to the deanery of Canterbury, and that to the bishopric of Norwich." And thus grew he up on the spot where he first struck root in the house of the Lord,' as gradually, we may almost say as naturally (without effort of his own, but under the blessing of God who gave him favour in the sight of those who had patronage) as, in the first paragraph of his favourite book of Holy Scripture, it is said concerning him, 'whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and in his law (who) doth meditate day and night,' that he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither, and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.' Here the personal character as well as the lot in life of the subject of these remarks are precisely defined and picturesquely displayed; while his own commentary on the text presents a scarcely less happy illustration of both. "All the fruits of righteousness show themselves in their proper season, as opportunity calls for them; and his words, which are to his actions what the leaves are to the fruit, fall not to the ground, but are profitable as well as ornamental. Every thing in him and about him serves the purpose for which it was intended; his brethren are benefited by him, and his Maker is glorified."

Among other traits of Mr. Horne's frank and ingenuous disposition, may be mentioned his fond

ness for letter-writing to his family connexions and his college-associates, in youth. Nothing in that season of hope and promise is more promising or hopeful (as the pledge of future excellence in knowledge and virtue) than freedom in speaking from the abundance of the heart, in the presence of chosen companions, or in pouring out, in epistolary correspondence with such, the thoughts that accumulate in the mind, on subjects of common interest to both. Friendship is of earlier growth than passion; and, between persons of the same sex and congenial disposition, it ought to be cultivated while it is in season, before a warmer affection monopolizes all that can be spared from self-love and selfinterest, in the business and pleasures of life, the cares of the world, the deceitfulness of riches, the pursuit of honours, or the humbler but happier fulfilment of the duties and occupations of that state of life, in which Providence may have placed

us.

In the friendships of undissembling, unbetrayed, unsophisticated youth, there is a sweetness, a purity, and a joyance, which render their fleeting prime the golden age (if one there be) of human life; never to be remembered without a regret, itself so delightful in the indulgence as almost to renew "the olden time" of our young days, when "such things were, and were to us most dear and precious." In the case of the good

man before us, his early attachments were long cherished, and in no worthy instance ever resigned till death bereaved him of the friends of his heart, or removed him from their eyes, whom it could not remove from their affections. Mr. Jones mentions, that he himself had in his possession more than a hundred of Mr. Horne's letters, adding that "his mind had so much to communicate, and his words were so natural and lively, that some of these might be ranked with the most valuable productions of the kind." His biographer assigns a delicate but unsatisfactory reason why these have not been given to the world; namely, that "in letters not intended for the public eye, (as none of his ever were,) and suggested by the incidents of the time, some of them trivial and domestic, there will be, of course, many passages of less dignity than will entitle them to publication." Now, with the excision of such passages as are not of "less dignity," but of less suitableness for publication,-letters of this kind are the very things which are most coveted by readers of the elaborated works of great men, that they may see them as they are in their hearts, at their fire-sides, in the undress of their minds, and in the freedom as well as the fervour of their affections. If the familiar epistles of the author of the "Letters on Infidelity," (first written as such, though afterwards a little more trimly apparelled to attract attention from the world and meet the

eyes of the scoffer,) be of proportionate excellence in their way, it may be safely presumed that the withholding of them is at least a negative offence, which it will require more charity to forgive than his admirers will be inclined to exercise, without the mental reserve of wishing that nothing had remained to be felt as though it were unforgiven. Next to the inestimable relics of this description, with which the biographers of Cowper have enriched our country's literature, it would hardly be too sanguine to calculate upon what might possibly be recovered of the correspondence of Horne,not as equalling, but as delightfully resembling that of the author of "The Task," whom the commentator on the Psalms resembled in almost every thing except that mysterious melancholy, which made the Christian poet's life wretched with the fear which hath torment,' while in the Christian minister,' perfect love' seemed at once to have 'cast out fear,' and enabled him under all circumstances, with joy to draw water out of the wells of salvation.' We know not from whom the following character of cheerful piety, combined with brilliant accomplishments, was drawn in Cowper's poem on Conversation; but Horne, at any period of his life, after he had consecrated himself to the service of God and man, might have been the prototype. The whole is admirable, and reflects equal honour upon the poetic painter and

the saintly sitter, of one of the most truly Christian portraits ever drawn.

-An "advocate of sin and shame

Known by his bleating, Ignorance his name,"

has been asking, with supercilious look and tone,

"What! always dreaming over heavenly things,
Like angels' heads in stone with pigeons' wings?
Canting and whining out all day the word,
And half the night ?-Fanatic and absurd!
Mine be the friend, less frequent in his prayers,
Who makes no bustle with his soul's affairs;
Whose wit can brighten up a wintry day,
And chase the splenetic dull hours away."

The poet thus triumphantly answers the scorner:

"Is sparkling wit the world's exclusive right?
The fix'd fee-simple of the vain and light?

Can hopes of heaven, bright prospects of an hour,
That come to waft us out of sorrow's power,

Obscure or quench a faculty, that finds
Its happiest soil in the serenest minds ?

*

A Christian's wit is inoffensive, light,

A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight;
Vigorous in age as in the flush of youth,
'Tis always active on the side of truth:
Tenperance and peace ensure its healthful state,
And make it brightest at its latest date.

Oh! I have seen (nor hope perhaps in vain,
Ere life go down, to see such sight again,)
A veteran warrior in the Christian field,
Who never saw the sword he could not wield;
Grave without dulness, learned without pride,
Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed ;