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much mud,) the silent solid grandeur of the West end with its many bandsome equipages, and princely mansions and their poble occupants, --the wealth and com. merce of the city with its most acute but thoughtful and eren anxious-- looking merchants and bankers-make London stand out from among cities as the greatest by far. But let me not attempt to describe what must be seen.

London is however an awkward place for one just provi the country. The' tural mind can scarcely withstand the encounter of the London citizen. The latter has too much quickness to be able to wait for the other. too wicked not to enjoy an occasional lavgh at his expence, “Go home and tell your mother to buy you a penn'orth of wide-awale" said a little London rogue to a siinple boy of his own age from the country, when the urchin was just beginning to look round bin, after baving been iwirled off the pavement, not without a push which was as good as a blow, though it would not tell equally in the Police office against the aggressor. Now the little rascal's remark is well worth remembering. One really needs penn'orths of wideawake in London. Not that London is a dishonest place when compared

On the contrary the honour of a London merchant is eminent. ly that of a gentleman; and the shipmen generally, lay down before the purchaser such prime good articles, and in a manner so independent and yet so civil, that if there is a satisfaction in spending money any where it is in London. One may easily have his pocket picked however in the streets ; and this necds to be remembered. There are also plenty of beggars on the pavement, particularly at night, who will not return you å sovereign if you happen by mistake to give a pound instead of a shilling. In fact London is a very bad place. And yet I think it is upon the whole a better place than any other large city in Europe or America. If there is as mucli that is as bad and some things that may be worse, there is also a great deal more that is good.

Paris. But as London is at home let us leave it at present. And let us suppose that we have started on our route to India and have already reached Paris. This may be so easily and cheaply done in a variety of wars at all seasons that they need not be specified. It is worthy of remark however, that the Indian traveller un arriving in France is: obliged to turn out all his Indian luggage at the custom house and to pay duty for much even of his personal wearing apparel. If he have much luggage also the extra-charge for it when he takes it in the Diligence along with hims'll soon comes to be as costly as his own. ticket. It were desirable therefore where that could be safely done to send luggage direct from London to Malta by the straits of Gibraltar. . Some , travellers in leeil prefer this route to comin: down through France; but for one who has not previsusly visited the metropolis of France, it is a great pity not to do so. Of all the cities of the continent, Paris is by far the best worth seeing. It is also possible to be seen by a stranger, which is more than can he said for either London or Edinburgh. In Edlinburgh the family principle is so strong that little is visible to the stranger but the outsides of the houses and » their inbabitants.

All display of chararter is reserved for the private party or family cirele. And in London though places of public resort are more frequenied than in Edin. burgh, vet it is the way with the better sort of people to appear in public, only when masqued-unt masqued, after the manner of our continental neighbours indeed, during the carnival, who for this purpose wear pasteboard faces, over their own,- but still masqueil --the features being kept alingeiber immoreable even during the most humorous or the most touching scenes. , This nonchalance in public is a very remarkable feature in the Englishi character. It is very open to censure; but it argies' great self-command, and gives in aspect of superiority, calcuiated to command great respect. But what we wave here to remask respecting it is, that it excludes the stranger, unless he have access to the faini. ly circle, from learning any thing at all of the lights and shades of the English character. It is quite otherwise iu France, and especially in Paris. Instead of being almost exclusively under the intuence of the family principle as the Scotch and En-, glish are, the Parisians love places of public resort, and are in fact never content at home. The city and the drama are in France what the family

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and the fire-side are in England. And when in the morning a Parisian is anticipating the pleasures of the coming day, his thoughts much more readily take the turn of the restaurateur's, the Café, the Boulecards, the spectacles than of his home or his wife and children. But while this is too obvious to be concealed it is also certain that in Paris as well as in other parts of France there are not upfrequently to be seen, the most beautiful displays of family affection and the inost liberally constituted families. It is usual thing to see there, two or three families consisting of all those relations which are --most epe to give birth to jealousies amongst us, living most happily and harmoniously toyether. These however, are exceptions to the general rule; and it is true that the family principle is far too feehle in Fran :e. For the traveller however, it is well thui it is For in consequence of this, there is scarcely any place or scene froin which he finds hiinsels excluded. Nay in many cases he does not even require to enter in order to see what is going on within. All the facility which plate glass can afford is often, granted to permit hiin to see es he passes along the street full many a scene, to

which his observations could not extend in England without a particular introduction. In consequence of this state of things a stranger in Paris soon ceases to feel himself a stranger. And really, what with the Boule. vards and the Galleries, Restaurateurs, Cafés, Soireés, Concerts, Spectacles, Courses of language, literature, science and philosophy, and reunions of all kinds, Paris of all places in the world is the most animating and the most instructive-or tho most destructive-according to the manter of life which the traveller choses for him. self while there. One may observe there a complete developement of humanity in its every sphere, of action, thought and feeling. Not the sensual only nor the sensual and the intellectual together, but the moral and the religious also áre found in fine developement in the French' metropolis. Those who are Christians in Paris are most decided christians; and the churches there possess several preachers of first-rate piety and eloquence. As to these things also the state of the city and I believe of the whole nation is improving from year to fear. It is indeed trtre 'that the French' have not yet recovered, nor will they, 800n recover from the shock which every good principle sustained during the last century, and which took its outgoiugs in the great revolution. it is as obvious as it is pleasing, that during the present century a change most favorable to morality and religion has been steadily going on. Philosophy has also been assuming á nobler form. That low system which preAailed about the beginning of this century, and which is by the French themselves well named sensualisme, tras now in a great measure given way to a far higher philosophy, which respects revelation as well as reason, and reason as well as sensation, and which views man as consisting of a soul as well as of a body, and as destined for eternity as well as for time. The old materialison does indeed still linger in the writings of & few medical men, who Banrally tend to fall into this system in consequence of the body being the exclusire object of their regard. And in the physical section of the institute there are still a few daring unbelievers. But the French people as a whole have Teaped much fruit from the errors and crimes of their fathers; and France at the present day is a fine illustration of the mighty and cheering principle, that it is the express work of Providence to bring good out of evil.

It must be confessed hortever that the French, at least when compared with their neighbours around them, are of a temperament peculiariy unfavourable to religious impressions. The natural temper and spirit of a Frenchmnan is the very reverse of the devotional. Gáity is his element. He searco can find

a medium between vivacity and the desire of death. The French are however a peculiarly acute people, and the reflective part of them have often such love and even power of analysis that, now they have taken that turn they appear to me to promise to be soon as eminent in mental philosophy as they have already proved themselves to be in physics. For if they do not possess the same depth of thought that is to be found in Germany they are greater masters in precision of thought and the philosophical use of language:

But yet




These pleasing considerations however do not meet the eye of the travela for as he passes through, and the author gives them as

the result of former observations

during a residence of nearly two years in France. In every great city the pious and the philosophical are but the few, and the most retiring part. The many who

tho eye are everywhere of another stamp; and in Paris one would think on passing through that the entire population was wholly giren up to pleasure. And ceriainly the French hore carried to an exquisite beight the gratification of each individual sense. In Paris there are not only artists to winister to the en. joyments of the ere by paining and sculpture, and to the ear by the music ; but the palate also has its “ Artistes," an a thousand recherché disbes in the cartor of the restaurateur show to what a pitch of refinement eating, or to use their own language the science of guveronomy, is carried. It is very strange however that while all these luxuries are lavished on the other senses the nose does not meet with eren orijinary respect. Of all places in the world Paris is the worst for band smells. It is also remarkable that no such thing as comfort is known in France. The ese', ihe ear, the malatı-each individual sense ; is pam.ered but still that regaril 10 the will-being of the whole physical man which when successtiil gives comfurt, is not to be found in Paris; nor indeed unul tho other day when they borrowel the English woril, did the language of the French possess a term by which this agreeable state of feeling could be expressed.

With respect to its architecture, Paris may be called a picturesque city ;; and Sume very successful attempts have been made of late, as for instance, in the Rue Vivienne, to maintain the picturesque in the facades of new houses. The King of the French has quite a taste for architecture ; and many iminense Hotels and piles of buildling have been reared since 1830. the !urch of the Magdalene outshines them all, and indeed every other building in Europe for beauty and elegance. It is of the form of a Greek temple, and is one of those suiking objects of which the chamber of deputies, the palace of the Tuilleries and the Arc of the Etoile are others, which terminate in different directions the most beautifal view from the Place de Concorde.

(To be Continued.)





A chiel's amang ye rakin notes,
Ar faith he'll prent it."

No. 1.-The Pulpit.

The present paper is not intended as a sketch of our principal metropolitan prlpit-orators--which would extend to a goodly volume, – but as an on line of some of the nost noted ministers of Dissent, attempting to give, fith a descripiion of themselves and their auditors, a faint idea of their peculiarities of style. In order to do this the more effi ctually they are naria to sprak on the same subject, and the writer Saving listened to them tery frequendy. is able to give to each, language which, almost word for yorl, he was bearii full from their lips. Of the many why have gained antor: ity in the pulpits of the Metropolis, three only bare been selected. They are believed to be of the most opposite classes of sectarians,--dis.

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tinguished from each other as much by their style of oratory as by their peculiar tenets.

The subjects of the present paper are Edward Irving, Rowland Hill, aud William James Fox.

The first is, or was, the most striking in appearance as well as manner. My impression on first seeing him, like that of many others, was that he was a person of disordered intellects, so wild and unsettled were his singular, though handsome, features. He has, by some, been thought to bear a resemblance to our Saviour, but that must have been the work of imagina. tion in his admirers; I could never see the slightest likeness. My first visit to his chapel I remember well. It was on a cold Norember morning before breakfast, not very long after his ejectment from the Scotch Church by the assembly of Elders. He was then holding forth in Newman Street, in a Chapel that would not contain a half of his devoted followers. Know. ing the great difficulty of obtaining entrance I went a good hour before the time appointed for service, namely six, but was surprised to find the little chapel already thronged, and still filling, with people crowding in to secure places, having a closer resemblance to a theatre on a benefit night than to a place' of 'worship:—the Adelphi without the noise. Having obtained a comfortable seat I was enabled to look around me and make my remarks. It was of course at that time as dark as night, and the place was rendered more gloomy by the sickly light of a few short candles dispersed among the pews and giving just sufficient light to make every object appear as though en. Fellop'd in a cloud. Erery pew was filled soon after my arrival, and the motley crowd that poured silently in took their stations down the aisles and along the stairs: even the escent to the pulpit was crowded with, I will not say the congregation but, the spectators, for no one could for a moment mistake the object of the great 'hulk of those present, which was curiosity rather than devotion. "It would be difficult to find an auditory so motley in appearance as the present, without you took the occupants of the Boxes, Pit and Gallery of a Theatre. Silk bonnets, dress coats, servant's shawls, butcher's and ostler's waistcoats were all jostled together both in the Pews and aisles. The young, the old, the clean and the unwashed, the rich and the poor, all seemed to forget their proximity in each other, all bent their eges in one direction-towards the little door by the side of the Pulpit. As the time approached for the entry of Mr. Irving the silence grew more profounl and grave-like-you could hear the heavy breathings of those around you. At last the small green baize door opened and all seemed as tho' they did not dare move or breathe. The object of their interest walked slowly through the crowd that made way for him with a sort of reverențial axe, aud took his slation in the pulpit. A prayer and a hymn having been finished, he rose, and extending hand upwards, with fthe other leant upon the Bible on

the pulpit cushion, and remained thus for a minute er



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as though at a loss for commencement. Whatever his ob 1 ject was for 'remaining in this attitude it certainly bad a most singular and theatrical effect. His pale lips were compressed; his long beautiful black hafr hung loosely down his back, and his basilisk eyes seemed to shoot fire from their sockets, and gleamed with & supernatural brightness that was rendered more striking by the dim obscurity of the place. His pale, but fine countenance contrasted strangely with his wild, raven-locks, and as you gazed upon him in this statue-like posture you might have fancied him the chef-d'æurre of a master painter—the creation of a Raffaelle or a Rubens. His raised hands fell, his lips moved slowly, and the illusion vanished; but wheu he spoke, the senses were not less spell bound by his oratory than they had been by his appearance. His words came from him like the water that rushed from the rock in the wilderness :-it was but water, but it came from a preternatural

And his words were only words, but what words! How beautifully they were strung together, and with what are intoxication of spirit did not the hearer drink them in. After a most eloquent flow of language, when the minds of all were wrought up by the soul-stiring oratory; ' he would pause, and stepping back in his pulpit, sweep his bright eye along the mass of faces, as though in triumph tracing the effect of his words. He discoursed upon Death and a future state with an eloquence that I have never heard surpassed, and though I cannot hope to give from memory an accuratè versich of his discourse, the following may serve the reader 2,5 a. faint outline of · his style.


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“What an absorbing, what an awful subject for the mind of poor mostal man 'to dwell upon, is that of death! The passing away of the soul to an inheritance of everlasting bliss, or an eternity of wor! 'My friends, happy, yea thrice happy is he for whom this theme hath charms,-in whose mind it is link'd with a train of sublime associations leading the soul far away from earth and eartbly things, to the contemplation of Eternity and Eternity's God, -of Heaven and Heaven's King. Death, my friends, Death is the porial through which the pilgrims of the Cross, as well as the children and slaves of the prince of darkness, must pass on their road to their master's dwelling. places: and vet, I fear there are bnt few amongst you who ever give five minutes to the subject. You keep your birthdays, your wedding days and those of your friends, with rejoicings and mirth ;-you look upon their anniversaries as fête days: but do you ever dedicate a day,--an hour, -to the contemplation of what is of far more, importance than all these—the day of your death? Alas! I fear not. There is a worldly heart-hardness about our corrupted nature which disinclines us to these things. Man walks forth in the green fields—it is a sunny morning in spring--the birds are chirping--the trees are putting forth their young foliage--the daisy is peeping from the fresh soil. He goes forth again--the sun has set-there is a wind 'from the north and winter has spread its .cod veil over the face of the earth. The tiny songster lays stiff and rigil at his feet—the yellow leaves are falling, tear-like, around--the fair flowers are no more.' All tofl of decadence and death—and man, blind man, beholds it, yet sees it, heeds it not --but goes forth, year after year before, until his time arrives too. enters the house of prayer and heaps the words which tell him of his frailty and his end-he goes out and seeg around, the green graves and their white tablets telling the same tale.' Week after week does he hear and see all this, and each week finds him as the last—as unwise-as unwilling. He reads the Journals of news, and his eye


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