Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live,' Should steal to our hearts, and make all summer there! To our decline as the bowers, Our life should resemble a long day of light, And our death come on holy and calm as the night!' (p. 115.) All these things are brought so pleasantly together, we are quite sorry to inform the author that nature has divided them. In the only climates where there is summer all the year, and no, fall of the leaf, the nights, when moonless, are extremely dark, the sun sets early, and with all expedition; and in those at least in which we have resided, and we believe in all others, the bees find it too hot to live with any sort of comfort, and consequently are not to be seen. These are things, however, which do exist somewhere in the world, though rather lawlessly aggregated. There are others in Mr. Moore's poetry which we are quite at a loss where to look for. Whispered balm, and spoken sunshine' is nonsensical, not metaphorical language. It is astonishing what a great variety of purposes the word light may be applied to besides performing the ordinary service in the way of eyes, looks, hope, glory, &c.; we have the light of love, the light of beauty, of mind, of features, of memory, of song, of smiles, of bliss, &c. There is the sunshine of love, and the moonlight of friendship; but the most extraordinary light of all is an unseen light' (p. 29.) of the softer sex: an unseen light one would have thought tantamount to darkness; but this, nevertheless, guides the poet's way' as well as if he had it continually in his eye! Has sorrow thy young days shaded' is beautifully simple, with the exception of the Wicklow gold mines, which seem out of place. The address to the gentle harp' too much resembles some of the addresses of the court of Common Council; like that worshipful body, the author cannot be contented either with war or peace, and there is only one thought which might not have been engendered in Bishopsgate without. The "Fortune Teller' is a bad attempt at roguery, the worst of all failures. We are happy, however, to acknowledge the author's great amendment in point of purity. He no longer exhibits the charms of the Teian in Doric nakeduessεκδύων χιτώνα Δωριάζει. We have heard objections of this kind made to the Irish Melodies, and much regret that the least ground for them should ever have been given. Mr. Moore, considering the thousands of young ladies who would lose half their valuable time in warbling his melodies, should have taken especial care that they came by no other loss. There is however very little which could be offensive to the most feminine delicacy, and that is so enveloped as perhaps frequently to escape observation; to which we shall not expose it by any further allusion; though well aware that certain of our brethren have made a point of substantiating every charge of this kind by producing the obnoxious passage; as if it were merely for the satisfaction of saying, 'Only look! what a dirty thing we have here!' This author's irregularities were not those of a reprobate heart, and we have been happy to see the end of them. Within the last few years there have been two striking examples of persons of considerable literary ability living unreclaimed, and dying as, we fear, they deserved. He who mispent so large a portion of considerable talents, and of a long life, in endeavouring to bring into ridicule a pattern of private virtue in the most eminent public station, terminated that life, long after the decay of his genius, in such obscurity that his death was scarcely heard of. It is difficult to conceive a condition of life more miserable than his was as it approached its close. His talents, whilst in their vigour, were of a kind to procure for him much of the homage and flatteries of social life. He outlived them all, the talents and their rewards. He passed his latter years in solitude and extreme penury, aged, atheistical, and blind. He lived a life of jovial profligacy, and died deserted. This is an old story; but it ought to be repeated as often as actual examples afford a chance of benefit to a class of minds generally too stubborn or too volatile to receive it. The other instance to which we have alluded is of a more recent date; so recent that we shall not speak of it farther, though it might perhaps be safely concluded that men of this cast leave no friends behind them to be wounded by any descanting on their demerits. We have dwelt more upon Mr. Moore's faults than upon his beauties, because it is impossible that the latter should escape the reader's observation; which is by no means the case with the faults; since it is necessary to strip them of a great deal of finery, before their original deformity can be discerned. None, however, can be more sensible to his merits than are we. Nor are we at all disposed to regret, that in the great variety of poets which we possess, there is one, who is not always sensible, and not often profound. We are of opinion that the fame of the author will ultimately rest upon his productions in this style of writing; because, however great his merit in others, this is the style in which he has never been exceeded, and in which it is highly probable he never will be. An author who has a manner of writing peculiar to himself is not likely to be rivalled at any period very remote from that in which his efforts are made, from that, in fact, wherein existed the state of society society and character of intellect, which suggested his sentiments and manner of conveying them. Mr. Moore, we therefore conceive, will never have a rival, unless, which all experience teaches us to distrust, another age should immediately succeed to this equally redundant in talent, and in talent similarly directed. There is an obvious reason for this having never happened. When a certain measure of excellence has been attained, in poetry for instance, of that excellence the men of the highest talent have the strongest perception; and such men, comprehending fully and at once, and before they have tried their own strength, the difficulty of the endeavour, disdain to take wing, where they have little hope of being foremost in the flight. In the meantime the middling and the dull, who see nothing in the models which they imitate, but the sort of material out of which they were hewn, are working away with vast satisfaction to themselves, and quite unconscious, all the while, that they are not doing wonderful things. The fire of great minds is directed to objects which have not already been placed in the fullest light; while that of little minds is smoking and smouldering on, as usual, to the great annoyance of the neighbourhood. Why the caricatures were placed at the beginning of the Numbers, we cannot imagine; unless, indeed, it be an unjustifiable design of the publishers to ridicule the author's efforts at every step, by exhibiting figures and faces more ruefully hideous than, we hope, nature ever bestowed upon indignant bards and despairing lovers. ART. VII.-The Use and Abuse of Party-Feeling in Matters of Religion considered, in Eight Sermons, preached before the University of Oxford, in the Year 1822, at the Lecture founded by the late Rev. John Bampton, M.A. Canon of Salisbury. By Richard Whateley, M.A. Fellow of Oriel College. pp. 274. WE HEN the nameless author of the Whole Duty of Man called into action the powers of his vigorous understanding, his various learning, and his lively imagination, for the purpose of setting forth The Causes of the Decay of Christian Piety,' he allotted a large portion of his book to the Mischiefs arising from Disputes.' Christian piety had, in those times, been indeed deeply injured by the wild fanaticism which preceded the Restoration, and the unblushing profligacy which followed it. We do not think that in these days we have any reason to consider Christian piety as on › the decline, though we have abundant cause to wish, and to labour. for its increase; but we certainly are of opinion, that among the. obstacles to its increase, a distinguished place may still be assigned to the Mischiefs arising from Disputes.' Religious.con troversy, troversy, we acknowledge, is conducted, generally speaking, with much less bitterness, and much more courtesy, than appear in the writings of most of the sturdy disputants of former times; but there is still ample room for improvement both in the mode in which theological warfare is carried on, and in the spirit and temper of the belligerent parties. With this impression on our minds, we hailed with sincere pleasure the publication of Mr. Whately's Bampton Lectures on the Use and Abuse of Party-Feeling in Matters of Religion.' Mr. Whately was already advantageously known to the public as a powerful and original writer, by his Historic Doubts,' his Notes to Archbishop King's Sermon on Predestination, and his two Discourses on Obedience to Civil Government.-His Bampton Lectures fully support his reputation; though, perhaps, rather in a different way from what we had expected. They show little of metaphysical research, and the marks of learning appear only incidentally; but we have seldom met with a book more distinguished for soundness of judgment, for accuracy and closeness of thought, for knowledge of human nature, and for manly candour and liberality of feeling. In his Introduction, the author modestly says, that there is little in his book that can claim the praise of originality. Many similar sentiments may certainly be found in Bishop Hall's little treatise on Christian Moderation; in Baxter's Cure of Church Divisions; in Barrow's Sermon on Evil Speaking; in the book to which we alluded near the beginning of the article, and in other works. Mr. Whately, however, has every where the air of a man who thinks and observes for himself, rather than that of one who hunts about to find what has been said by others. We will endeavour to give our readers a general view of his argument, often in his own words, though, of course, in an abridged form. The Principle, the use and abuse of which in religion form the subject of the volume before us, can hardly be said, as Mr. Whately observes, to have any well-established and appropriate name in our language. It is most commonly denoted by the French expression, Esprit de Corps; Party-spirit being a term seldom employed, but in an unfavourable sense. He adopts, therefore, the term Party-feeling, not as completely unexceptionable, but as appearing, on the whole, the best that could be found, without resorting to a foreign language. He defines, or describes this principle, as being that which binds together the members of any community, class, and party, and renders the body to which they belong, considered as a body, a distinct object of attachment. This principle may, possibly, be traced up to our natural desire of sympathy and disposition to af ford ford it. We confessedly derive additional ardour from the idea that we are engaged with others in a common pursuit, or supported by them in a common opinion; and hence arises a mutual attachment between those, among whom this mutual sympathy is formed. To whatever source it may be traced, however, it seems clear that the principle exists. Its existence, indeed, was acknowledged by the wisest of the ancient philosophers. Even in those cases where' a coalition of any kind is formed for the sake of promoting some common purpose, the real and mutual attachment of the personsconcerned is not to be measured by the value of the advantages proposed. Their being engaged in a common pursuit is generally found to bind them to each other, and to increase their eagerness for the object pursued, to a degree, which even themselves would never have anticipated.' The effects produced by Patriotism, i. e. attachment to the political community we belong to, are well known. The exertions and sacrifices occasioned by such attachments are by no means to be ascribed always to a sense of duty, for they are often made by men who, in other instances, show that a sense of duty, properly so called, does not exist in them. The Uses of Party-feeling,-the final causes for which it was implanted in us by the Author of our being,-are, increased energy in pursuit of a common object;-regular co-operation;—mutual controul and regulation;—and an advantageous division of labour. All these beneficial effects seem to have been proposed and secured by the embodying of the Christian Church, and there are frequent references to them in the writings of the Apostles. As an instance of the division of labour, somewhat analogous to the differences of ministrations' in the apostolical age, Mr. Whately mentions the several spheres of action which may be taken by the ministers of the church in the present times. Some may devote themselves more especially to the instruction of youth; others, to the edification of their adult hearers; some, to the critical study of the sacred text; others, to the ascertaining and defending of the doctrines contained in it; or to researches into the belief and practice of the primitive church; and some again may employ themselves chiefly in collecting the results of the learned labours of others, throwing them into a popular form, illustrating and enforcing them some may be champions of the faith against heretics, some commentators, some missionaries.' But though Party-feeling, when properly regulated, is productive of these good effects, still, like every other principle and feeling in our nature, it is liable to be abused, and to become the source of dissension, rather than of agreement. One of the most usual instances of its abuse, is, when attachment to a party is suffered to produce |