Lord Byron, with his great powers of intellect and influence, taking his stand, in the British senate, as the firm yet temperate supporter of his country's rights and liberties, as the consistent patron of a liberal and enlightened policy, and as the active promoter of national improvement, in every wise, pious, and laudable undertaking! Whether this addition of the civic crown might not have shaded, in some degree, his poetic laurel, I cannot presume to say. But, if he had been somewhat less celebrated as a poet, he would have had infinitely more to recommend him as a man; and, if he had composed comparatively but little, yet that little would have handed down his name to posterity with far more enviable honours than it now inherits. False conceptions of dignity and glory were the rock upon which Lord Byron split, as thousands have perished in the same way before him. Dignity and glory he made to consist, partly perhaps in personal vigour and accomplishments, but chiefly in intellectual power. This, whether with or without the recommendation of moral and religious principle, seems to have been equally the object of his boast and admiration. He censured and almost despised Napoleon Bonaparte, for condescending to survive the effects of his restless and insatiable ambition. "He ought to have gone off the stage like a hero," was the poet's observation concerning him. He remarked, that Dr. Johnson "died like a coward," because he was afraid of departing in an unprepared state; and that Hume "went off like a brave man," because he danced and sported upon the edge of the tomb, and dared to be jocular to adopt the words of our great moralist-" upon one of the few things that make wise men serious." Through the same fatal prejudice, he denied that Voltaire's end was clouded with those terrors which the Abbé Barruel has so fearfully described. We are told, that, like Alfieri, Lord Byron was "fier, indomptable, melancholique;" that he was too proud to justify himself, when right; or, if accused, to own himself wrong." Such are the notions of courage and dignity which the unbeliever boldly professes, and which the nominal Christian, if he be less forward to own them, still too much encourages and entertains. I need not say how totally they are at variance with the word of God. Indeed they are at variance with the simplest dictates of reason and common understanding. There is a line of Racine's Athalie," which ought to be prominently affixed in the study of every bold literary sceptic: 66 "Je crains Dieu, cher Abner, et n'ai point d'autre crainte." This is a better, because a more religious, description of true courage than the famous passage in Shakespeare, to a like effect: "I dare do all that may become a man: Who dares do more is none." No mind, under the influence of Christian feeling, would think, for a moment, of passing judgment on Lord Byron's state, during the last hours of his mortal existence. Still, however, we may be justified in asking, with deep concern, whether there be not some reason to apprehend that his ruling passion was "strong in death." As the account given by his servant cannot well be disproved, and remains uncontradicted, I suppose we may consider it substantially correct. He represents his master as having said, during his fatal illness, "I am not afraid of death; I am more fit to die than many people imagine." Now, if this speech proceeded from a mere preparation of nerve and animal spirits, in what light can it be viewed but as a last effort of that false shame, and those mistaken ideas of dignity, by which his general character was distinguished? What does it prove, but that, like the dying gladiator, he wished to fall gracefully? If, on the other hand, it was meant to express, in any degree, a preparation of soul for his departure the only preparation worth speaking of-then indeed we can but hope that he had some better ground of confidence than a retrospect of his life and writings was calculated to inspire. It is a question often agitated, and of considerable importance, under what limitations, or whether under any, the desire of human applause and admiration can be a legitimate principle of action, according to the morality of the Gospel. Without however attempting, in the present paper, to determine this question in the abstract, it is very certain that the desire of literary reputation for to that I now confine myself becomes clearly unlawful, corrupt, and mischievous, when it prevails uncombined with Christian piety and principle. In this case, it addresses itself solely, either to the taste and opinions of the great mass of mankind, or to those of some particular assembly of critics who may be termed dispensers of the literary honours of their own day. Now, I hardly need say, that the opinions of such critics are not always sound and scriptural. They are, on the contrary, too often at variance with the dictates of true religion, and, even without being positively immoral or profane, may give a dangerous encouragement to what is erroneous in principle and incorrect in practice. În a word, their standard of morals too often falls short of the standard of the Gospel. And, with regard to the good opinion of the public at large, it is certain that no writer can surrender himself to the pursuit of this object, without at the same time conceding what a true Christian must ever hold most dear and most valuable. This has been strikingly exemplified in the authors of dramatic compositions, who professedly adapt themselves to the taste of the multitude, and of whom the least exceptionable, are, for the most part, miserably defective, when tried by the test of Scripture. The desire of literary reputation, even if it were proved not to be abstractedly sinful, must at all events be an unlawful motive, when it is not kept in absolute subjection to the principles of Christianity. Not only must those principles generally prompt and influence all our actings; but they should also control and govern them. They should operate so as effectually to restrain us from any irregularities and excesses which would be inconsistent with the character of a true disciple of Christ. Addison somewhere alludes to offences of this nature, as the peculiar temptations of men of wit and genius; and, while he enforces the duty of overcoming such temptations, he seems to allow some merit to the sacrifice. But Addison's views of Christian doctrine and practice were, it is to be feared, not sufficiently correct and elevated. The true Christian will hardly deem the sacrifice of a loose or profane jest to be any extraordinary evidence of virtue; though he will regard the practice of such liberties as a sure proof of the want of a steady principle of religion. A desire of literary reputation is a principle which requires to be suspected and watched over with more than ordinary care and caution. There is no instance in which the precept of the wise man is more necessary to be placed con. stantly before our view,-keep thy heart with all diligence; and there is no instance in which the danger of overstepping the limit of allowable indulgence is greater or more apparent. We are vain creatures at the best; and whatever may tend to nourish our vanity, should be avoided and repressed. In opposing the temptations of undue self-complacency and self-applause, the man of wit, genius, or ability, has to encounter the natural frailty of his own heart, fostered by the warm praises of friends, the approbation of critics, and the flatteries of the Tothe Editorofthe Christian Observer. IN taking up Boswell's Life of Johnson, I am struck with a passage in the additional part at the beginning (second edition), in which the author has volunteered, in opposition to the dictum of his great master, his " magnus Apollo," on other occasions, his own private opinion, on a subject which at that time was one of eager and general discussion, the abolition of the slave trade. It may seem somewhat unkind and ungenerous to bring forward a writer's opinion, after a lapse of years, during which so complete a revolution in sentiment has taken place among his countrymen with regard to this great question. But there is so amusing an ambitiousness in the passage, such an unfortunate assumption of impregnable superiority, such a provoking "longing after immortality," that I am persuaded the author, so far from feeling himself aggrieved, would have rejoiced in the prospect, could he have foreseen that it had a chance of being embalmed in your pages. Should you be inclined to confer this honour upon it, it may serve for a specimen of the short-sightedness of man, and the unseemliness of overweening confidence in reference to questions which admit of doubt, and on which posterity is to decide. How little could Mr. Boswell imagine, that the abolition which he treats as a fanciful and wild, an inhuman and unchristian, chimera, would, at no great distance of time, not only attain the repose and dignity of a settled historical fact, but even cease to be discussed as a speculative question, as a point of history, affording sufficient play for argumentative reasoning on both sides-ut declamatio fiat! How little could he imagine-happily for his sensitive mind he was saved from the contemplation of so widely spread a calamity--that not only would the sounds of opposition die away in England, but the general voice of Europe, so far as the principle is concerned, would join in confirming our decision, and pronouncing the condemnation of their own practice. Nay, the day may arrive, when they will go further than this, when they will be ashamed of their inconsistency, and by the universal abandonment of this philanthropic traffic," the gates of mercy," in spite of Mr. Boswell's prophetic deprecation, will be finally "shut" on the unpitied and deserted African! The passage is as follows:- : "I record Dr. Johnson's argument fairly upon this particular case; where, perhaps, he was in the right. But I beg leave to enter my most solemn protest against his general doctrine with respect to the slave trade. For I will resolutely say, that his unfavourable notion of it was owing to prejudice, and imperfect or false information. The wild and dangerous attempt which has for some time been persisted in, to obtain an Act of our Legislature to abolish so very important and necessary a branch of commercial interest, must have been crushed at once, had not the insignificance of the zealots who vainly took the lead in it made the vast body of planters, merchants, and others, whose immense properties are involved in that trade, reasonably enough suppose that there could be no danger. The encouragement which the attempt has received excites my wonder and indignation; and though some men of superior abilities have supported it, whether from a love of temporary popularity when prosperous, or a love of general mischief when desperate, my opinion is unshaken. To abolish a status which in all ages God has sanctioned, and man has continued, would not only be robbery to an innumerable class of our fellow-subjects, but it would be extreme cruelty to the African savages; a portion of whom it saves from massacre, or introduces into a much happier state of life; especially now when their passage to the West Indies, and their treatment there, is humanely regulated. To abolish that trade would be, 'To shut the gates of mercy on mankind.'” But it is not merely as a curiosity, that I think this passage worthy of a few moments' attention in the present day. A great question yet remains to be decided, on which hang the destinies of nearly a million of our fellow-creatures : shall the descendants of the victims of a trade, which has been determined to be iniquitous and proscribed as piratical, be suffered to pine under its inherited operation? Can we be said to have abolished it, when to these poor creatures its terrible force is the same, reaching through the course of time, as if they had been but yesterday torn under its gripe, from their native land and their natural liberty? The unbiassed, untutored answer of reason to this collateral question, is as plain and as short as it was to the original one, concerning the trade. Abolition was the theorem, emancipation is only the corollary: if the former has been proved, the latter follows of course. I am not now speaking of the time and the mode, but of the duty and necessity, of emancipation, as a national measure. If the public mind be once strongly impressed with the obligation, the means of accomplishing the object will not be wanting. Now against this assertion of the duty, do we not find a host of enemies arrayed? Are they not the same men, heirs at least of the same interests and prejudices, with those who fought the battle against the abolition? Do we not see the same weapons in their hands, and the same manner of wielding them— the same undoubting confidence in their demeanour the same flash of argument-the same shower of opprobious epithets on the wise and good of the earth-the same impatience of an appeal to the common feelings of humanity-the same deafness to the solemn and repeated protest of Religion-the same unblushing attempt to wrest the forbearance of God into a sanction, to convert the times of ignorance, at which he winked," into a precedent for all times, to confound the meaning of words, to put "happiness" for slavery, and "robbery" for reparation-to mislead the mind, to paralize the will, and to harden the heart-which we see So conspicuously displayed by Mr. Boswell in the passage before us? It may serve, therefore, as an encouragement to some to go steadily and fearlessly on towards the attainment of their great object, when they perceive how vain were all these means to oppose the silent march of truth, and the fiat of Divine Providence; and to others who have begun to waver, it may be instrumental in dispelling the delusion, which boldness in asseveration, or ingenuity in making "the worse appear the better reason," may for a moment have succeeded in raising. B. C. Tothe Editorofthe Christian Observer. THE account of the execution of Thomas Coombs, for the murder at Beckenham, as published in the London papers, having been copied by your correspondent Monitor, for the purpose of grounding on it a remonstrance on the impropriety of indiscriminately administering the holy communion to condemned criminals, I think it right, in justice to my own feelings and character, to send you the true statement as given in the Maidstone Gazette, of December 21, 1824, and shall be obliged by your inserting it in your next Number. From this counter statement, your readers, and Monitor among them, will see that implicit dependence ought not invariably to be placed on the rash assertions of public journalists, frequently founded on flying reports, and sometimes perhaps on their own bare conjectures. It will be seen, that Coombs was not conducted into the chapel on the morning of his execution, and that, for reasons about to be specified, the holy communion was not administered to him. Up to the last moment, I thought it my duty to pay the unhappy man the most unremitted attentions; with a sincere wish that it might please God to bless my humble endeavours for his spiritual good, and that he might be moved to make a penitent confession of his guilt; but finding him, after all my efforts, obstinately determined to leave the world in circumstances very unfit for a dying man, I felt that I could not, conscientiously and safely comply with his wish; and on subsequent reflection, though the propriety of my refusal has been variously spoken of among some of the clergy and others in the neighbourhood, I am still of opinion that I evinced no want of candour or charity in withholding the solemn ordinance from such a man, who not only could not give any reason of the hope that was in him," and rejected the only probable means of being enabled to learn it, but who almost invariably received my instructions with sullen indifference, and persisted in the most shocking falsehoods to the last. 66 Our Church, in the Order for the Visitation of the Sick, expressly recommends, nay enjoins, that "the person be moved to make a special confession of his sins if he feel his conscience troubled, with any weighty matter;" and though a clergyman ought not curiously to pry into all the circumstances of a man's life, he will not, if he really feel the weight and responsibility of his sacred office, be satisfied with a superficial confession, a confession in the gross, which has no reference to particular sins; and still less, if the object of his attentions be a hardened criminal, who is convicted of murder, and has spent all his days in the most shameful and flagrant wickedness, and never cherished one serious thought of his Maker, Redeemer, and Sanctifier, till sen tence of death has been actually passed upon him. Monitor will doubtless be glad to find that the importance of his observations had been in a measure anticipated. It may be further satisfactory to add, that the sacrament was also refused to J. T. Ingram, another hardened criminal, who suffered ten days after Coombs ; so that this holy ordinance, though too frequently I fear, is not always administered indiscriminately to pri soners left for execution, without very great respect to their suitable preparation for it. I should have submitted both these cases to the archbishop, for his consideration, but that his Grace's reply could not have arrived at Maidstone in time. I am, sir, Your most obedient servant, Chaplain of the County Prisons, "Execution of T. Coombs. "Yesterday morning Thomas Coombs, convicted of the murder of T. Morgan, was executed on Penden heath. After his condemnation, the wretched man conducted himself with outward decency; but, we are sorry to say, he died without an explicit acknowledgment of his guilt. The Rev. John Winter, chaplain of the gaol, was unremitting in his endeavour to prepare the culprit for the awful change he was so soon to undergo, and the solicitude of the Rev. gentleman was met by the prisoner with respectful atten |