Tho' our path be known
To the Heavens alone,
And yon silent lights above, -
There are hearts that e'en now
Breathe for us the vow

And the wordless prayer of Love.
There are eyes that shall beam
With a tearful gleam,

There are voices, whose accents sweet
Shall yet sweeter be heard
For the faulter'd word,

That our coming can scarcely greet.

Then give the white sail
To the joyous gale,

Till her yards the billows kiss-
Till rapid she seem
As the kindling dream

Of Love, and of Hope, and Bliss.

AUTHORS are proverbially poor; and from

time immemorial Grub-street has been

assigned to poets for their habitations. To many, whose works have met with a favourable reception, and whose names are registered in the archives of fame, such assignments may prove very amusing; but the writer of these letters, though never elevated to a sky-parlour in the vicinity of Moor-lane, seems to have experienced through life, that poverty, and its companion wretchedness, have something more than a fictitious existence. With the phantoms of expectation, and the realities of disappointment, he has been long familiar; and has learnt from the most convincing of all instructors, that to describe misery, and to bear it with fortitude, require talents of a very different order.

Although the volumes before us appear anonymously, the author's name is not altogether unknown. From one of his letters we gather, that "The Royal Minstrel" is the production of his pen. This work, which bears the name of J. F. Pennie as its author, we reviewed in our third volume, for 1821, col. 481, and noticed it in terms rather flattering, than unfavourable, to the writer's talents; and notwithstanding several years have elapsed since its publication, and it appears to have been thrown by among the forgotten and unknown, we hesitate not to avow it as our decided con

viction, that it contains more intrinsic merit than a considerable portion of metrical compositions, which puffs and friendship have raised to the temple of renown. The fate, however, to which it seems to be at present consigned, is nothing more than the common lot which many works of genius have been doomed to endure, and in

which they have been destined to perish. But although at present enveloped in a cloud, a favourable breeze may hereafter arise to disperse the fog, and bring it into public notice and deserved esteem. We have lately learnt, that a tragedy, by the same author, has been successfully introduced at the Cobourg theatre. This may, perhaps, prove the crisis of his fate. Another favourable turn will cause a luminous halo to encircle his name, and then his works will be sought with an avidity, that may be contrasted with the stagnant calm in which they have been suffered to lie at anchor through departed years.

It has been sometimes said of physicians, that "they rarely earn their bread until they

have lost their teeth." To Mr. Pennie a

similar remark may be painfully applicable, as the volumes before us resemble the roll of Ezekiel, written, within and without, with lamentations, mourning, and woe.

Possessed of a lively imagination, a strong and vigorous intellect, and with an understanding that knew how to estimate the value of learning, but with a purse too scanty to furnish the means of acquiring it, the author in early life commenced a course of self-instruction, and having made considerable improvements, he solaced himself with the hope, that some friend would, in time, step forth to rescue him from poverty and obscurity. With this view he sent several fugitive pieces into the world, and with the eyes of Argus watched their progress with unceasing solicitude. Several professed friends and patrons accordingly appeared, but they only excited fallacious expectations, to imbitter the disappointment that invariably followed.

Finding authorship unprofitable, patrons deceiving, and poverty intolerable, the author became, in turn, a merchant's clerk, an usher, a schoolmaster, and a strolling player; but in each department wretchedness was his only reward. During a long season he braved these disasters with an heroic spirit; but at length their continuance and complications becoming insupportable, he sat down, and in a state of despondency composed these letters, which record his adventures and misfortunes.

Independently of what relates immediately to himself, he introduces historical notices of the places which he visited, and describes in forcible language the scenes which occasionally surrounded him. His observations on men and things are sometimes acute, pointed, and sarcastic; and at other times his language is glowing and energetic. But even his most lively strokes of humour are frequently tinged with an

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at what he has written, we can hardly avoid heaving a sigh of pity in behalf of the author. Goaded on by hunger and demi-nakedness, he sometimes utters bitter complaints against the blindness, the selfishness, and the ingratitude of the age, and occasionally barbs his javelin with unjustifiable severity. For these strictures, however, his forlorn situation furnishes a powerful apology, and we forgive the asperity of his expressions, when we reflect on his destitute condition, and sympathize with those agonized feelings which urged him on to exasperation.

After passing through these letters, one hundred and twenty in number, and surveying their alternations of light and shade, the

the will of God. Patience is the courage of virtue,' and Shakspeare says.

In struggling with misfortunes
Lies the true proof of virtue."

My misfortunes have always been, alas for me! but too real my complainings have not arisen from a morbid, nervous irritability! my wants have neither been imaginary nor artificial, nor my sorrows fictitious or ideal. In stating thus much, I am not desirous of attracting undue sympathy from the benevolent; and harbour no thought of extorting something, at last, like notice and compassion from those persons called reviewers.

"There was a time, indeed, when at the sight of a review my heart would leap with hope and fear: there was a time, when it was in the power of a critic to have poured a flood of unutterable delight and glory o'er the darkness of my path, and made me feel towards him as an Indian towards his sun-god in the season of abundance, or the joyous hour of victory; not by flattery, -for that I had not the means wherewith to purchase,-but by an honest and candid discharge of his duty, self

fast around us. The gleams of hope, and the cheerings of expectation, decline on the margins of the horizon, or enly peep occasionally between the hills. In every letter, as we advance towards the conclusion, we approximate the frozen region of hopeless anguish, till at length the sun totally disappears, and we enter the dreary night of remediless despair, which the author in his last epistle thus describes :

he professed to be a literary caterer. But that is past. I am soured, disgusted, misanthropic! The destruction of all my hopes has rendered me callous as the nether millstone! I neither court

applause, nor heed the utmost severity. I am buried deep in the grave of disappointment; and those who should have kindly led me into light and hope, have heaped oblivion on the ashes of my genius. It cannot blaze again.

Neglect has done its worst.

-- Nothing can touch me further."

Myspirits are destroyed, my health impaired, and my expectations blasted; while the future is all darkness, save that guiding beam of Providence which points to another and a brighter orb, where the tears of misery are wiped away, and the day of eternal joy succeeds to the gloom and bitterness of the long and wintry night of life." pp. 326 to 329.

On taking a retrospective survey of this "tale of a modern genius," a melancholy picture is presented to our view, the shadows of which acquire a darker hue, from being delineated with the pencil of truth. That the author is a man of highly respectable talents, no person acquainted with his writings can for a moment doubt, but these have hitherto been found insufficient to bring him into public notice. A few rays of light seem at present to beam upon him, from the success of his tragedy of Ethelwolf, at the Cobourg Theatre, and we shall be glad to learn that they continue to illuminate his path, and warm the vital principle of life through the evening of his days. Without this, he will be compelled with his latest breath to subscribe to the following sentiment of Dr. Johnson, that "He who finds his way to reputation through all obstructions, must acknowledge that he is indebted to other causes besides his learning and his wit."

REVIEW.-A Serious Call to a Devout

and Holy Life, adapted to the State and Conditions of all Orders of Christians. By William Law, A. M. with an Introductory Essay by the Rev.

David Young. Duodecimo. pp. 508.
Whittaker. London. 1827.

THE early writings of the Rev. William Law, at one time created a strong sensation in the religious world, but this was in a great measure neutralized by the mysticism which distinguished the publications of his later years. It must, however, be admitted, that the excellence of his early productions, cannot be invalidated by any subsequent eccentricities of mind or sentiment, into which the author afterwards deviated. Immutability attaches itself to truth, and nothing

"Can make that fiction which was once a fact."

In this light, Law's Serious Call has always been viewed, and from the first moment of its publication to the present, it has sustained an exalted rank in the estimation of the wise and pious of all denominations. By an art, if such it may be termed, peculiar to this author, he has contrived to animate every sentence with imperishable vigour, enforcing the truths he inculcates, with arguments and reasonings that are irresistible, and enlivening them by illustrations that adorn conviction, while they augment its power. Few works have obtained so extensive a circulation, and it will not be easy to select many that are more deserving of being transmitted to posterity.

It cannot be denied, that on the great doctrine of the atonement, Mr. Law has been somewhat sparing in his expressions; and when the subject has called for his attention, his language has been characrerized by caution and reserve. This, however, can furnish no just ground for an impeachment of his orthodoxy. He saw what many others have seen, that without due care it might be converted into a harbour to shelter the antinomian heresy, against the pernicious nature and tendency of which, the whole force of this "Devout Call" is particularly levelled.

The deficiencies, however, which some have fancied they discover in this masterly treatise of Mr. Law, Mr. Young has amply supplied in his preliminary essay. The atonement, the righteousness of Christ, and imputation, are the burden of his dissertation; and it will be well, if, in all its parts it is so guarded, that, while he sincerely and unequivocally disavows antinomianism, it cannot be deduced from what he has written, by the most indubitable inference. Mr. Law plainly perceived, from doctrines which were advanced by too many in his day, that although they stopped short while pursuing their principles, the consequence

was inevitable; and had he lived to the present day, his views would be rather confirmed than corrected, by what is advanced in some modern pulpits, and taught in several modern schools.

The great design of Mr. Law was to inculcate the necessity of "a devout and holy life," and to impress this important truth deeply upon the minds of all his readers. On this point he has concentrated nearly all that the force of argument, the vigour of intellect, the influence of motive, and the authority of scripture, can confer. It is scarcely possible to read what he has advanced without being convinced that truth and reason place what he has advanced beyond the reach of refutation. In a library of select Christian authors, Law's "Devout Call" is entitled to a conspicuous place, and Mr. Collins has done well to give this neatly printed edition of a work which Dr. Johnson pronounced to be "The best hortative treatise in the English language."

BRIEF SURVEY OF BOOKS.

1. The Existence, Nature, and Ministry of Holy Angels, briefly considered as an important Branch of the Christian Religion, Sc. (Baynes, London,) seems to be the production of an author that loves to deal in wonders, to soar in clouds, and dive in mysteries. Proceeding from what is but obscurely understood, to what is almost wholly unknown, he works out his inferences in comparative darkness, and con. gratulates himself on the importance of his own discoveries.

2. Little Frank the Irish Boy, by Charlotte Elizabeth, (Westley and Davis, London,) is a pretty little tale, that is both pleasing aud instructive. It contains, within narrow limits, an excellent delineation of Irish manners, of the power of the Romish priests, and of the superstition of the people. The character of Little Frank, by birth a Protestant, is well sustained. He meets with many disasters and much persecution, but finally triumphs over every opposition.

3. The Elements of Arithmetic &c. by John Dozell, (Courthope, London,) contains the elementary principles of this useful science, which are laid down in a manner that is at once rational, perspicuous, and familiar.

4. Memoirs of the Life of Mrs. Mary Taft, formerly Miss Barritt, written by Herself, Part II. (Stephens, London,) is the completion of a work, the former part of which passed under our

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we spoke of its nature, character, and useful tendency; and from a perusal of this second part, we perceive no occasion to alter our opinion. The extraordinnry usefulness of this pious lady, labouring in the ninistry, though sometimes a little enthusiastic, is a sufficient answer to all the objections that can be urged from abstract reasoning. Should ecclesiastical coercion impose silence on her, we may almost expect "the stones to cry out."

5. A Plan for Bettering the Condition of the Working Classes, by the Establishment of Friendly Societies, &c. by George West, M. A. (Longman, London,) is a pamphlet that enters deeply into the question, and proceeds with several curious calculations. Many of the author's observations carry their own evidence with them; and so promising are his plans and estimates, that they are fairly entitled to a serious examination, and, perhaps we may add, adoption.

6. A few Philosophical Reasons against Catholic Emancipation - A Letter to Lord Farnham, (Robins, London,) are advanced with much spirit and judgment on this important question, which is now agitating the political and theological world. The author argues, that to comply with the demands of the Catholics, is to give them an opportunity of gaining an ascendancy in these dominions, and, whenever that takes place, of reviving the miseries which our ancestors endured. To the Catholic religion he argues the wretchedness of Ireland may be attributed. curse of popery accompanies it across

the Atlantic."

"The

SIR. Herewith you will receive a brief sketch of Billy Butterworth, the Oldham Hermit, together with a portrait of him, drawn by himself, -The portrait, you will perceive, wants varnishing; he will then appear older, as he really he really is: he had not varnish, or he would have done it.Should you think them worth preserving in the Imperial Magazine, they are at your service. Yours, &c. J. SCHOFIELD. Hollingwood, July 3, 1827.

any

Near the summit of a hill, called Glodwick Loes, situated on the borders of Lancashire, near the populous town of Oldham, commanding a very extensive prospect, stands the solitary, yet celebrated

tric being who bears this name, from the manner of his dressing, an immense beard reaching to his girdle, and many other singularities, has obtained the name of "the hermit;" though, from the great numbers that daily and hourly visit him from all parts, he has no real claim to the title.

Billy Butterworth's hut is a rude building of his own construction, a piece of ground having been given him for the purpose. In the erection of this hut, the rude hand of uncultivated nature laughed to scorn the improvements of modern times, for neither saw, nor plane, nor trowel, assisted to make it appear gracious in the eye of taste: a rude heap of stones, sods of earth, moss, &c. without nails or mortar are piled together in an inelegant, but perfectly convenient manner, and form number of apartments. The whole has the appearance of a heap of rocks thrown together, with trees and plants growing amongst them; and its parts are so firmly united, that its tenant fears not "the pelting of the pitiless storm;" but, snug beneath his lowly roof, he appears equally content with the smiles or frowns of fortune.

a

To give a proper description of the hermit's hut, would be very difficult, but a brief sketch will communicate a pretty good idea of the object. The lodge is made of rude branches of trees, where the visitor has to bend, as he enters into the pleasure ground. It is surrounded by a fancy and kitchen garden, curiously decorated with rude seats, arches, grottos, &c.; a few plaster of paris casts are here and there placed, so as to have a pleasing effect. On the outer part of the hut for