ra, to the memory of the Countess of Abingdon," each written with the whole strength of his genius, will admirably exemplify this curious and whimsical fact.

We are compelled to pass over many other pieces of considerable merit. From among the hymns we select the following specimen of Henry's powers in this neglected walk of poesy, through which bards of his dig nity seldom condescend to stray: though themes like these employ the harps and tongues of angels, and the voice of God has been heard on earth, joining in the melody of a hymn.*

"THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. When marshall'd on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky; One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem; But one alone the Savior speaks,

It is the Star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud, the night was

dark, The ocean yawn'd, and rudely blow'd The wind that toss'd my founder. ing bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze, Death struck, I ceas'd the tide to stem;

When suddenly a star arose,

It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm, and danger's thrall,

It led me to the port of peace.

Now safely moor'd my peril's o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
For ever and for evermore,
The Star! The Star of Bethlehem!'
Vol. II, 124.

Matt. xxvi, 30.

In the fragments afore mentioned, written on the back of his mathematical exercises, we find some of the most precious relics of his muse. The following lines, though the second is lame, and the cold critic might perhaps find fifty faults in them, are wonderfully grand. There is a veil of obscurity upon them, like that which hides the secrets of the eternal world.

"Once more, and yet once more, I give unto my harp a dark-woven lay; I heard the water's roar,

I heard the flood of ages pass away. O thou, stern spirit, who dost dwell In thine eternal cell,

Noting, grey chronicler! the silent

years;

I saw thee rise, I saw the scroll

complete,
Thou spakest, and at thy feet,
The universe gave way.'
Vol. II, p. 144.

Had Henry left no other specimen of his powers, this fragment alone would have stamped him in our estimation a poet of the highest order. It was well that he left it a fragment; another line might have let down the thought from the third heaven of imagination in which it was conceived, and into which the mind of the reader is rapt in contemplating it.

These fragments are succeeded by a long, desultory, and unfinished poem on "Time," of very irregular merit, some passages almost rivalling the foregoing quotation in sublimity, others being very rugged and scarcely intelligible.

The crown and close of his poetical works here, is a solitary book of "The Christiad, a Divine Poem," on the death of Christ.

sermon we extract a few particulars.*

Mr. Atkinson officiated in the parish church of Leeds nearly fifty years. The congregation which statedly attended his ministry was one of the largest in the kingdom, and is supposed to have consisted of several thousand persons. Though his income was extremely limited, yet he brought up a numerous offspring in a manner the most creditable to himself, and the most beneficial to them.

The doctrines which Mr. Atkinson taught were uniformly those of our church-that man is a fallen and corrupt creature, 'far gone from his original righteousness;'....that we must be indebted for our justification entirely to the mercy of God, "through the redemption which is in Jesus Christ;'....and that the renewal of the heart in righteousness and true holiness is absolutely necessary, in order to our being made 'meet for the inheritance of the saints in light.' Nor did he consider these doctrines as curious questions, or abstract points of speculation, but as motives to practice, as the powerful means of sanctifying the heart, and raising the affections to heav.

en.

He, therefore, often entered into the detail of moral precept, and instructed his flock in all those relative duties which were required of them.

The example of Mr. Atkinson supported and enforced the doctrines which he taught. He was distinguished by fortitude and fidelity in his religious course. • Some Memoirs of the deceased,

with a volume of his Sermons, will

shortly be published for the benefit of his family.

Inearly life he rejected offers of preferment which were made to him, on condition of his laying aside his obnoxious religion. To the close of his days he boldly and faithfully set forth the whole counsel of God, never speaking smooth things to please men; never sparing a sin because it was fashionable; never composing his sermons so as to please the higher ranks, while he left the poor to perish for lack of knowledge. His language was plain, but fervent; his rebukes earnest; and many who heard him were led to renounce their sins, and turn to God. His private life was marked with the same integrity which distinguished his public ministry.

Mr. Atkinson took incredible pains in visiting the poor and sick of his flock, sometimes employing five or six hours of the day in this arduous duty. He made a rule to spend a considerable time with each individual, that he might speak fully and clearly the words of salvation. He instructed the ignorant, supported the weak, comforted the feeble-minded, and directed the dying penitent to the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.' He taught his flock not only publicly, but from house to house; nor was his zeal fluctuating or evanescent: never did it shine brighter than in the evening of his days. Nor did his zeal spend itself on the cir cumstantials of religion, or in promoting some favorite sentiment; his object was to uphold the interests of pure religion and genuine goodness. The King had not a more loyal subject, nor the Church of England a more zealous friend. The law of kind

ness dwelt on his tongue, and was inscribed on his heart. He was a living witness that religion has no tendency to spread a gloom through a house. Has he a child that will not 'rise up and call him blessed?' Has he a friend that will not long remember those words of kindness, and those looks of affection, which were the genuine indications of a mind warmed with benignity and love? It was his affection which won the hearts of so many of his congregation. It was this which caused him to be interred amidst the sighs, and groans, and tears of his numerous people. It was this which softened the severity of reproof, and convinced his hearers that the feelings of the preacher were in unison with those of the Apostle, when he said to the Jews, Brethren, my heart's desire and prayer to God for Israel is, that they may be, saved.'

His humility displayed itself conspicuously in his last illness: He was brought to the grave by a protracted and painful disease; but amidst his severest sufferings he was perfectly resigned to the will of God. As his outward man perished his inward man was renewed. He was full of expressions of gratitude to God for his mercies. He appeared to keep his eye steadily fixed on his Redeemer, and to have maintained an unshaken confidence in the promises of God. As he awoke out of sleep on a certain morning he was heard to

say, 'I am waiting for thy salvation, O Lord. I long to be dissolved and to be with Christ.' His faith was tempered with the deepest humility. He acknowledged and bewailed the sinfulness of his nature, and humbled himself in the dust before the God of heaven. He often said God be merciful to me a sinner! I have no hope but in Jesus Christ. I feel it is an awful thing to die, yet I know whom I have believed, and I shall not be forsaken.' This sense of his unworthiness made him value the Savior of sinners. Whilst life and strength remained, he ceased not to exhort, comfort, and edify his children and family. His last lingering words dwelt on the delightful theme which interested his heart. A short time before his death he said to his family, I have a thousand things to say to you; and he then made several efforts to speak, but the powers of utterance failed. He again revived, and poured out his soul in, fervent prayer, imploring the blessing of God upon them all: and in a few hours expired.

Such was the death of this venerable minister of Christ. His soul has taken its flight from these abodes of sin and sorrow. His labors are done, his sufferings are ended. His work is finished. He has entered into rest, and, through the merits of his Redeemer, he has obtained that crown of righteousness which fadeth not away.