pleasing himself, and a few fond admirers, by picking flowers and weaving pretty garlands, when the sheep of his flock are ready to perish for want of being properly watched and fed. What! will a man who has assumed an office of deep and awful responsibility, spend his time, his strength, and his ingenuity in courting the muses, and canvassing for literary honours, while the souls of his charge are many of them rushing unprepared into eternity? Oh! shameful prostitution of the noblest function! Perhaps none could be found, who would acknowledge that their ultimate aim in composing and delivering elegant sermons, was to obtain the praise of men. The common plea, as I am perfectly aware, is, that by such means they shall wear away prejudice, and win the educated classes. It is not, however, difficult to prove, that the prejudices thus erected, are quite as bad as those which are destroyed; and the brilliant and boasted trophies, when actually won, are not worth half the expense of the warfare. Is then a preacher, it may be said, to pay no attention to the language of his sermons? I reply, Yes; his language should be plain, forcible, and varied, so as to suit the subjects treated. Some have gone so far as to affirm, that not a single phrase or word ought to be uttered in the pulpit, beyond the apprehension of the lowest of the bearers. This is certainly requiring from a public teacher what is scarcely possible, and if possible, would by no means be advisable. There is a simplicity of manner in stating and exhibiting divine truth, which brings it down to the capacity of a peasant, or child desirous of learning, even though some of the words, separately taken, are not understood. This simplicity, which illustrates the great principles of religion, as objects of sight are rendered clear and distinct by the beams of the sun, should be the constant aim of every faithful minister. We, says Paul, use great plainness of speech. It is readily granted, that no figures or expressions ought to be used, which tend to degrade the dignity of the pulpit. And truly, he who has learned the art of being plain without coarseness, pointed and palpable without harsh and personal allusions, has one eminent qualification for preaching the Gospel to the poor. The style of the pulpit ought to be distinguished by great vigour and strength. A smooth, soft, flowing diction, takes no hold of the mind. Of those who go to hear the Gospel, at least nine out of ten are in a state of dormancy and stupor, which requires the strongest stimulants. And if searching truths are to be addressed to them, it can be done to good purpose only in powerful and searching language. But some may ask, Shall we not defeat our own design, by offending those whom we wish to conciliate? Make the trial. I am convinced, that our own times might, on this head, learn something from a former age. The pungency and force of an Alleine and a Baxter produced the happiest effects; and were ministers of our days to preach with the same glow and energy of soul, the same plainness and pointedness of speech, we have reason to think more good would be done. It is confessedly a difficult attainment to acquire a masculine and nervous style, without a tincture of harshness; but this very consideration should prompt to the use of every means adapted to that purpose. The language of the pulpit ought to be varied according to the theme. It is not the place for what would by many be termed literary excellency; but every other kind of excellence should shine there. Whether a preacher describes, reasons, or exhorts, his strain of speech should be accommodated to his subject. In the general, words will follow the current of thought and sentiment. Clear and vivid conceptions, and animated feelings, will, without much anxiety, find an appropriate vehicle of language. Let the faith ful preacher of the word only enter deeply into the spirit of his message, and he will not fail to deliver it with power, or pathos, as the occasion demands. Nor will he envy those who gain the praise of genius, of learning, or of taste, if he can but win souls, and lead them to Christ, to holiness, and to glory. m "No more shall it be counted wit, To say, Ex nihilo nihil fit." GENTLEMEN,-I have for some time meditated a paper for your Magazine, and have at length, by the aid of a pipe, and other stimulants of the mind, wrought myself up to a state of intellectual effervescence, and am determined to refrain no longer. I am perplexed, however, in the choice of a subject, for in this paroxysm of authorship every avenue to the temple of fame is already crowded, and not a chance of entrance remains, except to him who will fly in at the sky-light, or make a subterraneous journey through the foundations. I have it! thanks to this nicotian weed. (I wonder that there was any thinking at all before the discovery of America, excepting among the philosophers of Kentucky, or the sages of Connecticut.) With your leave, Gentlemen, my subject shall be, AN ESSAY UPON NOTHING. Some of your readers, who are hypercritically inclined, may perhaps question the accuracy of my logic, and sarcastically observe, that nothing is no subject. But I answer, "Logic is an old-fashioned awkward implement, which often severely punishes him who uses it: it might have served the purposes of ancient times, and subserved the solemn movements of our leaden-witted ancestors, who thought nothing solid but what was weighty, and nothing orderly which was not measured. We have discarded it, and have discovered that our wit evaporates by any attempt to regulate it." Farther, I appeal to experience. Are not the greatest number of modern essays written on nothing; nay, made up of nothing? And may I not, for once, write something on nothing, when my contemporaries are continually busied in writing nothing on every thing? You see, Gentlemen, I do not wish to claim the merit of originality. I freely confess, I have seen burly folios written on nothing: I have waded through huge tomes of metaphysics, in which nothing was proved. (By the bye, this may be improved into an argument for the actual existence of my subject, as you know, Gentlemen, nonentities are incapable of becoming the subjects of predication. But this I only mention cursorily, by way of showing that I can argue logically when there is occasion, and that it is possible to write very metaphysically on nothing.) The whole race of poets are avowedly the devotees of unreal and shadowy powers, a circumstance which ac counts for their general poverty, as it is but just that they who serve the interests of nothing, should have nothing for their wages. But system is the order of the day, even in doing nothing. I shall, therefore, follow this praise-worthy custom, and proceed systematically. Nothing is the offspring of privation, and the sister of space. (I hope I am not breaking Priscian's head, in making no he thing of the feminine gender. Of this I am confident, he alone who knows nothing, can pretend to assign the real gender of this mysterious being.) She is descended from a very ancient family, which flourished many ages before any thing had existence: nay, all things are her legitimate descendants. The arms of this family so nearly resemble those of many of our nobility and gentry, that I shall not attempt to blazon them. The honour of this ancient house has, however, suffered a considerable diminution by the wrong application of its cognomen in modern days. I allude to that perversion of language, by which we depreciate the ancestral dignity of some poor Plebeian by the phrase, comes from nothing." I presume this inaccuracy arose from the same figure of irony, which originated the modern and false meaning of the word dunce; which, it is well known, was primarily an epithet of honour, and was intended to characterize an individual, as learned as the famous Duns Scotus. Whether or no my conjecture be true, the term, certainly, was formerly used in an honourable sense, for if obscurity in the origin of nations has invariably been esteemed a criterion of antiquity, and consequently a test of dignity, there can be no reason why obscurity in the birth of individuals should not entitle them to the same pre-eminence. It is to its obscurity that the source of the Nile owes all its celebrity; and obscurity and nonentity are so nearly allied, that the ancient logicians say, "Non entium et non apparentium eadem est ratio." Thus, as true sublimity approaches near to unintelligibility, so ancestral honours are nearly identified with nothing. I will not pretend to enumerate the families of renown, which deduce their lineage from the subject of my essay, as the attempt would give your pages the appearance of the Court Kalendar. Suffice it to say, that glory, fame, popular applause, all come from nothing, and as all things eventually find their level, they invariably finish their course by merging again into nothing. The venerable science of heraldry owes its existence to my subject, for if you discharge from its most crowded escutcheons the griffins, dragons, and unicorns, the very representations of nothing, what is left to the owners but a plain coat, sables, or gules, often so thread-bare as not to be worth turning. To the same origin may be traced all those mental cobwebs, which have been woven into garments, metaphysical and hypothetical, for covering the nakedness of the intellectual and moral world. Some of them have distinctly avowed their ancestry_in their very names, as, in particular, the late hypothesis of a tendency to nihility, which has fully justified the propriety and ominous prediction of its appellation, by sinking into nothing." In short, Gentlemen, for I have studied nothing in all its bearings, I will venture to affirm, that there is no art or science with which we are acquainted, but owes much to this unsubstantial and incomprehensible being. Nothing is the certainty of ancient, and the impartiality of modern history, the utility of metaphysics, the moral of the drama. It is the infidel's hope, the bigot's charity, the speculatist's prudence, the statesman's conscience, the lawyer's honesty, the physician's humanity, the minister's reward, the critic's wit, the poet's judgment, the polemic's candour, the commentator's acumen,-in fine, it is the design of FLY - LEAF, QUENCE," 1672. EXTRACTED FROM an edifying speaker. Join the "REFLECTIONS UPON ELO- third, and you make a perspicuous speaker. Add the fourth, and you ensure pleasure, but all must conspire to form an orator. The last is the froth, the fourth is the mellowness, the third is the spirit, the second is the clearness, the first is the body. All together make the liquor good. The possession of any one of these qualities in a remarkable degree, often blinds the auditory to a defect in the rest; but the deceit is discovered by this. If we have been deceived, we shall inquire of ourselves, in our lucid intervals, the ground of our gratification, and fall ignorant of the reason. were real eloquence, we acquiesce in our decision, and can readily give an answer to our inquiry." "WHAT is eloquence? The more If it ORIGINAL LETTERS. LETTERS of friendship, written by eminent ministers and private Christians, with all the freedom of unrestrained confidence, furnish the most interesting illustrations of their religious character, and supply many facts and dates which elucidate the history of the church of Christ in the times to which they refer. It will therefore, it is presumed, be acceptable to the readers of this Magazine to know, that, in future, a certain portion of its pages will be appropriated to the insertion of these interesting remains of great and holy men; and the Editors respectfully solicit their friends who possess such unpublished relics, to entrust them to their care, that they may, by publication, be preserved from that destruction to which many valuable epistles have been frequently consigned. The Editors are happy to state, that an interesting series of letters, from the pens of the Rev. George Whitefield, the Rev. John Berridge, of Everton, and the Rev. Thomas Davidson, of Bocking, have thus been obligingly confided to them from the family papers of a gentleman, whose ancestors were honoured with the friendship of these distinguished servants of Christ, and which, they doubt not, will be esteemed, with other epistles in their possession, as valuable additions to this miscellany. God willing, you shall have mine. I think, dear Sir, there is somewhat peculiar in our acquaintance. I have had a particular value for you some years; and though I have not seen you, yet my love has encreased. Your coming to me, before I left town, was extraordinary : it was of wonderful service, and strengthened my faith and confidence in a prayerhearing God. Oh, Sir! very dear Sir ! who is like unto our God, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, continually doing wonders! Thanks be to his great naine for all his mercies! but, above all, for that mercy of mercies, Jesus Christ! You and I, dear Sir, are much indebted to divine grace, and yet how unthankful am I! alas, how unholy! Indeed, I feel myself to be the chief of sinners, and less than the least of all saints; and yet (Oh, infinitely condescending love!) Jesus delights to honour me. Here is a large field of action in the west: all quiet, and the people fly to the Gospel, as doves to the windows. I am just now going to preach sixteen miles off, or I could write much. I thank you for writing to me. I felt your love for the writer, and can, in great sincerity, subscribe myself, Very dear Mr. Savage, Most affectionately yours, To Mr. Savage. G. W. II. Piscataqua, March 2, 1744-5. VERY DEAR SIR Your peculiar kindness to me, before I left London, has been much upon my heart ever since I left England, and calls for a particular acknowledgment, though so many miles off. Indeed, I have loved you several years, in the bowels of Jesus Christ, and have often interceded for you and yours before the throne of grace. Oh, that this may find your dear soul, my dear Mr. Savage, happy at the feet of Jesus! I think this leaves me and mine in that situation. Oh, help us to praise our common Father, for he has been exceedingly kind to us! He has delivered us out of the great deep, and brought me from the gates of death, through which I was going triumphantly, and enables me to preach the everlasting Gospel to abundance of souls. There is much opposition from some quarters; but no weapon formed against the cause of God has or can prosper. Wondrous things have been done in and for New England. Greater things, I believe, God is about to do for it. I can scarce tell when I shall go out of it. Here is a glorious field of action before me. I know you will pray for me, that as my day is, so my strength may be. This is my prayer for you, my dear Mr. Savage. My dear wife joins in sending you and yours most cordial salutations; and, wishing + you the best of blessings, I subscribe myself, very dear Sir, Your most affectionate obliged Friend, To Mr. Savage. III. Port Isaac, in Cornwall, MY VERY DEAR FRIEND-Shall I re- But Yours most affectionately, in our common Lord, GEORGE WHITEFIELD. To Mr. Savage. P. S.-I sympathize with poor Mrs. Andrews, and pray the Lord of all Lords to sanctify this stroke. IV. Rozindale, June 14, 1750. NEITHER distance, place, time, or even eternity itself, will ever be able to erase |