whence all other requisites will flow, and that measure is—that such of the bishops as have their sees in the Irish country, should resolve that after a certain time, say two years, they will not license any clergyman to the cure of certain parishes, who shall not be able to address the people in the Irish tongue. More might be done than this, but this sketch may at present suffice. And now, Sir, for what purpose do I appeal to you? Remember that to bring about the passing of such a resolution as this, there must be a strong expression of public feeling, the result of a stronger necessity to adopt it, and indeed to justify its adoption; I do therefore propose, through you, that as many active and influential individuals, both lay and spiritual, of the established or Protestant dissenting churches, as feel an interest on this subject, and are convinced of its importance, should meet me, and those friends with whom I co-operate, on Friday, Feb. 13th, at the hour of 2 o'Clock, at such place as may be heard of at the office of the Irish Society, in order to take into consideration, and act upon, some measures which shall, please God, be submitted to them. These measures are intended to embrace this subject in its fullest extent; and while the necessity of such a step as this, cannot but be desirable, I beseech the Christian public to reflect, that it cannot longer be delayed; and to consider, is it not precisely some such means as this, that we must forthwith resort to, if we expect a golden harvest in Ireland, through the instrumentality of faithful labourers. When I allude to friends who co-operate with me, I do so in all just humility, for who am I without them? And who are we without Jehovah? who is evidently making bare his holy arm, and preparing the time when the people shall "fear the name of the Lord from the west-when the enemy shall come in like a flood, and the spirit of the Lord shall lift up a standard against him." HENRY J. MONCK MASON, ON BRINGING EQUIPAGES TO CHURCH. TO THE EDITOR OF THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER. SIR,-Perhaps the very appellation of this paper, may induce you to lay it aside without reading it, considering such a subject too trivial to be noticed in the pages of the "Christian Examiner." The subject is not trivial-it is one of the greatest importance both to master and servant, particularly the latter. To me, and I am sure to many others, it is a most disgusting sight to see, on that day which we are commanded particularly to hallow, my lord A., or squire B., mounted on his coach-box, driving his richly-caparisoned nags, prancing with spirit-after frequent turns and rotations-showing to the best advantage his only ac As complishment, good driving!-stop at the church door. "man only looketh to the outward appearance," it would be presumption in me to offer any comment on what may be the "inward workings of the spirit." Let me beg of my readers to see the family comfortably seated in their pew, and accompany me, for a few minutes, to the stable yard. What a bustle!— what a prospect!-what cleaning of bits and bridles. "This horse must be fed"-" that one must be cleaned"—" we must walk about this horse, master's very particular," and so on-what a sabbath occupation! One hour at least passes on in this unprofitable occupation, before every thing can be properly arranged. Timid and heated, the servants show themselves at church. The text is just delivered-the minister is proceeding to descant and enforce, upon his congregation, the command or precept contained in that text-the servants disappear the carriage must be in waiting-horses-every thing to be looked after. I will, without repeating it, leave it to my readers to imagine the scene which is acted upon reaching home-which done, I confidently assert, that my friends will, without one dissenting voice, agree with me when I affirm-That those servants, on that hallowed day, have little or no time left, for reading or meditation; but that their time is most improperly, and consequently unprofitably, engaged. Who, or what, is the occasion of all this ?Every effect must have an agent. Blush, Oh ye masters! Guilty, must be your plea. You, you alone are the agents. You are the occasion, the sole occasion, of producing this unpardonable breach of the sabbath--" You will not enter in yourselves, nor will suffer them who are entering in, to come in"--Your own servants will be your accusers. Attend to the apology, the excuse, of the guilty master. What an absurd theory! Does he, as Mr. Owen, wish to encourage the "levelling system?" Does he wish that all distinction should be annihilated ?--What profit me, my wealth, my rank, if, like the poorest of tenants, I, and my family, must trudge to church, on foot; my very acquaintance would shun me; nonsense! Go no further my friend-I see you have mistaken me. My plan, which I wish both you and your friends to adopt, is this: I will without hesitation declare, that walking to church, is the most proper and decorous manner of approaching that sacred edifice; but, if the distance, the weather, the delicacy of your family, &c. compel you to bring a vehicle to church, let it be of the humblest kind-let the coach attended by your liveried servants, drawn by your four prancing horses, be changed into a one-horse chaise. It would be needless, yea impossible, to recount all the advantages which would most necessarily arise from such a metamorphosis. The servant, seeing in his superiors such a respect paid to the sabbath, the result would, with the blessing of God, be most beneficial. I shall trespass no further on your attention-The subject is a serious one, it should be seriously considered. It occupied my thoughts for some days, previous to my sending this letter, for your perusal and insertion. That those who read these few lines, may be led anxiously to study and consider the highly important subject contained in them, is the ardent wish and prayer, of the SERVANTS' Friend. CHRONICLES OF A CURACY.-No. II. TO THE EDITOR OF THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER. In offering you another extract from the Chronicles of a Curacy, it may be right to explain why, after sending my first specimen, I should have so long withheld another, as to cast my Chronicles and myself into deserved oblivion. For this reserve, I can adduce two reasons; my first is, that I have found that department of your Magazine which I used to occupy, that play-ground, as I may say, whither the parson's children love to resort, taken possession of by a very amusing exhibitor, a Mr. Wilton, who certainly knows how to sketch Irish character, and develope the passions, the prejudices, and superstitions of our people, with no common success. Moreover, I had another reason for closing up my Chronicles, which arose out of the following event. Shortly after the publication of my story of Hester Anderson, I was returning to town in the coach, no matter from whence; and at a certain stage in the road, a gentleman got in, and took his seat opposite me. A stranger on such an occasion usually undergoes a scrutiny, and his external form is measured, in order to discover his internal qualifications. I therefore scanned his grave air, sad-coloured garments; and his broad-brimmed hat being taken off, I could observe a round head, on whose cerebral development were marked, comparison and causality, large-self-esteem, of considerable magnitude, firmness, prominent wit, and ideality altogether absent; the countenance moreover was saturnine, and the complexion bilious-had I met the gentleman in Scotland, I might have supposed he came of the Dryasdust family. I soon found him to be sensible and communicative, and though somewhat dogmatic, was well pleased to engage him in conversation-beginning with the weather, then news, then corn, and the Catholic question; to none of these questions did he carefully respond; but when tried on the literature of the country, and especially as it bore upon religion, here I found feeling and information; and I soon took care to introduce my favourite publication, the Christian Examiner. I thought, on the introduction of this topic, that he cast a sly glance at me from under his brim, as much as to say, I know you, Mr. C. O.; and suddenly, with a brisk take-me short sort of a way, he said, "Pray, do you know the Editor of this Periodical ?" "I have the satisfaction, Sir, of reckoning the gentlemen amongst the number of my acquaintances." "Glad to hear it, Sir; perhaps, as you are proceeding to town, you will deliver him a message-it will save me the trouble, and him the postage, of a letter. Be so kind as to inform him, that I, who have been a subscriber to his work from VOL. VIII. Р the beginning, and who consider that he has done some good, and was likely to effect still more, must decline admitting it any more into my house, unless he discharges a certain light dragoon, who stiles himself C. O., from his service in future. I thought his tours and Sunday strolls bad enough, quite unworthy of a place in a serious publication; but lately he has come out with a fictitious love story, pretty matter, forsooth, in the Church of Ireland Magazine. Sir, I foresee nothing but a galloping consumption, and speedy death to his Journal: and you may tell him, that not I alone am about to withdraw my subscription, but many others are determined to have nothing more to do with such an unseemly publication." Mr. Editor, guess my feelings during the course of this philippic. I confess, Sir, that while taking up the quarrel, I did it in your name, and had not nerve, under the scowl of this rigid gentleman, to announce myself as C. O., and cry, "Adsum qui feci." No; but in a cautious, quavering, excusatory way, I insinuated, that the story carried a good moral; and, while it exhibited the loveliness and consolations of true religion, exposed the forfeits of crime, and the fate of infidelity. I ventured to remark, that fictitious narratives had been used by Sages, to inculcate morality, and even by men inspired of God, to lead the mind to piety. I adduced the instance of a Christian Bishop as the first writer of a regular Romance. I requested him to reflect, that even Religious Tract Societies did not discard such creations of the imagination from their book-shelves; and ventured to remark, that the Dairyman's Daughter had been perhaps as conducive towards exciting piety in the youthful mind, as any sermon, essay, or treatise from the pen of uninspired man. But all I said was of no avail: I might as well attempt to turn the tide, as to change his opinion. And indeed it was infinite relief to me, when at the next town, where the coach changed horses, my gentleman took his departure. The vanishing of a ghost at cock-crow could not have more lightened my spirits— and when moving off, he gave me a sort of pitying nod; I could not help pronouncing of him what Butler said of the Puritan, “that he was, if holy, cross-grained and morose." But still though mile succeeding mile separated us, what the good sturdy man said stuck to my remembrance, the arrow-head of his reproof still fastened in my spirit, and I determined that my levities should not stand in the way of your usefulness; No-perish for ever my manuscripts-Go tours, strolls, chronicles, and all to the snuff-warehouse on Essex-bridge, rather than proceed to your editorial table in Sackville-street, and there tempt you to make use of such trivial and dangerous filling stuff. But, Sir, when I now find that for these many months you have indulged in fictitious narrative, and even introduced that contraband article, love, without the prophecy of the dark traveller being fulfilled; I have plucked up courage, and no longer contemplate a negociation with the snuff-man; and if it were for nothing else but to give my friend Wilton breathing-time, I offer you the following narrative. But as the schoolmaster is abroad, and as I tremble at the very thought of ever again coming under the withering scowl of that moody man, I beg, beforehand, to announce that there are many facts and no love, in this second extract from the Chronicles of Curacy. my In that part of my parish where the mountainous district commences, and where perhaps some of the loftiest mountains in Ireland, terminating in abrupt cliffs, stand out as buttresses to confront the ceaseless siege of the Atlantic, under the head of a sublime head-land, a little bay, or rather cove, is found, the entrance to which is narrow, and its internal shelter so great, that while all may be foam and billowy agitation without, within there is smooth water and perfect safety; and happy the sea-faring man who occupies his business in these western waters, if, when the storm sets in from behind the setting sun, he succeeds in mooring his bark within this fair haven. Just at the entrance where the cliff seems cut through purposely by some giant power to form a passage to this little harbour, a ruined castle stands; its square and still lofty keep, erected on a platform cut out in the rock with prodigious labour, is the mighty work of ancient days, and its well selected position, when fortified, seemed to have fully answered the purpose of command or defence. The remains of mooring-rings are still visible on both sides of this chasm; and it would seem that the warder of this fortress occasionally fixed his boom across either to forbid entrance, or confine the craft within, which it was his pleasure to controul. The dismantled and now "time-toothed" keep is one of the most picturesque objects imaginable. I often admire of a clear moonlight night its bold, black form cutting into the blue sky; and while its long, continuous shadow is thrown far inland, so as even to lean upon the mountain side, the crescent moon, preparing to sink into the western wave, seems to present her sharp and upright horn reposing on the topmost pinnacle, and I almost fancy I then see the revived beacon-light sending up its hospitable blaze, and inviting the friendly vessel to return to the haven where it would be safe. In daylight also my mood and my leisure often beguile me to wander around this interesting ruin, built of huge granite blocks, whose rudeness and size would do credit even to Pelasgic architecture. The cement, if ever there was any, has long since disappeared under the dissolving agency of the ocean spray, nay even the primitive material of the granite has, itself, been partly decomposed; and while, on the weather side, the crumbling insterstices of the wall are covered with a rough coating of gray mosses and yellow lichens, on the land side, the ivy ascends, and the wall-flower, the fern, the maiden-hair, and sedum, hang out their flowering stems, and wave to the breeze their varied vegetations. Directly under the shelter of the rocky ridge, on which the castle stands, stretching along the beach of the little harbour, and open to the south-east, extends a row of fishermen's cabins, in general wretched hovels, some very few of a better description: |