seems so appalling, and the scenes of civilized life so attractive? Does the one present before him nothing but an unalleviated, incessant round of hardship and suffering, removed far beyond even the sources of enjoy ment, because without the pale of civilization and refinement and learning? while the other spreads out before him a flowery vale, watered by the streams of happiness, fanned by its breezes, and warmed by its sunshine? He fancies himself willing perhaps, to serve his Saviour all his days; but he must be permitted to do it in his own country, among his own kindred, in literary and refined society, where he can meet with some whose tastes are congenial with his own. A residence among ignorant besotted idolaters seems to him altogether too much for his nature to endure. Oh, how long will it be, ere Christians learn, that the path of duty is alone the path of happiness. It may, indeed, lead a man away from civilized and learned society; and from kindred and from country; but it never leads him away from his God. It may cross the billowy ocean, even to the very antipodes: but God will accompany him to hush the winds and smooth the waves. It may tra verse the deserts of Arabia or Africa; but God can spread a green carpet over the burning sands, and give streams in the desert. It may lead over the snows of Greenland, and the ice-bergs of the pole. But the presence of God can produce in the missionary's soul, a lovelier spring than ever yet opened upon hill or dale. On the other hand, the path of inclination and self-interest leads away from happiness, because it leads away from God. He follows not the steps of the traveller therein, unless it be with a curse. It may, indeed, lead down the fertile and sunny vale of civilization and refinement: but God will scorch and make barren the region around the traveller, so that the green and flowery fields will ever fly before him, like the waters that mock

the thirst of the pilgrim in the desert. This path may wind into the silent groves of science, and even cross the Castalian fountain: but God can infuse bitterness into the waters, and make those shades swarm with serpents, and its air heavy with pestilence and death. It may pass directly through the temple of knowledge and literature may scatter ber flowers under the traveller's feet, and science encircle his brow with her amaranthine wreath. But the blast of God's displeasure will wither those flowers and convert that wreath into a crown of thorns. Oh, it is in vain for the religious man to expect happiness, or even comfort, in any pursuit or any station, which God does not approve and bless! It is likewise impossible, to go out of the sphere of happiness, while following the path of duty.

Young men of education and piety! Let me say to you in conclusion, that the call to the missionary service waxes louder and louder. The cry of heathen, mahomedan, and papal lands for help, is coming to our ears in a voice which cannot be smothered. That cry of misery begins at the very antipodes; and radiating thence, it rapidly spreads over either hemisphere. From almost every island and shore, a like note of wee rises and swells the flying voice; and even from the world of perdition, the wailings of those who have perished without law, come up to mingle with the sound. The dying groans of the Saviour too, which for eighteen hundred years have been echoing among the mountains of Palestine, join the cry of perishing millions as it passes by. It is borne forward on the roar of the ocean; it flies upon the wings of the wind. From every side of the globe this mighty voice seems to come, and concentrate, and burst over our colleges :-peal after peal-roar after roar-and groan after groan. And does it stop here? No: it ascends into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth;

and he, the professed disciple of Christ, who heeds it not on earth, will hear it again pealing on his ears, from

the final judgment seat; it may be, only to deepen the tones in which his eternal doom is uttered.

DISTINGUISHED PERSONS IN ENGLAND.

[Continued from our last number.]

MR. WILBERFORCE.

EARLY this morning, I left the city in company with my excellent friend, Mr. J. W., whose kind attentions, since I have been here, I can never too highly estimate, for High Wood Hill, Mr. Wilberforce's residence. Our ride was through a beautiful and highly cultivated region; and at High Gate, particularly, which is elevated ground, we had one of the richest views which this vicinity affords. Mr. Wilberforce's dwelling is a large stone building, situated on a delightful eminence, which commands an extensive rural prospect, and particularly a fine view of the beautiful valley beneath. On delivering the letter to the servant, we were informed that Mr. Wilberforce was at home, and would be disengaged in a short time; and, in the mean while, were introduced into the library, where, with the leave of the librarian, we amused ourselves by looking over the books, and noticing various corrections which Mr. Wilberforce had made with his pen. This was particularly the case in respect to the writings of Robert Hall, of whom he is so great an admirer that he remarked that he did not believe there was a man living who possessed finer talents. After nearly half an hour, Mr. Wilberforce came in, and received us with every expression of kindness and cordiality. His appearance is, in some respects, quite peculiar. He is small in stature, extremely rapid in his movements, quite near sighted, and withal a little deformed; but the

moment he speaks, his countenance becomes a perfect mirror, in which you see reflected every thing that is lovely in the human character. After requesting us to notice the beautiful scenery which was to be seen from his window, and remarking upon the likeness of his intimate friend, William Pitt, which was in the room, which he said was the only good likeness of him in existence, he requested us to walk into his drawing room, that he might introduce us to his family; very kindly remarking to me at the same time, that he wished to do it the rather, that if I should visit England again, though he should not be here to receive me, I might be sure to receive the friendly attentions of his son. After spending a few moments with his family, he invited us into his study, where he showed us the remaining part of his library and particularly his periodical publications, which are very numerous. A little incident occurred, while in his drawing-room, which I mention not without some hesitation, lest, if it were known to Mr. Wilberforce, it should wound the charming modesty which it is intended to illustrate. On the table I observed the most elegant set of china that I ever saw ; and Mr. Wilberforce, perceiving that it attracted our attention, took up some of the different articles, and pointed out to us their peculiar beauties. Upon being asked whether it was English manufacture, he replied that it was foreign: on being asked from what country it came, he said from Prussia; and after a few moments the secret came out, in a manner which showed that while he felt honored by the gift, he had intended

recently ill, and were apprehensive that she might still be too feeble to receive company. We were seated for a few moments in the parlor, the walls of which are nearly lined with the portraits of distinguished men, many of them Mrs. M.'s intimate friends. I sent up my letters of introduction, and the servant soon retured with a request that we would walk into the apartment in which Mrs. M. was sitting. When we entered the room, she rose and shook hands with us in a familiar and pleasant manner, which made me quite forget the embarrassment which I was prepared to feel on approaching so distinguished and exalted a character. She is rather small in stature, has a most regular and expressive countenance, and an eye which beams forth nothing but intelligence and benignity. She is now eightythree years of age; and for the last five years has been confined to her room by bodily indisposition, except that in the summer season, she has been occasionally carried out, and drawn by her servants in a handcarriage about her grounds. She soon spoke of her "dear friend, Mr. Wilberforce," in connexion with the letter which I had brought from him; and when I told her that I had lately spent a most delightful hour and a half in his company, she replied that she had no doubt it was an hour and a half spent near the threshold of heaven. She observed that Mr. W. was one of her oldest friends; that his writings had produced a very beneficial effect on the higher circles in this country, and ❝his prayers" said she, "in my family, when he is here, are heavenly." When I remarked on the beautiful situation of Barley Wood, she replied that she should send her servant soon to conduct us over her little domain, and requested that we would particularly notice a monument that she had erected in honor of John Locke, and another to the memory of her "dear friend," Bishop PorVOL. II.-No. XI.

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teus; "but," said she, "you must first view the different prospects which I have from my house." After pointing out to us some of the many beautiful objects to be seen from the room in which we were sitting, she conducted us into an adjoining apartment which was her sleeping room; and pointing to an armed chair, "that chair," said she "I call my home. Here," looking out of a window, " is what I call my moral prospect. You see yonder distant hill which limits the prospect in that direction. You see this tree before my window directly in range of the hill. The tree, you observe, from being near, appears higher than the hill, which is distant; though the hill actually is much higher than the tree. Now this tree represents to my mind the objects of time; that hill, the objects of eternity. The former, like the tree, from being viewed near at hand, appear great : the latter, like the hill, from being viewed at a distance, appear small." Speaking of the enfeebled state of my health, which was the occasion of my present absence from home, she advised me to be particularly on my guard against undue excitement. "The disciples," she observed, "could sleep in sorrow;" and she had found that she could sleep far better after a day of affliction, than after an interview which has caused much excitement. Her own character through life, she said, had been marked by impatience; not that impatience which would lead her to be peevish towards her servants or others around her; but that which led her to push on a work, when she had commenced it, till it was completed; and to this trait in her character, especially, she attributed the fact of her having written so much. She remarked that she had never been able to quote from her own writings; that her companion would often read to her paragraphs from them, and she did not recognise them as her own; and though her memory, in regard

to most subjects, seems to be very perfect, she assured us that she could not now recollect the titles of all her works; and having occasion to refer to one of them while we were sitting with her, she looked up to the book-case in which they were, and said, "I do not remember the title, but it is something about Christianity I believe." She presented me with her last work on the Spirit of Prayer, saying that it was principally a compilation from her other works, and was dictated to a friend, while she was confined to her bed, and supposed herself near the gate of eternity; that she felt the importance of the subject so deeply, that she determined to send the work to the press, though the sale of it should be limited to fifty copies; but that 8,000 copies were disposed of within less than six months. She also presented me with another work of her's, which I had never seen before, entitled, "Hints to a Young Princess;" and accounted for its not having been printed in America, as her other works have been, from the fact that it was deemed inapplicable to our form of government; though, she remarked, that with the exception of forty pages, it applied equally to the education of all females in the higher walks of life. Of the late Princess Charlotte, for whose benefit this work was particularly designed, she spoke as a most amiable, accomplished and promising character, and expressed the hope that she died the death of the righteous. Mrs. M. dissuaded her from learning music, on the ground that it would occupy time, which might be employed by her in more important pursuits, and that it was unnecessary, inasmuch as she could always have professors of eminence to perform in her presence. She told us that the place on which she resides had been in her possession twenty-six years; that when she purchased it, it was in a wild, uncultivated state; and that whatever ornamental trees or shrubs

we should see, in walking over it, were planted by her own hand. As we passed round the enclosure, we saw at almost every step some monument of the taste of this wonderful woman. We were particularly struck with the wild beauty of a Druidical temple, as Mrs. M. called it, made of knots of oak, disposed in such a manner as to represent the most fanciful figures. Mrs. M's dwelling is a thatched cottage, standing on the declivity of a gently sloping hill, overlooking the church and village of Wrington, a charming verdent vale, and commanding a view of Bristol channel, and a beautiful range of hills which skirt the distant horizon. After going over her grounds, we returned for a short time to her chamber, where she had provided some refreshment for us, and where she again entertained us by her delightful conversation. On taking leave of her, she expressed the kindest sentiments, and, with an air of unaffected humility, desired me to remember her in my approaches to a throne of mercy; and added that she attached great importance to intercessory prayer; and that she felt that she was a poor creature who needed an interest in the prayers of God's people as much as any one.

After leaving this interesting spot, which I am sure will be associated through life with some of my most delightful recollections, we rode into the village of Wrington, distant about half a mile, to see the birth-place of the illustrious Locke. It was not the residence of his parents, but providentially his mother was there at the time of his birth. The house in which he was born is very small. and is occupied by Mrs. More's washer-woman. The old lady who inhabits it seemed very familiar with the honor which appertained to her dwelling, and showed us the chamber in which the illustrious philosopher first saw the light; but though she talked abundantly of John Locke, she evidently knew as little who he