and groped, with his hands under water, among the pebbles, shells, and oily weed with which they were filled. Nothing, however, was to be found, except, now and then, a whitened bone, a piece of green sheet-copper, or some rusty iron.

Peter staid till the sea had several times run over the sand bank which joined the reef of rocks to the shore. It was now necessary to make speed back; and he took such long strides in returning, that he sank over his ancles in the loose sand. Just before he reached the solid ground, he set his bare foot upon a staple and ring, to which a small rope was tied. He pulled the rope pretty stoutly, supposing it to be fastened to a piece of timber from a wreck; but, in doing so, he dragged from under the sand an iron box, about six inches square. It was very rusty, and he would have thought it a solid block of iron, if it had not been for the appearance of hinges on one side.

"Now," said Peter, "here's my fortune to be sure in this box: what should an iron box be for, but to keep gold and diamonds in? Nobody shall know a word of this till I see what's in it." He knocked and banged it about on the rocks for some time, to get it open; but finding his efforts vain, he determined, for the present, to carry it to the old sloop, where he spent so much of his time; and lodge it safely in the sand which filled the hold: by the time he had done this, it was nearly dark.

Although he had been kept awake some part of the night, in making various guesses of what might be in the box, and planning what he should do with his treasure, Peter rose two hours before his usual time the next morning. The rising sun shone upon the highest peak of the rocky headland, just as he climbed upon the deck of the sloop. He had brought a large knife, and a hammer with him, to force the box open; but he found he could not get the point of the knife in any where; and all his blows with the hammer only made the rusty flakes of iron peel off from the sides of the box. No trace of a key-hole could be found, and when the top of the box was cleaned, it appeared that the lid was screwed down on three sides. Peter buried the box again in the same place; and set himself to think what was to be done. He knew that the blacksmith at the village could open the box easily enough; but he would trust his secret to nobody. The only way therefore was to procure tools, and go to work upon it himself. Lazy folks, when they choose to exert themselves, are often very ingenious, and sometimes, even, very diligent. Peter had not a penny of his own. How was he to get money enough to buy a screw-driver?

Peter Simons, as we have said before, could plait a straw hat pretty neatly. It was a sort of employment that suited him; because he could do it while he sat lolling in the sunshine, thinking about nothing, with his eyes half shut, and his mouth half open. He thought that if he made two or three hats, he might be able to sell them at the town for as much money as would buy the screw-drivèr, or what other tools he might want. He procured the straw therefore, and taking it to the cabin of the old sloop, went to work more heartily than ever he had done in his life before. Peter's father and

mother concerned themselves very little with the manner in which he spent his time: and when he took his dinner with him, and was absent the whole day, his mother was glad to get rid of him, and asked him no questions when he came home in the evening.

The first thing that Peter did every morning before he sat down to his straw hat making, was to take the box out of the sand, and make some violent efforts to force it open without further ado: but, after spending some time in turning it about, looking at it, banging it against the rock, and trying to wheedle in the point of the knife, he quietly buried it in its place; having convinced himself afresh that the only way was to go on steadily with the plan he had determined upon. He often wondered that he could not hear the diamonds or the guineas rattle, when he shook the box; but he concluded that it was stuffed so full, that there was no room for them to wag.

After Peter had been thus diligently employed several days, he began to feel a pleasure in work which was quite new to him. Although he now rose two or three hours earlier than he used to do, the days seemed to him shorter instead of longer than they did when he spent all his time in idleness. He almost lost his habit of yawning ; and when he went home in the evening, instead of squatting down sulkily in the chimney corner, he would jump about the house, and do little jobs for his mother. "I do'nt know what's come to our "Peter," said his mother, "he's not the same boy that he was.'

What Peter found in the Iron Box, when screw-driver had been bought, and, that failing, two files, which cost another whole week's labour, and the nine screws which held down the lid, had had, in slow succession, their heads filed off,-we do not mean to tell; but the sequel informs us, that when Peter grew up, and was in business for himself, he used to say, that he found all his good fortune in this Iron Box.

Art. IX. A Greek and English Manual Lexicon to the New Testament; with Examples of all the irregular and more difficult Inflections. By J. H. Bass. 18mo. pp. 183. Price 4s. London. 1821. THIS very neatly printed little volume is principally an

abridgement of Parkhurst's Greek and English Lexicon to the New Testament, whose definitions are generally adopted by the present Compiler. The work is increased in value by the occasional contributions which it has received from Schleusner, and by the insertion of a considerable number of inflections of verbs, intended to facilitate the progress of the learner without affording him improper assistance in his study of the Greek Testament. Its convenient size and price, and its concise but comprehensive explanations, cannot fail of recommending this "Manual Lexicon" to the acceptance of those persons for whose use it has been prepared. We would recommend, however, a sedulous attention to its revision.

Art. X. Thomas Johnson's Reasons for Dissenting from the Church of England. 18mo. Price Two Pence, or 14s. per 100. London,

1821.

To us, Dissent is of no other interest than as it is connected with the cause of true religion; and if the assertion of the principles of Dissent place us in opposition to the Church of England as by law established, this is only the consequence of a particular application of them. If that Church made no demands upon our conscience, but left us in possession of the freedom which the Gospel recognizes in its adherents, we should be glad to be comprehended in its fellowship. We, however, are so tenacious of that freedom, and the Church of England is so averse to allow us the fair and full exercise of its rights and privileges, that we must take Dissent less as our option than as, our duty, and forbear to compromise our integrity by acknow ledging the power' of that Church to decree rites or ceremonies,' and to have authority in matters of faith.' Our liberty as Christians must ever be maintained on precisely the same grounds as those on which it was originally exhibited by its Divine Author, the sufficiency of Revelation, and our personal responsibility in respect to its obligations. Whatever system, or whatever Church, assumes a control which will not permit us to act in perfect accordance with these primary obligations, must call forth a disavowal of its pretensions, and justifies the assertion of our religious rights.

It is but too common, we know, to represent Dissent as unnecessary, as capricious, as unreasonable, as proceeding from disaffection to the State. It is schism; it is heresy; it is rebel-' lion; it is as the sin of witchcraft: in short, it is whatever its opponents shall be pleased to call it. Sometimes, we shall be gratified with the frank confession of an advocate for the authority of the Established Church of England, that he is not acquainted with the principles of Dissenters, and, as an evidence of the truth of his statement, we shall find him attributing to them reasons for their Dissent, which they themselves would never think of adducing. It is therefore requisite, that those persons who may interest themselves in the question, Why are you a Dissenter? should be furnished with the means of forming a judgement on the case; and the tract before us may be confidently recommended to their service. It is preferable to any thing of the same kind with which we are acquainted as a summary of the principles of Dissent, adapted to plain capacities, without being in any respect unsuitable to cultivated minds. It is a simple, intelligible exposition of the practical question, which the Author has never separated from the great interests of religion, and which he has never injured by

violating the obligations of Christian charity. We are happy to give it bar very cordial sanction, and to recommend it as being particularly suitable for distribution in those situations where it may be desirable to meet the prejudices and the opposition which are directed against Dissenters, in the least offensive and most efficient manner.

Art. XI. On the Amusements of Clergymen, and Christians in Gene. ral. Three Dialogues between a Dean and a Curate. By Edward Stillingfleet, Lord Bishop of Worcester. 12mo. pp. 184. London.

1820.

FROM

the advertisement prefixed to these Dialogues, it would seem that the volume cannot with any propriety lay claim to be the production of the learned Bishop whose name appears on the title-page, although it may contain a correct report of his sentiments. It states, that

When Dr. Josiah Frampton's library was sold in London (in the year 1729, or 1730), his divinity books were classed in seven lots; one of which was purchased by Dr. Edwards. The catalogue of this lot mentioned a parcel of MSS. Among these, the Doctor found one in Dr. Frampton's own hand-writing, of which the following is a copy.

P.

These Dialogues, then, are the Doctor's report of conversa- › tions held on the subject of Clerical Amusements, between Bishop Stillingfleet when Dean of St. Paul's, and himself, soon after leaving college, at the house of Sir Roger Burgoin at ~ Wroxal, where the Dean was visiting. The merit of authorship, therefore, clearly belongs to Dr. Frampton; but we know not that the MS. is a whit the less valuable on this account. › The dialogue is kept up with great spirit; the sentiments are admirable, the language good, and the tendency of the volume is so excellent that we can only feel surprise that it should have remained thus long (as we presume) unpublished.

After some excellent preliminary remarks on the proper definition of the word, or rather of the thing, amusements are con➡' sidered by the Dean under the three heads of riotous and cruel ¦11 trifling and seducing; and, innocent and instructive. The 1 chase and other amusements involving the shedding of blood, are deprecated under the first head; and their utter inconsistency with even the professional character of a clergyman is pointedly exposed. There is, however, a sort of reserve made on behalf of one amusement involving the destruction of life, which the admirers of old Walton will think none the worse of the Bishop's taste for excepting from condemnation.

I must allow, sir,' said I, that what you have said against hunting and shooting hath entirely convinced me of the impropriety of

both, as clerical amusements. You have said nothing, however, against fishing. Do you allow me to suppose this amusement to be a clerical one? It is silent, quiet, and may be contemplative.

I am afraid,' replied the Dean, I shall be thought too rigid if I abridge a clergyman of this amusement. Only I absolutely enjoin him not to impale worms on his hook; but to fish either with an arti ficial fly or a dead bait. If he like fishing with a net, I approve it more; but still I cannot bring myself to recommend any amusement to him, which arises from destroying life.'

A remark which occurs towards the close of this dialogue, relative to a Braminical or Sir-Richard-Phillips-ical tenderness on this score, deserves transcription.*

I would not, however, have you always take the measure of a man's virtue by the extraordinary tenderness of his feelings. I knew a gentleman so extremely tender towards the lives of animals, that, when an earwig crept out of a log of wood which had been laid on his fire, he forbad any more logs to be taken from that pile, and left it to rot. Yet this very man, with all these nice feelings about him, lived avowedly in a state of adultery. Such tenderness, therefore, may, or may not, be allied (to virtue). It is founded merely in nature. But when any one affection of the mind is, regulated by a religious principle, there is in that mind a controlling power which regulates other affections. Thus, if we abstain from cruelty on a religious principle, we may depend on that principle on other occasions. As to delicate feelings, they seldom reach beyond their immediate object."

Cards, the theatre, the assembly room, dancing, glee-clubs, and Sunday evening concerts, come under review in the second dialogue. The first of these is treated with becoming but discriminate severity; and those persons who might stand the fire of a philippic, would find it difficult to turn off the point of the Dean's arguments. If there is any thing in nature which unites contempt and commiseration, remarks the good prelate, it is the spectacle of a man going down to the grave with a pack of cards in his hand.' On the subject of the theatre, he may be thought to concede too much to even its possible moral efficiency as a corrector of the follies and vices of mankind, when he says, I would have it go hand in hand with the pulpit.' But he unequivocally and strongly condemns the stage as it is,

We are credibly informed, that Mr. Pratt the Gleaner, of sentimental memory, was once riding with a certain Pythagorean knight, when he forgot himself, or his company, so far as to exclaim, on their passing a fishmonger's, "How I should like one of those "lobsters!" "You, Mr. Pratt," exclaimed the indignant Knight, 66 you, a writer on sensibility; and wish one of those poor creatures "boiled alive for your supper!" He immediately stopped the chariot, ordered the servant to let down the steps, and indignantly dis. missed the unworthy ichthyophagite."