scure the clear light of their own reason: learning served them for evidence, for illustration. But they never confounded knowledge and wisdom, and knew as well as the old dramatists, their grand compeers, that

"The heart

May give an useful lesson to the head."

Hence, without vanity, they relied more on themselves than most scholars, who are too often mere pedants.

It is worthy of remark, that most of Barrow's sermons are rather moral dissertations, than what we would call, at the present day, evangelical discourses. Barrow comes nearer to a teacher of moral philosophy, than the ordinary standard of modern preaching will allow. It was his practice to write a series of sermons on certain topics of practical ethics (none the less Christian, though some would have us think so); thus, he has four sermons on industry, eight on the tongue, &c., &c. He seldom wrote less than two, and frequently three, on a single text. These are complete moral treatises. Though, in one sense, this may be considered a defect, yet, in our view (perhaps mistaken), it is a merit. Preaching too often departs from the themes of daily importance-the offices of familiar duty. Most congregations require to be taught their moral, as well as their religious duties (both parts of the same great scheme, and essentially one). We have never heard the orthodoxy of Barrow questioned, and yet it is certain he is more of a moral teacher than an Evangelical Divine.

There is a palpable defect in Barrow. He is uniformly copious. He is often tedious. He is too apt to discuss a

trite theme, with all the exuberance of power he employs on one more obscure and less familiar. Moreover, he is interminable. Many laughable anecdotes are related of his power of continuance. 'Once, at a charity sermon, he detained the audience by a discourse of three hours and a half in length. In coming down from the pulpit, and being asked if he did not feel tired, he replied that "he began to be weary with standing so long." It must have been as wearisome for the audience (we should imagine) to sit still that space of time, unless the church was a dark one, the cushions soft, and the pews high. On another occasion, being reminded that the congregation at the Abbey liked short sermons, he was prevailed on (with much ado) to preach but one half of his original sermon, and that occupied an hour and a half.

With these defects, however, that must have rendered him, to light hearers of the Word, a rather tiresome preacher, he is still a right sturdy, manly intellect of the true English breed.

This intellectual robustness was joined to great strength of moral purpose and determined physical courage. Of this last quality, two remarkable instances occur to us. Being attacked at night by a powerful mastiff, he grappled with the animal, and almost choked him, before any assistance came. At sea, in the Mediterranean, the vessel in which he happened to be embarked was attacked by an Algerine corsair. Barrow could not be prevailed on to go below, but fought bravely with the crew.

These traits of character cannot fail to impress us with the opinion of high respect for Barrow's force and energy. Though no wit, to be sure, in his sermons, unless a strong sense of propriety and the absence of it can be

termed wit, yet he gave Rochester one day a notable reproof, and foiled that courtly wit at his own weapons. Yet Barrow penned a definition of wit, amounting to an essay, which is a miracle of ingenuity of distinction and richness of expression.

Charles II. used to call Barrow "an unfair preacher," for he left nothing for future preachers to glean-unless, he might have added, to make pretty free use of the labors of their predecessors.

Lord Chatham enjoined on his son the constant study of Barrow, and Pitt declared he had his sermons almost by heart.

To show the common injudiciousness of parents in estimating the talents of their children, the father of Barrow is said to have exclaimed, “If it pleased God to take away any of his children, he hoped it would be Isaak," regarding him as a miracle of stupidity, who afterwards proved the glory of his family.

II.

THE POEMS OF BISHOP CORBET.

In the list of clerical wits, comprehending some of the best writers of England, and the finest satirical humorists in the world,* the name of Corbet should always find a place; yet his jeux d'esprit and bon-mots are known only to the antiquary and retrospective critic. This pleasant character is known only from traditional anecdote and the memoirs of his contemporaries. His poems are scattered up and down a variety of poetical collections, and have only been collected together in the present century. His modesty would not allow the public acknowledgment of them during his life, neither would he suffer any of his sermons to be printed, though they are spoken of as rarely ingenious, and if at all answerable to his conversation and verses, they must have been delicate. The best account we can gather of this eccentric wit, we find in Aubrey; and it is one of the most lively sketches in his collection. We transcribe it entire. "Richard Corbet, D.D., was the son of Vincent Corbet (better known by Poynter's name than by his owne'), who was a gardener at Twickenham, as I have heard my old cosen Whitney say. He was a Westminster scholar; old Parson Bussey, of All

*Fuller, Earle, South, Eachard, Swift, Sterne, and Sidney Smith.

scott, in Warwickshire, went to school with him; he would say he was a very handsome man, but something apt to abuse, and a coward. He was a student of Christ Church, in Oxford. He was very facetious, and a good fellow. One time he and some of his acquaintance being merry at Fryar Bacon's study (where was good beer sold), they were drinking on the leads of the house, and one of the scholars was asleep, and had a pair of good silk stockings on: Dr. Corbet (then M.A., if not B.D.) got a pair of scissors and cut them full of little holes; but when the other awakened, and perceived how and by whom he had been abused, he did chastise him, and made him pay for them.

"After he was Doctor of Divinity, he sang ballads at the Crosse at Abingdon, on a market day. He and some of his camerades were at the taverne by the Crosse (which, by the way, was then the finest of England: I remember it when I was a freshman: it was admirable curious gothique architecture, and fine figures in the niches: 'twas one of those built by King . . . . . . for his queen). The ballad singer complained he had no custom, he could not put off his ballads. The jolly Doctor put off his gown, and puts on the ballad singer's leathern jockey; and, being a handsome man, and had a rare full voice, he presently vended a great many, and had a full audience. After the death of Dr. Goodwin, he was made dean of Christ Church. He had a good interest with great men, as you may find in his poems, and with the then great favorite, the D. of Bucks; his excellent wit was letter of recommendation to him. I have forgot the story, but at the same time that Dr. Fell thought to have carried it, Dr. Corbet put a pretty trick upon him to let him take a