pect the possibility of such a flight, when we find him comparing the difficulties which he encountered among the disturbing forces of the Kirk Session, the Town Hospital, the General Session, and the Magistrates and Council of Glasgow, to "the difficulties which Sir Isaac Newton experienced in his attempt to resolve the problem of the three bodies. It is an affair of very simple computation to assign the path of a planet, acted upon by the sun exclusively, and when no other force is admitted into the computation than the mutual attraction of the two bodies. But it instantly becomes a labour of very profound analysis when the planet is acted upon both by the sun and the disturbing force of another planet, such as our earth, for example, which, under the joint attrac tion of the sun and moon, gives us an example of the problem of three bodies. Now I just felt, and with great intenseness too, this very difficulty, when I had to compute my way amongst the mutual attractions, or rather repulsions, of no less than four bodies. When all is reduced to one simple relationship between us and the heritors, all will go on smoothly, and without embarrassment. But, I must confess, that, when tossed and tempest-driven, under a set of opposing influences which we knew not well how to manage or comprehend when placed in the very middle of clashing and conflicting authorities on every side of us when we had to steer our course under the beck of so many great unwieldy corporations, which appeared to frown from their respective orbits both upon us and upon one another-I must confess, that, when we had thus to walk among such elements of perplexity, the enterprise of assimilating a town to a country parish of ten looked to me a very hopeless speculation." pp. 14, 15. Dr Chalmers is much better where he is than in any professorship,-he is at the post in which even his eccentricities work for good,-in which they only give an air of romantic irregularity to the grandeur of his undertakings, and while they carry him out of the dull and beaten track, fascinate by the very singularity with which they seem to encircle him. And, what a post of usefulness and honour is that in which he is now placed, and which he has so wisely preferred! How important at all times, how doubly so at present! With what a beneficial operation may his path of light carry him through all the vices and wretchedness of a commercial population, and oppose him to those fiends of darkness who are now at work amidst the poverty and the despair of the people, to load them, in addition to their other burdens, with the chains of a spiritual night, and a moral and political anarchy! It is not the arms or the strong hand of power that can effectively pluck out these pernicious weeds of society by the root. It is not to a Wellington we are to look for redress in such an emergency, so much as to a Chalmers. It is not the magistrates of Manchester, with their yeomanry corps, who are to do the business-it is the magistrates of Glasgow, with their corps of parochial agency, and a Christian hero at their head. In this truly civic warfare he may, indeed, say, with the great Roman orator, Cedant arma togae; and it is here we are to look, under Providence, for the most successful efforts of this powerful individual, and that we are to find more peculiarly his high position for carrying on the Christianization of the age. There is another walk of the utmost importance at this time, in which, we think, the labours of Dr Chalmers have already been of great service, and in which, we doubt not, they will be of still greater. This is the influence of his writings in helping to Christianize the general character of our literature. The common tone of methodistical writings is so dull and uninteresting to any but the initiated, and the habits of thought which prevail in them are so confined and limited, that, instead of diffusing the spirit of Christianity throughout the literature of the country, they inspire ineffable disgust in all minds of a higher and more expanded cast. The spirit, the originality, the eloquence of Chalmers, give, on the contrary, a very captivating air to the truths which he defends, even when he may seem to be chiming in too much with the language of more narrow and darker spirits. It is impossible, at least, to despise any thing that he writes,—and it is in the cold climate of contempt that Christianity has ever most suffered. It can only, indeed, be protected from this fatal blight, when the general literature of a country is decidedly Christian. That was once the proud distinction of England. Not only her divines, (some of them men of the greatest genius and reach of mind,) but all her Philosophers, Poets, and great writers of every description, even to the theatre, were deeply imbued with the images and the tone of thinking of the Gospel. Shakespeare is full of it from beginning to end. King Edward the Fourth, speaking of his brother Clarence's kindness to him, says in the moments of remorse for his death, All this from my remembrance brutish wrath O God! I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and your's, for this. Every one of these expressions shows a profound feeling of Christian truth and sentiment-and what beauty, in return, does such an impression confer upon the literature which it pervades! The finest parts even of the writings of Voltaire are those in which he affects Christianity. It is this pervading spirit which we call the Christianizing of literature, not the direct and dogged inculcating, unnecessarily, and at every turn, the peculiar doctrines of the Gospel,-a practice which, instead of incorporating it with our general literature, fixes, in truth, a marked line of distinction between them. Every one, we believe, before Mr Wilberforce, looked upon Addison to be distinctly and eminently a Christian writer,-but, since that excellent and eloquent man, in a moment of a very whimsical illiberality, thought fit to assert the contrary, it has been the fashion among writers of a certain class to speak of this most amiable of all moralists as if he were little better than a heathen philosopher! name, have already done much, and may do more-but a preacher must keep more strictly to the phraseology of the pulpit than is quite suited, perhaps, to the freedom of literature. Our periodical writers have more, we think, in their power. They have a mighty hold upon the minds of the nation; some of them, by the weight of their authority, and the independent exercise of their commanding abilities, upon the highest classes of society and the highest orders of intellect; and others, by their singular versatility of ge tions of our people. Perhaps none of nius, upon the most varied descripimportance of the talents committed them have yet duly appreciated the to them ;-the decaying prejudices of a former age may have partly chilled the native generosity of some,—and the licence or unsteadiness of youth may have no less blighted the aswe believe, have had good in view, piring energies of others ;-but all, and, not unfrequently, have well occupied their talents in support of the bulwarks of a pure morality, or in diffusing the glowing sensibilities of religion. Let them now, in their several departments, keep their eye steadily fixed their noble task," and great, they may on Truth's defence, be assured, will be their reward. They will obtain the mighty glory, each in the conquest of their peculiar infirmities, to become the undoubted benefactors of their country and of mankind. God and Nature have given them the power,-how they shall continue to use it, must rest with themselves. that our office is humbler,-yet there For our parts, we are well aware is room likewise in the world for us, and we, too, may be enabled, we trust, to find the path of a true and Christian usefulness. We shall willingly fix cur view on the march of superior intelligence and genius wherever they are to be found,-and where they do not "lead on to bebenevolent ends, we shall ever bow bewilder," but are directed to wise and fore them with reverence ;-happy, in all situations and employments, to follow in the wake of greater and more enlightened minds, and thankful and satisfied, if, in the grand progress of moral and intellectual achievement, We heartily wish that our literature were once more as distinctly Christian as it was in his day,-nor have we much fear but that our wish will be accomplished. Not only Dr Chalmers, but Mr Alison, a preacher equally eminent, although of a very different school, the eloquent Hall of Leicester, and several others of great respectability, though inferior Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale. -Our little bark, attendant sail, THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY DR ZIMMERMANN'S OLD PAMPHLET. IN Magazine writing, one of the most approved recipes is to bring "out of our treasure things new and old;" and, if this be done on any principle of selection, the new and the old will reflect light upon each other. We have just been contemplating the scene of Christian activity which is opened to us in the pamphlet of Dr Chalmers, and the hopeful light which it throws around the prospects of the age in which we live. We are beginning to discover, at last, the nature of true heroism, not to be found in Wars, hitherto the only argument Heroic deem'd so much as in -the better fortitude Of patience and heroic martyrdomin services perseveringly pursued, through every discouragement, for the advancement of the temporal, and the eternal good of mankind. The vulgar notions of heroism have been greatly dispelled, we hope, by the fate of Napoleon,-and since, after all his mighty performances, which have vanished in mere smoke, he has not even obtained a death of honour, as it is called, on the field, but is protracting an useless and inglorious life, the folly of such selfish ambition is put in a more glaring point of view than was ever before exhibited to the world. The vanity, too, of mere human wisdom, of a philosophy which, despising all higher illumination, wraps itself up in its own proud contemplations, has been most powerfully delineated in the bloody characters of our times. All the presumptuous fabric of infidel wisdom has been felt to be built upon the insecure soil under which earthquakes were brooding; and the names which were once held forth to the admiration of Europe as the great lights of mankind, are now withdrawing into the shade, and are viewed in the nakedness of their real poverty. Frederic of Prussia combined in himself the hero and the philosopher. He was surrounded by the prestige of Dr Zimmermann's Conversations with the late King of Prussia, when he attended him in his last Illness, a little before his Death, &c. London, 1791. both these characters. He was not, certainly, without magnanimity, and we have no wish to aggravate his vices; but, in the picture which we have begun to exhibit to our readers, drawn by a friendly but faithful pencil, it will be seen how the hand of sickness and of death was busy, even in his own hour, in stripping off that false glare, which now scarcely can dazzle the most wandering and bewildered imagination. We left our worthy Doctor quitting his Majesty, after a stormy interview, with orders to return next day. He then found him in good humour, and they conversed pleasantly about all matters of literature and politics. The Doctor recommended to the King the use of dandelion, a plant of which Frederic seems never to have heard before, and he facetiously inquired "for what lion this plant was created." The courteous Doctor replied, "Please your Majesty, we shall see that soon." The King promised to follow the prescription; but next day, says our author, "When I waited upon him at eight in the morning, the remedy had not been taken; and I found in his majesty no had formed the day before. traces of those good resolutions which he As soon as I entered the apartment, he played off a battery of arguments against the juice of dandelion; but I combated them all with the utmost freedom, which was, indeed, a task of no great difficulty. Our conversation respecting dandelion continued still to grow more animated, and ended in the following manner: "Fred.-I told you before that I would take your medicine but once a day. have a very large dose to take at once. "Zim. In that case your majesty will "Fred. How much? But two "Zim. So much the better. or three spoonfuls of the juice of dandelion, taken at once, may occasion sickness, and even vomiting. "Fred. In that case I will not take the dandelion. "Zim. What I apprehend, perhaps, will not happen. Your majesty may begin by very small doses. "Fred. The slow method I dislike. "Zim. Your majesty may then take two spoonfuls at first, with a little fennel water, which is friendly to the stomach. "Fred.-May I drink coffee soon after? dandelion may have lost that virtue which it bad in the time of the Greeks and the Romans? "Zim. I know that plant and its virtues, not from books alone; I have used the extract of it for thirty years; every spring I administer, perhaps, more 'than one hundred pounds of it in all diseases arising from obstructions of the viscera. But, if what I say cannot convince or persuade your majesty, I beg that, in taking my prescription of dandelion, you will do with me as Alexander did with his physician, who, according to report, intended to poison him. Please to swallow this poison in my presence; let your majesty than fix your eyes upon me, and you will see that I will not change countenance more than the physician of the great Alexander. "This pleasantry seemed to make more impression on the king than all my medical reasoning: he fell a laughing in the most pleasant and agreeable manner, and said to me, in a resolute tone, I will take your prescription.' "He then dismissed me with- Adieu, my good sir. You will do me a pleasure to return after dinner at three, provided it be not inconvenient."" pp. 37-40. For some time the King was much pleased with his dandelion, though he once called it, we have no doubt with great justice, a fiddle-faddle kind of a medicine. But one afternoon "I received a visit (says the Doctor) at Potsdam, from one of those who had the honour of being admitted to his majesty's table, and who told me very bad news. Frederic, at dinner, had paid little attention to those rules respecting his diet, of which he had boasted so much in the morning. He had first eaten a large quantity of soup, composed of strong and extremely hot ingredients; and he had added to it, as usual, a large spoonful of ginger, nutmeg, and other spices. After his soup he had eaten heartily of bouilli à la Russe, that is to say, dressed with a pint of spirits: and after this, an Italian dish, composed of the flour of Turkey corn and Parmesan cheese. To this is added the juice of garlic it is then fried in butter, until a crust is formed upon it as thick as one's finger; and it is then seasoned with the strongest spices. This dish, invented first by Lord Marshal, and afterwards improved by the king himself, is called Polenta. In short, while boasting of the wonderful appetite which the dandelion had given him, his majesty ended his repast by eating a whole plateful of eel-pye, which was so hot, that his companion at table told me and my wife, that it looked as if it had been baked in hell. : "The effect of the king's wonderful ap petite began to appear even at dinner. The good humour and cheerfulness of the morning had vanished; his majesty fell into a slumber, and convulsive motions again appeared on his countenance. When he awoke, he had some retchings; and the company left table an hour sooner than usual. I had no reason to doubt, that Frederic had already cursed Zimmermann and his dandelion a hundred times. The storm, however, was much more dreadful than I expected. At three I set forward to wait upon his majesty, as I had been ordered, very much discouraged, with some degree of peevishness, and I must freely confess, with a great deal of reluc tance. "His looks were, indeed, terrible. In the large hollows of his cheeks, and on his lips, which were usually very beautiful and agreeable, I perceived marks of the deepest and most profound sadness. The first words which he spoke made me tremble. In writing this work, I hesitated a long time whether I should not suppress them, out of regard for those who sacrifice every thing to external appearance, and who affect to shew greatness of soul even in their meanest actions: but having reflected, that the greatest men, those even placed upon a throne, and those who are in a situation calculated to fix the attention of the public, have, like us poor miniatures of men, moments of peevishness and melancholy, which they express in the same manner, I concluded, that I ought not to conceal, that the greatest character of the eighteenth century, Frederic the Great, at three o'clock after dinner, on the 30th of June 1786, said to me, I am now only an old carcase, fit to be thrown to the dogs. with some emotion, Your majesty surveys "On hearing this expression, I replied, only the worst side of the affair: you for which you have often had, and even enget those lucid and favourable intervals joyed this morning: you forget what you are, and what you have done, through the whole course of your life, for your kingdom, and for those who live under your government: these critical and melancholy mowill soon recover your former strength and ments will pass, and then your majesty vivacity of mind. Your lower belly, Sire, is at present full and distended; to-mor row, when you have had a couple of stools, your wonted gaiety will return.' During the whole time I conversed with him, his majesty looked eagerly at perhaps, never formed for any royal head: me, as usual, and with eyes such as were, but whilst I was concluding my discourse he moved aside his face. to speak to him in a tender but firm tone As I continued of voice, he turned his eyes insensibly towards me, and at length fixed them upon me with an expression of contentment, and even of friendship. This quarter of an hour, the commencement of which was very terrible, ended by being one of the happiest of my whole life." pp. 48-52. As may be supposed, Zimmermann's prescriptions did the King no material service, even when he followed them. He was sometimes pettish to the Doctor, and when he was in these moods he dismissed him with the formality of "Adieu, Mr Physician;" but, on the whole, he treated him very handsomely, and he was commonly his " dear Mr Zimmermann." At last he dismissed him altogether, with a present of a thousand crowns, having given him the same sum when he first began his attendance. His last words to him were, " Adieu, my good, my dear Mr Zimmermann; do not forget the old man whom you have seen here." He lived but thirty-eight days longer. The following passage gives us the Doctor's opinion of his great patient, and shows him both in his good and bad lights. "What I have said respecting my conversations with Frederic, leaves nothing else for me to do, than to relate some inte resting particulars of his character. "The stomach, the belly, and the imagination, which, for what reason God only knows, depends so much on the state of the two former, had inore influence over this great man than one might believe. Bad digestion rendered him extremely dejected; but when that was over, his wonted vivacity immediately returned. The reader must have undoubtedly remarked how he recovered courage on the smallest change for the better. His invincible incredulity in regard to medicine made him cry out, a miracle! when a remedy produced the least good effect; and when a physician foretold him the most trifling circumstance, he considered him as a prophet. "He was often in bad humour during the course of his disorder; yet this bad humour never, in my presence, broke out violently except once, on the 24th of June, when I proposed to have a consultation with Mr Selle. "Frederic William I. who also died dropsical, was often during his malady in very bad humour; but he expressed himself in a manner quite different from that of his great son, and sometimes in a manner altogether pious and Christianlike. "A certain naiveté, not known at present, and of which no idea can be formed, prevailed in Germany till the middle of this century, and especially in the beginning of it. The reader will, perhaps, hardly believe that the spouse of Frederic I. King of Prussia wrote to the spouse of George I. at Hanover "Leibnitz passed the evening with me yesterday, in order to entertain me with his infiniment petits. Alas! my dear, who can be better acquainted with them than you or I?' "Frederic William I. possessed this naiveté, hut it was altogether German. I do not know whether his illness had begun when he drove the citizens of Berlin from the public walk, and sent them to Spandau, merely because they were fond of walking; when he reduced the pension of a privy councillor from a thousand to four hundred crowns, because, passing one evening before his house, he had seen several lights in it, and because he learned that this councillor had company to sup with him; and, lastly, when he spat one day in a lady's bosom, because he found it too openly displayed. But when he was really ill of the dropsy, he made his valet de chambre read the evening prayer every night to him when he went to bed. At the end of the prayer there was a benediction. One evening the valet de chambre read, May God bless your majesty; thinking that he ought to read so. from a kind of politeness. That is not in the book,' cried the king, throwing the first thing at him which he could lay his hand upon; 'read again.' The valet de chambre, not knowing in what he could have made a mistake, read again, May God bless your majesty. It is not so, you scoundrel,' cried his majesty once more, throwing his nightcap at him. The poor valet, half dead with fear, read, for the third time, May God bless your majesty. His majesty then fell into a dreadful passion; and cried out, May God bless you! you scoundrel-who does not know that, in heaven, I shall be a scoundrel like yourself?' "Frederic the Great, convinced also of his weakness, allowed that mankind are dependent beings; but not with the Germanic naiveté of his father, nor in so comico-Christian a manner. He felt sensibly, and with an emotion of sadness, what we all are. This hero and conqueror told me, so far back as the year 1771, Alas! I cannot overcome every obstacle.' The same Frederic, the greatest man of the eighteenth century, said to me, in the last summer of his life, I always was a poor mortal.' He who, a little before the gloomy period when he descended among the heroes of antiquity, still ruled his empire with a vigour of mind truly regal, said to me, on the 30th of June 1786, I am now only an old carcase, fit to be thrown to the dogs.' According to his philosophy, Frederic the Great believed that he owed his existence to chance. He had a just sense, |