Lady Huntingdon deeply lamented her end. Unhappy woman; how insensible had she been to the many alarming calls of Providence which she has received from time to time. Such repeated deaths in her family, the awful end of her brother, Lord Bolingbroke, made no impression on her, and she left this world, as she had always lived, intoxicated with the vanity of her numerous accomplishments and literary acquirements.

Two years after the death of Lord Bolingbroke, his works were published by David Mallett, a determined infidel, and a man of worthless character, who ingratiated himself into his Lordship's favour by infamously blackeuing the memory of Pope. Lady Huntingdon was well aware of the character of the writings of the deceased nobleman, and made some fruitless attempts to prevent their publication. She wrote to Mr. Mallett, and used her influence with Lord Chesterfield and others, to try, if possible, to suppress what she knew would prove so detrimental to society. His works were refuted by a number of learned men. Bishops Clayton and Warburton, and Dr. Leland entered into the lists against him; and Mr. Hervey dedicated to Lady Fanny Shirley his answer to the extract on religion, contained in the "Study and Use of History." Dr. Johnson pro

nounced this memorable verdict on the noble author and his

editor: "Sir, he was a scoundrel and a coward-a scoundrel for charging a blunderbuss against religion and morality; a coward, because he had not resolution to fire it off himself, but left half a-crown to a beggarly Scotchman to draw the trigger after his death."

Another Scotchman did similar service to the

crabbed old maker of dictionaries.

The last of the good Earls of Sutherland met the subject of this memoir in Bath. The great northern family had been noted for good character and strong religious views. The last of the race held a faith which was almost hereditary in the family. His death, and that of his wife, immediately afterwards at Bath, was a black visitation on Sutherlandshire.

A short time after the departure of Lady Glenorchy, the

Earl and Countess of Sutherland came to Bath in deep distress at the untimely death of their eldest daughter. The Countess was the only sister to Lady Glenorchy, and gave her a letter of introduction to Lady Huntingdon. They called upon her Ladyship, who manifested a very strong in terest in them. "Never," she says, "have I seen a more lovely couple-they may, indeed, with justice be called the Flower of Scotland; and such amiability of disposition-so tractable, so mild! They have indeed been cast in nature's finest mould. Bowed down to the earth with grief, they are almost inconsolable for the loss of their daughter. Dear Lady Glenorchy is extremely anxious on their account." At this critical period of their history, Whitfield came to Bath to supply the chapel. He says, in a letter to a friend, dated 17th March, 1766,-" Last Friday evening, and twice yesterday, I preached at Bath to very thronged and brilliant auditories. I am told it was a very high day. The glory of the Lord filled the house. To-morrow, God willing, I return thither again. Mr. Townsend is too ill to officiate. Lady Huntingdon is mounting on her high places." The Earl and Countess were induced to attend the preaching of the Gospel at the chapel. The opportunity of doing this was not long continued; for, shortly after their arrival, the Earl was attacked with a violent fever, with which he struggled fifty-four days, and then expired in the fifty-first year of his age. His Countess was unremitting in her attention to him; for twenty-one days and nights she watched over him in his chamber, without retiring to rest; and when he died, she gave way to the most poignant grief, which crushed her to the ground. Lady Huntingdon was her true friend in the season of her anguish; she visited her frequently, and endeavoured to pour into her bleeding heart the

rich consolation of the Gospel, and caused public prayers to be offered on her behalf at the chapel. The blow, however, was too severe for her devoted heart to bear. Her strength was prostrated by the fatigue of watching at the bed-side of her lord; her mind was consumed with grief, and in seventeen days after his death, she fell a victim to that disease which had snatched away her beloved husband. The melan. choly event spread a general gloom over the gay inhabitants of Bath; the deep interest which their death awakened was increased by the spectacle of their infant daughter left an orphan; and many were induced to attend the chapel who had hitherto refused to enter it, and were impressed with serious conviction. Two sermons were preached in the chapel on the solemn occasion, when most of the nobility then in Bath attended; and the mysterious stroke of God's providence reminded many of their own frailty and sinfulness, and brought them to submit to the authority of Christ.

The infant that then alone remained of the family, became in after years the owner of the Sutherland estates, and Countess of Sutherland. At the commencement of the French war she was able to raise three to four thousand soldiers from her own estates. She married the Marquis of Stafford, who was created Duke of Sutherland; and from these early deaths at Bath, the long minority of the heiress, which rendered her a very wealthy lady, and from the alliance she formed, arose those clearances which so depopulated the county, that we do not suppose the country had a dozen recruits out of it during the Russian war, or could now find a hundred to save India.

A curious story is told of the king, George III., the Countess, and the Archbishop of Canter bury in those days, which is worth relating. The Archbishop and his wife were addicted more to gaiety than became the position and the profession of the former. The Countess, in administering a private lecture, was roughly handled;-but we may quote the tale :

:

It was about this period that Lady Huntingdon be came very prominent in an affair which attracted considerable attention. Dr. Cornwallis, Archbishop of Canterbury, had eclipsed all his predecessors in the sacred office by the mag nificent style in which he lived. During the winter his palace was crowded by gay and fashionable society; balls and routs were frequently held there; and his wife took the lead in the world of fashion, by the splendour of her equi pages and entertainments. These proceedings called forth the indignation of those in whom there still remained a sease of propriety; and even the gay visitors at the palace could not restrain their wit and satire at the inconsistency of such scenes in an archiepiscopal residence. When the affair was every day becoming more serious, Lady Huntingdon felt that the interests of religion, and the honour of the Church demanded that some attempt should be made to wipe away such a scandal from the nation. She resolved to visit the Archbishop in a most private manner, and remonstrate with him on the impropriety of such proceedings. Accom panied by the Marquis of Townsend, a distant relative of the Archbishop, she waited on his Grace, and represented the injury he was inflicting upon the religious feeling of the country. His Grace listened with patience; but Mrs. Coruwallis burst into a passion, and ridiculed and denounced Lady Huntingdon in all her fashionable circles. The Coun tess made another attempt privately, through Mr. Madan's brother, who had married his Grace's niece, but the Archbishop refused to listen to the warning, and fiercely denounced her, and all who sympathised with her, as hypocrites and fanatics.

The King told her that he was acquainted with her proceedings, and complimented her upon her benevolent actions, and on her zeal for the revival of true religion. He said, "I have been told so many odd stories about your ladyship,

that I am fain to confess I felt a great degree of curiosity to see if you were at all like other women; and I am happy at having an opportunity of assuring your ladyship of the very good opinion I have of you, and how very highly I esteem your character, your zeal, and abilities, which cannot be consecrated to a more noble purpose." He then referred to her ministers, who, he understood, were very eloquent preachers. The Bishops were very jealous of them, and the King related a conversation he had lately had with a learned prelate. Пе had complained of the conduct of some of her ladyship's students and ministers, who had created a sensation in his diocese; and his Majesty replied, "Make bishops of themmake bishops of them." That might be done," replied the prelate," but, please your Majesty, we cannot make a bishop of Lady Huntingdon." The Queen rejoined, "It would be a lucky circumstance if you could, for she puts you all to shame." "Well," said the King, "see if you cannot imitate the zeal of these men." His Lordship made some reply which displeased the King, who exclaimed, with animation, "I wish there was a Lady Huntingdon in every diocese in the kingdom." That bishop never afterwards made his appearance at Court.

The story is characteristic of George III., who was, perhaps, the best of the Georges, and who was desirous unquestionably for the moral and religious welfare of his people. The circumstance is illustrative of the condition of society in these times. The world would be astonished now if the Archbishop of Canterbury required rebuke, both from a coronet and the crown, for gaiety, and parties, and routes. If society be not getting better, it is, at least, becoming more conventional and more proper on the surface; but we hold that it is getting wiser. The volume is full of narratives of English society a hundred years since.

The City; its Sins and Sorrows. By THOMAS GUTHRIE, D.D. Edinburgh: A. and C. Black. THIS volume contains four sermons and an appendix. The sermons run entirely out of the beaten path, and the appendix confirms their statements. The preacher is the most eloquent man in his profession of the day. The subjects discussed by him are the sins, and sorrows which spring from sin, that are common to large cities. These topics are not usually discussed from the pulpit, and therefore it may be that many congregations consist of hearers of the Word more than of doers. Dr. Guthrie has gone down to the lowest abodes of sin aud misery, and dragged their wretchedness into the light of day. He overlooks the evil that it is fashionable to forget; but which must be remembered before it can be remedied.

In many respects, the preacher is before the multitude of his brethren, who, being jealous of their order, seem to fear that laymen, if they publicly persuaded others to turn out of guilt into the path of peace, might endanger something altogether undefined. He does not participate in this dread, and he even alleges that the great body of ignorant and vicious persons will never be reached,

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I have no hope of accomplishing this object if the churches are to be laced up by their own rules, and people are to leave everything to ministers and missionaries. Why should not he that heareth as well as he that preacheth, say, Come? Why should not they who are to preach, preach? Our Lord gave to his disciples. Yes: but they gave to the people. And why should not some, who now on Sabbath days enjoy two services in the house of God, content themselves with one, and at the time of the other go forth to give what they have got? The bread would multiply in their hands. People may tell me they are not learned-I reply, that to tell these poor sinners of Jesus, whether beneath the roof of a house or the open roof of heaven, needs no learning. They need nothing but the love of Christ, zeal for souls, and the use of their mother tongue. Possessed of no qualifications but these; endowed with the Spirit, and ordained of Heaven, see what the first Christians did! They conquered the world. See what the first Methodists did! They changed the face of England. See what the church in Hamburg did! Twenty-five years ago, five Christian men met there in a cobbler's shop. They also, when they They resolved to form themselves into a church-a missionary church, with Hamburgh and its environs for the field of their labours. What their particular creed was, to what denomination of Protestants they belonged, I am not careful to inquire. High above the regimental colours of that little band floted the Royal Banner of the Cross. They fought for the Crown of Jesus. They toiled, they watched, they laboured for the salvation of souls. One article of their creed, one term of the communion, was this;-That every member of that Christian Church should be a working Christian. So, on the afternoons and evenings of the Lord's-day they went forth to work, to gather in the loiterers by the highways aud the hedges. Every member they gained was more than an accession to their numbers-he was an accession to their power. And with what results were their labours attended? These should encourage all other congregations and churches "to go and do likewise." That handful of corn is now waving in the golden harvests of many fields. That acorn is now shot up into a mighty oak that nestles the birds of heaven and braves the tempest, and throws a broad shadow on the ground. The church, at first constituted by these five men, who met

beheld the city, wept over it.

in an obscure and humble shop, has, in the course of twenty years been blessed of God to convert many thousand souls, and bring some fifty thousand people under the regular ministration of the gospel.

Dr. Guthrie has become an advocate of the Maine Liquor Law. In one respect, he follows the course pursued by the late Mr. Mathew, in Ireland, whose friends and relatives were distillers. Dr. Guthrie also has relations in that business, and some courage and self-denial are requisite for those who, neglecting family interests, advocate the public good.

His connexion with the ragged schools, which he originated in Edinburgh, and his common visitations through a crowded, and yet a desolate parish, may have convinced him that intemperance is the great enemy of temporal comfort, of intellectual and spiritual progress, in the crowded streets of cities; that it has become the prime mover in sin and sorrow, and needs to be removed. His sermons are chiefly directed against it, and against less common crimes. It is impossible to doubt

that these discourses must have produced a deep impression upon the preacher's congregation, but in their present form they may create a healthy agitation upon a broader scale. He pourtrays, in magnificent language, the sorrows of those who seem wedged into a state of "misery and sin." He urges, in the eloquence of which he has been long a master, the necessity laid on all who have an influence over others to exert it for the removal of social evils that comport ill with all our boasted progress. He speaks of the drunkard's death in the extract subjoined:

----

Again, its has been stated, that though the direct and indirect efforts produced by these stimulants, sixty thousand lives are annually lost. Reduce that also by one-half, and what a quotient remains! Thirty thousand human lives offered in annual sacrifice at the bloody shrine of this idol! Death is bitter enough in any circumstances to the bereaved. However precious our comforts may be, all memory of the dead is more or less painful. We put out of sight the toys of the little hands that are now mouldering in the silent grave. The picture of the dear one whose eyes our fingers have closed, and whose face the shroud has covered, hangs veiled upon the well. The remembrance of the loved and lost will throw on life's brightest scenes the cold shadow of a cloud, which discharges its burden of grief, sometimes in a few drops, sometimes in a shower of tears.

But over

how many of these thirty thousand deaths is there the mourning that has no hope! What incurable wounds They talk of war! What is war to that? Give me her have they inflicted! What sad memories have they left! bloody bed, bury me or mine in a soldier's rather than in a drunkard's grave! Innocent children, killed off by cold and hunger, slowly starved to death-coffins that hold broken hearts-woman's remorse for her virtue lost, gnaw. ing like a vulture at life's quivering vital-poor, pitiable wretches, with palsied hands and shrivelled limbs, in loop. holed poverty, who would give the world to be able, as in other and by-gone days, to love their wives and bless their children, and enjoy the esteem of their neighbours, sinking into death by inches, or staggering at a sudden call up to the bar of judgment ! Thirty thousand such cases year by year in this kingdom! Than that, give me rather the battle field. With a good cause to fight for, and bugles sounding the assault, give me the red rush of gallant men who dash across the lines of death, and leaping in at every breach and embrasure, strike for the liberties of man-falling with their mother's bible in their breast, a mother's and Jesus' name mingled on their dying lips! "No drunkard shall inherit the Kingdom of God." of those who sleep in Jesus, whether they died with gentle and holy voices in their ear, or amid the crash of musketry and roar of cannon-"I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord, from henceforth, yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours, and their works do follow them."

But

BERANGER.

PIERRE JEAN BERANGEB, the French poet, died in Paris on the 16th of July, after a long illness, in his 77th year, having been born in that city, on the 16th of August, 1780.

His father was in such indigent circumstances, that Béranger was brought up by his grandfather, a tailor; but during the troubles of the revolution he was removed from Paris by an aunt, who kept an inn at Peronne. She taught him to read; and, when fourteen, apprenticed him to a printer of the town, where he also attended a primary school, which appears to have been the only education he received. At sixteen he returned to his father at Paris, and, frequenting the theatres, seems to have turned his attention towards writing for the stage, producing a comedy shortly after, entitled Les Her mophrodites. At this time his pen was very prolific-verses of every character, sacred as well as profane subjects, flowed freely from from it; and an epic poem, to be completed in twelve years, was also projected. Like very many other authors, Béranger found but little substance in his flights of fancy, and at last became so much reduced, that he contemplated joining the expedition to Egypt. The intelligence of its failure stopped that project, and, as a last resource, he sent a portion of his poem to Lucien Bonaparte, who promised to assist him. Lucien, after some delay, assigned over to him the amount which he received as a member of the French Institute. Shortly after he was fortunate enough to be appointed a clerk in the Secretary's office at the Admiralty, filling, at the same time, some subordinate editorial capacity. By this period, 1809, his songs were well known, and universally popular; his love of independence, however, materially interfered with his advancement. The office of Censor was offered him during "the hundred days," and refused. After the restoration of the Bourbons, he gave full play to his satire against the Government, and, contrary to the wishes of his friends, pub

lished his first collection of sonnets, though his dismissal from the Admiralty was thought to be an inevitable conse quence. This event did occur in 1821, when a second volume issued from the press. In return, he wrote even more violently against the authorities, and suffered an imprisonment of three months, having to pay a heavy fine as well.

This punishment did not deter him, since in 1828 he printed a third volume, for which he was again imprisoned for nine months, and fined 10,000 francs. The leisure afforded by this incarceration was employed in writing more bitter satires, which the event just previous to July, 1830, rendered particularly acceptable to the public. After that revolution he might have been well provided for, his party being then in the ascendant, but he would not condescend to accept a sinecure, and felt unfitted for any laborious office. Except as a writer, he appeared but once afterwards prominently before the public, when he was elected by more than 200,000 votes as representative of the department of the Seine to the Constituent Assembly, this honour he resigned in the following month, but the resignation was not accepted until he repeated it shortly afterwards. For many years he lived in Paris in comparative retirement upon an annuity derived from his works, writing continually but never publishing. During his illness, he was constantly visited by all the most celebrated literary characters, and the daily bulletins of his health were as eagerly perused as if they had related to the head of the Empire. The State undertook the expense and arrangement of his funeral, but this, doubtless, for political reasons, and to prevent any political demonstration.

His poetry is universally known throughout France, and admired in most other countries; with the Americans it is especially popular. One of the latest productions, if not the last, was a poem on "The Battle of Stirling," sent to compete for a prize offered by a gentleman in Scotland for the best poem on that subject.

EDINBURGH

MAGAZINE

WHEN Satan wrought the Delphic oracle he gave cautious answers to his inquisitive followers and friends. These answers to correspondents were able compositions, and had always two meanings, or more. In any issue they were generally right; because the words could be twisted into harmony with the event. Britain is indebted to an old Hindoo prediction for the existing revolt, it is said. Satan in the East had told some Brahmin, and he told the rest, that the Company's empire in India would endure for one hundred years from the battle of Plassey. Whether it was meant that the said empire would endure for one hundred years and more, or only for one century, is not apparent; although the former is likely to be the true meaning. Without professing the most remote acquaintance with the author of these deceptions -clever and droll as some of them are-we might suggest another way out of the difficulty, which we hope and trust will arise from this limit of one hundred years.

The Company's empire draws near its termination, we believe. Before the hundredth year had commenced, the Company were almost deprived of their empire. The Government, through the Parliament of Britain, have already rendered the Company's power nearly nominal; and the shadow may not survive the present storm. That empire may, therefore, come to an end in this hundredth year of its existence, or next year, or the year after that; and thus help the Brahmins' dark friend out of the dilemma which otherwise, we hope, would overshadow him with shame, if that which is impossible only were possible.

The Anglo-Indian empire will not, we hope, perish in this struggle. The gripe of the West is not so easily loosed as that result would show. An insurrection of the people of Hindostan might be a symptom of decay in the eastern empire, but the mutiny of the Bengal army is only an inci

dental, although a very serious loss. The circumstances by which it was preceded, will be followed, and has been accompanied, are, however, great misfortunes, calculated to weaken the empire, and requiring a different policy from that which we have hitherto pursued.

The events which preceded this revolt cannot be recalled, and on that account some parties think that they should not be discussed; but all the past would be useless as a seven-years old directory, if we are not to use it up in the service of posterity. Our material is "the past"—and it must be moulded into guides for successive politicians in succeeding years. The Anglo-Indian empire originated in accidents apparently. The Stuarts brought the island of Bombay as the dowry of a Spanish bride; and it soon surpassed in commerce, in distinction, and wealth, its rival, Surat. From the acquisition of Bombay, to the annexation of Berar, and the conquest of Pegu, the Anglo-Indian empire has grown almost literally "without hands." The Governors of India have never been ordered to increase its territories, but they have been frequently urged against any measures having that tendency. The means adopted to check annexation have frequently terminated in its extension; and the vast growth of that empire has been attained not by the policy, but almost against the wishes of the British people, or even of those who were charged directly with its management.

The Company's Government has had many blemishes-although not for a moment can we doubt that it has been a vast advantage to India. It is not a government of one century, but more properly of two centuries, and anything resembling free intercourse has been allowed, during only a short period, between Britain and India. The Government of the Company was once, and even recently, a monopoly of everything-of commerce,