land beauties of the other. In short, I entered into all the simple concerns of these simple rustics, and I was then as much impressed as they were themselves with their interest and importance. The minister of a parish in Scotland, at that time, did not occupy a station which, in point of wealth, could entitle him to put himself above the sphere of the humblest cottager. Enjoying, as my father did, the respect and attachment of all his flock, he was at the same time admitted more as an equal than as a superior; and the minister's son was not treated with more respect. From the indulgent course of studies which my father had prescribed, I was sent to college, and to severer masters, in the town of , where I remained for ten years, without having visited my native village. I went through my trials and public examinations with what my friends were pleased to term considerable éclat, and I had been licensed to preach at the neighbouring Presbytery, before I made my appearance at the manse. I came home the night before, and was to begin my public ministry by preaching my first sermon in my father's pulpit. What a change was here effected in a few years! From the wild, regardless youngster, I had become the staid, sober, religious instructor. Instead of associating familiarly, and entering heartily into their little schemes of adventure and of mirth, I was to address them and rule them in the character of teacher and master. After a sleepless night, I was indulging in these reflections, which partook as much of a melancholy as a pleasurable colouring, when I was reminded by my father that the religious duties of the morning were about to be performed. These were gone through with that piety and peace which are exclusively the characteristics of God's people. When seated at the breakfast-table, I could perceive the varied aspect and demeanour of the domestic circle; my mother was pale and agitated, and I saw her tremble as she handed me the cup. My lovely sister was flushed with hope, and anxiety, and pride, and joy, and my father, as if striving with similar feelings, or as if wishing to impress me with the dig nity and seriousness of my duties, was more than ordinarily grave and austere. I was struck also with the peculiar expression of our old servant John's countenance, as he occasionally came into the room. He had known me from my infancy, and it was but as yesterday that he had seen me a "hafflins callan," running wild about the braes. There was an odd mixture of mirth and melancholy, a repressed smile, and an assumed gravity, which, if I had been in other mood, or in other circumstances, would have afforded me some pleasure to analyse. But notwithstanding every effort, I could not free myself from something like a feeling of anxiety or apprehension. I succeeded, however, in bringing myself into a state of calmness and self-command; and after conning over my sermon for the sixtieth time, I took the road to the church. My spirits were cool, and though I felt a slight tremor in my frame, I was firm and collected. I was accompanied by my good old father. The neighbouring roads were crowded with people cleanly and decently dressed, proceeding on their way to church, to hear their former companion deliver his maiden sermon, and there was something extremely interesting in the sight of people gathering from all parts of the country, to the house of God. It is here that the powerful influence of religion is felt much more universally, and is displayed much more unequivocally, than in the artificial societies of towns or cities. The glens, and hills, and dales, speak in the native language of religion, and their inhabitants yield to the divine influence which is impressed upon every thing around them, and lead their views from "Nature's works to Nature's God." Their contemplation is not obscured, or their attention distracted, by the forms of art or the distortions of fashion; and they join in the simple worship of their forefathers with a simplicity and singleness of heart which is not to be found amidst the refined and artificial votaries of fashion and folly. On my entering the church, I saw many faces of old acquaintances, whose eyes were directed towards me with friendly and anxious interest; and when I entered the pulpit along with their own revered and ancient Pastor, I could easily perceive emotions of pride and exultation mantling their homely but kind countenances. My father's prayer was extremely affecting. He besought a blessing on our present meeting, and he prayed earnestly and pathetically for strength and understanding to the speaker who was to address them in the holy character of His Messenger. I was nearly overcome, and I rose to commence my labours with some degree of trepidation. The church was hushed, the most profound silence prevailed, and all eyes were intensely and earnestly fixed upon the pulpit. I was calmed by this universal acquiescence-I experienced the indescribable influence of an attentive audience, and I felt all my energies roused. My text was that most beautiful verse in Ecclesiastes, and which I never repeat but with a thrill of delight, "Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them." I cannot speak of the merits of the serinon. In these my riper days, it appears, upon cooler consideration, to have been too flowery and poetical too much regard being paid to the language and the periods, and too little to the substance and the sense. Like the greater part of young preachers' sermons, it sacrificed too much to the graces of oratory, and could suffer, with much probable advantage, to be pruned and weeded. I have the sermon yet beside me, and, on perusing it yesterday, for the first time these twenty years, I felt my cheek burn, and my pulse beat quick, at the thought of having once coolly and warmly applauded the prurient and extravagant effusion. Let no one talk to a young man of the importance and seriousness of his pastoral duties, or of the necessity of being plain and practical in his week ly addresses to his fellow-men. There never was a young preacher who did not look upon the pulpit merely as a place adapted for the display of his talents. He views it as the public arena, where he enjoys the only opportunity afforded to his profession of putting forth his strength and mind, and exhibiting his powers of oratory; and it runs counter to the laws of Nature, to expect that he will repress these powers, or sacrifice this opportunity of shewing them, for the bare performance of his cold and abstract duty. The mistake is, that he looks upon his duties as too much of a profession. I feel ashamed now, of the exuberant ornaments of this my first Discourse, but then I felt satisfied and proud of them. At some of these artificial pauses, I thought I perceived a slight movement of applause amongst my homely friends, and I was gratified with the supposed force of my preaching. I was excited to still greater exertions, and was delivering, with encreased energy, one of my most laboured passages, when I was suddenly laid hold of by my arm, which was extended, to add force to my exhortations. My father, assuming my place in the pulpit, addressed the audience, "My friends, our young friend John seems to ha'e forgot where he is, and who he is speaking to. We are not in a theatre, nor are we come here to listen to theatrical airs. He is young, and will learnay, and he maun learn before he again preaches here. We are ower auld to be led away by sound, in place of sense, and we are engaged in too important a work to be diverted from the execution of it by mere poetry and noise." I learnt a lesson from this severe rebuke, of which I was the better all the rest of my days, and I never again offended the ears or hearts of my unsophisticated congregation, by theatrical airs, or theatrical composition. It was not long ere I recovered my character with my father, and the most soberminded of his congregation, and I was soon set down as being one of the soundest and plainest preachers in that neighbourhood. With the encreased experience of a long life, and varied observation, I have become more and more convinced, that themore nearly a preacher approaches to simplicity in his sermons, the more nearly does he approximate to that standard of excellence held out to us in the Holy Scriptures. It is very evident, that religion, in all its views, and in all its bearings, embraces elements of thought, capable of engaging the most powerful energies of the most gigantic mind and extensive imagination. But it ought never to be forgot, that the world does not wholly consist of philosophers or of poets, and that, on the contrary, the great majority are humble, sober-minded followers of the Cross, who have an equally important interest at stake in the discussion of this most important of all subjects. It is to them chiefly that the preacher ought to address himself, and in doing so, he ought to choose the simplest method and the plainest language. It is unquestionable, too, that in this way he will reach the bosom of the learned in a much more effectual manner than by imitating them in their scholastic and metaphysical disquisitions. But this is too important a point to be entered upon at present. With your permission, I shall resume the subject at some future period, and I shall then take an opportunity of suggesting a few hints to young preachers, both as to the composition and delivery of their sermons. M. A SLAP AT PUBLIC CONVERSATIONS, BY A PEDANT. MR EDITOR, I AM, Sir, what some persons would denominate a good-tempered quiz, because I very often amuse myself with the eccentricities, and sometimes laugh at the expense of my neighbours. Give me leave to tell you, that a great deal of valuable information may be acquired by observing the world as it rolls uniformly forward,-by noticing the order and disorder, the agreements and the squabbles, the hugs and jostlings, with the various contentions and strifes, of the mixed multitude, as it is urged onwards; that is, as the whole mass of the people are hurried on in their several vocations, either as immersed in business, or absorbed in pleasure. While thus employed, in the society of mechanics you are sometimes disgusted with vulgarity; but then you have, generally, nature before your eyes; candour shines in almost every face; every one utters his thoughts as they arise; there is little or no dissimulation, nor any cloaking of sentiments. Among the flutterers in high life, you are fatigued with the flat, dull monotony of nevervarying pride and nonsense; here every thing is governed by fashion and etiquette; the features must be screwed up into gravity; you must smile by rule, and to laugh is vulgar; the conversation is restrained and artificial; every one acts his part; spontaneous thoughts are concealed, and the mind is constantly bewildered in the labyrinths of form and ceremony. The middling class of every community is, in my opinion, much the best. I often compare the VOL. XV. three orders of mankind to a cask of fine old October, in which the top is all froth, the bottom dregs, but the middle wholesome, enlivening, excellent beverage. My situation in life gives me an opportunity of mixing with all sorts and conditions of men; I am one evening with a noble lord; another at the house of a bishop of my acquaintance; another at the vicarage. I sometimes spend my time at an inn or an hotel, and the next day you find me at a tavern. Sometimes I go for a fortnight into the country, and hunt with the bumkins, yclept the gentry; and not unfrequently I may be met with at the theatre, or amid parties of theatrical heroes and heroines, the kings and queens, lords and ladies, and gentlemen commoners of the little stageby whom the vices and follies of the actors on the great stage of the world are said to be held up in mimic ridicule, to the few who attend such exhibitions, and who can, moreover, afford to pay for such instructive entertainments. My friend Batty is at this time a first-rate actor,-a good comic performer, an excellent Monsieur Tonson, good, in short, at any thing. We drove, a few days ago, into the country, to dine with our common friend Pearson, who is a great man also in his way; very pompous, quite rich, and, in his own opinion, exceedingly learned. After dinner, the following edifying and instructive dialogue took place. 66 Yours," said Pearson to Batty; "is a fagging sort of life; a great deal of drudgery, and not well rewarded L for your labour." "True, Sir, very true; but, however, nine pounds aweek, and a benefit of two hundred pounds once a-year, is not to be snuffed at. I acknowledge that such wages, for men of high talents, are rather scrubby, but we make shift to exist." "To exist, indeed!" replied Pearson: why, Sir, nine pounds aweek, with a benefit of two hundred pounds, is six hundred and fifty pounds a-year; and this, I can assure you, is a very handsome income. Let me see our Vicar has two hundred and fifty pounds, and the Teacher one hundred pounds a-year; now you make twice as much as both, and they are both men of considerable talents, and great information. You are well rewarded indeed: why, you cannot lay up less than three hundred a-year, Mr Batty; so that, in a short time, you will accumulate an independent fortune. I suppose, too, from long practice, that you commit to memory very quick ?" "Very rapidly, Sir," said Batty; "I have, on a push, got by rote two hundred lines, in an hour and twenty minutes, and performed them in high style, the same evening, on the boards of Drury Lane." "And you are frequently invited to great men's tables ?" "Oh yes, very often; I dined not a month ago with Lord Gand a fortnight back with Sir A. C, and I am hand and glove with the Lord Mayor-mostly sup with him twice a-week, and when he is at the theatre, he always takes me home with him in his coach. I knew him, you see, Sir, when we were boys, and Tom Batty was then, let me tell you, the richest and best fellow of the two." "I am glad," said Pearson," that you have such respectable connections; and when you get rich-" "Rich! yes, a fine thing that," replied the Thespian; "but when will that come to pass "Why, from your income, Sir, it is impossible but that you must in a short time be in very easy circumstances." "Ah! Mr Pearson, you are not aware of our immense erpenses, and know nothing about our heavy mulctures. I have, as I said, nominally nine pounds a-week; that is, when I perform every night; but sometimes I only get three nights." "Well, but-" " Why, then, I re ceive four pounds ten a-week; I think it a good week if I act four nights, but the average is three only; and then, you know, there are the summer months, that produce little or nothing, and our benefits are very precarious-yes, Sir, very fluctuating and uncertain." "That certainly alters the case, Mr Batty; however, as you have no family-no mouths that want bread, nor feet that want shoes, I still think that-" "That I shall soon be rich by my savings out of my earnings? But I," said Batty, "think quite the contrary: and now, if you please, we will sink the shop altogether; give me leave to inform you, Mr Pearson, that I detest it. This is," he continued, very good whisky; there is no liquor I like so much as whisky; it makes heavenly punch! and what a charming dram after dinner, or when one is ready to faint, after great exertion on the stage! But I can tell you an excellent story about whisky. Several years ago, I became acquainted with an officer in the Excise; he did then, and still continues to do, a little in the smuggling line: he is from Ireland, you see, and he supplies me with some of the very best Irishone-prime stuff, as ever touched a lip-real mountain dew-I never get any thing like it. This, however, (sipping at his glass,) this is not very bad, but it is nothing like mine, as I am sure you will say when you taste it. Gentlemen, you will dine with me on Monday week-aye, let me see, on Monday, I think I have no engagement for that day-and then you will say you have tasted whisky, such whisky as you had never before tasted-Oh! what a flavour! but shall I have the felicity of entertaining you, in my poor way, in my little cottage at Lambeth?" We all promised. Then," said he, “ I am a lucky fellow in two things, as you shall hear; first, because I shall be honoured with your good company; with respect to the next, why, gentlemen, you must know that, two days ago, I received a note from the Lord Mayor; Batty,' said he, 'send me all the whisky you have got in your cellar, and remember you dine with me on the tenth instant, and let me have none of your silly exe cuses, but come without farther ce " remony;' and he concluded with, 'dear Batty, I am yours, &c. &c.' Now, what do you think I did? why I sent his lordship twenty dozen, leaving only five bottles behind; but that will serve us for Monday, and perhaps before that time I shall obtain a fresh supply." You may think, perhaps, Mr Editor, that my friend Batty has made a tolerable swell; and I think myself that his conversation smells very strongly of egotism; but I assure you I have softened it down very considerably; and believe me, Sir, I hear every day similar bragging from braggadocios similarly situated to my friend Batty; and, what is still worse, as you may perceive, all is not truth which they utter-I seldom quote them as authority. But, without further comment, let us proceed. Monday at length arrived, and Batty's dinner was served up in grand style, in his neat little cottage at Lambeth: no ox's cheek, no liver and bacon, no! every thing was good, and of the right kind. The soles, our host assured us, were fried in oil fresh from Italy, a present from his friend General B- who had just arrived in England-the turkey was from Kent-the ham from Wesphalia-the oysters from Meltonthe mutton from the Welch mountains the wines from France-and the whisky, as the reader already knows, was from Irishone. Suppose now, Sir, that the dinner is over, the ladies withdrawn, the King's health having already been drunk, and all the company in high glee; Mr Batty proceeded to inform us, that, on the tenth, as per invitation, he dined with the Lord Mayor; but that he was far from being comfortable-no! he was vexed, confoundedly vexed; and he proceeded to vent his complaints. "The great Dr Strap," said he," was there, and he seemed determined rather to dispute every thing, than to acquiesce in any assertion that appeared the least doubtful. A friend of mine," continued he, "Mr Gawky-you know him very well, he is a porter-brewer in the borough, very rich, and very respectable. This gentleinan wishing to pay him a compliment, observed to this Dr Strap, that he had no doubt he was a great disciplinarian." "You are right, Sir," replied the doctor, "for discipline makes a scholar, and discipline makes a gentleman; and the want of discipline has made you what you are. "Now, my friends," said Batty, "this was throwing the sledgehammer with a vengeance; no person is, in my opinion, proof against such unwieldy weapons, nor deserves to be smitten in such a manner. The doctor, however, is a great man, and may sometimes presume upon his greatness, to assist his arguments. Believe me, gentlemen, I do not like any great men, except those upon the stage; and we never rely upon our greatness, to beat down an antagonist, nor do we ever attempt to brow-beat an inferior,-no! we should scorn such a subterfuge. Well, I was just about to answer Dr Strap in his own way, but I was prevented by my friend Mr Fielding, who sat on my right. This gentleman is, you know, an author, a poet, a reviewer, and a great classic withal; but he is a peaceable man, and he begged me to refrain, 'for,' said he, it is well known that Dr Strap has a mind truly gigantic, and his learning is perfectly colossal; we little stars must hide our di minished heads.' I had, however, never a better mind in all my life to eat my dinner, than I now had to trounce the Doctor. But, gentlemen," said he, looking round the table, "you forget the whisky,-how do you like my whisky?-is it not the most delicious of all delights? wine of every description is, in my opinion, mere slip-slop to it. Yes," said he, sipping at his glass, it is nectar, and the gods must at this moment envy us our bliss!" We assured him that his panegyric was not too lavish in its praise, for that it was certainly above all commendation. "Well, as I was saying," he continued, "I had great difficulty in restraining my anger; it was so rude, you know,-it was so ungentlemanly, you know,-upon my word, if I had been the object of his ridicule, I think I should have called him out. Oh! I cannot bear ridicule, of all things; a joke may be borne with, or a rap on the knuckles, but my friend's rebuke was the severest of any ever given; hang me if I could have forgiven him. No! I would rather have been |