Buxton when a boy had kept him out of mischief, perhaps, when a lad; gave him health and recreation as a man; reanimated his jaded and worn-out system as a Member of Parliament, when sunk and wasted with the toils of a session. Had it ever been associated with immorality, it would have been abandoned when a change took place in his character; but that change was really gradual,-it was growth and development, progress and advance, rather than turning round; and hence his continuance in the use of an exercise which he had no painful reasons for abandoning. Depend upon it, some Christians shun things that others can approach, because, in the one case, there is the painful recollection of perversion and abuse; and, in the other, there is nothing but the innocent and rational use of an allowable liberty or a defensible indulgence. I would not willingly lower the standard of Christian conduct. I think the more a man is above an excessive or enslaving attachment to shooting, or boating, or anything else, so much the better; but I also think, that there is a great lesson for the young in the fact, that while "to the pure all things are pure,' "to them that are defiled there is nothing pure." He who has preserved himself "unspotted;" who has lived without darkening the recollections of memory or poisoning the springs of thought; who has been "kept from the pollutions that are in the world through lust;" who has not forfeited his right to look round him with a sparkling eye and "a merry heart ;" such an one, however spiritual he may become, will always regard with candour and love the conduct of others, and will feel, too, that his religious growth requires but little to be positively abandoned in his own. Religion is the enemy of no pleasure con

sistent with innocence.

IV. Such was Sir Fowell Buxton, in his constitution and racter, his labours and his fortune, his life and death; such he by nature, by circumstances, by self-culture, and by the

grace of God. There he stands- -A STUDY FOR YOUNG MEN. Although I am well aware that I have left many things unsaid which might have been advanced, and that would have added, here and there, something of grace or beauty to the picture; yet as I have laboured to give you a full view of all that was essential to the completeness of the subject, so, I hope, I have on the whole done so. What a pure, manly, useful, noble life has passed before you! How much in the character of the man to awaken admiration, to inspire respect, to attract love, to encourage effort, and to prompt to imitation! Only compare such a life as Sir Fowell Buxton's with other forms of life that will occur to you, or the elements and spirit of his characterits strength and depth, its humanity and religiousness--with that of some whom you may have known, or of whom you have heard or read. I make no claim for Sir Fowell Buxton of extraordinary genius, or even of splendid talents. I do claim for him, however, what is better than either, and more valuable than both or all. I sum up my conception of him in the language of the Book he so much loved, and in words which honour the Source of "every good and perfect gift :" —“GOD gave unto him the spirit of POWER, and of LOVE, and of a SOUND MIND." I know no statement that more accurately comprehends and conveys what our friend was. Take him as

such, and compare him with any one you like---distinguished or undistinguished—of the sons of men : his friends can calmly abide the issue. Contrasts, however, occur to us of many sorts; and some of them very affecting.

One of the finest specimens I know of virtue without piety, is presented in the Life of the late Sir Samuel Romilly. The book is exceedingly interesting, and the character of Sir Samuel comes out in many aspects of goodness and beauty. But, to a religious mind, to one especially imbued with the spirit of evangelical belief and of earnest devotion, it is one of the most melancholy books, and the picture of its accomplished subject

one of the saddest sights I know. Romilly and Buxton both rose into distinction through inherent force of character, and alike rose, we might almost say, from the city; they both were members of Parliament; both gave their attention to some subjects in common; both were made baronets; each had his Life written by his son, and the character of each has much resemblance in some of its solid excellencies to the other. But there is not the slightest indication of piety, according to our views of it, in Romilly's Life from beginning to end. He never prayed, properly speaking; for he had views which made him imagine it was wrong or unnecessary to ask anything "from above." The nearest approach to prayer that appears, is a paper containing a sort of philosophical address to God; grateful, indeed, but as emphatically heathen as if no gospel had ever been revealed. How different the volume before us! One of its most remarkable features is the quantity of it indicative of Buxton's devout "walking with God" while continually busy with the world and men. Romilly and Buxton both married, though at different ages, those who filled them with supreme satisfaction. By the loss of his wife, the mind of the one was so overturned, that he fell a few days afterwards by his own hand. The other had not to pass through the same sorrow; but he had deep afflictions, under which his faith sustained him, and there is no doubt that if he had been called to the greatest allotted to man, he would have been able to say, though not without anguish and tears, "The cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not drink it ?" Look at Sheridan, again. How poor the man of wit and genius appears, in comparison with our plodding, uninspired Sir Fowell! How wretchedly low, the careless, reckless, impulsive creature, seen by the side of the man of prudence, of worth, of piety; the man who had no respect for anything that would contravene DUTY, no notion of great parts or true manhood separate from God! Sheridan laboured to be bril

The one often spoke for im

liant, Buxton to be substantial. mediate effect, the other always to secure a valuable end; the one thought of fame, the other of usefulness; the one was willing to be admired, the other wished to be understood; the one had no great aim in life, no grand moral object, the other was possessed by passions and ends that elevated and dignified him; the one left no memorial in anything done, the other achieved much that he attempted. Poor Sheridan ! A man feeble in principle, extravagant, careless, selfish; one whom nobody could help, and who would not help himself; who was praised for his powers, admired for occasional great efforts, and for some light literary productions, but who did nothing approaching to what labour and morals might have helped him to accomplish. He progressively descended lower and lower in his tastes and habits; went on without respect and without sympathy, till at last he sunk into the grave a shadow and a wreck, leaving many to mourn, many to pity, but none who really honoured him while living, or who could venerate or enshrine his memory when dead. How opposite to all this the

character before you!

Contrast,

It would be easy to dwell upon other instances. for instance, Buxton's life with that of one of mere refinement, literature, show, voluptuousness; like that of Beckford of Fonthill. How poor the man of taste and extravagance beside an individual whose career embodied the poetry of utilityutility in its highest and best sense; the poetry of all that is great and sterling, bold and bright, in the purest morals, the most manifest unselfishness, toil for the benefit of others, service and sympathy wherever needed! Beautiful thoughts, beautiful words, style of composition, style of life, pomp, inagnificence, and so on these things are all very well; but it is better to be a great book than to write one; to live and act a poem, than to compose it. It is a fine thing for a man's life to be a true epic. Great pursuits and high purposes consti

tuting the idea; moral conflicts, the battles and victories; good deeds, the sounding-lines; the sweet rhythm, the flowing harmonies of a pure conscience; and the poetical justice seen in the end, the glorious working out of God's eternal laws in favour of all who serve him loyally. What miserable moral composition some of your fine authors and great poets themselves are! What doggerel in comparison with the glorious psalm of a good man's life!

How different, again, and how superior, Buxton's course to that of a weak-headed, soft-hearted, benevolent enthusiast! One whose own habits may not be bad, but who has spent his life in the dissemination of principles-under the idea of benefiting the world!—which corrupt and debase wherever they prevail. A man who has spent a fortune in Utopian plans for remodelling society; who believes himself in possession of just the thing that all the nations of the world want; who has tried to explain it to many, but who has got few to believe and fewer to understand him. A man who, so far as his views have had any effect, has done nothing but mischief, and given rise to nothing but disorder; and who yet clings to the idea that, if he could only get society to reconstruct itself, to give up religion, to abandon certain social monopolies that lie at the basis of domestic life, pull down all towns and cities, and arrange itself according to the pattern of some ideal parallelograms, all would be well, nothing could hinder the dawn of the millennium ! How much better for Buxton, that he possessed the spirit of "a sound mind!" How much wiser he, to spend his life in aiming at possibilities; and how happy for him at last, to feel that he had not lived and laboured in vain !

What a contrast is Buxton to others of his contemporaries! A banker in Berners Street finds himself in difficulties, and commences a course of fraud and forgery to keep up the credit of the house. At all hazards he will retain his place in society,