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e i r T a S.
SoNs to the viscountess Perceval and lady Scott of Ancram, and to the wives of the rev. Dr. Rowley of Oxford, the rev. R. H. Fowler, captain Caulfield, T. Wentworth Beaumont, M.P., Mr. H. R. Pearson, Mr. T. Mawe, Mr. W. Surtees, Mr. M. Clement Walker, Mr. E. de Pentheny O'Kelly, and the rev. Mr. Stocker of Guernsey.
Daughters to the countess of Sheffield and lady Caroline Calcraft, to the ladies Nepean and Dalrymple, and to the wives of the hon. E. S. Jerningham, Mr. Wing of Thorney-Abbey, Mr. H. de la Chaumette, colonel Fagan, lieutenant T. A. Watt of the navy, Dr. Seymour, Mr. C. W. Fletcher of Kensington, and Mr. AEneas Mac-Donnell.
William earl Nelson, to the widow of Sir G. Barlow's son. Lord Stormont, to the third daughter of Mr. Cuthbert Ellison, M.P. The fourth son of lord Teynham, to Isabella, daughter of the late colonel Hodgson. Mr. R. N. Julian, to Miss Fanny Briggs of Devonport. Mr. J. T. Read, of the county of Suffolk, to Miss Helen Colquhoun. Mr. Fensome, of Buckinghamshire, to Miss Missenden. Mr. Malcolm Orme, proctor, to Miss Jane Bonsor. Mr. Graham Blackwell, to the daughter of Sir Eardley Wilmot. Mr. John Donkin, of Great Surreystreet, to Miss Hawes of Russell-Square. Mr. S. Brooke, of Croydon, to the daughter of lieutenant-colonel Watts. The rev. W. J. Broderick, to the hon. Harriet Broderick. Mr. Bertram Mitford, to the daughter of the late captain H. Mitford. Mr. T. Dibdin, to Miss Collins, the actress.
Mr. E. Knyvett, to Miss Emma Richardson of Dulwich.
D e o Tri S. The landgrave of Hesse-Homburg, brother-in-law to our sovereign. In his 88th year, the earl of Buchan. Mr. P. Philips, uncle to lord Strangford. Sir Christopher Hawkins. The rev. R. Webb, canon of Windsor. Mr. John Armstrong, of Lancaster. The eldest son of the late hon. George Petre. Mr. Dodd the elder, solicitor. Mr. James Grant, comedian. Captain George Dawson, of the army. The son of rear-admiral Walker. Sir John Keane, at the age of 72 years. At the age of 80 years, Mr. Dudley Long North, formerly member for Banbury. At Grantham, the widow of the rev. C. Churchill. Mary, the mother of Sir W. Abdy. The relict of rear-admiral Dundas. The dowager lady Seaforth. Mr. A. Donadieu, a commander in the
o he countess of Kellie. Elizabeth lady Reid. The widow of the rev. Dr. Henry . Blackstone, who was a brother of the judge. At Southampton, in her 96th year, Mrs. Brissault. In her 101st year, Mrs. Alice Lowth, of Colsterworth. At Eltham, Mr. C. W. Arnold. At Tottenham, Mrs. North, at the age of 94 years. Mrs. Jennings, of Stratford in Essex. At Pentonville, Mr. C. Douglas, brother of the late lord Glenbervie. At Holloway, captain Edward Harriman. At Pimlico, Mr. John Elliot. At Black-heath, Mr. George Engleheart, father of the proctor.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
CLARA wishes to know whether it is decorous for women to court men.
answer, “Ugly old maids are indulged with that privilege because they have no other
chance of getting husbands; but girls would lose credit by such forwardness.” The address of a Persian lady to her lover will appear in our next Number. A Volunteer Laureate has sent an ode for the royal birth-day; but these com
plimentary effusions are now obsolete. Dr. Southe
may flatter his majesty, if he
will; but he is not expected to write odes of this kind, and he is content to earn his money (as an Irishman would say) by idleness.
obsertv Atrons on ANALOGY.
Those who address rational creatures cannot avoid a frequent reference to reason and judgement. As human beings are honorably distinguished in those respects from the brute creation, they ought to take every opportunity of evincing their superiority, and to judge by reason, rather than act from mere instinct. Some have said, that many inferior animals act in some instances more reasonably than men; but this is rather a libel than a true assertion; and, even if they do, there is no merit in that conduct or those operations which, however rational they may appear to be, are merely mechanical.
Having occasionally noticed the nature and force of the reasoning power imparted to our species, we now advert to that subordinate and less accurate process which is not demonstrative, but merely analogical. Analogy implies a certain proportion, agreement, or resemblance, which several things bear to each other in some respects, while they differ in other points. In this way we judge of things less known by some similitude which we observe between them and such things as are more familiar or better known. In many cases we have no more certain mode of judging: and, when there is reason to think that the objects compared are subject to the same laws, there
may be a considerable degree of probability in conclusions drawn from analogy. Thus we observe a striking similarity between our earth and the other planets. All of them revolve round the sun, from which they derive all their light: they are subject to those rules by which the movements of the earth are directed; and from these and other circumstances we are induced to infer that those planets, like our earth, may be the abodes of animated beings. We know that the accuracy of this conclusion cannot be ascertained; but, as we have no satisfactory evidence on the subject, we are obliged to rest content with probability of conjecture. In medicine, analogy is frequently used as a guide. The constitution of one human body so far resembles that of another, that what is the cause of health or sickness to one may be reasonably supposed to have similar effects upon another. With regard to particular diseases, also, when one resembles another in a leading point, it may be treated nearly in the same manner. Fer instance, pleurisy, being a species of inflammation, may be treated like other inflammatory disorders, by relaxing the solids, which are too much stretched, and affording a free passage for the huInnors. In politics, likewise, we often reason from analogy. The constitution of hu2 G
man nature is so similar in different states or communities, that the causes of peace and war, of tranquillity and sedition, of opulence and poverty, of improvement and degeneracy, are nearly the same in all. As the ancient democracies were unsettled and turbulent, we may conclude that a democratic government, in modern times, would not be very favorable to peace and order. The people and their leaders are in a great measure the same in all ages, though the degrees of their civilisation may be different. The passions are not sufficiently restrained, even in the most refined periods, by reason or philosophy:—the coarseness and vulgarity of nature will occasionally burst forth. You may expel nature (says Horace) in a manner that may seem to be forcible: yet it will find many opportunities of returning. As reasoning from analogy is not founded on positive or mathematical truth, it may sometimes lead us into very erroneous conclusions or opinions. Great caution, therefore, is requisite in the use of this mode of judging, if we wish to avoid absurdity. Precipitate conclusions evince a weakness of mind and a want of sound judgement. As, in estimating an average, you would not adjust it by a few but by a considerable number of objects or points, so, in the process of analogy, you would not, if you were wise, pretend to deduce a general from a particular truth. If you only knew two or three Irishmen, and found them to be hot-headed and irritable, you would not justly attribute the same disposition to the whole or the greater part of the nation: but the case would be altered if, in your social rounds, you had observed the same quality pervading almost every company, An application of the doctrine of analogy to a comparison between matter and mind, may here be mentioned as a source of error. By means of our senses, we form an early acquaintance with material objects, and indeed are bred up in a constant familiarity with them. Hence we are apt to measure all things by them, and to attribute to things most remote from matter the qualities which belong to material objects. We must be conscious of the operations of our own minds when they are exerted, and seem to form distinct motions, of them : yet this is so difficult a work to men whose attention is constantly solicited by external appear
ances, that names are transferred to the former from familiar things which are supposed to bear some resemblance to them, scarcely any expressions being used for them but such as are borrowed from tangible or visible things. . To understand, to comprehend, to imagine, to weigh, and many other terms, are words of this kind. Thus an analogy is generally supposed to exist between the body and the mind, or matter and spirit, notwithstanding the great and essential difference between them. Hence the deliberations of a person, when suspended between conflicting motives which appear to be equally forcible, are compared with a balance in which the opposite weights are equal; but this comarison has led some reasoners into an ill-founded idea. They pretend that a man, in this case, will not know how to act, and will necessarily remain in a state of listless indecision; but it certainly does not follow, because a piece of dead inactive matter would remain at rest in a certain case, that a thoughtful and active being would be equally unmoved. The old argument of an ass starving because it had no stronger motive to touch one bundle of hay than another on the opposite side, is rather a silly sophism than legitimate reasoning. The most stupid animal would not be perplexed on such an occasion. In speaking of this branch of reasoning, it might be thought an unpardonable omission, if we should neglect to take notice of its application to the subject of religion. Bishop Butler has used it in this way with an effect which is generally admired. Instead of attempting to explain the divine opconomy with regard to intelligent creatures from preconceived notions of his own, he inquires what the constitution of nature, as it is disclosed to us by experimental philosophy, actually, is, and from this investigation he endeavours to form a judgement of that more important and interesting constitution which religion discovers to us. If the dispensation of Providence under which we now live, considered as inhabitants of this world, and having a temporal interest to secure in it, be found, on examination, to be analogous to that farther dispensation which relates to us as designed for another world, in which, as responsible or accountable beings, we have an eternal interest, depending on our behaviour during the present life-if both may be traced to the same general laws, and appear to be carried on according to the same plan of administration—it may fairly presumed that both proceed from one and the same Author, and that the latter is a regular consequence of the other system—the final link in the chain of creation. It may be said that this dispute is satisfactorily settled by divine revelation; yet there is no impropriety in illustrating it by the aid of analogy.
The secTARIAN, or the Church and the Meeting-House. 3 vols.
It might readily be supposed that this is rather a work of theological dispute or controversy than a novel; but it is, in fact, of both descriptions. The author is apparently a man of some talent, on. however, is more strongly exhibited in his attacks upon sectarianism, than in the construction of his plot or in his delineations of general character.
Instead of detailing the plot, we shall give some of the scenes and a striking catastrophe.
Lydia Orton is a young, beautiful, and rich convert to sectarianism, and Molesworth, one of the sect, has become insane. At a meeting, “as Lydia looked around her, she observed a young man, whom she had not before noticed farther than as one of those whose intellectual looks formed a contrast to the mass of the imbecile and the ignorant; who, seemingly under the influence of a strong feeling of what had just been spoken, sat wringing his hands, as if his mind was full of something on the subject, which he seemed doubting whether he should attempt to deliver to his fellows. After a little time, appearing to take courage, he rose, and with some hesitation made a speech which, from its melancholy import, its appearance of deep truth, the logical form in which it was put, and the manner in which its propositions were made to rest on passages of Scripture, as well as the intense
life, and the many sad and frightful events recorded in history, on all which he dwelt with a melancholy pathos, exclaiming that the present was truly denominated an evil world. But it was, he argued, peculiarly so to the true followers of the Messiah, from the painful warfare they had constantly to wage with it, and because much of the good that it promised, was to them like the tempting apple hanging on the tree of knowlege, of which they were not permitted to eat. There was, however, he added, much comfort in the consideration expressed in the words of Isaiah, that the righteous would soon be “taken away from the evil.” Here he remarked, that the words of this passage were usually quoted in the restricted sense in which they stood in our translation, which said, that they would be taken away from the evil to come; but it would be seen upon inspection, that the words ‘to come' had been supplied by the translators; that evil, in fact, was, in a peculiar manner to the righteous, at all times existing; it was past, present, and to come; so that, at whatever time the Christian's warfare should be terminated by death, he would emphatically be “taken away from the evil.” But still it had been said, “sufficient for the day is the evil thereof;’ and although we were not by anticipation to lay up for ourselves sorrow for the day of suffering, still in every day there had been, and would be, evil meted out to us; and sufficient for every day as it came would be found its own portion of evil. The ultimate consolation, however, was, that Christians would be taken away from evil and sorrow to unmixed good; and, though the days of their pilgrimage on the earth, like those of the patriarch Jacob, were likely to be both few and evil, yet there was laid up for them in Heaven a better and an enduring substance. This species of theo-philosophy, not unfashionable as a matter of cant, even among the thoughtless and the empty, always came home to the heart of Lydia, (youthful and formed as she was for relishing the happiness of ‘high vocation.” After the singing of a hymn, expressive of corresponding sentiments, the assembly knelt down to prayer in a state of high excitement, exclaiming, ‘Who is sufficient for these things?’ and thinking of the present sad state of their beloved brother, Molesworth. But when, in the prayer, the member who was the organ of it, and who had been a close intimate of him whom they now bore on their spirits, began to call upon Heaven in behalf of the brother who had so often joined in their prayers in this very place; who was so dear to them all, but who was now harassed with a sore affliction, and might never again lift up his voice within their humble tabernacle; the voice of the member trembled and became choked with his feelings. His words of
rayer came from the bottom of his
eart, amid sobs and tears, until at last he was overpowered, and stopped entirely. The whole assembly remained kneeling in silence, which was only interrupted by the sobs of many who were drowned in grief. Aged men round Lydia wept like infants, and she herself was dissolved in sorrow, until the assembly rose with one accord, the speaker being unable to finish the prayer. As they were about to separate, Lydia found that Mr. Keville meant forthwith to proceed to Mr. Molesworth's house, to endeavour to obtain admission to the chamber of the unfortunate, to have the satisfaction of seeing him, and haply of being able to afford him some comfort. Lydia eagerly asked permission to accompany him, which he granted ; and she went to the interview with feelings of the same painful interest which one may have who is carried along to an execution, or to witness the agonies of the human being who is to be broken upon the wheel. When they arrived at Mr. Molesworth's house, they were ushered into the drawing-room, where they found the wife and mother-in-law of the af. flicted man with some children. The whole house seemed in that disordered state into which the absorbed feelings of its mistress, occupied with this domestic calamity, had naturally allowed it to get. Mr. Keville would have withdrawn on
to the house of mourning, and smiling sadly on Lydia as she led her into the room. They sat a few moments in silence, during which one of the children, who had observed Lydia sometimes at the house, when Mr. Molesworth had religious parties, came forward, and was caressed by her. “Do you know that lady, my love?" whispered her mother to the child, when it returned to her side. ‘Yes, mama, that is the very good lady that used to come here with the poorlooking people to sing hymns with papa and Thomas Keatly the shoemaker.' This answer of the child was eagerly listened to and observed by Mrs. Molesworth's mother, who was walking backwards and forwards without deigning to notice Mr. Keville. And while that gentleman was making some enquiries regarding the invalid, the old lady came forward, in consequence of what the child said, and, in a low and compassionate tone, addressed Lydia thus; “Madam, I presume you are one of the religious people whom my unfortunate son-in-law used to be so frequently among 7–4 I have often had the pleasure of meeting with Mr. Molesworth, madam,” said Lydia, as if prepared for some contemptuous speech. “Young lady, I am sorry for you,' said the other, emphatically.—“Sorry for me, madam?’ —‘Yes, my dear young lady, I am very sorry to see one of your appearance throwing away your . in the world, and your reason with these people. God grant that you may never come to be in the condition of poor Molesworth!” —“I hope, madam, -’ said Lydia, shocked.—“I hope so too, young lady; but take an experienced woman's advice. Don't hope about the matter, but leave them ; P say, leave them.”—“Mother,’ interrupted her daughter, ‘Mr. Keville wishes to see my poor husband. I suppose he may ?”—“Oh! certainly,” said the old lady, with an expression of vexation, “certainly, Mr. Keville ! By all means, go up and see what a pretty state you have helped to bring the father of these unfortunate children to. It must be a pleasant sight to see, to be sure!’—‘Mother, don't speak so,' said Mrs. Moles