which they did not share; and the former, that they had responsibilities all their own. The addresses then delivered took a wider range than sermons, and on some points came closer home. It is hard to overestimate the advantage of this institution, or the loss we have sustained by the neglect of it.

"But what about the prayer-meetings?" say some. I answer, Look to your old Circuit-Plans. On many of them there was this note (I have not seen it lately):-"In order that the Preacher may have time to meet the Societies in every place, it is agreed that no prayer-meeting shall begin before eight o'clock." These prayermeetings were held in various parts of the town; not in the chapel on the Sunday evening, (that is a departure from the ancient practice,) but in private houses and rooms; often in unlikely and unpremeditated places, but chiefly where persons consented to open their doors for the purpose. Four or five persons appointed to go together left the chapel, and proceeded to some cottage, or poor man's parlour, or the kitchen or out-house of some larger house, or, perhaps, to a room in which lay a poor invalid on a bed or sofa, where they sung, and prayed, and exhorted in succession. Sometimes many of the neighbours came in, and the place was crowded, and the lane or court was all astir; sometimes they stayed without, and interrupted by their noises, and got a word of rebuke when all was over, or they listened in silence, and, as it were, stole a blessing which they would not have known. Any way, the truth was spread over a wide surface, and the fire carried through neighbourhoods which no mere formal means could have reached. I have known as many as seven or eight little bands go out thus on a Sunday evening from one congregation; and believe they have been far more usefully employed than if they had all continued in one place. In this way, too, the gifts of many persons for prayer and exhortation were brought into exercise, and increased. They would preach or speak in a room while they would have been silent in a chapel. I should augur great good from the multiplication of such prayer-meetings following upon Society-meetings; though I fear the custom of beginning the Sunday-evening service at half-past six would, in some places, make it difficult, if not impossible, to hold both in succession.

Our present circumstances may be serious, but they are not new. Ninety-seven years ago there was but a small increase in numbers reported at the Conference. Mr. Wesley did not take alarm; for he was not so sensitive on this point as some of his sons in the Gospel, and did not make numerical increase quite such an absolute test of success as do some persons whom we know. But he calmly inquired as follows:-" In many places the work of God seems to stand still." ("The work of God," observe! O how I love that old phrase, which puts us into our true place as instruments, and gives Him all the glory!) "What can be done to revive and enlarge it ?" The very

question which now fills our minds! Mr. Wesley's answer to it is manifold. Some parts of that answer appear to be well worthy of immediate and general attention.

First, he says in substance, "Spread our literature. Sell more books; sell our own books; recommend them in preference to others; spread them everywhere."

Can we doubt the wisdom of this advice? I venture to say that notwithstanding the altered circumstances of the times, it is still sound and good. For bad books in countless numbers circulate everywhere. What myriads of people are ruined by bad books! And even among good people, how much trash is read; how much that is poor and empty, even on weighty subjects; how little comparatively that tends to strengthen the understanding, enrich the memory, and refine the taste of the readers; how much that mis represents religion! And among professedly religious books how many there are that inculcate false sentiments, lower the standard of experience, or fill men's minds with vain speculations. John Wesley knew the connexion between reading and religion as well as any man I ever read of, and maintained that for preachers and people reading bad books was a great hindrance, and reading good books a great help to growth in grace. An unintelligent piety is not likely to be an influential piety, and least of all in an age that boasts of its intellect; and, therefore, if we wish the work of God to revive, let us read, circulate, and recommend our books.*

Again, after recommending preaching out of doors, and early in the morning, he comes to questions of discipline, and recommends a more frequent change of stewards. Is this advice obsolete? Do we not sometimes lose by not calling into action the diversity of gifts?

His next advice is to beware of formality in singing. Complex tunes, fugues, repeating choruses, and very slow singing, all, he says, hinder the effectiveness, and therefore the usefulness, of this part of our public worship. May we not again ask whether the evil has become obsolete? We have more science, perhaps, than our fathers; but we still need caution, lest art should impair devotion. Organs especially need to be watched, lest they become masters instead of servants of our congregational singing.

Fasting, and visiting from house to house, are next enjoined; and then follows:

"Unless we can take care of the rising generation, the present revival of religion will be res unius ætatis: it will last only the age of a man. Who will labour herein? Let him that is zealous for

*The whole passage is worth a careful reading; (see "Minntes," vol. i., p. 79, edit. 1862;) while the frequent references to the same subject in the other Minutes, and in his letters, show what importance Mr. Wesley attached to it. (See Minutes, vol. i., pp. 53, 58, 68, 74, 95, 657.)

God and the souls of men begin now. (1) Spend an hour a week with the children in every large town, whether you like it or no. (2.) Talk with them every time you see any at home. (3.) Pray in earnest for them. (4.) Diligently instruct and vehemently exhort all parents, at their own houses. (5.) Preach expressly on this."

I can add nothing to the weight of these weighty words, which are nearly as suitable to us as they could have been to our fathers. Nay, more so, inasmuch as our Societies are more settled, and our learn children more our own, than formerly. In this respect we may a lesson from our enemies. We used to be compared to Papists, and I wish that in this one point "The Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists" could be "compared." Jesuits, and monks under their direction, are catechizing the youth of our country by hundreds every week with a diligence which, if it does not excite our emulation, ought to alarm our fears.

Lastly, brethren, following the guidance of our Founder, let us turn our eyes inward. If this is the work of God, and we are to be the instruments of carrying it on, what manner of persons ought we to be? Here is John Wesley's answer to the question:

'Let every preacher read carefully over the Life of Mr. Brainerd. Let us be followers of him as he was of Christ; in absolute selfdevotion, in total deadness to the world, and in fervent love to God and man. WE WANT NOTHING BUT THIS. THEN THE WORLD AND THE DEVIL MUST FALL UNDER OUR FEET." Amen.

THE RELIGION OF THE POETS.

GEORGE HERBERT.

WISE and weighty as are many of Dr. Johnson's remarks contained in his "Lives of the Poets," there are some of his criticisms which may be fairly questioned, or successfully combatted. Amongst these is an opinion, which may be found expressed at large in his "Life of Waller,” to the effect that religious subjects are unsuitable for poetical treatment. If he makes an exception, it is in favour of polemics. "The doctrines of religion," he says, "may indeed be defended in a didactic poem; and he who has the happy art of arguing in verse will not lose it because his subject is sacred." If, however, we were disposed to pronounce as ineligible for poetry any class of subjects within the whole compass of religion, it would be the polemical. We are not surprised that Dryden's "Hind and Panther," notwithstanding the cleverness of its satire, and the elegance of its diction, should be, as a contribution to the Romish controversy, a very wretched thing. "Devotional poetry," Dr. Johnson says, "cannot often please." And, again: "Contemplative piety, or the intercourse between God and the human soul, cannot be poetical." Why so? we ask. "The ideas of Christian theology," replies the Doctor, "are too simple for elo

quence, too sacred for fiction, and too majestic for ornament." To all this our answer is, Eloquence is not incompatible with simplicity, but, the rather, frequently gains by it. Poetry need not necessarily be the vehicle of fiction, and is never more worthily employed than in the communication of truth. And as to the ornamentation of the majestic, let it be understood that the decorations of poetry are not of its essence. Facts are against Dr. Johnson's theory, whether it be "so much the worse for the facts" or not. A sufficient answer to the critic, great as is his authority, is given by simply naming David and Milton.

But whether the themes of the poet be sacred or secular, it is a matter of considerable importance to his readers that he be a religious man, correct in his views of doctrine, and himself a holy liver. The poet is a teacher far more influential than either painter or sculptor. Even the philosopher, with his greater pretensions to accuracy and profundity, and with a professed devotion to truth unaffected by passion or imagination, is, after all, a less potent and popular instructer than the national poet of a people. The saying of Fletcher of Saltoun, so frequently quoted, "Let me make the ballads, and I care not who makes the laws," may give us a rather exaggerated estimate of the influence of poetry, and may be less applicable to these newspaper days than to the ruder times in which he lived; and yet, even taken with some qualification, the saying may be received as a testimony to the acknowledged power of poetry. How important, therefore, that those who wield so great an influence over the popular mind should be men of right principle, religiously considered. But, alas! this has been the case only to a limited extent.

The object of a few occasional papers, of which the present is the first, will be to set forth, without any reference to chronological order, or to any kind of classification, the religion of some of the best-known of the poets, so far as their religious opinions can be gathered from their writings, and their character and conduct can be ascertained from their biographies.

GEORGE HERBERT, the subject of our present sketch, was not only a writer of religious poetry, but was himself an eminently godly man.

Before the time of the civil wars in the seventeenth century there stood, not far from the town of Montgomery, in North Wales, a noble castle, which the Parliamentarian army levelled to the ground. About the close of the reign of Elizabeth might be found inhabiting it a family of aristocratic descent, which, like Job's, consisted of "seven sons and three daughters." The eldest son, Edward, was for some time English Ambassador to France; but is more generally known as Lord Herbert of Cherbury, the author of De Veritate prout distinguitur à Revelatione, &c.; and, as such, "may be justly regarded," according to Leland, "as the most eminent of the deistical writers." The fifth son, "holy George Herbert," as he is frequently called, has bequeathed to posterity "The Temple,” a less pretentious, but more valuable, book than his brother's, and, happily, more generally read and loved.

George Herbert's childhood was passed "in a sweet content,”—as his biographer, Izaak Walton, phrases it,-under the care of his mother, a lady celebrated in song for her beauty and her virtues by Dr. Donne. At the age of twelve he was sent to Westminster School, where were educated in the following century Charles Wesley and William Cowper. He subsequently graduated at Trinity College, Cambridge, of which he became a Fellow. In course of time he was chosen Orator for the University, in which capacity he attracted the attention, and won the good opinion, of James I. He enjoyed the royal favour to such an extent, that he had reasonable hope of being appointed Secretary of State; but the death of his patrons, the Duke of Richmond and the Marquis of Hamilton, and, soon after, of the King himself, put an end to all his expectations of obtaining high employment at court. This was the turning-point in his history. After a severe struggle with worldly desires and ambitious hopes, against the remonstrances of his court friends, but with the persuasion of his excellent mother, he gave himself wholly to the Lord; and, notwithstanding that the office of clergyman was then, from various causes, held in general disesteem, he braved the contempt of the world, and entered into holy orders. As Prebend of Leighton Ecclesia, in the diocese of Lincoln, and, more especially, as Rector of Bemerton, near Salisbury, he was remarkable for piety and good works, and obtained, as far as he was known, a reputation for eminent sanctity of life. His death, from consumption, after less than three years' incumbency of Bemerton, and at the early age of thirty-nine, was beautifully in keeping with the holiness of his character and conduct.

As a poet, George Herbert cannot be placed remarkably high, certainly not in the first class. Indeed he made little pretensions himself to poetry; so that his great work, "The Temple," was not published until after his decease. Although the earlier years of his life were contemporaneous with the later years of Spenser and Shakespeare, and his later with the earlier years of Milton, yet his genius does not seem to have been influenced by those great masters of English song. He belonged to a school of poets which Dryden called "the metaphysical;" a title questionably appropriate, but which Dr. Johnson has adopted, although he does not name Herbert as belonging to the class. Dr. John Donne, Dean of St. Paul's, Herbert's friend, a man of various learning and romantic history, was the founder of this school. Amongst his followers may be mentioned Suckling, Waller, Denham, and Cowley; the last-named being the greatest of them all. The wit and genius of these writers were generally in excess of their taste. Hence their poetry is overcharged with paradox, hyperbole, sudden surprises, far-fetched allusions, fantastic images, grotesque figures, and odd conceits. They erred, principally, in their multiplication of metaphors and similes. Not content with using such as are poetical and pleasing, they could not refrain, for the sake of indulging in the amplification which they dearly loved, from stooping to find figures and illustrations in objects homely, prosaic, and even repulsive. Side by side with metaphors strik