of it shall remain for ever! From that time it has been the practice among the Methodists, to renew the covenant annually, generally on the first night of the new year, or of first year. They are exhorted to make it not only in heart but in word, not only in word,but in writing; and to spread the writing with all possible reverence before the Lord as if they would present it to him as their act and deed, and then to set their hands to it. It is said, that some persons from a fanatical and frightful motive of making the covenant perfect on their part, have signed it with their own blood!" Wesley's system of education was one of the severest and worst ever advocated: it was a reign of terror from the cradle upwards. Taken altogether, Methodism has produced much good, and done some evil. Its principles are strictly loyal, which in some degree compensates for its schism from the church. The last chapter in the book which we have thus far epitomized gives a picture of Wesley in his old age. "He was favoured with a constitution vigorous beyond that of ordinary men, and with an activity of spirit which is even rarer than his singular felicity of health and strength. Ten thousand cares of various kinds, he said, were no more weight or burden to his mind, than ten thousand hairs were to his head. But in truth, his only cares were those of superintending the work of his ambition, which continually prospered under his hanĜs. Real cares he had none: no anxieties, no sorrows, which touched him nearly. His manner of life was the most favourable that could have been devised for longevity. He rose early, and lay down at night with nothing to keep him waking, or trouble him in sleep. His mind was always in a pleasurable and wholesome state of activity, he was temperate in his diet, and lived in perpetual locomotion: frequent change of air is perhaps, of all things, that which most conduces to joyous health and long life." In the course of his life he rode above a hundred thousand miles; and was 69 years of age, when his friends prevailed on him to use a carriage, in consequence of a hurt which produced a hydrocele. "Mr. Wesley still continued to be the same marvellous old man. No one who saw him, even casually, in his old age, can have forgotten his venerable appearance. His face was remarkably fine; his complexion fresh to the last week of his life; bis eye quick, and keen, and active: when you meet him in the street of a crowded city, be attracted notice, not only by his band and cassock, and his long hair, white and bright as silver, but by his pace and manner, both indicating that all his minutes were numbered, and that not one was to be lost. After his eightieth year, he went twice to Holland, a country in which Methodism, as Quakerism had done before it, met with a certain degree of success. Upon com pleting his eighty-second year, he says, "is any thing too hard for God? It is now eleven years since I have felt any such thing as weariness. Many times I speak till my voice fails, and I can speak no longer. can speak no longer. Frequently I walk till my strength fails, and I can walk no farther; yet even then, I feel no sensation of weariness, but am perfectly easy from head to foot. I dare not impute this to natural causes." "In his eighty-fourth year, he first began to feel decay; and, upon com meacing his eighty-fifth, he observes, 'I am not so agile as I was in times past; I do not run or walk so fast as I did. My sight is a little decayed. My left eye is grown dim, and hardly serves me to read. I have daily some pain in the ball of my right eye, as also in my right temple (occasioned by a blow received some months since), and in my right shoulder and arm, which I impute partly to a sprain, and partly to the rheumatism. I find, likewise, some decay in my memory with regard to names and things lately past; but not at all with regard to what I have read or heard twenty, forty, or sixty years ago. "Other persons perceived his growing weakness before he was thus aware of it himself; the most marked symptom was that of a frequent disposition to sleep during the day. He had always been could not have been granted him; the able to lie down and sleep almost at will, like a mere animal, or a man in little better than an animal state,—a consequence, probably, of the incessant activity of his life this he himself rightly accounted one of the causes of his excellent health, and it was, doubtless, a consequence of it also; but the involuntary slumbers which came upon him in the latter years of his life, were indications that the machine was worn out,and would soon come to a stop. In 1788, he lost his brother Charles, who, during many years, had been his zealous coadjutor, and, through life, his faithful and affectionate friend. Latterly their opinions had differed. Charles saw the evil tendency of some part of the discipline, and did not hesitate to say that he abominated the band-meetings, which he had formerly approved; and,adhering faithfully himself to the church, he regretted the separation which he foresaw, and disapproved John's conduct, in taking steps which manifestly tended to facilitate it. Indeed, Mr. Wesley laid aside, at last, all those pretensions by which he had formerly excused himself; and, in the year 1787, with the assistance of two of his clerical coadjutors, Mr. Creighton and Mr. Peard Dickinson, he ordained two of his preachers, and consecrated Mather a bishop or superiatendant. But this decided difference of opinion produced no diminution of love between the two brothers. They had agreed to differ; and, to the last, John was not more jealous of his own authority, than Charles was solicitous that he should preserve it. Keep it while you live,' he said, and after your death, datur digniori, or rather, dignioribus. You cannot settle the succession: you cannot divine how God will settle it.' Charles, tho' he attained to his eightieth year, was a valetudinarian through the greatest part of his life, in consequence, it is believed, of having injured his constitution by close application and excessive abstinence at Oxford. He had always dreaded the act of dying; and his prayer was, that God would grant him patience and an easy death: a calmer frame of mind, and an easier passage, . powers of life were fairly worn out, and, without any disease, he fell asleep. By his own desire he was buried, not in his brother's Burying ground, because it was not consecrated, but in the church yard of Mary-le-bonne, the parish in which he resided; and his pall was supported by eight clergymen of the Church of England." "On the first of February, 1791, he wrote his last letter to America. On the 17th of that month, he took cold after preaching at Lambeth. For some days he struggled against an increasing fever, and continued to preach till the Wednesday following, when he delivered his last sermon. From that time he became daily weaker and more lethargic, and, on the 2d of March, he died in peace; being in the eightyeighth year of his age, and the sixtyfifth of his ministry. "During his illness he said, Let me be buried in nothing but what is woollen; and let my corpse be carried in my coffin into the chapel.' Some years before, he had prepared a vault for himself, and for those itinerant preachers who should die in London. In his will he directed, that six poor men should have twenty shillings each for carrying his body to the grave; for I particularly desire,' said he, there may be no hearse, no coach, no escutcheon, no pomp except the tears of them that loved me, and are following me to Abraham's bosom. I solemnly adjure my executors, in the name of God, punctually to observe this.' At the desire of many of his friends, his body was carried into the chapel, and there lay in a kind of state becoming the person, the day preceding the interment, dressed in his clerical habit, with gown, cassock, and band; the old clerical cap on his head, a Bible in one hand, and a white handkerchief in the other. The face was placid, and the expression which death had fixed upon his venerable features, was that of a serene and heavenly smile. The crowds which flocked to see him were so great, that it was thought prudent, for fear of accident, to accelerate the funera and perform it between five and six in ty in conveying treasonable intelligence the morning. The intelligence, how-to the Americans, during the war. The ever, could not be kept entirely secret, two sons of Charles were among the and several hundred persons attended at that unusual hour. Mr. Richardson, who performed the service, had been one of his preachers almost thirty years. When he came to that part of the service, Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother,' his voice changed, and he substituted the word father; and the feeling with which he did this was such, that the congregation, who were shedding silent tears, burst at once into loud weeping. "Mr. Wesley left no other property behind him than the copyright and correct editions of his works, and this he bequeathed to the use of the connection after his debts should have been paid. "Such was the life, and such the labours of John Wesley; a man of great views, great energy, and great virtues. That he awakened a zealous spirit, not only in his own community, but in a church which needed something to quicken it, is acknowledged by the members of that Church itself; that he encouraged enthusiasm and extravagance, lent a ready ear to false and impossible relations, and spread superstition as well as piety, could hardly be denied by the candid and judicious among his own people. In its immediate effects the powerful principle of religion, which he and his preachers diffused, has reclaimed many from a course of sin, has supported many in poverty, sickness, and affliction, and has imparted to many a triumphant joy in death. "The remarkable talents with which the Wesley family were endowed, manifested itself in the third generation as strikingly as in the second. One of the nieces of Mr. Wesley, named Mehebabel, after her mother, was that Mrs. Wright, who attained to such excellence as a modeller in wax, and who is said to have acted with great dexteri most distinguished musicians of their age. Their father, perceiving the decided bent of their genius, very properly permitted them to follow it, and made the science of music their profession. In a letter to his brother, he said, I am clear,without doubt,that my son's concert is after the will and order of Providence.' When John printed this letter, after his brother's death, he added, in a note, I am clear of another mind.' It was reported that Charles had said, his brother would not outlive bim The prediction more than a year. might have been hazarded with sufficient likelihood of its fulfilment; for John was now drawing near the grave." We have no wish to add to our long review of this interesting and valuable work. To complete the sketch of Methodism, abridged in our columns, it may be mentioned, that several separations took place among its original disciples, on various points of doctrine. The first division was led by Maxfield, Wesley's earliest lay-preacher, who joined Bell and other mad enthusiasts, pretending to prophecy and work miracles. Wheatley, a lascivious gospel preacher, headed the next schism, and turned the love-feasts and other noc turnal meetings into monstrous orgies. One Reilly was the organ of another sect, which held the opinions of universalists and latitudinarians;—that Christ had done away original sin, and that sin was a disease wanting a cure—not a crime deserving of punishment. This sect still prevails in America, Reilly having been one of Washington's chaplains. Other separations of less note have also occurred; but in general the Wesleyan system has far exceeded in prosperity any of its co-rivals. THI POEMS. BY BERNARD BARTON, (A QUAKER.) From the Literary Gazette. HIS volume will, we believe, be published on Monday; and we are led to take so early a notice of it, as much on account of its merit, as of the rather peculiar circumstance of its being the production of one of the Society of Friends. We hail this as a strong proof of the progress of liberality-of true liberality, and not of that spurious principle which has usurped the name, and converted a virtue nominally into a real vice. It has been told, probably without foundation, that when the amiable Quaker Poet, Scott of Amwell, was upon his death-bed, some sour bigots exhorted him to repent of his sin of poetry. He died and made no sign: and in that world to which the enthusiasm of poetic inspiration is the nearest approach in this,...in that heaven where the hymning of praises is the highest enjoyment of blest spirits; he now, we firmly trust, enjoys the reward of a well-spent life, refined, exalted, and improved, by one of the purest studies of mankind. It has been said, that there was something in Quaker doctrines inconsistent with the Bardic character; and it has been held by many, that in Quaker habits and manners there was an insuperable barrier to poetical cultivation. If these opinions have not been overthrown before, the author now under review has set them at rest for ever. He has shown differ from the author's sentiment on this And, therefore, would I never wish to see When the unprison'd spirit sought its sphere: With due solemnity, was laid in earth; And Friendship's parting sigh, Affection's tear, Claim'd by pure love, and deeply cherish'd worth, Might rise or fall uncheck'd,as sorrow gave them birth. There wanted not the pall, or nodding plume, The white-rob'd priest, the stated form of prayer; There needed not the livery'd garb of gloom, That grief, or carelessness alike might wear; 'Twas felt that such things "had no business there.” Instead of these, a silent pause, to tell What language could not; or, unconn'd by care Of rhetoric's rules, from faultering lips there fell Some truths to mourners dear,in memory long to dwell. Then came the painful close-delay'd as long As well might be for silent sorrow's sake; Hallow'd by love, which never seems so strong, As when its dearest ties are doom'd to break. One farewell glance there yet remain❜d to take : Searce could the tearful eye fulfil its trust, When, leaning o'er the grave, with thoughts awake To joys departed, the heart felt it must us fancy in a sober brown garb, tender- Assent unto the truth which tells us-we are dust! ness in a broad beaver, and nature in a staid demeanour. are Some feeling dedicatory verses addressed to Maria Hack, whose literary talents are warmly appreciated by the writer. He then, after a few brief introductory remarks in prose, enters upon his miscellaneous career with stanzas supposed to be written in a burial ground of the Society of Friends. They laud the simplicity of these receptacles for the dead, and condemn the erection of "Storied urn or animated bust" to the memory of those whose resurrection shall be their great memorial. We 2U ATHENEUM VOL. 7. The scene is past !-and what of added good The dead to honour, or to soothe the living, Could then have mingled with the spirit's mood, From all the empty show of man's contriving? What worthier of memory's cherish'd hiving With miser care? In hours of such distress Deep, deep into itself the heart is diving; Aye! into depths, which reason must confess, At least mine owns them so, awful and fathomless! * Then, be our burial-grounds, as should become Who wait the promise by the Gospel given,— The next piece is entitled "the Valley of Fern," and displays considerable feeling and art in impressing local imagery and beauty upon a landscape, certainly not intrinsically either imposing or beautiful. We know not how the ideas of Quakers are now regulated with regard to paintings; whether pictures continue to be held in abomination by any portion of that sect ;...but if they are, we must say that Mr.Barton has exposed himself to some reproach for drawing a very sweet landscape. After several natural reflections, he thus writes... of modern poets who have sown poison with their flowers, and infected the effusions of their genius with active corruption, stands clear in his great account and to the extent of his powers has contributed only to the weal of his fellow creatures. He, at least, may lay his hand on his heart, and say, “I have not abused God's Gift." We pass over a good many pages of shorter poems, and select the following, as curious in many particulars. SILENT WORSHIP. (reminding us, en passant, of Akenside.) Though glorious, O God! must thy temple have For the bright chain of being, tho' widely extended, Unites all its parts in one beautiful whole; In which Grandeur and Grace are enchantingly blended, Of which GOD is the Centre, the Light, and the And holy the hope is, and sweet the sensation, We know all we see in this beauteous creation, Is doom'd to dissolve, like some bright exhalation, That dazzles, and fades in the morning's first beam. The gloom of dark forests, the grandeur of mountains, The verdure of meads, and the beauty of flowers; The seclusion of valleys, the freshness of fountains, The sequester'd delights of the loveliest bowers: Nay, more than all these, that the might of old ocean, Which seems as it was on the day of its birth, Must meet the last hour of convulsive commotion, Which, sooner or later, will uncreate earth. Yet, acknowledging this, it may be that the feelings Which these have awaken'd, the glimpses they've given, Combin'd with those inward and holy revealings That illumine the soul with the brightness of hea. ven, May still be immortal, and destin❜d to lead us, Hereafter, to that which shall not pass away; To the loftier destiny God hath decreed us, The glorious dawn of an unending day. And thus, like the steps of the ladder ascended By angels, (beheld with the patriarch's eye,) With the perishing beauties of earth may be blended Sensations too pure, and too holy to die. On this pussage we have but one observation to offer, and it is equally applicable to every line in the book...the whole tends to the enlargement of the human faculties, to the moral amelioration, and to the everlasting happiness of the reader. Mr. B., among the crowd been, On the day of its first dedication, When the Cherubin's wings widely waving were seen On high, o'er the ark's holy station; When even the chosen of Levi, though skill'd And by whom was that ritual forever repeal'd? Not the cloud, but the brightness of heaven. By the patriarch's well, sitting weary, alone, How sublime, yet how simple the homage he taught Woman! believe me, the hour is near, For God is a Spirit! and they, who aright Would perform the pure worship he loveth, In the heart's holy temple will seek, with delight, That spirit the Father approveth. And many that prophecy's truth can declare, Whose bosoms have livingly known it; Whom GOD hath instructed to worship him there, And convine'd that his mercy will own it. The temple that Solomon built to his name, Now lives but in history's story; Extinguish'd long since is its altar's bright flame, And vanish'd eachglimpse of its glory. |