THE FLATTING MILL.

Says the pipe to the snuff-box, I can't understandWhat the ladies and gentlemen see in your face,That you are in fashion all over the land,And I am so much fallen into disgrace.Do but see what a pretty contemplative airI give to the company—pray do but note 'em—You would think that the wise men of Greece were all there,Or at least would suppose them the wise men of Gotham.My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses,While you are a nuisance where'er you appear;There is nothing but snivelling and blowing of noses,Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear.Then, lifting his lid in a delicate way,And opening his mouth with a smile quite engaging,The box in reply was heard plainly to say,What a silly dispute is this we are waging!If you have a little of merit to claim,You may thank the sweet-smelling Virginian weed,And I, if I seem to deserve any blame,The before-mention'd drug in apology plead.Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own,No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus,We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone,But of any thing else they may choose to put in us.

Says the pipe to the snuff-box, I can't understandWhat the ladies and gentlemen see in your face,That you are in fashion all over the land,And I am so much fallen into disgrace.

Do but see what a pretty contemplative airI give to the company—pray do but note 'em—You would think that the wise men of Greece were all there,Or at least would suppose them the wise men of Gotham.

My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses,While you are a nuisance where'er you appear;There is nothing but snivelling and blowing of noses,Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear.

Then, lifting his lid in a delicate way,And opening his mouth with a smile quite engaging,The box in reply was heard plainly to say,What a silly dispute is this we are waging!

If you have a little of merit to claim,You may thank the sweet-smelling Virginian weed,And I, if I seem to deserve any blame,The before-mention'd drug in apology plead.

Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own,No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus,We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone,But of any thing else they may choose to put in us.

AN ILLUSTRATION.

When a bar of pure silver or ingot of goldIs sent to be flatted or wrought into length,It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roll'dIn an engine of utmost mechanical strength.Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appearsLike a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show,Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears,And, warm'd by the pressure, is all in a glow.This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustainThe thump after thump of a gold-beater's mallet,And at last is of service in sickness or painTo cover a pill for a delicate palate.Alas for the poet! who dares undertakeTo urge reformation of national ill—His head and his heart are both likely to acheWith the double employment of mallet and mill.If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight,Smooth, ductile, and even his fancy must flow,Must tinkle and glitter like gold to the sight,And catch in its progress a sensible glow.After all he must beat it as thin and as fineAs the leaf that enfolds what an invalid swallows;For truth is unwelcome, however divine,And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows.

When a bar of pure silver or ingot of goldIs sent to be flatted or wrought into length,It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roll'dIn an engine of utmost mechanical strength.

Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appearsLike a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show,Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears,And, warm'd by the pressure, is all in a glow.

This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustainThe thump after thump of a gold-beater's mallet,And at last is of service in sickness or painTo cover a pill for a delicate palate.

Alas for the poet! who dares undertakeTo urge reformation of national ill—His head and his heart are both likely to acheWith the double employment of mallet and mill.

If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight,Smooth, ductile, and even his fancy must flow,Must tinkle and glitter like gold to the sight,And catch in its progress a sensible glow.

After all he must beat it as thin and as fineAs the leaf that enfolds what an invalid swallows;For truth is unwelcome, however divine,And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows.

A FAVOURITE OF MISS SALLY HURDIS.

These are not dewdrops, these are tears,And tears by Sally shedFor absent Robin, who she fears,With too much cause, is dead.One morn he came not to her handAs he was wont to come,And, on her finger perch'd, to standPicking his breakfast-crumb.Alarm'd, she call'd him, and perplex'dShe sought him, but in vain—That day he came not, nor the next,Nor ever came again.She therefore raised him here a tomb,Though where he fell, or how,None knows, so secret was his doom,Nor where he moulders now.Had half a score of coxcombs diedIn social Robin's stead,Poor Sally's tears had soon been dried,Or haply never shed.But Bob was neither rudely boldNor spiritlessly tame;Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold,But always in a flame.

These are not dewdrops, these are tears,And tears by Sally shedFor absent Robin, who she fears,With too much cause, is dead.

One morn he came not to her handAs he was wont to come,And, on her finger perch'd, to standPicking his breakfast-crumb.

Alarm'd, she call'd him, and perplex'dShe sought him, but in vain—That day he came not, nor the next,Nor ever came again.

She therefore raised him here a tomb,Though where he fell, or how,None knows, so secret was his doom,Nor where he moulders now.

Had half a score of coxcombs diedIn social Robin's stead,Poor Sally's tears had soon been dried,Or haply never shed.

But Bob was neither rudely boldNor spiritlessly tame;Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold,But always in a flame.

March, 1792.

ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

Hayley—thy tenderness fraternal shownIn our first interview, delightful guest!To Mary, and me for her dear sake distress'd,Such as it is, has made my heart thy own,Though heedless now of new engagements grown;For threescore winters make a wintry breast,And I had purposed ne'er to go in questOf friendship more, except with God alone.But thou hast won me; nor is God my foe,Who, ere this last afflictive scene began,Sent thee to mitigate the dreadful blow,My brother, by whose sympathy I knowThy true deserts infallibly to scan,Not more to admire the bard than love the man.

June 2, 1792.

Here lies one who never drewBlood himself, yet many slew;Gave the gun its aim, and figureMade in field, yet ne'er pull'd trigger.Armed men have gladly madeHim their guide, and him obey'd;At his signified desireWould advance, present, and fire—Stout he was, and large of limb,Scores have fled at sight of him!And to all this fame he roseOnly following his nose.Neptune was he call'd, not heWho controls the boisterous sea,But of happier command,Neptune of the furrow'd land;And, your wonder vain to shorten,Pointer to Sir John Throckmorton.

1792.

In language warm as could be breathed or penn'dThy picture speaks the original, my friend,Not by those looks that indicate thy mind—They only speak thee friend of all mankind;Expression here more soothing still I see,That friend of all a partial friend to me.

January, 1793.

DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SEAT.

Thrive, gentle plant! and weave a bowerFor Mary and for me,And deck with many a splendid flower,Thy foliage large and free.Thou camest from Eartham, and wilt shade(If truly I divine)Some future day the illustrious headOf him who made thee mine.Should Daphne show a jealous frown,And envy seize the bay,Affirming none so fit to crownSuch honour'd brows as they,Thy cause with zeal we shall defend,And with convincing power;For why should not the virgin's friendBe crown'd with virgin's bower?

Thrive, gentle plant! and weave a bowerFor Mary and for me,And deck with many a splendid flower,Thy foliage large and free.

Thou camest from Eartham, and wilt shade(If truly I divine)Some future day the illustrious headOf him who made thee mine.

Should Daphne show a jealous frown,And envy seize the bay,Affirming none so fit to crownSuch honour'd brows as they,

Thy cause with zeal we shall defend,And with convincing power;For why should not the virgin's friendBe crown'd with virgin's bower?

Spring of 1793.

FROM MR. HAYLEY.

I should have deem'd it once an effort vainTo sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain,But from that error now behold me free,Since I received him as a gift from thee.

ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH, BY A LADY,

In returning a Poem, of Mr. Cowper's, lent to the Writer, on condition she should neither show it nor take a copy.

What wonder! if my wavering handHad dared to disobey,When Hesketh gave a harsh command,And Cowper led astray.Then take this tempting gift of thine,By pen uncopied yet!But canst thou Memory confine,Or teach me to forget?More lasting than the touch of art,Her characters remain;When written by a feeling heartOn tablets of the brain.

What wonder! if my wavering handHad dared to disobey,When Hesketh gave a harsh command,And Cowper led astray.

Then take this tempting gift of thine,By pen uncopied yet!But canst thou Memory confine,Or teach me to forget?

More lasting than the touch of art,Her characters remain;When written by a feeling heartOn tablets of the brain.

To be remember'd thus is fame,And in the first degree;And did the few, like her, the same,The press might rest for me.So Homer, in the mem'ry stor'dOf many a Grecian belle,Was once preserved—a richer hoard,But never lodged so well.

To be remember'd thus is fame,And in the first degree;And did the few, like her, the same,The press might rest for me.

So Homer, in the mem'ry stor'dOf many a Grecian belle,Was once preserved—a richer hoard,But never lodged so well.

William was once a bashful youth,His modesty was such,That one might say, to say the truth,He rather had too much.Some said that it was want of sense,And others, want of spirit,(So blest a thing is impudence,)While others could not bear it.But some a different notion had,And at each other winking,Observed, that though he little said,He paid it off with thinking.Howe'er, it happened, by degrees,He mended, and grew perter,In company was more at ease,And dress'd a little smarter;Nay, now and then, could look quite gay,As other people do;And sometimes said, or tried to say,A witty thing or so.He eyed the women, and made freeTo comment on their shapes,So that there was, or seem'd to be,No fear of a relapse.The women said, who thought him rough,But now no longer foolish,"The creature may do well enough,But wants a deal of polish."At length improved from head to heel,'Twere scarce too much to say,No dancing beau was so genteel,Or half sodégagé.Now that a miracle so strangeMay not in vain be shown,Let the dear maid who wrought the changeE'en claim him for her own!

William was once a bashful youth,His modesty was such,That one might say, to say the truth,He rather had too much.

Some said that it was want of sense,And others, want of spirit,(So blest a thing is impudence,)While others could not bear it.

But some a different notion had,And at each other winking,Observed, that though he little said,He paid it off with thinking.

Howe'er, it happened, by degrees,He mended, and grew perter,In company was more at ease,And dress'd a little smarter;

Nay, now and then, could look quite gay,As other people do;And sometimes said, or tried to say,A witty thing or so.

He eyed the women, and made freeTo comment on their shapes,So that there was, or seem'd to be,No fear of a relapse.

The women said, who thought him rough,But now no longer foolish,"The creature may do well enough,But wants a deal of polish."

At length improved from head to heel,'Twere scarce too much to say,No dancing beau was so genteel,Or half sodégagé.

Now that a miracle so strangeMay not in vain be shown,Let the dear maid who wrought the changeE'en claim him for her own!

How quick the change from joy to wo,How chequer'd is our lot below!Seldom we view the prospect fair;Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care,(Some pleasing intervals between,)Scowl over more than half the scene.Last week with Delia, gentle maid!Far hence in happier fields I stray'd.Five suns successive rose and set,And saw no monarch in his state,Wrapt in the blaze of majesty,So free from every care as I.Next day the scene was overcast—Such day till then I never pass'd,—For on that day, relentless fate!Delia and I must separate.Yet ere we look'd our last farewell,From her dear lips this comfort fell,—"Fear not that time, where'er we rove,Or absence, shall abate my love."

Sweet babe! whose image here express'dDoes thy peaceful slumbers show;Guilt or fear, to break thy rest,Never did thy spirit know.Soothing slumbers! soft repose,Such as mock the painter's skill,Such as innocence bestows,Harmless infant! lull thee still.

Sweet babe! whose image here express'dDoes thy peaceful slumbers show;Guilt or fear, to break thy rest,Never did thy spirit know.

Soothing slumbers! soft repose,Such as mock the painter's skill,Such as innocence bestows,Harmless infant! lull thee still.

Oh! to some distant scene, a willing exileFrom the wild roar of this busy world,Were it my fate with Delia to retire,With her to wander through the sylvan shade,Each morn, or o'er the moss-embrowned turf,Where, blest as the prime parents of mankindIn their own Eden, we would envy none,But, greatly pitying whom the world calls happy,Gently spin out the silken thread of life!

Here, free from riot's hated noise,Be mine, ye calmer, purer joys,A book or friend bestows;Far from the storms that shake the great,Contentment's gale shall fan my seat,And sweeten my repose.

Doom'd, as I am, in solitude to wasteThe present moments, and regret the past;Deprived of every joy I valued most,My friend torn from me, and my mistress lost;Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien,The dull effect of humour, or of spleen!Still, still, I mourn, with each returning day,Him[846]snatch'd by fate in early youth away;And her—thro' tedious years of doubt and pain,Fix'd in her choice, and faithful—but in vain!O prone to pity, generous, and sincere,Whose eye ne'er yet refus'd the wretch a tear;Whose heart the real claim of friendship knowsNor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes;See me—ere yet my destin'd course half done,Cast forth a wand'rer on a world unknown!See me neglected on the world's rude coast,Each dear companion of my voyage lost!Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow,And ready tears wait only leave to flow!Why all that soothes a heart from anguish free,All that delights the happy—palls with me!

Cocoa-nut naught,Fish too dear,None must be boughtFor us that are here:No lobster on earth,That ever I saw,To me would be worthSixpence a claw.So, dear madam, waitTill fish can be gotAt a reas'nable rate,Whether lobster or not;Till the French and the DutchHave quitted the seas,And then send as muchAnd as oft as you please.

Cocoa-nut naught,Fish too dear,None must be boughtFor us that are here:

No lobster on earth,That ever I saw,To me would be worthSixpence a claw.

So, dear madam, waitTill fish can be gotAt a reas'nable rate,Whether lobster or not;

Till the French and the DutchHave quitted the seas,And then send as muchAnd as oft as you please.

A noble theme demands a noble verse,In such I thank you for your fine oysters.The barrel was magnificently large,But, being sent to Olney at free charge,Was not inserted in the driver's list,And therefore overlook'd, forgot, or miss'd;For, when the messenger whom we despatch'dInquir'd for oysters, Hob his noddle scratch'd;Denying that his wagon or his wainDid any such commodity contain.In consequence of which, your welcome boonDid not arrive till yesterday at noon;In consequence of which some chanc'd to die,And some, though very sweet, were very dry.Now Madam says, (and what she says must stillDeserve attention, say she what she will,)That what we call the diligence, be-caseIt goes to London with a swifter pace,Would better suit the carriage of your gift,Returning downward with a pace as swift;And therefore recommends it with this aim—To save at least three days,—the price the same;For though it will not carry or conveyFor less than twelve pence, send whate'er you may,For oysters bred upon the salt sea-shore,Pack'd in a barrel, they will charge no more.News have I none that I can deign to write,Save that it rain'd prodigiously last night;And that ourselves were, at the seventh hour,Caught in the first beginning of the show'r;But walking, running, and with much ado,Got home—just time enough to be wet through,Yet both are well, and, wond'rous to be told,Soused as we were, we yet have caught no cold;And wishing just the same good hap to you,We say, good Madam, and good Sir, adieu!

News have I none that I can deign to write,Save that it rain'd prodigiously last night;And that ourselves were, at the seventh hour,Caught in the first beginning of the show'r;But walking, running, and with much ado,Got home—just time enough to be wet through,Yet both are well, and, wond'rous to be told,Soused as we were, we yet have caught no cold;And wishing just the same good hap to you,We say, good Madam, and good Sir, adieu!

To watch the storms, and hear the skyGive all our almanacks the lie;To shake with cold, and see the plainsIn autumn drown'd with wintry rains;'Tis thus I spend my moments here,And wish myself a Dutch mynheer;I then should have no need of wit;For lumpish Hollander unfit!Nor should I then repine at mud,Or meadows deluged with a flood;But in a bog live well content,And find it just my element;Should be a clod, and not a man;Nor wish in vain for Sister Ann,With charitable aid to dragMy mind out of its proper quag;Should have the genius of a boor,And no ambition to have more.

Hear, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r,In heaven, thy dwelling-place,From infants, made the public care,And taught to seek thy face!Thanks for thy word, and for thy day,And grant us, we implore,Never to waste in sinful playThy holy sabbaths more.Thanks that we hear—but, oh! impartTo each desires sincere,That we may listen with our heart,And learn, as well as hear.

Hear, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r,In heaven, thy dwelling-place,From infants, made the public care,And taught to seek thy face!

Thanks for thy word, and for thy day,And grant us, we implore,Never to waste in sinful playThy holy sabbaths more.

Thanks that we hear—but, oh! impartTo each desires sincere,That we may listen with our heart,And learn, as well as hear.

(IN THE MANNER OF HOMER.)

The straw-stuff'd hamper with his ruthless steelHe open'd, cutting sheer th' inserted cordsWhich bound the lid and lip secure. Forth cameThe rustling package first, bright straw of wheat,Or oats, or barley; next a bottle greenThroat-full, clear spirits the contents, distill'dDrop after drop odorous, by the artOf the fair mother of his friend—the Rose.

Could Homer come himself, distress'd and poor,And tune his harp at Rhedicina's door,The rich old vixen would exclaim, (I fear,)"Begone! no tramper gets a farthing here."

The Rev. John Newton has formed too prominent a feature in the life and correspondence of Cowper, and is too intimately associated with his endeared name, not to require a brief notice of the leading events of his life, on introducing those beautiful Olney Hymns which were written by Cowper. Any detailed statement is rendered unnecessary by his own memoir of himself,[847]and a subsequent one by the Rev. Mr. Cecil. The life of Newton abounds with the most extraordinary incidents, resembling the fictions of romance, rather than the realities of common life. But the hand of God is so visible, and the ultimate triumph of divine grace is so signally displayed amidst the most daring provocations, as to render it one of the most remarkable biographical memoirs ever submitted to the public eye.

The Rev. John Newton was born in London the 24th of July, 1725. His father was master of a ship in the Mediterranean trade. His mother was a pious character; and it is to her that he was indebted, in his early years, for those religious impressions which, however subsequently weakened, were probably never wholly effaced. Her premature death deprived him of this excellent parent, at an age when he most needed her superintending care. When he was eleven years old he joined his father, and made five voyages with him to the Mediterranean. His early life seems to present a mingled detail of religious duties and declensions—relapses into sin, accompanied by strong convictions of his guilt and danger—providential warnings, which roused his conscience for a time, and were subsequently forgotten; till at length, by successive instances of grieving God's Holy Spirit, he sank into the very depths of wickedness. In the year 1742 he formed an attachment, equalling in degree all that the writers of romance have imagined; but in its duration unalterable. In 1743 he was impressed, put on board a tender, from which he was released by the exertions of his father, and soon after entered the navy as a midshipman. Here he was seduced into infidel principles by one of his companions, who in a violent storm was swept into eternity, while he himself was mercifully spared. Having deserted his ship, he was overtaken, kept in irons, publicly whipped, and degraded from his office. He now became a prey to the most gloomy thoughts, and seemed to be given up to judicial hardness, and even to doubt the existence of a future state of being.

We contemplate this period of his life with awe and terror. He subsequently engaged in the slave-trade on the coast of Africa, where his conduct awakened, even among the slaves, emotions of alarm and astonishment. In the midst of this daring impiety, Newton passed through every successive stage of providential dealings, from the first whisper of conscience, till the awful catalogue of judgments seemed to be utterly expended. Every thing was exhausted save the long-suffering and mercy of God. His guilt was equalled only by his misery. The slave-trade on the coast of Africa was to him the fit memorial of a captivity more galling in its character, more terrible in its consequences. At home, abroad, on the mighty deep, or on foreign shores, he carried with him the marks of his servitude, the taint of his corruption, and the visible wrath of an offended God.

The divine dealings towards the children of pious parents are strongly illustrated in the foregoing narrative. We have often observed that they are generally the subjects of a special dispensation whenever they become wanderers from God. In mercy to the praying parent, as well as to the erring child, he never leaves them without repeated tokens of his displeasure and intimations of his will. He disappoints their hopes, blights their prospects, andbrings upon them the day of his wrathful visitation. "If his children forsake my law, and walk not in my judgments; if they break my statutes, and keep not my commandments; then will I visit their transgression with the rod, and their iniquity with stripes. Nevertheless, my loving-kindness will I not utterly take from him, nor suffer my faithfulness to fail." Psal. lxxxix. 30-33.

We by no means interpret this clause as generally conveying the assurance that the children of pious parents will ultimately be saved. The conclusion would be too absolute, and seem opposed to the testimony of facts. But we nevertheless believe that the prayers and instructions of a godly parent rise up, like the alms of Cornelius, as a memorial before God; and that early impressions are seldom utterly effaced. They pursue the memory amid the tumult of business, the seductions of pleasure, and the broad path of sin. They are a powerful stimulant to conscience in moments of pain, depression, and sorrow; till at length the cry of penitence often bursts from the overwhelmed heart, and the last accents have been known to be those of prayer and praise.

We now proceed to detail the particulars of Newton's conversion. This event occurs on his return homewards from the coast of Africa, when the ship is overtaken by a dreadful storm, and death seems to be inevitable. We extract the account from his own narrative.

"The 21st of March is a day much to be remembered by me, and I have never suffered it to pass wholly unnoticed since the year 1748. On that day the Lord sent from on high, and delivered me out of deep waters. I began to think of my former religious professions; the extraordinary turns in my life; the calls, warnings, and deliverances I had met with; the licentious course of my conversation, particularly my unparalleled effrontery in making the gospel-history the constant subject of profane ridicule. I thought, allowing the Scripture premises, there never was, nor could be such a sinner as myself; and then, comparing the advantages I had broken through, I concluded at first, that my sins were too great to be forgiven. The Scripture likewise seemed to say the same; for I had formerly been well acquainted with the Bible, and many passages upon this occasion returned upon my memory, particularly those awful passages, Prov. i. 24-31; Heb. vi. 4-6; and 2 Pet ii. 20, which seemed so exactly to suit my case and character as to bring with them a presumptive proof of a divine original. Thus, as I have said, I waited with fear and impatience to receive my inevitable doom. Yet, though I had thoughts of this kind, they were exceedingly faint and disproportionate; it was not till long after, (perhaps several years,) till I had gained some clear views of the infinite righteousness and grace of Jesus Christ my Lord, that I had a deep and strong apprehension of my state by nature and practice: and, perhaps, till then I could not have borne the sight. When I saw, beyond all probability, there was still hope of respite, and heard about six in the evening that the ship was freed from water, there arose a gleam of hope; I thought I saw the hand of God displayed in our favour. I began to pray; I could not utter the prayer of faith; I could not draw near to a reconciled God, and call him Father. My prayer was like the cry of the ravens, which yet the Lord does not disdain to hear. I now began to think of that Jesus whom I had so often derided. I recollected the particulars of his life, and of his death: and death for sinsnot his own, but, as I remembered, for the sake of those who in their distress should put their trust in Him. And now I chiefly wanted evidence. The comfortless principles of infidelity were deeply riveted, and I rather wished than believed these things were real facts. The great question now was, how to obtainfaith? I speak not of an appropriating faith, (of which I then knew neither the nature nor necessity,) but how I should gain an assurance that the Scriptures were of divine inspiration, and a sufficient warrant for the exercise of trust and hope in God. One of the first helps I received (in consequence of a determination to examine the New Testament more carefully) was from Luke xi. 13. I had been sensible that to profess faith in Jesus Christ, when in reality I did not believe his history, was no better than a mockery of a heart-searching God: but here I found a Spirit spoken of, which was to be communicated to those who ask it. Upon this I reasoned thus. If this book is true, the promise in this passage is true likewise. I have need of that very Spirit by which the whole was written, in order to understand it aright. He has engaged here to give that Spirit to those who ask. I must, therefore, pray for it; and if it is of God, he will make good his own word. My purposes were strengthened by John vii. 17. I concluded from thence, that though I could not say from my heart that I believed the gospel, yet I would for the present take it for granted, and that by studying it in this light I should be more and more confirmed in it. If what I am writing could be perused by our modern infidels, they would say (for I too well know their manner) that I was very desirous to persuade myself into this opinion. I confess I was; and so would they be, if the Lord should show them, as he was pleased to show me at that time, the absolute necessity of some expedient to interpose between a righteous God and a sinful soul. Upon the gospel scheme Isaw at least a peradventure of hope, but on every other side I was surrounded with black unfathomable despair."[848]

Alluding to the means which he enjoyed at this eventful period, for acquiring spiritual light and knowledge, he observes, "As to books, I had a New Testament, Stanhope, and a volume of Bishop Beveridge's Sermons, one of which, upon our Lord's passion, affected me much. In perusing the New Testament, I was struck with several passages, particularly that of the fig-tree, Luke xiii.; the case of St. Paul, 1 Tim. i.; but particularly the prodigal, Luke xv.—a case I thought had never been so clearly exemplified as by myself. And then the goodness of the father in receiving, nay, in running to meet such a son, and this intended only to illustrate the Lord's goodness to returning sinners; this gained upon me. I continued much in prayer; I saw that the Lord had interposedso farto save me; and I hoped he would do more. The outward circumstances helped in this place to make me still more serious and earnest in crying to Him who alone could relieve me; and sometimes I thought I could be content to die even for want of food, if I might but die a believer. Thus far I was answered, that before we arrived in Ireland I had a satisfactory evidence in my own mind of the truth of the gospel, as considered in itself, and its exact suitableness to answer all my needs. I saw that, by the way there pointed out, God might declare, not his mercy only, but his justice also, in the pardon of sin, on account of the obedience and sufferings of Jesus Christ. I stood in need of an Almighty Saviour, and such a one I found described in the New Testament. Thus far the Lord had wrought a marvellous thing. I was no longer an infidel. I heartily renounced my former profaneness; I had taken up some right notions; was seriously disposed, and sincerely touched with a sense of the undeserved mercy I had received, in being brought safe through so many dangers. I was sorry for my past misspent life, and purposed an immediate reformation: I was quite freed from the habit of swearing, which seemed to have been deeply rooted in me as a second nature. Thus, to all appearance, I was a new man. But though I cannot doubt that this change, so far as it prevailed, was wrought by the Spirit and power of God; yet still I was greatly deficient in many respects. I was, in some degree, affected with a sense of my more enormous sins, but I was little aware of the innate evils of my heart. I had no apprehension of the spirituality and extent of the law of God. The hidden life of a Christian, as it consists in communion with God by Jesus Christ, and a continual dependence on him for hourly supplies of wisdom, strength, and comfort, was a mystery, of which I had as yet no knowledge. I acknowledged the Lord's mercy in pardoning what was past, but depended chiefly upon my own resolution to do better for the time to come. I had no Christian friend or faithful minister to advise me that my strength was no more than my righteousness: and though I soon began to inquire for serious books, yet, not having spiritual discernment, I frequently made a wrong choice; and I was not brought in the way of evangelical preaching or conversation, (except a few times, when I heard but understood not,) for six years after this period. Those things the Lord was pleased to discover to me gradually. I learned them here a little and there a little, by my own painful experience, at a distance from the common means and ordinances, and in the midst of the same course of evil company, and bad examples, as I had been conversant with for some time. From this period I could no more make a mock at sin, or jest with holy things; I no more questioned the truth of Scripture, or lost a sense of the rebukes of conscience. Therefore I consider this as the beginning of my return to God, or rather of his return to me; but I cannot consider myself to have been a believer (in the full sense of the word) till a considerable time afterwards."[849]

Progressive conversions seem to be most agreeable to the analogy of nature; and though we by no means question the reality of instantaneous conversions, or consider that the grace of God is limited either to time, manner, or degree; yet we have generally observed that they partake too much of a spirit of excitement to form a sure and safe test. The excitement of the senses is a dangerous ingredient in holy things, because they are equally susceptible of opposite impressions. Those conversions ultimately prove most solid and abiding, where the understanding is enlightened, the conscience roused, and the will subdued by the simultaneous energy and power that moves and purifies the feelings and affections of the heart.

But in whatever manner it was accomplished, the conversion of Newton claims to rank among those memorable acts of divine grace which have invested the names of a Rochester, a Gardiner, and a Bunyan, with so much interest and celebrity. May we not also mark its affinity to the still more distinguished examples recorded in the sacred writings, such as a Manasses, or a Saul, prototypes not less in guilt than in mercy? If any man could justly appropriate the words of the apostle, surely that individual was Newton. "Howbeit for this cause I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might show forth all long suffering,for a pattern to them which should hereafter believe on him to life everlasting." 1 Tim. i. 16. Instances like these abound in edifying truths. They exhibit the divine sovereignty in legible and unerring characters. They serve also to confound the pride and self-glory of man, by proving that "base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are; that no flesh should glory in his presence." 1 Cor. i. 28, 29.

But above all they proclaim that no man is beyond the reach of mercy, however guilty, depraved, or lost; and that the door is never closed to the broken and contrite spirit. Let not then the penitent despair, nor yet the impenitent presume; but rightly interpreting these wonderful and gracious dispensations, may many a returning prodigal, like Newton, exclaim in the accents of adoring faith and love, "Who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by the transgression of the remnant of his heritage? He retaineth not his anger for ever, because he delighteth in mercy." Micah vii. 18.

That we may proceed to the more important events of Newton's subsequent history, we shall here briefly mention, that at this time he wrote to his father, who was then going out as Governor of York Fort, in Hudson's Bay, where he died in 1750. He previously gave his consent to his son's marriage with Miss Catlett, the lady who had been the object of so long and romantic an attachment. They were united on the 1st of February, 1750. After this event he made three voyages to Africa, devoting much of his time to classical and devotional studies, and performing public worship in his vessel according to the Liturgy of the Church of England, twice every day. The moral change which his mind had experienced is expressed in the following beautiful and edifying manner, strongly exemplifying the power of divine grace to raise and elevate the soul.

"To be at sea in these circumstances, withdrawn out of the reach of innumerable temptations, with opportunity and turn of mind disposed to observe the wonders of God in the great deep, with the two noblest objects of sight, the expandedheavensand the expandedocean, continually in view; and where evident interpositions of Divine Providence, in answer to prayer, occur almost every day; these are helps to quicken and confirm the life of faith, which, in a good measure, supply to a religious sailor the want of those advantages which can be enjoyed only upon the shore. And, indeed, though my knowledge of spiritual things, as knowledge is usually estimated, was at this time very small; yet I sometimes look back with regret on these scenes. I never knew sweeter or more frequent hours of divine communion, than in my two last voyages to Guinea, when I was either almost secluded from society on shipboard, or when on shore amongst the natives. I have wandered through the woods, reflecting on the singular goodness of the Lord to me, in a place where, perhaps, there was not a person that knew Him for some thousands of miles round about me.

"In desert woods, with thee, my God,Where human footsteps never trod,How happy could I be;Thou my repose from care, my light,Amidst the darkness of the night,In solitude my company."[850]

His views on the subject of the slave-trade are thus recorded by himself.

"During the time I was engaged in the slave-trade I never had the least scruple as to its lawfulness. I was upon the whole satisfied with it, as the appointment Providence had marked out for me; yet it was, in many respects, far from eligible. It was, indeed, accounted a genteel employment, and usually very profitable, though to me it did not prove so, the Lord seeing that a large increase of wealth would not be good for me. However, I considered myself as a sort of agaolerorturnkey, and I was sometimes shocked with an employment that was perpetually conversant with chains, bolts, and shackles. In this view I had often petitioned in my prayers that the Lord, in his own time, would be pleased to fix me in a more humane calling, and, if it might be, place me where I might have more frequent converse with his people and ordinances, and be freed from those long separations from home which very often were hard to bear. My prayers were now answered, though in a way which I little expected."[851]

The circumstance to which he alludes may be briefly stated. When he was within two days of sailing on a new voyage, and to all appearance in good health, he was suddenly seized with a fit, which deprived him of sense and motion. It lasted about an hour, but left behind such symptoms as induced the physicians to judge that it would not be safe or prudent to proceed on the voyage. The event was remarkable. The person who was appointed to take his place, most of the officers, and many of the crew died, and the vessel was brought back to Liverpool with great difficulty.[852]

Thus ended Newton's connexion with Africa and the slave-trade and with a sea-faring mode of life. He was destined for higher ends, and the providence and grace of God soon pointed out a sphere more suited to his newly acquired views, and presenting ample means for extended usefulness.

"And now," he observes, "having reason to close with the Apostle's determination, 'to know nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified,' I devoted my life to the prosecution of spiritual knowledge, and resolved to pursue nothing but in subservience to this main design."[853]With this view he acquired a sufficient proficiency in the Greek language, so as to read with facility the New Testament and Septuagint; he then entered upon the study of the Hebrew, and two years afterwards engaged in the Syriac, besides reading the best writers in divinity, and attending on the ministry of men distinguished for their piety and their scriptural views. In reference to his own entrance on the sacred office, he thus states his sentiments.

"One word concerning my views to theministry, and I have done. I have told you, that this was my dear mother's hope concerning me; but her death and the scenes of life in which I afterwards engaged, seemed to cut off the probability. The first desires of this sort in my own mind arose many years ago, from a reflection on Gal. i. 23, 24. 'But they had heard only, that he which persecuted us in times past, now preacheth the faith which once he destroyed. And they glorified God in me.' I could not but wish for such a public opportunity to testify the riches of divine grace. I thought I was, above most living, a fit person to proclaim that faithful saying, 'That Jesus Christ came into the world to save the chief of sinners;' and as my life had been full of remarkable turns, and I seemed selected to show what the Lord could do, I was in some hopes that perhaps, sooner or later, he might call me into this service."[854]

This choice of Newton seemed to be not only a natural consequence of his newly-acquired state of mind, but to be in perfect conformity with those leadings of Providence which we have so fully recorded. Who so fit to proclaim the adorable mercy and goodness of God, the freeness of his grace, the severity of his justice, and the tenderness of his love, as he who had so recently gone through the whole of the mighty process? Who could trace the natural obduracy and corruption of the human heart, the rebellion of the will, the vile slavery of sin, and the power that breaks its fetters, like him whose past history so forcibly illustrated these truths? Men cannot teach others till they themselves are first taught of God; and so long as this necessary discipline is wanting, preaching is but a sublime and empty declamation.

Newton being further confirmed in his resolution by the judgment of some Christian friends, received a title to a curacy in Yorkshire, Dec. 16, 1758, and applied to the Archbishop of York, Dr. Gilbert, for ordination. As he had not however graduated at the University, he was rejected, the Archbishop alleging the rules and canons of the church. Four years after this period, in 1762, having experienced a continuance of the same difficulties, and conscious that he was burying his talents, he was about to direct his zeal in another channel, when he was restrained by the influence of his wife. In reference to this trial, he makes the following reflection. "The exercises of my mind upon this point, I believe, have not been peculiar to myself. I have known several persons, sensible, pious, of competent abilities, and cordially attached to the established church, who, being wearied out with repeated refusals of ordination, and, perhaps, not having the advantage of such an adviser as I had, have at length struck into the itinerant path, or settled among the Dissenters. Some of these, yet living, are men of respectable characters and useful in their ministry. But their influence, which would once have been serviceable to the true interests of the church of England, now rather operates against it."

Finally, being recommended by the Earl of Dartmouth[855]to Dr. Green, Bishop of Lincoln, of whose candour and kindness he speaks with much respect, he was ordained deacon at Buckden, April 29, 1764, and appointed to the curacy of Olney, Bucks. He received priest's orders the year following.

In this sphere of duty Newton continued nearly sixteen years exercising the functions of his office with exemplary fidelity, going from house to house, and exhibiting a pattern of an excellent parish priest. By the munificence of John Thornton, Esq., he was enabled to exercise the rites of hospitality and to dispense relief effectually to the poor. "Be hospitable," said Mr. Thornton, "and keep an open house for such as are worthy of entertainment. Help the poor and needy. I will statedly allow you 200l.a year, and readily send whatever you have occasion to draw for more." Newton once observed, that he thought he had received of Mr. Thornton upwards of 3,000l.in this way, during the time he resided at Olney.[856]

Such traits do honour to human nature.

One of the incidents which distinguishes the residence of Newton at Olney is his friendship and intercourse with Cowper. It is said, that this intercourse was injurious to the poet, and that Newton's peculiar views, which were Calvinistic, increased the morbid turn of his mind. The doctrinal sentiments of Newton we shall shortly consider, without however entering upon a lengthened discussion unsuited to the character of the present work. But we hesitate not to affirm that though the standard of Newton was unquestionably more Calvinistic than what is generally adopted by the clergy in these times, the main doctrines which he held were the common fundamental principles of the Christian faith, and that no preacher could have been more practical in his views. In other respects, Newton was social in his spirit, affectionate in his feelings, and cultivated in his understanding. Having had ample means of ascertaining his real character, the editor can with truth assert that no man was more beloved, admired, and respected.

We next examine Newton'sdoctrinal views.

The doctrines of Newton embraced all those great fundamental truths which distinguish the period of the reformation, and were continued downwards to the times of Charles I., when an evident departure from sound doctrine is perceptible in the writers of that age, as well as in those which succeeded.[857]We claim for Newton the praise of having been one among a few faithful witnesses who boldly proclaimed those truths, when religion was degenerating, with some few exceptions, into a system of moral ethics. It is to such men as Romaine, Venn, Berridge, Milner, Walker of Truro, Adam of Wintringham, Stillingfleet, Jones of St. Saviour's, Newton, and a few others, that we owe that revival of piety which is now diffusing itself so generally among the members of our church. These doctrines comprise the fall and corruption of man, the divinity and offices of the Saviour, the necessity of conversion by the grace of the Holy Spirit, free justification by faith in the atonement, the work of sanctification in all its progressive stages, attested by the evidence of a holy and devoted life, founded on these views and principles.

These great and important truths are generally called "doctrines according to godliness;" that is, they constitute the only genuine spring and source of godliness. It cannot be effected without them, because the principle would be wanting which is alone competent to produce real holiness. They form the vital essence of Christianity, its distinguishing and essential badge, its grace, its ornament, and glory.

Some men decry doctrine altogether, and assert that we are more concerned with the precepts than the doctrines of the Bible. But these doctrines are to be found in our Articles,[858]in our Homilies,[859]in the works of Cranmer, Latimer, Ridley, Hooper, Tindal, and others, the confessors and martyrs of the glorious Reformation.

We subjoin the testimony of an eminent prelate on this subject, delivered in a charge in the year 1792. We refer to the venerable Bishop of Durham, Dr. Shute Barrington.

"All that distinguishes Christianity from other religions is doctrinal; a Christian's hopes and consolations, his obligations and motives, are doctrinal points; the very means and end of his salvation, the many objects of his most earnest intention, are all points of faith and doctrine. Divest Christianity of its faith and doctrines, and you despoil it of all that is peculiar to it in its motives, its consolations, its sanctions, and its duties. You divest it of all that made revelation necessary; you reduce it to the cold and ineffectual substance of what is called philosophy; that philosophy which has of late shown itself not the friend of religion, learning, and civil order, but of anarchy, conceit, and atheism: you reduce it to the obscure glimmerings of human knowledge; that knowledge which the greatest of the ancient philosophers[860]confessed to be totally insufficient to satisfy the doubts and solicitude of an inquiring mind, and looked forward with a kind of prophetic exultation to the period when Divine Providence, in compassion to the weakness of our nature, should enlighten mankind by the revelation of himself, which modern philosophers reject."[861]

We add the distinguished testimony of Archbishop Secker.

"To improve the people effectually, you must be assiduous in teaching the principles not only of virtue and natural religion, but of the gospel; and of the gospel, not as almost explained away by modern refiners, but 'as the truth is in Jesus;' as it is taught by the church of which you are members; as you have engaged by your subscriptions and declarations, that you will teach it yourselves. You must preach to them faith in the ever-blessed Trinity; you must set forth the original corruption of our nature; our redemption, according to God's eternal purpose in Christ, by the sacrifice of the cross; our sanctification by the influences of the Divine Spirit; the insufficiency of good works, and the efficacy of faith to salvation....

"Thetruth, I fear, is, that many, if not most of us, have dwelt too little on these doctrinesin our sermons, ... partly from not having studied theology deeply enough to treat of them ably and beneficially. God grant it may never have been for want of inwardly experiencing their importance. But, whatever be the cause,the effect has been lamentable."[862]

If a solemn and admonitory warning was ever conveyed to the Christian world on this subject, it has been afforded by the conduct of the church of Geneva. By a regulation, the breach of which was made punishable by expulsion, the great fundamental doctrines, such as the essential divinity of Christ, the doctrine of human corruption, the atonement, justification by faith, and the personality and offices of the Holy Spirit, were prohibited in the pulpit. The people, no longer accustomed to these important truths, soon forgot them, and the consequence has been the substitution of a cold and lifeless Socinianism. Had it not been for that band of faithful men in this country, so much misrepresented and traduced, who shall say whether, in our own communion, we might not have incurred the same fearful result? They stood in the gap, like Phinehas, and the plague was stayed.

We know all that is urged in opposition to this reasoning, and we will examine its merits. These doctrines, it is said, are overcharged. The corruption of human nature, for instance, instead of being described as partial, is represented to be total. Society, we are assured, could not exist on such a supposition.

Let us listen to what Newton remarks on this subject.

"His natural powers, though doubtless impaired, were not destroyed. Man by nature is still capable of great things. His understanding, reason, memory, imagination, &c. sufficiently proclaim that the 'hand which made him is divine.' He is, as Milton says of Beelzebub, 'majestic though in ruins.' He can reason, invent, and, by application, attain a considerable knowledge in natural things. The exertions of human genius, as specified in the characters of some philosophers, poets, orators, &c. are wonderful.But man cannot know, love, trust or serve his Maker, unless he be renewed in the spirit of his mind."[863]

"Sin did not deprive him of rationality but of spirituality."[864]

Again: "God has not left man destitute of such dispositions as are necessary to the peace of society; but I deny that there is any moral goodness in them, unless they are founded in a supreme love to God, have his glory for their aim, and are produced by faith in Jesus Christ."[864]

What does Newton here assert that is not maintained in the 13th Article of our own church?[865]

Thus man's natural and moral powers survive the fall; but those which arespiritualare effaced and lost. Nature cannot confer what it is the province of grace alone to bestow. It requires a divine power to restore and quicken the soul. But what is the doctrine of the church of England as regards man's partial or total corruption? We extract the following passage from the Homily on the Nativity:—

"Whereby it came to pass that, as before (the fall) he was blessed, so now he was accursed; as before he was loved, so now he was abhorred; as before he was most beautiful and precious, so now he was most vile and wretchedin the sight of his Lord and Maker. Instead of the image of God, he was now become the image of the devil, instead of the citizen of heaven, he was become the bond slave of hell,having in himself no one part of his former purity and cleanness, but being altogether spotted and defiled, insomuch that now he seemed to be nothing else but a lump of sin."[866]Whoever used language stronger and more explicit than these words?

Thus we see that men, in attacking these views and sentiments, are, in fact, impugning the doctrines of their own church.

We merely add one more remark on the much-controverted subject of conversion. To those who deny this doctrine, and describe it as "spiritual revelry," pretended illuminations, &c., we recommend the consideration of the following passage in the Homily on Whitsunday. It refers to our Lord's conversation with Nicodemus, and to the inability of the latter to comprehend this great spiritual change of heart.

"Behold a lively pattern of a fleshly and carnal man. He had little or no intelligence of the Holy Ghost, and therefore he goeth bluntly to work, and asketh how this thing were possible to be true. Whereas, otherwise, if he had known the great power of the Holy Ghost in this behalf, that it is He which inwardly worketh the regeneration and new birth of mankind, he would never have marvelled at Christ's words, but would rather take occasion thereby to praise and glorify God."

We have thought proper to adduce these testimonies, because they vindicate the doctrines of Newton, and of those who concur with him in these views. They fully prove how much the stability of our church, in the estimation of some of its ablest advocates, depends on the faithfulness with which these doctrines are maintained. On this subject we would beg to express our deepest convictionthat, if the Church of England is to survive those perils by which she is threatened; if, as we anticipate, she will rise from her tribulation with renewed strength and beauty; it is to the purity of her doctrine, and to the devotedness of her ministers, and not to the richness of her endowments, or to the secular arm of the state, that she must be indebted for her durability and greatness. To be upheld, she must be "strong in the Lord and in the power of his might," apostolical in her doctrines, restored in her discipline, and holy in her practice. The language shall then be addressed to her that is applied by the inspired prophet to Zion: "No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper, and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn." Isaiah liv. 17. Or, to use words still more emphatic, "The gates of hell shall not prevail against her."

Having thus generally vindicated the doctrines of Newton, we next advert to some of his writings. We make a few extracts from his Cardiphonia, the most popular of his writings, being a series of letters on religious subjects. The following is addressed to a nobleman, distinguished for his piety.

"To devote soul and body, every talent, power, and faculty, to the service of the Lord's cause and will; to let our light shine (in our several situations) to the praise of his grace; to place our highest joy in the contemplation of his adorable perfections; to rejoice even in tribulations and distresses, in reproaches and infirmities, if thereby the power of Christ may rest upon us, and be magnified in us; to be content, yea, glad to be nothing, that he may be all in all;—to obeyhimin opposition to the threats or solicitations of men; to trusthim, though all outward appearances seem against us; to rejoice inhim, though we should (as will sooner or later be the case) have nothing else to rejoice in; to live above the world, and to have our conversation in heaven; to be like the angels, finding our own pleasure in performing his;—this, my Lord, is the prize, the mark of our high calling, to which we are encouraged with a holy ambition continually to aspire. It is true, we shall still fall short; we shall find that, when we should do good, evil will be present with us; but the attempt is glorious, and shall not be wholly in vain. He that gives us thus towill, will enable us to perform with growing success, and teach us to profit even by our mistakes and imperfections."[867]

The privileges of the believer are thus set forth.

"How great and honourable is the privilege of a true believer! That he has neither wisdom nor strength in himself is no disadvantage; for he is connected with infinite wisdom and almighty power. Though weak as a worm, his arms are strengthened by the mighty God of Jacob, and all things become possible, yea, easy to him, that occur within the compass of his proper duty and calling. The Lord, whom he serves, engages to proportion his strength to his day, whether it be a day of service or of suffering; and, though he be fallible and short-sighted, exceedingly liable to mistake and imposition, yet, while he retains a sense that he is so, and with the simplicity of a child asks counsel and direction of the Lord, he seldom takes a wrong step, at least not in matters of consequence; and even his inadvertencies are overruled for good. If he forgets his true state, and thinks himself to be something, he presently finds he is indeed nothing; but if he is content to be nothing, and to have nothing, he is sure to find a seasonable and abundant communication of all that he wants. Thus he lives, like Israel in the wilderness, upon mere bounty; but then it is a bounty unchangeable, unwearied, inexhaustible, and all-sufficient."[868]

The believer's call, duty, and privilege is thus illustrated by the happy application of Milton's character of Abdiel, at the end of book 5, of the "Paradise Lost." The compliment to his noble friend is just and merited.

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