sometimes they were cold, while the heat raged inwardly and excited an unquenchable drought. But the most constant signs of the pestilence were blains, which broke out all over the person with exquisite and shooting pains, hard' and painful tumours, with inflammation upon the glands, virulent carbuncles, which, while their pain was intense, their cure and danger was most critical and hazardous—not to men. tion the tokens which proceeded from the putrefaction of the blood and the mortification of the part, which, when real, i. e. when the spot and the part about had lost its feeling and no mistake could arise, were the certain forerunners of death; in some cases only appearing a few hours previous to dissolution, in others the fourth day before, remaining, observes. Dr. Hodges, all that time terrible admonitions to the sick and their attendants.

To the affliction arising from such a disease was London exposed, with various fluctuations, for the space of twelve months, and to such an exteřt; as that four thousand died of it in one night, twenty thousand in one week, and, in the whole, not less than a hundred thousand. About the same time of the year that it commenced, its retreat was observed to have taken place, or, at least, to be very near at hand. All the symptoms became less violent, fewer were infected, and those who were so mostly recovered, so that this once powerful and gigantic distemper dwindled into slight and contemptible attacks of quinsey and headache. We must now close our observations, both on the work of Defoe and its subject, with this remark, that it has been our intention in this article, as it will be in the next, to consider the plague in a literary and historical point of view, and by no means, by dwelling upon the cure or the nature of the disorder, to invade the province of the physician, which, if we were capable of doing, we should certainly search for a fitter theatre and fitter auditors, than the pages and readers of the Retrospective Reviero.

FROM BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE, 1. Ecclesiastical Sketches.—2. Memorials of a Tour on the Continent,

1820. By William Wordsworth. 8vo. The objects which Mr. Wordsworth had in view in the composition of“ Ecclesiastical Sketches,” will best appear in his own words:

“During the month of December, 1820, I accompanied a much-loved and honoured friend in a walk through different parts of his estate, with a view to fix upon the site of a new church which he intended to erect. It was one of the most beautiful mornings of a mild season,-our feelings were in harmony with the cherishing inAuences of the scene; and, such being our purpose, we were naturally led to look back upon past events with wonder and gratitude, and on the future with hope. Not long afterwards, some of the Sonnets which will be found towards the close of this series, were produced as a private memorial of that morning's occupation.

“ The Catholic Question, which was agitated in Parliament about that time, kept my thoughts in the same course ; and it struck me that certain points in the Ecclesiastical History of our Country, might advantageously be presented to view in verse. Accordingly, I took up the subjeci and what I now offer to the reader, was the re. sult.”

These fine Sketches are divided into three parts :--the first embraces many interesting topics, from the introduction of Christianity into Britain to the consummation of the Papal dominion; the second, from

the close of the troubles in the reign of Charles the First; and the third, from the Restoration to the present times. Mr. Wordsworth, with a fine philosophic eye, fixes on those incidents, events, actions, and characters, which were most influential, for good or evil, on the religious state of England, down through those long and various ages. And in the form of Sonnets, he gives expression to his thoughts or feelings, so that there is hardly one subject of magnitude in the ecclesiastical history of England, on which we do not find a thought that breathes, or a word that burns. It is obvious, that no one regular connected poem could have been written on so vast a subject. But although each Sonnet, according to the law of that kind of composition, is in itself a whole, yet frequently two or three of the Series are beautifully connected and blended together, so as to read like connected stanzas of one poem. And indeed when the whole series—all its three parts--is perused, the effect is magnificent, and great events, and deeds, and minds, seem to have been passing processionally before us over the floor of an enchanted stage. Mr. Wordsworth's mind is familiar with all these as with matters of to-day, and therefore he speaks of them all as of things known and felt by every man of liberal education. He flings a beam of light on some transaction dark in antiquity, and it rises up for a moment before ushe raises the coffin-lid in some old vault, and we behold the still face of one formerly great or wise on earth-he rebuilds, as with a magic wand, the holy edifice that for centuries has lain in ruins-monks and nuns walk once more in the open sun-light, and all the fading or faded pageantries of faith reappear and vanish in melancholy and sublime mutation. Can we do better than quote a good many of these noble sonnets ? The five following all hang together.

TREPIDATION OF THE DRUIDS.
Screams round the Arch-druid's brow the Seamew* --white
As Menai's foam; and towards the mystic ring
Where Augurs stand, the future questioning,
Slowly the Cormorant aims her heavy flight,
Portending ruin to each baleful rite,
That, in the lapse of seasons, hath crept o'er
Diluvian truths, and patriarchal lore:
Haughty the Bard ;--can these meek doctrines blight
His transports ? wither his heroic strains ?
But all shall be fulfill'd ;-the Julian spear
A way first open'd; and, with Roman chains,
The tidings come of Jesus crucified;
They come-they spread the weak, the suffering, hear;
Receive the faith, and in the hope abide.

DRUIDICAL EXCOMMUNICATION, &c.
Mercy and Love have met thee on thy road,
Thou wretched Outcast, from the gift of fire
And food cut off by sacerdotal ire,
From every sympathy that man bestow'd !
Yet shall it claim our reverence, that to God,
Ancient of days! that to the eternal Sire
These jealous Ministers of Law aspire,
As to the one sole fount whence Wisdom flow'd,

ater-fowl was, among the Druids, an emblem of those traditions connect

deluge that made an important part of their mysteries. The Cormo. * bird of bad omen.

Justice, and Order. Tremblingly escaped,
As if with prescience of the coming storm,
That intimation when the stars were shaped ;
And yon thick woods maintain the primal truth,
Debased by many a superstitious form,
That fills the Soul with unavailing ruth.

UNCERTAINTY.
Darkness surrounds us; seeking, we are lost
On Snowdon's wilds, amid Brigantian coves,
Or where the solitary Shepherd roves
Along the plain of Sarum, by the Ghost
Of silently departed ages cross'd;
And where the boatmen of the Western Isles
Slackens his course—to mark those holy piles
Which yet survive on bleak Iona's coast.
Nor these, nor monuments of eldest fame,
Nor Taliesin's unforgotten lays,
Nor characters of Greek or Roman fame,
To an unquestionable Source have led;
Enough—if eyes that sought the fountain-head,
In vain, upon the growing Rill may gaze.

PERSECUTION.
Lament! for Diocletian's fiery sword
Works busy as the lightning; but instinct
With malice ne'er to deadliest weapon link'd,
Which God's ethereal storehouses afford
Against the followers of the incarnate Lord
It rages ;-some are smitten in the field-
Some pierced beneath the unavailing shield
Of sacred home ;-with pomp are others gored
And dreadful respite. Thus was Alban tried,
England's first Martyr! whom no threats could shake;
Self-offer'd victim, for his friend he died,
And for the faith-nor shall his name forsake
That Hill,* whose flowery platform seems to rise
By Nature deck'd for holiest sacrifice.

RECOVERY.
As, when a storm hath ceased, the birds regain
Their cheerfulness, and busily retrim
Their nests, or chaunt a gratulating hymn
To the blue ether and bespangled plain ;
Even so, in many a reconstructed fane,
Have the Survivors of this Storm renew'd
Their holy rites with vocal gratitude ;
And solemn ceremonials they ordain
To celebrate their great deliverance ;
Most feelingly instructed ’mid their fear,
That persecution, blind with rage extreme,
May not the less, through Heaven's mild countenance,
Even in her own despite, both feed and cheer ;
For all things are less dreadful than they seem.

• This hill at St. Alban's must have been an object of great interest to the imagination of the venerable Bede, who thus describes it with a delicate feeling de. lightful to meet with in that rude age, traces of which are frequent in his works ; “Variis herbarum floribus depictus sino usque quaque vestitus in quo nihil repente arduum nihil præceps, nihil abruptum, quem lateribus longe lateque deductum in modum æquoris natura complanat, dignum videlicet eum pro insita sibi specie venustatis jam olim reddens, qui beati martyris cruore dicaretur.”

After touching on the temptations that spring from Roman refinements, on heresies and discord at the altar, on the struggles of the Britons against the Barbarians,

“With Arthur bearing through the stormy field,

The Virgin sculptur'd on his Christian shield;" and many other bright or dark points in the history of the Faith, the poet's mind once again flows on in a continued stream, and we are enabled to present our readers with seven successive sonnets.

PRIMITIVE SAXON CLERGY.*
How beautiful your presence, how benign,
Servants of God! who not a thought will share
With the vain world; who outwardly, as bare
As winter trees, yield no fallacious sign
That the firm soul is clothed with fruit divine!
Such Priest, when service worthy of his care
Has call'd him forth to breathe the common air,
Might seem a saintly Image from its shrine
Descended; happy are the eyes that meet
The Apparition; evil thoughts are stay'd
At his approach, and low-bow'd necks entreat
A benediction from his voice or hand;
Whence grace, through which the heart can understand,
And vows, that bind the will, in silence made.

OTHER INFLUENCES.
Ah, when the Frame, round which in love we clung,
Is chill'd by death, does mutual service fail?
Is tender pity then of no avail?
Are intercessions of the fervent tongue
A waste of hope?-From this sad source have sprung
Rites that console the spirit, under grief
Which ill can brook more rational relief;
Hence, prayers are shaped amiss, and dirges sung,
For those whose doom is fix'd! The way is smooth
For power that travels with the human heart:-
Confession ministers, the pang to sooth
In him who at the ghost of guilt doth start.
Ye holy Men, so earnest in your care,
Of your own mighty instruments beware!

SECLUSION.
Lance, shield, and sword relinquish'd-at his side
A Bead-roll, in his hand a clasped Book,
Or staff more harmless than a Shepherd's crook,
The war-worn Chieftain quits the world—to hide
His thin autumnal locks where monks abide
In cloisterd privacy. But not to dwell
In soft repose he comes. Within his cell,
Round the decaying trunk of human pride,

ing spoken of the zeal, disinterestedness, and temperance of the clergy of ames, Bede thus proceeds: “Unde et in magna erat veneratione tempore illo onis habitus, ita ut ubicunque clericus aliquis, aut monachus adveniret, gau

er ab omnibus tanquam Dei famulus exciperetur. Etiam si in itinere pergens inveniretur, accurrebant, et Alexo cervice, vel manu signari, vel ore illiuse benedici, gaudebant. Verbis quoque horum exhortatoriis diligenter auditum præbebant.”. Lib. iii. chap. 26.

At morn, and even, and midnight's silent hour,
Do penitential cogitations cling :
Like ivy, round some ancient elm, they twine
In grisly folds and strictures serpentine;
Yet, while they strangle without mercy, bring
For recompense their own perennial bower.

CONTINUED.
Methinks that to some vacant Hermitage
My feet would rather turn-to some dry nook
Scoop'd out of living rock, and near a brook
Huri'd down a mountain-cove from stage to stage,
Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage
In the soft heaven of a translucent pool ;
Thence creeping under forest arches cool,
Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage
Perchance would throng my dreams. A beechen bowl,
A maple dish, my furniture should be;
Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting Owl
My night-watch: nor should e'er the crested Fowl
From thorp or vill his matins sound for me,
Tired of the world and all its industry.

REPROOF.
But what if One, through grove or flowery mead,
Indulging thus at will the creeping feet
Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet
The hovering Shade of venerable Bede;
The Saint, the Scholar, from a circle freed
Of toil stupendous, in a hallowed seat
Of Learning, where he heard the billows beat
On a wild coast-rough monitors to feed
Perpetual industry. Sublime Recluse !
The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt
Imposed on human kind, must first forget
Thy diligence, thy unrelaxing use
Of a long life; and, in the hour of death,

The last dear service of thy passing breath !*
SAXON MONASTERIES, AND LIGHTS AND SHADES OF THE RELIGION.

But such examples mov'd to unbought pains,
The people work like congregated bees:t
Eager to build the quiet Fortresses
Where Piety, as they believe, obtains
From Heaven a general blessing; timely rains
Or needful sunshine; prosperous enterprise,
And peace, and equity.-Bold faith! yet rise
The sacred Towers for universal gains.
The Sensual think with rev’rence of the palms
Which the chaste votaries seek, beyond the grave;
If penance be redeemable, thence alms
Flow to the Poor, and freedom to the Slave;
And, if full oft the Sanctuary save
Lives black with guilt, ferocity it calms.

MISSIONS AND TRAVELS.
Not sedentary all: there are who roam
To scatter seeds of Life on barbarous shores;

* He expired in the act of concluding a translation of St. John's Gospel. † See in Turner's History, vol. iii. p. 528, the account of the erection of Ramsey Monastery. Penances were removable by the performances of acts of charity and benevolence.