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• Degenerate as thefe days were, compared with thofe of the apoftles, they were golden ages in comparifon with the times that followed. Some taught what they called pofitive theology, that is to fay, compilations of theological opinions, collected from fcripture, and fathers, and councils. Others went into Scholaftical divinity, that is, confufed and metaphyfical reafonings, by which they pretended to explain the doctrines of religion. A third fort were all taken up with contemplations and inward feelings, and their divinity was myfticism. Even thefe were preferable to others, who read the categories of Aristotle, or the life of a faint, in the church, inftead of a fermon, and who turned the church, I will not fay into a theatre, but into a booth at a country fair. The pulpit became a ftage, where ludicrous priests obtained the vulgar laugh by the lowest kind of dirty wit, especially at the festivals of Christmas and Eafter. One of our old hiftorians fays, The devil was fo pleased with the preachers of the eleventh century, that he fent them a letter of thanks from hell for the advantages which bis kingdom derived from their pulpits.'

In defcribing the ftate of preaching in reformed countries, after paffing high encomiums on the first reformers, and on many Puritan and Nonconformist preachers [overlooking however many great names which have adorned the English church, and greatly contributed to the improvement of preaching], our Author thus laments the influence of civil authority on the eloquence of the pulpit:

In all reformed countries the pulpit was taken into the service of the state, and became a kind of attorney or folicitor-general retained to plead for the crown. The proof of this lies in the articles, canons, and injunctions, which were girded on the clergy of those times; and how thoroughly the ftate clergy have understood this to be the true condition of the pulpit, their fermons will abundantly prove. The belt ftate inftructions to preachers were given in the DIRECTORY by the affembly of divines but even these include the great, the fatal error, the fubjection of God's word to human law. If, when all other inftitutes were taken into the fervice of the state, the pulpit had efcaped, it would have been wonderful indeed: but, if the pulpit be a place, and the preacher a pensioner, in the name of common fenfe, what are we to expect from both!

From this fad constitution we derive the lifeleffnefs of later preaching. The ill-fated youth before he is aware finds himfelf bound to teach the opinions of a fet of minifters, who lived two hundred years before he was born. His mafters believed their own articles, and therefore preached them with zeal: but it would be unreafonable to expect a like zeal in him for the fame doctrines, for he does not know what they are, or, having examined them, he does not think them true, and thus fubfcription to other men's creeds becomes the death of good preaching.'

After perufing the fe fpecimens of our Author's ftyle and fpirit, many of our Readers will, we apprehend, agree with us in regretting that, while in fo good a caufe he difcovers fuch a laudable portion of the fortiter in re, he has not been able to

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blend with it a little more of the leniter in modo. But we must not expect inconfiftencies; and perhaps gentleness is a quality inconfiftent with the active and daring spirit of a reformer.

ART. V. The World as it goes; a Poem. By the Author of the Diaboliad. Dedicated to one of the best Men in his Majesty's Dominions, &c. 4to. 2 s. 6 d. Bew. 1779.

UNDER the fimilitude of a dream this manly satirist describes the Mufe, to whom he particularly devotes himself, as exhibiting a picture of the world as it goes. The more prominent parts of the piece are, The Temple of Friendship, the Palace of Self-intereft, The Den of Adultery, and the Caftle of Freedom. As a fpecimen of this Writer's powers of defcription, we fball present our Readers with a view of the Den of Adultery. Methought, in one short moment there arose A rugged Den, whofe threat'ning jaws disclose Such loathfome fhapes, fo horrid to the fight, That all my nerves were stiffen'd with affright. No monstrous fhapes, that, erring from her plan, Nature brings forth to be the fcourge of man,No pois'nous reptile, whofe envenom❜d bane Can ftop the life-blood courfing through the vein, And bring on inftant death, but there were feen,The blue, the grey, the fpeckled, and the green. -No ftupefying leaf,-no deadly flower, Planted by fate for man's defpairing hour, But, with an intermingled foliage, wave Their baneful tendrils round the dismal Cave.'

The groupe, which is introduced as paying a shameless homage, where

in loathfome state

The luftful Regent of the dungeon fate,

is drawn with great vigour and fpirit, and the colours are laid on with a strength and boldness that evidently speak the hand of a master.

The attendants at the Palace of Self intereft are of equal merit, and are equally numerous. Not fo, alas, the votaries of Friendship! Into HER temple ONE only demands admittance: Deep in the fhady bofom of a wood,

Methought a large and ancient temple ftood:
Upon the folid ftrength of arches rear'd,
In rev'rend dignity the fane appear'd.
Around the dome luxuriant ivy crawls,
And deadly ferpents hifs within the walls:
In mould'ring fculpture croaking ravens reft,

And daws difcordant find a fecret neft:

Brambles and weeds, with pois'nous bloffoms crown'd,
Weave their rank tendrils and infeft the ground;
While the furrounding growth of thicken'd trees
Collects the vapour and obftructs the breeze.

Its ancient form remain'd ;-but ev'ry grace,
Which deck'd the building and adorn'd the place,
Had long been left to moulder and decay,
To Time's relentlefs fangs a yielding prey.
Imperfect characters of faded gold,

High in the front, its ancient goddess told.
Befide the gate, with broken fculpture grac'd,
'Mid floried urns, by cank'ring Age defac'd,
-Oreftes food, in mutilated pride,

And Pylades was mould'ring by his fide.
There was a time when ev'ry labour'd part
Bore the nice touches of ambitious Art:
When the rich altars blaz'd with facred flame,
And Friendship was a dear and honour'd name:
When heart-fick votries, drooping with despair,
Found a fure refuge and afylum there;
Where, from oppreflion fafe and worldly ftrife,
They pafs'd in peace the clofing years of life.
There injur'd Virtue turn'd its willing feet,
And found a welcome and fecure retreat:
There the bold youth, with love of arms infpir'd,
Felt his young foul with heighten'd ardor fir'd;
Preferr'd his pray'r, and, big with promis'd fame,
Sprung to the war and gain'd an hero's name.
-But now no more on Friendship's altars blaze
Th' afcending flames;-no more the fong of praife,
In grateful chauntings, echoes through the dome:
Exil'd by intrest from her native home,
She wanders all forlorn; the daily sport
Of ev'ry fool that cringes in a court,
Of ev'ry knave, and all the endless train

Of thofe who fweat beneath the luft of gain.
-Among the rich, the noble, and the great,
Who hears her cry,-who mourns her haplefs fate?
To her deferted temple who repair?

PORTLAND alone demands admittance there.'

The complement at the clofe is well introduced, and, if public fame, which feldom errs on the favourable fide, may be credited, it has the additional merit of being just.

Succefs is too apt to beget indolence and inattention: this, however, is not the cafe with our prefent Author. The poem before us is certainly equal, if not fuperior, to any thing he has hitherto publifhed.

In the structure of his verse there is a blemish which we wish could have been avoided. It feems to have arifen from his taking Churchill's manner, which undoubtedly was not a good one, for his model: we mean the running one couplet into the other, which, except in occafional inftances, is feldom done but at the expence of either ftrength or harmony.

ART.

ART. VI. Sketches from Nature; taken, and coloured, in a Journey to Margate. Published from the original Defigns. By George Keate, Efq. 2 Vols. Small 8vo. 5 s. fewed. Dodsley. 1779.

YORICK left many natural children, or, in more familiar.

Yphrafe, bye-blows, but Mr. Keate is the legitimate off

fpring of that fingular and celebrated writer; and it is with peculiar fatisfaction we recognise the father's features in the fon.

In this pleafing fentimental journey, many things occur to entertain us, and nothing that will offend either our taste or our judgment; we are, in fine, prefented with a variety of scenes that intereft our affections, and none that can any way tend to injure our morals:-on the contrary, we may affirm, that the reader, who can perufe thefe pages, without feeling himself the better for it, must be poflefied of a mind either too exalted, or too much depraved for improvement by this mode of inftruction, Mr. Keate is not one of your geographical travellers, nor is be a hunter after antiquities or pictures. His aim is not to gratify the inquifitive with the defcriptions of rare things; his bufinefs is rather with the HEART; and your feelings will be touched, though your curiofity be unfatisfied.

Readers in general, as well as Reviewers by profession, are ready enough to give their opinion of every book they perufe. It is but fair, that Authors fhould be allowed the fame freedom with their Readers. Mr. Keate has, accordingly, taken leave to indulge in a pleasant defcription of the various characters and complexions of Readers, dividing them into the following

claffes:

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The Peevish Reader,

The Superficial Reader, The Idle Reader, The Candid Reader, The Sleepy Reader, The Conjectural Reader. "I may poffibly,' fays he, not efcape centure for having omitted the LEARNED reader, to whom fo many prefaces and dedications have formerly been addreffed, but this was in the times when learning was poffelfed by few.-In this age, fo enriched by the inundations of the prefs, every author is to prefume that all his readers are learned, no one being willing to difpute a title which may call in queftion the validity of his own.

The SUPERFICIAL reader is one who finds not leifure, or inclination, for more literature than he can take in over a loitering breakfat, or whilst his hair dreffer is adjulling his perfon. He contents himself with extracts from nerus-papers, magazines, and reviewskims over title-pages and indexes, and adding to them the smuggled opinions of thole who look deeper into books, palles at routs and tea tables for a well-read gentleman.

In a chapter which he entitles The Reader's Looking-glass.

• The

The IDLE reader is the reverfe of the former.-He is a great perufer of little volumes, but reads without method, or purfuit, not making knowledge, but amusement, his object.

He is in one fenfe of the happiest clais, for he is in no danger of ever reading himself out; fo many perfons being daily employed to perpetuate his pleasures, by feducing novels-little hiftories, which familiarize the arts of intriguing-Memoirs of Proftitutes-Anecdotes of Women of Quality-and Lives of Highwaymen.

The SLEEPY Reader is ever a man of a dull languid temperament, both of body and mind. He takes up a book when he can do nothing else, and pores over it, till it drops from his hand;-or if by repeated attacks he fairly arrives at the Finis of a volume, he has waded through it fo between fleeping and waking, that it is often a doubt with himself whether he has read it at all.

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No works of genius are ever feen on his fhelves, they are of too fiimulating a nature, and would defeat his purpose,-but a plenty of Joporific treatifes, under the varied titles of Journals, Annotations, Books of Controverfy, and Metaphyfical Differtations.

An old relation of mine, who died a martyr to the gout, used, as he fat in his ftudy, to estimate his books not from the pleasure, but from the good naps they had afforded him.-This, coufin, laid he— (pointing round the room with his crutch)-this is a compofer-this a dozer-every twenty pages of this excellent author is as comfortable as a glass of poppy water.-I believe I was near three months fleeping through yonder large volume;-and to this worthy little gentleman on the middle fhelf, I was indebted for two admirable nights reft, when a chalk flone was forming in my toe.-But my moft valuable friend is this fet of books by the fide of my couch.-I call them my grand opiate, and as a mark of distinction, my flannel night-cap generally lies upon them.

Now I am well aware that when these Sketches from Nature shall appear, half my readers will be on the tiptoe of curiofity to know how the last mentioned books were lettered; but as I have not I hope a fpice of ill-nature in my compofition, I publicly declare the secret fhall die with me.

The PEEVISH reader is made up of conceit and ill-bumour - He cavils with the defign, the colouring, or the finishing, of every piece that comes before him.-Few have fufficient merit to extort his approbation he had rather even be filent, than commend, and finds his highest fatisfaction in difcovering faults.

A man of this caft is an object of compaffion; for in the imperfect state of human labours, he muft pals his time very miferably!

-But let us leave him to the fevere destiny of never being pleased: -To counterpoife his fpleen, behold the CANDID reader appears. Amiable fpirit!-in thee I contemplate the gentleman-the fcholar, -the true critic-flow to cenfure-eager to applaud!-convinced by what arduous fteps fuperior excellence is attained, thy liberal mind cherisheth every effort of genius, and unwillingly condemns what thy correct judgment cannot approve.

But CANDID reader! thy character hath been more happily delineated by a long-admired writer; in quoting whofe lines i cannot

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