rank very high among the rising poets of the day. We should then say, let this man be but just to himself, let him continue to converse with the same masters of poesy as he appears hitherto to have taken for his models, without aping their dialect, or making a parade of his familiarity with them; and let him never as a poet do less than his best,-let there be an intellectual character, a moral substance in all that he writes, that the thoughts may always appear worth the setting; and we will venture to ensure bin no unenviable share of honourable regard from his contemporaries, and a very sufficient term of literary immortality. But this prediction would take for granted that the maturer productions of the Author would exhibit greater vigour of thought, richer stores of fancy, a severer eye, and a more skilful hand. Taking, however, the whole contents of the present volumes together, we feel ourselves not justified in passing any thing beyond a qualified encomium on their merits, nor can we entertain any very sanguine expectations as to the Author's future success. It is a very fortunate circumstance that he is not, if common report may be relied upon, an idle man poetry is not his profession, his main object, or his sheet anchor. He will probably enough set lightly, therefore, by our praises and predictions; and when the fit of versifying has spent itself in a few more desultory efforts in a few more different styles, and other engagements and cares, professional and domestic, shall multiply upon our incognito, he will be quite resigned to being as Barry Cornwall forgotten.

It is after all a very irksome thing for a critic to be just, and a very thankless thing for him to be honest. Most of our town authors would far rather be be-Blackwooded or be-Jeffrayed at once; and as to the gentle reader, who cares not a straw how the frogs like the game, it is all one to him whether the poet be lauded or written down an ass. To our good friends in the country, however, who are waiting for our critical sentence in order to determine their purchases of light reading matter for the current quarter, we feel in duty bound to give a faithful report. Waving all further criticism, we shall, for their gratification, give as a specimen of the better things that are to be found in the volume containing Marcian Colonna, the following 'stanzas.'

She died-she died ;-yet still to me
She comes, in sad and sober dreaming,
And from her hair a pale light streaming
Shews her as she was wont to be.

'She stands in beauty by me still:
Alas! that Death two hearts should sever,
(The father and the child) who ever
Loved, and were inseparable.

'Still are her brow and bosom white;
Her raven hair the one adorning,

And her eyes, sweet as the break of morning,
Shine thro' like stars from the darkest night.

"If the quick lustre of her eye-
(Can such then sparkle from the grave?)
Be false, may I still live the slave
Of this so charming phantasy.

'It matters not, to me, from what
Or whom she gains her beauty now;
I see my child's own sinless brow,
And die-if I believe it not.'

We had intended to give extracts from the Sicilian Story,' and from Mr. Keats's version of the same tale from Boccaccio, in order to afford our readers an opportunity of comparing the two poems: but this article is already sufficiently extended. Mr. Keats, certainly, tells the story the most neatly and intelligibly, but there is better poetry and more feeling, we think, in the poem of his rival.

Art. IV. Sermons, preached in the Parish Church of High Wy combe, Bucks. By the Rev. Charles Bradley, Curate of High Wycombe. Vol. II. 8vo. pp. 398. Price 10s. 6d. London. 1820. W E are happy to find the hope realized which we expressed in our review of Mr. Bradley's former volume, and which is amply justified by the contents of the present publication. The subjects of these sermons are equally well-chosen, and they are treated in a manner extremely pleasing and highly instructive. They are twenty-one in number.

I. God the eternal Dwelling Place of his Servants. II. The Forbearance of David towards Shimei. III. The Grounds of David's Forbearance towards Shimei. IV. The Rewards of the Conquering Christian (Rev. ii. 17). V. The Israelites returning from Babylon. VI. The redeemed Sinner joining himself in a Covenant with God. VII, VIII. The Way to Zion (Isaiah xxv. 8-10). IX. The Patience of God. X. The Repentance of Judas. XI. The Repentance of Peter. XII. The Confession of Pharaoh. XIII. The Scape-Goat a Type of Christ. XIV. The Burial of Christ. XV. The Exhortation and Promises of God to the Afflicted. XVI. The Advantages of a frequent Retrospect of Life. XVII. The Fear of Peter when walking on the Sea. XVIII. The Christian waiting for his Deliverer. XIX. The Prayer of David for Self-Knowledge. XX. The Wedding Garment. XXI. The Christian reigning in Life.'

The most striking sermon, perhaps, is that on the Repentance of Judas. It is the object of the Preacher, to point out wherein the remorse of the self-condemned traitor resembled true repentance, and wherein it differed from it. He shews that in many VOL. XIV. N.S.

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respects there was a strong apparent resemblance; in the conviction of sin from which it sprang; the open acknowledgement of guilt which his convictions led him to make; the deep sorrow with which his repentance was accompanied; his self-condemnation ; his extreme anxiety to counteract the evil consequences of his crime, when he saw, probably with amazement, to what it was about to lead; and bis entire renunciation of its fruits. Under the last head, he remarks:

"He brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders." The money, from which he had expected so much gratification, became now a source of remorse and misery. Regarding it as the price of his Master's blood and the wages of his own unrighteousness, he could not look upon it without horror, he could not keep it without torment. Impatient to put it far away from him, he carried it back to those from whom he had received it; and when they refused to accept it, he cast it down with abhorrence in the temple and departed. And not only this, but he endeavours, at the hazard of his life, to prevent the execution of Christ. While one of his disciples was denying and the others deserting him, Judas openly declared his innocence before the assembled Sanhedrim, and thus boldly condemned their proceedings, and showed that he was ready to encounter any danger, to bear the utmost violence of their malice, so that he might vindicate and save his injured Lord.

These, brethren, are the signs, by which this unhappy man evinced the sincerity of his repentance. Who, as he thinks of them, can resist the conviction that there are very few among us, whose repentance would bear to be compared for one moment with his? We all indeed acknowledge ourselves to be sinners, but no abiding consciousness of guilt disturbs our peace, and our confessions of it are little more than mere words of course, or idle and unmeaning compliments to our God. We call ourselves miserable offenders, but as for the misery of sin, we have never felt it. It is on the contrary our delight, and all our ideas of happiness are more or less connected with it. How backward also are we to condemn ourselves! and how do our proud spirits rise and rage, when we are condemned or censured by others! Instead of forsaking the iniquities we confess, we hold them fast, and are prepared to repeat to-morrow, without compunction or shame, the sins which we have professed to lament to-day. This striking difference between us and the betrayer of our Lord may well excite our fears, and the more so when we remember that even his sincere and heart-felt remorse fell far short of real contrition, and left him to perish.'

This specious repentance, he then proceeds to shew, differed from that godly sorrow' with which pardon and salvation are connected, 1. in its origin; 2. as to the object of his sorrow; 3. in its extent; 4. in its result. The closing remarks are truly excellent.

And now, brethren, let us ask what are the practical lessons, which this solemn subject is calculated to teach us. It shows us first, that we may bear a very close resemblance to the disciples of Christ, and

yet remain still in the number of his enemies and share their condemnation. It reminds us that we may seem to have proceeded far in the way to heaven and yet never reach it, be almost saved but altogether lost. It calls upon every one of us not to take his sincerity and safety for granted, but to examine the foundation on which his hope rests, and to enquire, with the most earnest anxiety, whether he be indeed and in truth under the converting and saving influence of the gospel of Christ.

We are more especially warned to guard against self-deception as to our repentance. We are told how far an accusing conscience may carry us, and yet leave us at as great a distance as ever from true conversion of heart. We are called on to look at Judas becoming his own accuser, openly acknowledging his guilt, vindicating his Master, and condemning himself; and while we are ready to commiserate his sufferings and almost admiring his boldness, we are reminded that at this very moment he was as much a son of perdition, as when with a treacherous kiss he betrayed his Lord. Not that his confession was hypocritical, or his repentance superficial or assumed. No confession could be more sincere, no sorrow more genuine, no fear more agitating. And yet he perished, perished not because his sin was too great for the blood of Christ to cleanse and the mercy of God to pardon it, but because he wanted those things, without which the most severe compunctions, and the liveliest feelings, and the most splendid gifts are nothing worth. And what are those things? A heart-felt abhorrence of sin, a conviction of the deeply seated and desperate wickedness of the soul, a spirit of grace and supplication, an earnest wrestling with God for his pardoning mercy. These are the things which accompany salvation, and he who is destitute of these is yet far from the kingdom of God, is utterly alienated from him, a stranger to his covenant of promise, and an heir of his wrath.

The repentance and end of this fallen apostle reminds us, lastly, that no man can be a gainer by sin. When he first received the thirty pieces of silver from the chief priests, Judas undoubtedly felt a momentary gratification, and pleased himself with the thought of encreasing and permanently enjoying his ill-gotten treasure; but he had scarcely obtained possession of it, when he became anxious to part with it, and cursed the hour, in which he had sold his peace of conscience for so mean a price. And thus is it with sin of every kind, and under all possible circumstances. It is treacherous and destructive. It offers us pleasure, but it is a pleasure which ends in the bitterness of death. The losses we sustain by it are real, great, and many; its gains a mere show, an empty delusion, the sweetness of the cup which is charged with poison, the beauty of the serpent whose bite is death.

And yet Judas is not the only professor of the gospel, whom sin has deceived and ruined. Thousands, who once seemed fair as he, have been overcome by it and perished. For the sake of averting some threatening difficulty or attaining some fancied good, they have consented to betray their Lord. Professing themselves his friends, they have taken counsel with his enemies, deserted his cause, and been ashamed of his name. And what have they gained? « They have

sold themselves for nought." But what have they lost? All that once enriched, and dignified, and cheered them; yea, they have lost their soul, and all that they have gained by the sacrifice is a wounded spirit, an accusing conscience, a foretaste of wrath. Let their fall be a warning to us. It may well make all of us tremble, but it need not lead one of us to despair; for their guilt may be avoided, and, if not, their end may be escaped. The same scriptures, which show us a Judas rushing to his own dreadful place in eternity, tell us of a once faith. less Peter now rejoicing in glory, a dying thief entering into paradise, a persecuting Saul sitting at the right hand of that Jesus whom he once injured, and triumphing in that cross which he once despised. There is but one sin, from the guilt of which the blood of Christ will not cleanse us, and that sin is despair, a rejection of his mercy, an unbelief of his word. He that believeth, though he were once a betrayer and a persecutor, shall be saved; but he that believeth not, though he understand all the mysteries of the gospel and speak with the tongue of men and of angels in its praise, though he have tasted of the heavenly gift and been agitated and warmed by the word of God and the powers of the world to come, though he have gloried in the reproach of Christ and given his body to be burned for his sake-that man shall be condemned, accursed, lost.'

The Confession of Pharaoh is designed to shew that there is 'a spurious confession of sin, as well as a spurious repentance; not merely a formal and hypocritical, but a sincere and heartfelt confession, which is not acceptable to God, and brings down 'no forgiveness from his throne.' The plan of the sermon is very similar to that on the Repentance of Peter. All Mr. Bradley's sermons, indeed, are very inartificial in their construction; and the degree of originality which attaches to them, does not respect the view taken of the text, so much as the general felicity of the Author's style, and the manner in which he brings home the subject to the reader's feelings. We select as a further specimen, the sermon entitled the Fear of Peter when walking on the Sea.' The Preacher enters into the consideration, successively, of the fear which Peter manifested; its cause; its consequence; the prayer which it drew from him; and the conduct of Christ towards his Apostle. Each of these serves as a general head, under which he introduces some one or two practical remarks, or, as the old divines termed it, some doctrine, deduced from the narrative.

I. From the fear of Peter we are taught to draw this lesson, -the transient nature of our best and strongest feelings when they are not kept alive by Divine grace,' and, the danger of needlessly putting to the trial our highest graces,' by rushing unbidden into temptation.

Thus has every presumptuous display of faith terminated. have never in any degree sought our own glory, without receiving instead of it humiliation and shame. We have never attempted to dis