in Northampton Street, in which to hold a religious service on the Sabbath, and establish a Sunday school. He selected the extreme south part of the city for his field of labor. After some few months, a more commodious hall was found in a new building in Suffolk Street, and to this he removed his school, and for some time had religious services during the day and evening of the Sabbath. Mr. Sargent soon awakened quite an interest in this ministry, and he was eminently successful in his labors. He was faithful and untiring in his exertions to promote the welfare of those to whom he especially ministered, and it was not long before a sum was subscribed sufficient for the erection of a new chapel, in Suffolk Street. The corner-stone was laid May 23d, 1839, and the occasion was one that will long be remembered by many who were present, from the fact, that it was the last public service in which Dr. Tuckerman took part, — the last time that his voice was heard, and the last time that many looked upon his venerated form. Who that was present will forget the fervent petition which he offered on that occasion, as the multitude were gathered around him, and his gray locks were fanned by the breeze, on that beautiful spring afternoon?

The chapel was dedicated February 5th, 1840, and Mr. Sargent labored there, greatly encouraged, till December 29th, 1844, when he resigned.

We have now given a brief history of the origin of the Ministry at Large in Boston, and a sketch of the early history of its chapels. As we have been thus reviewing the last twenty-eight years, many weighty questions have arisen and many pregnant thoughts have suggested themselves, which we have not space to notice or even name, though we may present them at some future period. But of one thing we have been most deeply impressed, as we have gone on step by step, studying the records of an exceedingly interesting portion of our ecclesiastical history as a denomination; and that is, the immense influence which this Ministry at Large has exerted among all classes in this community,-an influence which no words can describe or calculations measure. For well and truly has it been said, by one who did a most excellent service by his labors for several months in this ministry," What language can describe or calculations meas

ure this influence? When the joy of salvation can be adequately portrayed, when the depth of despair can be sounded, then, and then only, will the limits of the influence flowing from this blessed ministry fully appear."

F. T. G.

ART. IV. - SYDNEY SMITH'S SKETCHES OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY.*

SYDNEY SMITH exhibited a rare combination of character, consummate wit and consummate discretion. When written to by the son and biographer of Sir James Mackintosh for some of his late father's letters, Mr. Smith replied," Upon principle, I keep no letters except those on business. I have not a single letter from him, nor from any human being, in my possession." Such was his solicitude lest the unguarded pleasantries of a familiar correspondence should afterwards lead to misunderstandings, or give unnecessary pain. As a preacher, also, he knew what belonged to the decorum of the pulpit, and the seriousness and gravity of his theme. There are fewer conceits of thought or language in the whole of his three volumes of sermons than in many a single page of South. Better proof of his judgment and of the essential kindness and generosity of his disposition could hardly be had than is furnished by the fact, that, though everywhere accounted one of the greatest wits of his time, he was more loved than feared. The tradition of his wit and raillery in conversation will die away, but we have an enduring monument of both in his critical and controversial writings. Here, however, to do him justice, his keenest shafts were reserved for legitimate occasions; when some new folly was to be shown up, when some new pretender was to be unmasked, or when conceit and affectation were to be taught to know themselves. No doubt, to the objects of his merciless banter the pain was often as great as if they had been pursued by violent and angry invective; but to the writer and

Elementary Sketches of Moral Philosophy, delivered at the Royal Institution, in the Years 1804, 1805, and 1806. By the late Rev. SYDNEY SMITH, M. A. London. 1850. 8vo. pp. xii. and 424.

reader it is certainly a great gain, where, as in this case, good humor is made to do the work of bad, and do it quite as effectually.

The posthumous publication before us will add to the author's reputation as an agreeable writer, of excellent judgment and temper, who was able, perhaps beyond any one who ever attempted it before or since, to relieve the general dryness and triteness of the subject by the unfailing resources of a light and playful fancy. It consists of twenty-seven lectures, delivered forty-five years ago at the Royal Institution before a mixed audience of ladies and gentlemen, on a series of topics never very popular in England, and much less considered at that time than now. Portions of some of them, with the modifications and amplifications which the change required, found their way into the early numbers of the Edinburgh Review, under the titles of Professional Education, Female Education, and Public Schools. The rest of the manuscript, being thrown aside as useless, was left among the author's papers in a neglected and mutilated form, in which state it was submitted to his early and constant friend, Lord Jeffrey, with a view to his opinion on the question of publication. This opinion is understood to have been adverse. Accordingly the work was printed, in the first instance, for private circulation, but was everywhere so favorably received as to induce the family to withhold it no longer from the world. Lord Jeffrey took the earliest opportunity to retract his former judgment, and to say, as we think he could with perfect justice, "The book seems to me to be full of good sense, acuteness, and right feeling, very clearly and pleasingly written, and with such a mixture of logical intrepidity, with the absence of all dogmatism, as is rarely met with in the conduct of such discussions."

At the same time we are not surprised that the great Edinburgh critic, when first applied to, should have spoken as discouragingly as he did, if, as is probable, he contented himself with glancing here and there at what remains of the First Course. The two lectures on the History of Philosophy are almost worthless, especially in what is said of the ancients and of the Continent, from the manifest incompetency of the lecturer to do justice to the subject. These are followed by five on the Intellect

ual Faculties, most of them mere disjointed fragments of no considerable value; so much so, that we think it would have been better if they had been omitted entirely.

The Second Course, consisting of lectures on Wit and Humor, on Taste, on the Beautiful and the Sublime, and on the Faculties of Animals as compared with those of Men, is full of amusement and instruction. Take as a specimen what is said of the moral aspects of wit:

"I wish, after all I have said about wit and humor, I could satisfy myself of their good effects upon the character and disposition; but I am convinced the probable tendency of both is, to corrupt the understanding and the heart. I am not speaking of wit where it is kept down by more serious qualities of mind, and thrown into the background of the picture; but where it stands out boldly and emphatically, and is evidently the master quality in any particular mind. Professed wits, though they are generally courted for the amusement they afford, are seldom respected for the qualities they possess. The habit of seeing things in a witty point of view increases, and makes incursions from its own proper regions, upon principles and opinions which are ever held sacred by the wise and good. A witty man is a dramatic performer: in process of time, he can no more exist without applause, than he can exist without air; if his audience be small, or if they are inattentive, or if a new wit defrauds him of any portion of his admiration, it is all over with him, he sickens, and is extinguished. The applauses of the theatre on which he performs are so essential to him, that he must obtain them at the expense of decency, friendship, and good feeling. It must always be probable, too, that a mere wit is a person of light and frivolous understanding. His business is not to discover relations of ideas that are useful, and have a real influence upon life, but to discover the more trifling relations which are only amusing; he never looks at things with the naked eye of common sense, but is always gazing at the world through a Claude Lorraine glass, discovering a thousand appearances which are created only by the instrument of inspection, and covering every object with factitious and unnatural colors. In short, the character of a mere wit it is impossible to consider as very amiable, very respectable, or very safe. So far the world, in judging of wit, where it has swallowed up all other qualities, judge aright; but I doubt if they are sufficiently indulgent to this faculty where it exists in a lesser degree, and as one out of many other ingredients of the understanding. There is an association in men's minds between dulness and wisdom, amusement and folly, which has a very powerful influence in decision upon char

acter, and is not overcome without considerable difficulty. The reason is, that the outward signs of a dull man and a wise man are the same, and so are the outward signs of a frivolous man and a witty man; and we are not to expect that the majority will be disposed to look to much more than the outward sign. I believe the fact to be, that wit is very seldom the only eminent quality which resides in the mind of any man; it is commonly accompanied by many other talents of every description, and ought to be considered as a strong evidence of a fertile and superior understanding."- pp. 149 - 151.

On the subject of the influence of association in matters of taste, the lecturer thinks that Alison goes too far. He observes:

"One circumstance, which appears to have led to these conclusions, is the example of those same sensations which are sometimes ludicrous, sometimes sublime, sometimes fearful, according to the ideas with which they are associated. For instance, the sound of a trumpet suggests the dreadful idea of a battle, and of the approach of armed men; but to all men brought up at Queen's College, Oxford, it must be associated with eating and drinking, for they are always called to dinner by sound of trumpet: and I have a little daughter at home, who, if she heard the sound of a trumpet, would run to the window, expecting to see the puppet-show of Punch, which is carried about the streets. So with a hiss: a hiss is either foolish, or tremendous, or sublime. The hissing of a pancake is absurd; the first faint hiss that arises from the extremity of the pit, on the evening of a new play, sinks the soul of the author within him, and makes him curse himself and his Thalia; the hissing of a cobra di capello is sublime, it is the whisper of death! But all these instances prove nothing; for we are not denying that there are many sounds, tastes, and sights, which nature has made so indifferent, that association may make them any thing. It is very true what Mr. Alison says, that there are many sensations universally called sublime, which association may make otherwise.' This is true enough, but it is not to the purpose. I admit readily, that a fortuitous connection of thought can make it otherwise than sublime; but the question is, Did it receive from nature the character of sublime? Does any thing receive from nature the character of sublime, or the character of beautiful? And would any thing perpetually display, and constantly preserve, such character, if no accident intervened to raise up a contrary association? Certainty on such subjects cannot be attained; but I, for one, strongly believe in the affirmative of the question, that Nature speaks to the mind of man immediately