"cald, but happily preserved in the subterranean church of the abbey; "here we behold it, after our convulsions, the only monument on "earth, of a saint who twice saved the capital; and who, in heaven, "has not ceased to be propitious to them." There is just as much more, consisting chiefly of details, to verify the preceding statements. It were mere waste of words to say that this is all the rankest folly, and the grossest impiety-and the foulest imposition. But if you will look behind the pillar, you will see in a recess the tomb itself; surrounded by an iron railing, the spikes of which, are so adjusted as to receive a candle upon each, of the numerous points. A young female sat in a sort of stall, not far off, composedly at work; and driving a traffic in various small articles, such as medals,-images,-beads,-but above all, little dirty candles, such as were called vat-tales, when in my youth, we denounced them at boarding school. While I stood near, five females, and two men, came into the recess-and reverently bowing their bodies, seemed to worship the tomb. What they actually did worship, is best known to themselves. The men each purchased, a candle of the girl, lighted it, and stuck it on a point of the railing round the tomb. There were other candles, that had been placed by previous devotees: and the whole railing was filthy from constant use.

On the opposite side of the church hung, in a frame-was a schedule of private masses. There were seven separate foundations, of which the particulars were given. I made a memorandum of two. 1. "A Mass was established in 1826, by Monsieur le due de Cambaceres to be celebrated yearly on the 15th day of January; for the repose of his soul; for which he created an anual rent of the hundred and twenty five francs". 2" Monsieur Mongrud formerly professor of philosophy, created in the year 1830 a temporary foundation, for 500. masses, for the repose of his soul; which will be celebrated every Monday at 10 o'clock, until the 15th of June 1839" The sum given, is left blank. Now suppose this be all fair and true: and the matter precisely as these gentlemen supposed when they established these masses-and as their church taught them it was. How then? I say nothing, of excluding a good man from happiness after death, and consigning him from 1830 till 1839, to the horrors of Purgatory. I say nothing of its requiring a perpetual mass to get the duke out, and keep him out. I say not a word about the blasphemy of pretending to save bad men after death. Look at it in this light. This church teaches that the sacrifice of the mass, is not only a propitiary sacrifice for the living and the dead-but that it is the very identical sacrifice of Calvary. I do not argue whether it is so or not, let us say it is. There Christ is crucified, every monday morning, at ten o'clock, at St. Genevieve, and will be for three years to come, making in all 500 repetitions of the awful scene of Calvary-for the sake of one poor sinner, who nevertheless, might be all the time in heaven! And the priests perpetrates these tremendous acts, upon a nice calculation of francs and centemes; so nice, that he tells you beforehand the day, on which he will no longer sacrifice his Saviour on this account, as the "pieces of silver" will be then fully earned? But as M le Due's money is a perpetual grant,-these priests will undertake that the Lord of glory shall be offered up, yearly forever,

for him? I do not believe there are on earth assassins who would, sacrifice their enemies, or even dumb creatures, upon the terms and to their extent, and for the reasons on which the priests if they believe what they say they do, must consider themselves, sacrificing him whom they call the Saviour!-How tremendous are those words, "they have crucified to themselves the Son of God afresh;and put him to an open shame?"

LIFE OF GEORGE WHITEFIELD FROM SOUTHEY'S LIFE OF WESLEY.

GEORGE WHITEFIELD was born at the Bell Inn, in the city of Gloucester at the close of the year 1714. He describes himself as froward from his mother's womb; so brutish as to hate instruction; stealing from his mother's pocket, and frequently appropriating to his own use the money that he took in the house. "If I trace myself," he says, "from my cradle to my manhood, I can see nothing in me but a fitness to be damned; and if the Almighty had not prevented me by his grace, I had now either been sitting in darkness and in the shadow of death, or condemned, as the due reward of my crimes, to be for ever lifting up my eyes in torments." Yet Whitfield could recollect early movings of the heart, which satisfied him in after life, that "God loved him with an everlasting love, and had separated him even from his mother's womb, for the work to which he afterwards was pleased to call him. He had a devout disposition, and a tender heart. When he was about ten years old, his mother made a second marriage; it proved an unhappy one. During the affliction to which this led, his brother used to read aloud Bishop Ken's Manual for Winchester Scholars. This book affected George Whitefield greatly; and when the corporation, at their annual visitation of St. Mary de Crypt's school, where he was educated, gave him, according to custom, money for the speeches which he was chosen to deliver, he purchased the book, and found it, he says, of great benefit to his soul.

"Whitefield's talents for elocution, which made him afterwards so great a performer in the pulpit, were at this time in some danger of receiving a theatrical direction. The boys at the grammar school were fond of acting plays; the master, seeing how their vein ran, encouraged it, and composed a dramatic piece himself; which they represented before the corporation, and in which Whitefield enacted a woman's part, and appeared in girl's clothes. The remembrance of this, he says, had often covered him with confusion of face, and he hoped it would do so even to the end of his life! Before he was fifteen, he persuaded his mother to take him from school, saying, that she could not place him at the university, and more learning would only spoil him for a tradesman. Her own circumstances indeed, were by this time so much on the decline, that his menial services were required; he began occasionally to assist her in the public house, till at length he put on his blue apron and his snuffers, wash

So the word is printed in his own account of his life; it seems to mean the sleeves which are worn by cleanly men in dirty employments, and may possibly be a misprint for seoggers, as such sleeves are called in some parts of England.

er.

ed mops, cleaned rooms, and became a professed and common drawIn the little leisure which such employments allowed, this strange boy composed two or three sermons; and the romances, which had been his heart's delight, gave place for awhile to Thomas à Kempis.

"When he had been about a year in this servile occupation, the inn was made over to a married brother, and George, being accustomed to the house, continued there as an assistant; but he could not agree with his sister-in-law, and after much uneasiness gave up the situation. His mother, though her means were scanty, permitted him to have a bed upon the ground in her house, and live with her, till Providence should point out a place for him. The way was soon indicated. A servitor at Pembroke College called upon his mother, and in the course of conversation told her, that after all his college expences for that quarter were discharged, he had received a penny. She immediately cried out, this will do for my son; and turning to him said, "Will you Go to Oxford, George?" Happening to have the same friends as this young man, she waited on them without delay; they promised their interest to obtain a servitor's place in the same college, and in reliance upon this George returned to the grammar school. Here he applied closely to his books, and shaking off, by the strong effort of a religious mind, all evil and idle courses, produced, by the influence of his talents and example, some reformation among his school-fellows. He attended public service constantly, received the sacrament monthly, fasted often, and prayed often, more than twice a day in private. At the age of eighteen he was removed to Oxford; the recommendation of his friends was successful; another friend borrowed for him ten pounds, to defray the expense of entering; and with a good fortune beyond his hopes, he was admitted servitor immediately.

"Servitorships are more in the spirit of a Roman Catholic than of an English establishment. Among the Catholics, religious poverty is made respectable, because it is accounted a virtue; and humiliation is an essential part of monastic discipline. But in our state of things it cannot be wise to brand men with the mark of inferiority; the line is already broad enough. Oxford would do well, if, in this respect, it imitated Cambridge, abolished an invidious distinction of dress, and dispensed with services which, even when they are not mortifying to those who perform them, are painful to those to whom they are performed. Whitefield found the advantage of having been used to a public-house; many who could choose their servitor preferred him, because of his diligent and alert attendance; and thus, by help of the profits of the place, and some little presents made him by a kindhearted tutor, he was enabled to live without being beholden to his relations for more than four-and-twenty pounds, in the course of three years. Little as this is, it shows, when compared with the ways and means of the elder Wesley at College, that half a century had greatly enhanced the expenses of Oxford. At first he was rendered uncomfortable by the society into which he was thrown; he had several chamber-fellows, who would fain have made him join them in their riotous mode of life; and as he could only escape from their persecutions by sitting alone in his study, he was sometimes benumbed with

cold; but when they perceived the strength as well as the singularity of his character, they suffered him to take his own way in peace.

"Before Whitefield went to Oxford, he had heard of the young men there who lived by rule and method,' and therefore called Methodists. They were now nuch talked of, and generally despised. He however, was drawn toward them by kindred feelings, defended them strenuously when he heard them reviled, and when he saw them go through a ridiculing crowd to receive the sacrament at St. Mary's was strongly inclined to follow their example. For more than a year he yearned to be acquainted with them; and it seems that the sense of his inferior condition kept him back. At length the great object of his desires was affected. A pauper had attempted suicide, and Whitefield sent a poor woman to inform Charles Wesley, that he might visit the person, and minister spiritual medicine, the messenger was charged not to say who sent her; contrary to these orders, she told, his name, and Charles Wesley, who had seen him frequently walking by himself, and heard some thing of his character, invited him to breakfast the next morning. An introduction to this little fellowship soon followed; and he also, like them, 'began to live by rule, and to pick up the very fragments of his time, that not a moment of it might be lost."

The following is Southey's account of Whitefield's qualifications as an orator when he first began preaching:

"The man who produced this extraordinary effect, had many natural advantages. He was something above the middle stature, well proportioned, though at that time slender, and remarkable for a native gracefulness of manner. His complexion was very fair, his features regular, his eyes, small and lively, of a dark blue colour: in recovering from the meazles, he had contracted a squint with one of them; but this peculiarity rather rendered the expression of his counnance more remarkable, than any degree lessened the effect of its uncommon sweetness. His voice excelled both in melody and compass, and its fine modulations were happily accompanied by that grace of action which he possessed in an eminent degree, and which has been said to be the chief requisite of an orator. An ignorant man described his eloquence oddly but strikingly, when he said, that Mr. Whitefield preached like a lion. So strange a comparison conveyed no unapt notion of the force, and vehemence, and passion of that oratory which awed the hearers, and made them tremble like Felix before the apostle. For believing himself to be the messenger of God, commissioned to call sinners to repentance, he spoke as one conscious of his high credentials, with authority and power; yet in all his discourses there was a fervent and melting charity-an earnestness of persuasion-an out-pouring of redundant love, partaking the virtue of that faith from which it flowed, inasmuch as it seemed to enter the heart which it pierced, and to heal it as with balm."

Of his maturer powers, he thus collects the testimony of the most unquestionable witnesses.

"Dr. Franklin has justly observed, that it would have been fortunate for his reputation if he had left no written works; his talents would then have been estimated by the effect which they are known to have produced; for, on this point, there is the evidence of witnesses whose credibility cannot be disputed Whitefield's writings, of every kind, are certainly below mediocrity. They afford the measure

of his knowledge and of his intellect, but not of his genius as a preacher. His printed sermons, instead of being, as is usual, the most elaborate and finished discourses of their author, have indeed the disadvantage of being precisely those upon which the least care had been bestowed: This may be easily explained.

"By hearing him often,' says Franklin, 'I came to distinguish easily between sermons newly composed, and those which he had often preached in the course of his travels. His delivery of the latter was so improved by frequent repetition, that every accent, every emphasis, every modulation of voice, was so perfectly well turned, and well placed, that, without being interested in the subject, one could not help being pleased with the discourse-a pleasure of much the same kind with that received from an excellent piece of music. This is an advantage itinerant preachers have over those who are stationary, as the latter cannot well improve their delivery of a sermon by so many rehearsals.' It was a great advantage, but it was not the only one, nor the greatest, which he derived from repeating his discourses, and reciting instead of reading them. Had they been delivered from a written copy, one delivery would have been like the last; the paper would have operated like a spell, from which he could not departinvention sleeping, while the utterance followed the eye. But when he had nothing before him except the audience whom he was addressing, the judgment and the imagination, as well as the memory, were called forth. Those parts were omitted which had been felt to come feebly from the tongue, and fall heavily upon the ear, and their place was supplied by matter newly laid in the course of his studies, or fresh from the feeling of the moment. They who lived with him could trace him in his sermons to the book which he had last been reading, or the subject which had recently taken his attention. But the salient points of his oratory were not prepared passages,-they were bursts of passions like jets from a Geyser, when the spring is in full play.

"The theatrical talent which he displayed in boyhood, manifested itself strongly in his oratory. When he was about to preach, whether it was from a pulpit, or a table in the streets, or a rising ground, he appeared with a solemnity of manner, and an anxious expression of countenance, that seemed to show how deeply he was possessed with a sense of the importance of what he was about to say. His elocution was perfect. They who heard him most frequently could not remember that he ever stumbled at a word, or hesitated for want of one. He never faultered, unless when the feeling to which he had wrought himself overcame him, and then his speech was interrupted by a flow of tears. Sometimes he would appear to lose all self-command, and weep exceedingly, and stamp loudly and passionately; and sometimes the emotion of his mind exhausted him, and the beholders felt a momentary apprehension even for his life. And, indeed, it is said, that the effect of this vehemence upon his bodily frame was tremendous; that he usually vomitted after he had preached, and sometimes discharged in this manner, a considerable quantity of blood. But this was when the effort was over, and nature was left at leisure to relieve herself. While he was on duty, he controlled all sense of infirmity or pain, and made his advantage of the passion to which he had given way. You blame me for weeping,' he would say, but how can I help it, when you will not weep for your