mind throughout his future course of thought, which is often strongly, and not advantageously, manifested in his writings. We have now not the slightest reference to any one political party. We can easily conceive of a position in which he might have been placed, which, in combination with another portion of the same circumstances, would have produced precisely the same results, even had his predilections been of an opposite character. There were outbreaks of popular wickedness and fury, of stupid ignorance and brutal ferocity, which might easily have given a strongly misanthropical character to a mind tending to an almost gloomy pensiveness, and to occasionally indulged sarcasm; and if such a mind were possessed of gigantic energies, might have produced a large withdrawment from society, and a feeling of despondency, often of deep despondency, in reference to any prospects of its amendment. All this might have taken place, whether the individual were an admirer of Pitt or Fox, Sheridan or Burke. We refer to the circumstances of Mr. Foster's early life with no exclusive reference to their specific character. Had they been ever so different, the same effects might have been produced only by looking at another class of facts, as truly existing as those to which he did look. We only refer to their specific character, because they were actually the cause of much that we think is mistaken or defective, in his, otherwise, so valuable works. Mr. Foster was too great a man for these mistakes or defects to be passed over without notice.

When he was first beginning to think, the French Revolution had just broken out. All know the fearful degradation into which France had been thrown by long-continued civil despotism, and by a financial prodigality and corruption, which knew no bounds but in the failing power of exacting supplies from an oppressed people, whose sources became at length utterly inadequate to meet the demands of a profuse expenditure, mostly needless, often injurious; so that national bankruptcy ensued, and the torch was applied to the vast masses of combustible material so abundantly spread over the land; and all in England to whom religious and civil liberty were dear, hoped when they beheld the light, which had not at first the lurid glare by which it too soon became characterized, that they witnessed the dawn of a happier day. The more thoughtful became aware, before long, that their hopes were doomed at least to present disappointment. From the convulsive movements of an ignorant and debased people, excited and led by infidel philosophers, they could anticipate no beneficial results; and only found consolation in reflecting on that mysterious, that holy, righteous, and merciful Providence, which, even from enormous evil, can educe mighty and permanent good. But there were too many who deeply sympathized with the entire French movement, doctrinal and practical; and who eagerly embraced the opportunity of diffusing French principles. Thomas Paine popularized them for the English mind, and connected political speculations-sometimes correct, but which his unbalanced and vicious mind was unable rightly to apply-with a malignant and rabid infidelity, and poured forth such a torrent of ribaldry in reference to sacred things, as, at all events in the English school of scepticism, had never before been known. Unhappily, party-disputes ran high, and in the spirit of party the question was soon debated. On the whole, the entire subject was fully considered; but considered, by zealous partisans, only by halves. The subjects discussed had their favourable and unfavourable aspects; and they who were more solicitous for victory than truth, saw, in their own opinions, nothing but what was right; and in those of their opponents, nothing but what was wrong. One

sided opinions became the order of the day. Each took the worst specimens of the other as just types of the whole. In this tremendous party-strife, which had so nearly upset the nation, neither side seemed willing to perceive that the path of public safety and prosperity is produced by the well-adjusted balance of opposing forces; and that the public weal would be destroyed by the undue preponderance of either. Many talked of order who only sought to perpetuate the corruption on which they fed. Many talked of freedom who only desired revolution and anarchy. On each side, truth and error were blended: and, unhappily, each, in defending itself, only regarded what of right it possessed; and in assailing its opponents, what they had of wrong. In guarding against anarchy, public freedom was not sufficiently considered by some; while others, in guarding against the encroachments of power, too often overlooked the absolute necessity, especially in a large empire, of upholding the just vigour of law, for that maintenance of the order which is as necessary for the safety and prosperity of the state, as freedom is to the security and prosperity of individuals. Perhaps never since the establishment of the Protestant constitutional monarchy, in 1688, were there, in reference to politics, more infelicitous times in England. The nation seemed divided against itself; and, but for the merciful providence of God, the fundamental arrangements of our civil system would have been thrown into a state of irremediable disorder. They who, in these days of comparatively quiet improvement, calmly look back on that eventful period, freed from the party-strife which thus convulsed the nation, may easily form an instructive judgment on the whole case. They will admire the efforts which sought to guard what in itself was right; they will deplore the eagerness which too frequently, looking only at one object, lost sight of what was equally necessary; and by separating what ought always to have been viewed and held in conjunction, actually endangered both; so that either side in its turn afforded occasion of triumph to its adversaries, and awakened the most serious apprehensions of those who were deeply convinced that, as on the preservation of the balance of the constitution the true welfare of the nation depended, the complete victory of either party would at least have endangered the fabric, perhaps destroyed it altogether.

No one can impartially read these volumes, without perceiving Mr. Foster's one-sidedness, and lamenting its influence. Humanly speaking, its particular direction was casual, and was produced by circumstances over which he had no control. He happened—we again use the guarding phrase, "humanly speaking' -to have his lot cast, in early life, among those whose jealous fears for the safety of the popular elements of the constitution had been strongly excited; and whose attention was therefore chiefly directed to the evils that were to be found in the higher classes of the community. In the endeavours of public functionaries and their supporters to maintain order, they only saw opposition to freedom; as these, on the other hand, in the efforts of others to secure freedom, saw only disaffection, and a disposition to revolt. It was the dispute of the Knights about the gold and silver shield, only threatening disastrous results to a very far greater number of disputants. We do not say, because we do not think, that Mr. Foster's one-sidedness was unfavourable only because it was one particular kind of one-sidedness. On the contrary, we are not certain but that it would have been still more unfavourable had it been occasioned by circumstances of an opposite character. His powerful intellect disposed him to look with too little allowance on those who, in a day when there was far less cultivation than at present, had very little intellectual light and energy; and who did not,

therefore, always present a religious profession under the most favourable aspect. He had a keen sense of the ridiculous, his tendency to sarcasm was too little under control; and, instead of passing through the rough, and sometimes, perhaps, even repulsive, exterior, to sympathize with the true excellence within, and admire it, he stopped at the exterior; and finding cause for censure, sought not for that which he would have approved, and by which the censure would at least have been considerably modified. The reader will recollect one of his remarks in his "Essay on Popular Ignorance." He speaks of a congregation of rustics, whose attention would be suddenly diverted from the statement of most important truths by the entrance of some individual. We are not going to defend inattention. But can nothing be said on the other side? Might not the truths, though important, be less obvious to the hearers, than to a mind like his own, for instance? And did he never see even such a congregation so enchained by the statement of truths which were obvious to them, and which would be the most important of all, that no circumstances like those which he mentions could disturb it? And even with these few moments of inattention, why, they were the exception, not the rule; and these very rustics, perhaps, heard enough to feed their immortal souls, and carried away enough to assist in their comfort, guidance, and establishment, during the toil of the ensuing week. But this was Mr. Foster's failing. He looked most at that which was least calculated to produce a soothing effect on his own spirit, and which disposed him to a kind of gloom,—we had almost said, of querulousness,-the effects of which cannot be overlooked. Some painters "take likenesses" without shade: Mr. Foster sometimes took them without light. Now, had he been brought up among some educated friends of Pitt and Burke, so that his attention had been almost exclusively directed to the defects and excesses of the poorer classes; and he had seen the evils of luxury and power under their most favourable aspects; and seen with them, too, the advantages, civil and moral, to which a right use of opulence, and rank, and power might lead; we can easily conceive of the mischievous influence of such a one-sidedness. British liberty itself would have been endangered by the pitiless lashings of his pen.

We repeat what we have before said, that it is to the general, not the particular, one-sidedness, by which Mr. Foster was sometimes warped, that we are referring. And we know no writer who is, in this respect, more admonitory. His pages are too often stern and gloomy and sarcastic, when they should have been sympathizing. Capable of deep affection, as his attachment to her who became his wife, and his paternal love, most indisputably evince, he found not that pleasure in general society which, in what we venture to call a better, as well as a happier, frame of mind, he might have found. And with more cheerfulness and tenderness, his valuable works would have been not only more valuable to his admirers, but more valuable as having a larger number of admirers. His perception of the beautiful was distinct and vivid; and it is easy to see that even his solitary walks were often walks of high enjoyment, produced by a truly poetical communion with nature. But in morals, even where the beautiful was present, if it were at all connected with deformity, the beautiful was overlooked in the castigation administered to the deformed. We are far from saying that he called good, evil. He was too right-hearted, as well as too right-minded, for that. But he looked at evil too exclusively; looked at it till it became suggestive; and then, his wide-ranging imaginings being added to what in itself was comparatively a small central point, the whole spread almost

boundlessly before him. In that generally delightful and most instructive portion of the first volume, the "Extracts from Mr. Foster's Journal,"Journal of thoughts, rather than of facts,-this tendency will be found to manifest itself in his strong language on comparatively trivial occasions. Had such language been used in conversation, on the spur of the moment, and during the first movement of feeling, though it still would have been an exponent of the mental state, yet it would have been so, far less decidedly, than when it was deliberately recalled and recorded. We thus find him speaking of the "wretched and barbarous appearance, and coarse manners, of the populace," in one part of the kingdom. How much of real kindness, and true conscience, would he have seen by looking in another direction! And so as to another class:- "Characters formed in the routine of a court, like pebbles in a brook, are rounded into a smooth uniformity; all the angles of virtuous singularity are lost." He does not like the unsmoothed roughness of one, nor the artificial polish of the other. What, then? Amongst both, something else might have been found, not unworthy of record, had it been sought out. A fault-finding tendency, whether for keeping things as they are, or for improving them, is always an unhappy one; and will be found a serious limit and hinderance to usefulness. We never felt the wisdom, as well as the kindness, of the great Gospel law of affectionate, forbearing, condescension, so much as after we rose from reading these volumes,-volumes which, we think, it would not be easy to read superficially. But let the reader look at another instance or two, still remembering that these are not just off-hand effusions, but considerate and deliberate records." To Thornbury church.-Saw one or two ancient monumental inscriptions; and looked with intense disgust, as I always do, at the stupid exhibitions of coarselyexecuted heraldry." Was not the feeling that expressed itself in Gray's beautiful lines, both better and happier than this ?—

"Yet ev❜n these bones from insult to protect,

Some frail memorial still erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and graceless sculpture deck'd,
Demands the passing tribute of a sigh.

"Their names, their years, spelt by the' unletter'd muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:

And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die."

Here is the poet looking at uncouth rhymes, and graceless sculpture, and the works of the unlettered muse; but here is no "intense disgust:" they are not called "stupid." They are recognised as appealing to human sympathy; and affording, though in unattractive forms, invaluable instruction. Then again, he supposes the sun to be a living intelligence," He would be horribly incensed at the world he is appointed to enlighten; such a tale of ages, exhibiting a tiresome repetition of stupidity, follies, and crimes." And had the sun witnessed nothing else? In a different state of mind, might he not have referred to the delightful, animating view of the progress of society to a happier condition, of the continuance of virtuous vital activity, wisdom, and deeds resplendent in moral heroism, purity, righteousness, and benevolence? But, no; it is still the gloomy and censurable at which he looks. His moral instructions, however valuable in themselves, are far less efficient than they would have been, because communicated, for the most part, in a tone of sternness, sometimes of despondency, and sometimes of a sarcasm more likely to produce resentment than to awaken a desire to amend.

We have not exhausted the subject; but we hope we have said enough to illustrate our meaning. We have not selected our instances from expressions occasioned by what we have termed "the particular direction of Mr. Foster's one-sidedness." Two reasons have led to this. We wish to avoid even the suspicion of reference to any peculiar opinions on political subjects entertained by him. We might have done this in all honesty, without the slightest tincture of partisanship. But we know too well the sensitiveness of party, even to seem to enter on that ground. And next, we have said, and we say again, that our only object is to point out the mischief of such one-sidedness, whatever the side may be. Mr. Foster suffered greatly by it; and his writings are thus rendered less valuable. And if his mighty mind, good sense, and true piety, could not preserve him, how much more mischievous must the same error be to inferior minds! In Mr. Foster's writings, while there is much, very much, that is excellent, there is something that is misleading too; and the misleading of such a man can never be innocuous. We have sought, therefore, with the highest respect for his memory, to put his admirers, indeed, his readers generally, on their guard. It is one part of the tribute due to minds like his, to point out defects which, in such a case, cannot be inoperative; errors which, as being surrounded with so much good, might easily be admitted unawares. While his direct instructions will teach much that it concerns man to know; his very defects, when once they are seen in relation to their cause, will afford valuable, though indirect, instruction. In religion, there must be unrestricted glorying in the unobscured cross of Christ, and a firm maintenance and avowal of its undiluted, fullyapplied, doctrines, however offensive to human pride. No wisdom of words must be added to the cross: though this should render it more palatable, it would likewise despoil it of its efficiency. And on all subjects, every man, on whatever subject he thinks, especially if he thinks in order to writing and publishing,—should, with the utmost carefulness, preserve a rigid impartiality. The Christian is bound to speak, as far as he knows, and as far as the occasion requires, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He who writes for a party, may write as a partisan; though even he should remember that he is a man, and accountable to the God of truth and righteousness, for all that he throws into the ever-moving activity of the human mind. But he who professes to be a Christian, should rise far above everything of this kind. Only by one instrument can he effect any useful purpose; and therefore, preserving a rigorous self-control, he is to seek for truth, as truth; and having, as he believes, found it, in the name of the God of truth send it forth. Then may he pray that God would pardon his mistakes, and by his Spirit and providence hinder them from doing harm; and that he would, by the same Spirit and providence, bless the truth he has published, and render it useful to the church and the world; to the glory of his own name, by Christ Jesus, throughout all ages.

Of course these observations are intended to apply only to the subject of the volumes before us; not to the volumes themselves. We again say that Mr. Ryland has performed his allotted task with great ability and judgment; and furnished a contribution to modern English literature which will not easily, nor soon, be surpassed.

Since the above remarks were written, Mr. Ryland has increased the obligation under which he had before placed us, by the publication of a Second Series of Lectures.* The volume contains nothing calling for addi

* Lectures delivered at Broadmead Chapel, Bristol, by John Foster. Second Series. 8vo., pp. 476. Jackson and Walford.