of such numberless compromises-marked by such beautiful compensations--is sacrificed to the rigors of theory. Common key-note of the theological course, the preparation of which henceforth formed one of the main labors of his life. Fervent and even impassioned in evangelical tone-glow-sense-that vivifying essence in all duty-is ing throughout with love and devotion to the cross-it is at the same time eminently rational, and, in a word, human in its sympathies. It blends spirituality and reality, faith and nature, piety and literature, in an exquisite harmony of composition, which fills, as with a full and mellow satisfaction, the mind and heart. The two volumes on "Pastoral Theology" and "Homiletics" are the fruits of Vinet's theological labors at Lausanne which have been preserved to us. They are both of them posthumous volumes, and appear under every disadvantage attaching to such works. In both cases they are in fact little else than the materials, collected in the shape of notes, for the complete works which the author, had he been spared, would have fashioned out of them. Here and there elaborated with obvious care, and characterized by the utmost finish of sentiment and expression, they yet bear many marks of imperfection. They are apt in consequence to disappoint in the mere perusal, the thread of continuity is so often broken, and the attention so frequently distracted by the fragmentary, note-like aspect of the page. They are admirable, however, in spirit, and contain as a whole more valuable matter of study for the Christian minister than any similar volumes which we know. made to yield to abstractions. We believe profoundly that such treatises, much as they are sometimes talked about, have exercised but little actual influence in moulding the pastoral mind in successive generations. Eminently adapted to keep an ideal of the pastorate before those who, through the life already in them, are seeking after such an ideal, they yet present far too few points of contact with the necessities and exigences of daily existence, to serve effectually in the great work of pastoral education. The value of Vinet's work, on the contrary, just consists in the diffused presence of this element of common sense and reality throughout. At every point he brings the position and duties of the pastor into contact with life. No man can be more impatient of abstractions in every sense; none care less for raptures and spiritual excesses of any kind. Ceremonialism has no sacredness for him where it cannot render a speedy account of its reason or usefulness. He carries into all departments of ministerial work the positive spirit, which, as he truly says, "distinguishes our age-which brings back to their proper sense all the metaphors of life-which demands from every sign an account of its value, from every form an account of its reason-which wishes every word to be a fact, every discourse an action-which banishes It will not be expected that we can pre- from style, as from society, all arbitrary or sent any analysis of these works at the close unintelligible ceremonial, and which wishes of this extended paper. Each in itself that eloquence, in particular, should render might form a theme for separate treatment. an account of its processes, no longer to I The smaller volume on " Pastoral Theology" know not what art, to I know not what prois especially excellent in the point of view perties, but to life." The reader is accordfrom which it contemplates the whole sub-ingly presented in Vinet's volumes with no ject. Here the clear openness of Vinet's nature displays itself with the best effect. In almost every treatise on the Pastorate, from Chrysostom's downward, the great defect has always appeared to us to be the air of exaggeration and unreality which to a great extent pervades them. The Christian priest is too much isolated, and his position and duties treated of too much as belonging to a wholly separate region of experience and responsibility. So much so, sometimes, that, as with certain manuals of mystical devotion, the heart which has not abandoned itself to that subtlest of all delusions, a false and empty spirituality, is driven back in a sort of fright and despair at the picture presented to it. The truth of life, admitting mere ideal the vague responsibilities of which, as suggesting their own impracticability, he can easily shift for himself; but he is presented with a real and living picture, whose truthfulness in its very plainness and simplicity often startles him, calling forth from the slumbering depths of the conscience an answering emotion not easily put to sleep either under the impulses of a fantastic spirituality or a hardening worldliness. Before such a clear portrait, the self-delusions both of the one and the other fall away. It is this union of nature and faith-of the reality of the one and the sanctity of the other which we feel to constitute the peculiar excellence and usefulness of Vinet's "Pastoral Theology." large of style and delivery. The field over which he ranges in this volume is thus very copious and interesting, and one just peculiarly fitted for the display of the author's highest gifts,-one in which his fine Christian intelligence and rare literary skill find the freest scope and exercise. Pastoral Theology, according to Vinet, | the whole method of the sermon in its geneconcerns the whole theory and practice of the ral outline, exordium, transitions, and peroChristian ministry. The expressions "pas-ration. Under the third division he treats at toral duties," and "pastoral prudence," he considers incomplete, as suggesting merely the practical side of the subject, whereas it also claims and deserves our attention on the speculative side. "He who has only regarded the various elements of his profession as they are presented to him in active life, will act neither with liberty, intelligence, nor profundity." The name of Pastoral Theology might thus very well be given to all the collection of topics embraced in the wider name of Practical Theology, for the idea of the pastorate is implied in all these, and governs them all. It is in the light of the Christian ministry, and as bearing on its adequate fulfilment, that they all find their peculiar meaning. At the same time it is desirable, with a view to the more complete treatment of the different branches of the general subject, to apply the designation of Pastoral Theology more immediately to what belongs to Christian Worship and Discipline, leaving Homiletics and Catechetics to be discussed as special subjects. Vinet has not, however, attempted to carry out this distinction with any rigor,-as, indeed, it cannot be done, so thoroughly do the different functions of the ministry mutually suppose and involve one another. The subject of preaching is, therefore, treated by him in the volume on Pastoral Theology, as well as in the larger volume especially devoted to it. This volume on Homiletics" appears to us, upon the whole, to be stamped with a higher and more comprehensive ability. The truth is, that Vinet from his previous studies was especially at home on such a subject, in which he finds scope not only for his powers of exposition, but also for his rich faculty of criticism, some exquisite gems of which are scattered up and down its pages. 66 The subject is divided by Vinet according to the "immemorial and inevitable division" of a course upon the art of oratory ; viz., Invention, Arrangement, Elocution. Under the first of these heads he has two separate sections, devoted, 1st, to the subject of the pulpit discourse; 2d, to the matter of the pulpit discourse. "The matter is to the subject what the edifice is to the foundation." "The subject is the proposition; the matter is the development of it; the very substance of the discourse, the pulp of the fruit." The subject, in short, is contained in the text or title of the sermon,—the matter in the sermon itself. Under the second head, he considers We have exhausted our space, however, and can add only a few words of general appreciation of the great writer from whom we have received so much delight and instruction, and of whose life and labors we feel we have presented so inedequate a portrait. The peculiar distinction of Vinet, it is obvious from that portrait, does not consist so much in any special eminence as a man of letters, or a divine, as in the beautiful combination which he exhibits of the higher qualities which at once adorn literature and give life to theology. A mere man of letters he certainly was not;-a Christian interest being found, we have seen, to underlie his most purely literary productions, and to touch all the springs of his criticism. Still less perhaps was he a mere theologian. There are even some who would be disposed to grudge him this name at all-so entirely destitute was he of the technique of theological science. The critico-historical element, which enters so essentially into the constitution of the theological mind, was certainly too much wanting in him, as in one with whom he has been sometimes, although with little propriety, compared-Dr. Chalmers. But while Vinet may not thus occupy separately the first rank, either as a littérateur or a theologian, he was something undoubtedly greater than either. He was a Christian thinker, who had the rare skill to clothe his thoughts in precise and beautiful language. He was eminently one of those nobler spirits whom God ever and anon raises up to stir by their living utterances the hearts of many -to bring into powerful relief that perfect harmony of the divine and human which has been given eternally in the gospel-to speak, in short, "the language of the gospel to the world, and the language of the world to the Church." His comprehensiveness as a thinker we reckon his highest intellectual characteristic. He seizes with direct grasp the central principle of every subject of speculation and discussion-the unity in which it inheres, and from which its whole meaning goes forth. What a refreshing strength and buoyant interest does this give to his writings, after, it may be, wading through volumes of disjointed, however important, learning. His fertility and variety-the rich profusion of intellectual treasure which he expends so freely and sometimes so brilliantly-is probably his next most prominent endowment. We feel that while we have attempted to exhibit this diversity to some extent, we have only partially succeeded. There is one interesting department of literary effort that of sacred song-in which he occupied, it may be truly said, a distinguished place, to which we have not even alluded.* It were diffi * These sacred pieces of Vinet are mainly found in a collection entitled Chants Chrétiens. The first edition of this collection appeared in 1834, and contained seven pieces from his pen. Others were added in successive editions, although he is believed to have written many more than he ever published. These pieces are precious as containing the most intimate expression of the writer's secret feelings. "It was his only way," said one very near to him, "of communicating to me what passed in the depths of his soul." Generally, according to M. Scherer, they fail in preserving the character of the hymn. The reflective habit of the philosopher overmasters the inspired mood of the poet. Some of them, however, are very beautiful and touching, and especially one on the death of his daughter in 1839. "If we compare it," says M. Scherer, "with the elegy which a similarly mournful event drew from the pen of Lamartine, we cannot fail to be struck by the real superiority which a living faith cult, certainly, to point out any one-save his own countryman, Pascal, we know of no one-who possessed in a higher measure that manifold gift which can touch with mastery the lighter felicities of literature, and at the same time sound with freedom the utmost depths of Christian thought. A genuine simplicity gave their enduring charm to all his qualities. The most polished intelligence, combined with the most perfect moral purity, is the picture which we meet in every page of his writings. A uniform elevation of sentiment-a frank sensibility, which rejoiced in, while it did not invite sympathy-a profound humility-a fearless candor-is the picture which, associated with the name of Vinet, lives in the hearts of all who rejoiced in his friendship. And in bidding farewell to him, we feel that while there are no doubt greater names which the "Church of the Future" will delight to honor, there are yet few, if any, which will suggest a finer union of Christian graces and gifts-a character at once more noble and beautiful. has given to the Christian poet in the expression of his grief, and the revelation of its true meaning and end." This piece is found in a separate collection, by Mme. Olivier, entitled Poésie Chrétienne, Lausanne, 1839. From the Biographical Magazine. WILLIAM COBBETT. of Cobbett that it never harmonized with the popular sentiment; but choosing a sphere of its own, which was rather anti-oligarchic than that of Radical reform, his system, if it could be called such, was kept before the public only by his own genius, and when that was withdrawn, the whole fell to the ground. No one that has arisen in England for a long period of time can be justly compared with WILLIAM COBBETT for strength of character, independent powers of thinking, and for a naturally lucid and forcible method of giving utterance to his opinions. For a period of more than thirty years, the compositions of no English writer exercised a wider Cobbett's account of his origin is the folinfluence on the public mind; nor did any lowing: "With respect to my ancestors I ever sink so rapidly out of sight, almost im- shall go no farther back than my grandfamediately after his death, as those of the ther, who was a day laborer, and I have author of the Political Register. The cause heard my father say that he worked for one in this instance did not uphold the man; for farmer from the day of his marriage to that though he had the credit of being one of the of his death-upwards of forty years. He foremost of the Radical school, there was so died before I was born, but I have often much of the idiosyncratic in the Radicalism | slept beneath the same roof that sheltered him, and where his widow dwelt for several years after his death. It was a little thatched cottage, with a garden before the door. It had but two windows: a damson tree shaded one and a clump of filberts the other. Here I and my brothers went every Christmas and Whitsuntide to spend a week or two, and torment the poor old woman with our noise and dilapidations. She used to give us milk and bread for breakfast, an apple pudding for our dinner, and a piece of bread and cheese for supper. Her fire was made of turf, cut from the neighboring heath, and her evening light was a rush dipped in grease. Every one will believe that my grandfather was no philosopher. He never made a lightning rod, nor bottled-up a single quart of sunshine in his life. He was no almanacmaker, nor quack, nor chimney doctor, nor soap boiler, nor ambassador, nor printer's devil; neither was he a deist, and all his children were born in wedlock; he never cheated the poor during his life, nor mocked 'em at his death. My father, when I was born, was a farmer. When a little boy, he drove plough for twopence a day. What a village schoolmaster could be expected to teach he had learned, and had besides improved himself in several branches of the mathematics. He was honest, industrious, and frugal: it was not therefore wonderful that he should be situated in a good farm, and happy in a wife of his own rank, liked, beloved, and respected." He said in an American autobiography from which we quote, "I was born on the 9th of March, 1766. I do not remember the time when I did not earn my own living, and my first occupation was driving the small birds from the turnip seed, and the rooks from the peas. When I first trudged a field with my wooden bottle, and my satchel swung over my shoulders, I was hardly able to climb the gates and stiles, and at the close of the day to reach home was a task of infinite difficulty. My next employment was weeding wheat, and leading a single horse at harrowing barley. Hoeing peas followed, and hence I arrived at the honor of joining the reapers in harvest, driving the team and holding plough. We were all of us strong and laborious, and my father used to boast that he had four boys, the eldest of whom was but fifteen, who did as much work as any three men in the parish of Farnham. Honest pride, and happy days! "Our religion was that of the Church of England, to which I have ever remained attached; the more so, as it bears the name of my country. As to politics, we were like the rest of the country people in England, for we neither knew nor thought any thing about the matter. The shouts of victory, or the murmurs of a defeat, would now and then break in upon our tranquillity; but I do not remember ever having seen a newspaper in the house, and, most certainly, the privation did not render us less industrious, happy, or free. After, however, war had continued for some time, and the cause and nature of it began to be understood, we became a little better acquainted with subjects of this kind. It is well known that the people were, as to numbers, nearly equally divided concerning that war, and their wishes respecting the result of it. My father was a partisan of the Americans, and continued so staunch an one, that he would not have suffered his best friend to drink success to the King's arms at his table. I cannot give the reader a better idea of his obstinacy in this respect, than by relating the following anecdote: "My father used to take one of us with him every year to the hop-fair at Wey Hill. The fair was held at old Michaelmas - tide. It happened to be my turn to go there the very year that Long Island was taken by the British. A great company of hop-merchants and farmers were just sitting down to supper as the post arrived, bringing in the extraordinary gazette which announced the victory. A hop-factor from London took the paper, placed his chair upon the table, and began to read with an audible voice. A dispute ensued, and my father retired, taking me by the hand, to another apartment, where we supped with about a dozen of the same sentiments. Here Washington's health, and success to the Americans, were repeatedly toasted, and this was the first time that I ever heard that General's name mentioned. Little did I dream then that I should ever see the man, and, still less, that I should hear some of his own countrymen reviling and execrating him. "Towards the autumn of 1782, I went to visit a relation who lived in the neighborhood of Portsmouth. From the top of Portsdown I beheld, for the first time, the sea, and no sooner than I wished to be a sailor. It was not the sea alone that I saw; the grand fleet was riding at anchor at Spithead. What I now beheld so far surpassed what I had ever been able to form a conception of, that I stood lost between astonishment and admiration. The brave Rodney's victories over our natural enemies, the French and Spaniards, had long been the theme of our praise and the burden of our songs, and the I sight of our fleet brought all these into my mind. My heart was inflated, with national pride; the sailors were my countrymen, the fleet belonged to my country, and surely I had my part in it, and in all its honors; yet these honors I had not earned, and I resolved to have a just claim, by sharing in the hardships and dangers. Though I had walked thirty miles during the day, I slept not a moment at my uncle's. It was no sooner daylight, than I arose and walked down towards the old castle on the beach of Spithead. For sixpence given to For sixpence given to an invalid I got permission to go upon the battlements; here I had a closer view of the fleet, and, at every look, my impatience to be on board increased. In short, I went from the castle to Portsmouth, got into a boat, and was in a few minutes on board the Pegasus man-of-war. The captain had more compassion on me than is general, and represented to me the toils I must undergo, and the punishment the least disobedience or neglect would subject me to. He persuaded me to return home, and told me it was better to be led to church in a halter, to be tied to a girl that I did not like, than to be tied to the gangway, or, as the sailors call it, married to Miss Roper. I in vain attempted to convince Captain Berkeley that choice alone had led me to the sea. He sent me on shore, and I at last quitted Portsmouth; but not before I had applied to the Port Admiral Evans to get my name enrolled among those destined for the service. I was obliged to acquaint the Admiral with what had passed on board the Pegasus, in consequence of which I was refused; and happily escaped, sorely against my will, the most toilsome and perilous profession in the world. "I returned once more to the plough, but was spoiled for a farmer. Before my Portsmouth adventure, I had no other ambition than that of surpassing my brothers in the different labors of the field; but now I sighed for a sight of the world; the little island of Britain seemed too small a compass for me. The things in which I had taken the most delight were neglected; the singing of the birds grew insipid, and even the heartcheering cry of the hounds, after which I formerly fled from my work, was heard with indifference. But on the 6th of May, 1783, I was dressed in my holiday suit to accompany two or three lasses to Guildford Fair. They were to assemble at a house about three miles from my home, where I was to attend them but, unfortunately for me, I had to cross the London turnpike-road. The stage had just turned the summit of the hill, and was rattling down towards me at a merry rate. The notion of going to London never entered my mind till that very moment, yet the step was completely determined on before the coach came to the spot where I stood up I got, and was in London about nine o'clock in the evening. "It was by mere accident that I had money enough to defray the expenses of the day. Being rigged out for the fair, I had three or four crown and half-crown pieces, besides a few shillings and half-p -pence. This, my little all, which I had been years in amassing, melted away like snow before the sun: and when I had arrived at Ludgatehill, and had paid my fare, I had about 2s. 6d. in my pocket. A gentleman who was one of the passengers was a hop-merchant in Southwark, and had often dealt with my father at Wey Hill: he knew my danger: he himself was a father, and felt for my parents: he wrote to my father, and endeavored to prevail on me to obey his orders and return home. I am ashamed to say that I was disobedient, and I have repented of it from that moment to this. Willingly would I have returned, but pride would not suffer me to do it. I feared the scoffs of my acquaintances more than the real evils that threatened me. My generous preserver, finding my reluctance, began to look out for employment for me, and related my adventure to an attorney, an acquaintance of his, whose name was Holland, and who, happening to want an understrapping quill-driver, took me into his service, and the next day saw me perched upon a great high stool in an obscure chamber in Gray's Inn, endeavoring to decipher the crabbed draughts of my employer. I could write a good plain hand, but I could not read the pothooks and hangers of Mr. Holland, who was a month in learning me to copy. Time, however, rendered me useful, and Mr. H. was pleased to tell me that he was well satisfied with me, just at the very moment when I began to grow extremely dissatisfied with him. worked like a galley-slave from five in the morning until eight or nine at night, and sometimes all night long. How many quarrels have I assisted to foment and perpetuate between those two poor innocent fellows, John Doe and Richard Roe! How many times have I set them to assault each other with guns, swords, staves, and pitchforks, and then brought them to answer for their misdeeds before our sovereign lord the King, I |