent that night, for who has done so? but-circumstances of peril and despair, in kind, if not in degree, like anto these, he, only, can know the agony which a few short hours can crowd upon the human spirit,-he, only, can know to what extent our nature can suffer!

"I lay, in pain of body and anguish, for a space of time, which, from these causes, seemed endless. At length, hope dawned upon me. Along the top of the cliff to which I had leaped, and from which I fell, passed, as I knew, a path which led from the village in which I lived, to another about two leagues off. This had not appeared to me as a chance of escape; for, by night,it was but rarely traversed, and morning I never expected to see again. On a sudden, however, 1 saw a light gliding along this path, as though borne by some one; and I conjectured it to be, as in fact it was, the lanthorn of a villager returning homewards. 'I shall be saved yet!' was the idea which thrilled through my heart, and I shouted with the whole strength of my voice, to realize the hope which had arisen. At that moment, a farious gust of wind swept through the chasm, and hurled back my cry against me, like the smoke of Cain's rejected sacrifice. I could feel that my voice did not rise twenty feet above my head: The light glided onwards. Again, I shouted with that desperate strength which none but the despairing own. light did not stop-no answering shout gladdened my ears--the light disappeared!

The

The agony of that moment, who can conceive? The drowning man, as he struggles

his last effort, and feels the waters closing round him; the criminal, as he mounts the scaffold, and sees his last hope melt from his grasp, such persons may have experienced what I felt then, and such persons only.

My despair now became fixed and total. I felt that my last hour was come; I endeavoured to turn my thoughts from this world, and fix them on the next. But the effort was dreadful. As I strove to prepare myself for death, the hope of life would flash across me again, and interpose between me and my prayer. If a sound caught my ear, I raised my head to listen: if the variation of a shadow passed over the surface of the rock, I strained my sight to look; but the sound would cease, and the sight would pass away, and I sunk again upon the snow and again I prepared myself to die.

"At length-(to my dying day I shall recollect that moment)—at length, a gust of wind bore to me a sound, which I thought I recognized. I raised myself, with an anxiety which almost choked me. I listened-all was still-the wind rose, and made me doubtful whether I heard it a second time or not ;a third-all doubt was over! It was the honest voice of faithful Thor, coming at speed, and barking as he came, to shew, doubtless, the path to the spot in which I lay. Again, his deep-mouthed bay sounded loud and distinct as it approached the top of the precipice. There he paused, and continued barking, till, at length, several lights flashed upon the path along which he had come, and advanced rapidly towards him.

A halloo came upon the wind; I strove to answer it as loudly as I could. This time, it mattered little whether my voice reached the summit or not; for as soon as the lights seemed at the spot where the dog stood, he dashed down the cliff, clinging to the irregular surface as he came; now holding by a stone, now sliding down with the rolling earth and snow, till he sprang into my bosom,-and, almost smothering me with his caresses, made the echoes of the cliff ring again with his loud and ceaseless baying.

44

My companions now perceived where I was. They made a circuit of some little extent, and descended to me by a less precipifous, but still a difficult path.-My young friends, unless you have experienced the transition from despair to safety-from abandonment to kind friendship-from death to lifeyou can form to yourselves no idea of the flood of feelings, both rapturous and gentle, which then poured upon my soul. The chosen of my heart was no widow-my children were now not fatherless. I was restored to life, to the world, to hope, to happiness, and I owed all this to the loyalty and love of a poor hound. When your hand is next raised to strike your beast in anger, pause-and think upon the service which old Thor rendered to his master. That master had been a kind one."-p. 80 to 87.

Several stories, equally energetic and interesting, may be found in this volume, from which, on some future occasion, we may probably take additional extracts. At present, we can only recommend it to public patronage, and take our leave.

REVIEW.-The History of the Church of

Christ, &c. intended as a Continuation of Milner's Church History. By John Scott, M. A. 8vo. pp. 620. Seeley and Son, London. 1826.

THERE are very few works within the range of ecclesiastical history more highly esteemed, or more deserving of public approbation, than the church history of Joseph and Isaac Milner. The biography of these learned brothers is not less remarkable, than the production of their pens is meritorious; and their names will stand in future ages as monuments of what may be accomplished by determined perseverance, under the most unpromising circumstances of life.

Joseph and Isaac Milner were natives of Leeds, or its vicinity, and had nothing to boast either of pedigree or wealth. Their father was a weaver, to which business the two lads were apparently destined. Their father dying, they were obliged to be at the spinning wheel by break of day in the summer, and in winter they rose by candle light, to support, by unwearied industry, themselves and their aged mother. Unfavourable as this mode of life may seem to learning, they contrived to devote all their leisure hours to such books as accident threw in their way. This disposition to study, joined to their unremitting industry, and sobriety of conduct, soon drew them the notice of their more wealthy neighbours, who formed a subscription, by which Joseph, the elder, was taken from the loom, and sent to a grammar school. Here he made such rapid proficiency, that he was soon qualified for the university of Cambridge, whither he went, and obtained the degree of M. A. On entering into holy orders, he became curate of Trinity church, Hull, and was soon appointed master of the grammar school in that town.

upon

Isaac, in the mean while, continued at the weaving business until his brother settled in Hull, when he was taken from the loom to become his assistant. From this place he was sent to Queen's College, where he made rapid advances in mathematics, in theology, and in the learned languages. In 1774 he was senior wrangler, and gained the first mathematical prize. In 1782 he served the office of proctor; and in 1783, being then master of arts, he was nominated one of the taxors of the University, and also professor of experimental philosophy. In 1788 he was elected president of Queen's College, when he took his doctor's degree. The same year he was advanced to the deanery of Carlisle, and in 1792 he filled the office of vice-chancellor. Such was the progress of these singular, but exalted cha

racters, from the depths of obscurity to the pinnacle of literary fame, on which, independently of all other publications, their Church History will secure for them a permanent station.

In the preface to the work now before us, Mr. Scott observes, that the last volume of Milner's history was published in 1809, and that the latter of its two authors died in 1820, so that from their pens and talents, nothing more was exclusively to be expected. Soon after the demise of Dr. Isaac Milner, dean of Carlisle, the public were given to understand, that he had left behind him papers for the continuance of the Church History, and that they would be revised and published without delay. Nothing, however, of this kind has yet either been seen or announced, and no evidence appears that any such are in existence. Mr. Scott has, therefore, taken his stand on that spot where the history of the Milners made a final pause, and pursued his course through an eventful period, to the margin of which his predecessors had conducted him.

"The slender stream," says Mr. Scott, "which the elder Milner often traced with difficulty through the grass and weeds with which it was overgrown, had spread into a mighty river of many branches. In this volume, I have endeavoured to complete the history of Luther, and of the principal events pertaining to that branch of the church which was connected with him, to the period of his death. Dr. Milner had detailed the history of the first thirteen years of the Reformer's public life; that of sixteen more remained to be related. It seemed necessary thus to restrict the plan of the present volume chiefly to the Lutheran church, both because of the magnitude of the transactions in which that division of the Christian world was involved, and also in order to maintain a conformity between the commencement of any work, and the latter part of that which it aspires to continue."-Preface, p. vi.

The events and incidents detailed in this volume belong almost exclusively to the continent, and embrace a period of sixteen years, from 1533 to 1546. The materials are divided into nine chapters, each of which includes a variety of particulars that might be denominated sections, although they do not bear that appellation. The first chapter relates to the Diet and Confession of Augsburg, and to circumstances therewith connected. The second proceeds from the above Diet to the Pacification of Nuremburg, including the intermediate events, and the transactions of that period. The third advances from the above Pacification to the Convention of Frankfort, and details the leading incidents of that interesting era. The fourth contains miscellaneous particu

lars to which the preceding convention gave birth. The fifth carries us from the Convention of Frankfort to the Conference and Diet of Ratisbon, and marks the struggles and progress of the Reformation. The sixth records various miscellaneous circumstances connected with the convulsions that were then shaking the Papal throne. The seventh leads us from the Diet of Ratisbon to the Peace of Crespy, and marks the fierce contentions which subsisted between the states and powerful individuals that were engaged in that formidable struggle. The eighth travels from the Peace of Crespy to the Death of Luther, and leaves us on the eve of the Smalkaldic war. The ninth gives the Character of Luther, and contains a list of his later writings, and observations on them. The Appendix reviews the former events, explains the circumstances that appeared either questionable or obscure, and introduces detailed particulars that have an incidental connexion with the Reformation, but could not, with propriety, be interwoven with the preceding history, without interrupting the narrative. An extended Index is added, which enables the reader to find any particulars recorded in the volume; and this is followed by a chronology, marking the exact time when the more prominent and remarkable events took place.

From this general outline, the reader will be able to form some idea of the work that now claims his patronage, and that of all the Reformed and Protestant churches throughout the world. We need not say, that those who possess Milner's Church History will find it incomplete without this valuable addition; and they may congratulate themselves, in finding in Mr. Scott an able successor to those renowned ecclesiastical historians. To the arduous undertaking he has brought a mind fully competent, his resources are extensive, and his authorities unquestionable.

In his narration of events, Mr. Scott appears to have been guided by the most rigid fidelity; and in his delineations of character, having marked the failings as well as the excellencies of such as came within his sphere of examination, nothing but bigotry can charge him with a want of impartiality. His language corresponds with the dignity of his subject. It is masculine without being turgid, perspicuous without being low, and easy without being adorned with artificial flowers.

The space which it occupies is a widely extended area, spreading over a considerable portion of the continent, though, on the stream of time, it is no more than sixteen years in length.