The Sun.
London, England, 1851-12-30 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY. A Novel. By
the Author of " Olive" and " The Ogilvies." 3
Vols. Chapman and Hall.
The promise of her former works has been more
than fulfilled by the authoress of " Olive" and " The
Ogilvies." Free from the imperfections which marred
those productions, " The Head of the Family" is one
of the most charming domestic novels which we have
perused for a considerable time. The characters and
the incidents arc all most natural, and they are de-
scribed in the most natural manner possible. The
unaffected simpl;city of the narration is one of the
great charms of the book, more especially when be-
neath ,that simplicity of style is revealed a power
and vigour of no mean order. The tale relates
the fortunes of the orphan family of an Endinburgh
" Professor," the scene is for the most part in Scot-
land, and the quaint peculiarities of the dialect which
are casually introduced give to the narrative a
natural and genuine air, and moreover possess for
English readers the charm of freshness and originality.
The simple truthfulness of its style and the quaint-
ness of its language obtained for " Margaret
Maitland" a large popularity. In addition to these
attractions " The Head of the Family" contains a
story of enthralling interest, the more enthralling,
perhaps, because the passions it deals with
are so forcibly delineated and the incidents
so naturally developed, that they come home to the
reader's heart like a chapter from its own history.
However different are the temperaments, and how-
ever widely dissimilar the fortunes of men, there are
feelings and sentiments common to all. Few are they
who are not oalled upon some time or other to obey
the motto on the title-page of this novel, " Non ti
lagnar, ma soj'ri etaci ' Like Ninian Grwme, it
becomes us all to "suffer" and "be silent ;" and
nobly does he fulfil that arduous duty. The "head"
of the orphan "family," Ninian Gnome, enacts
a father's part to his young brothers and
sisters, and in the fulfilment of this duty he is
compelled to trample under foot the dearer hopes of
his own heart. Not for him, the head of a family
whom his hard toil can barely sustain, can there be
any thought of wife and children until his hair is grey
with years, and his heart veary with hope deferred.
Knowing this Ninian suffers the young companion of
his sisters, the gentle maiden of his choice, to mingle
with the household group all unconscious of his deep
affection, but his silence is not preserved without a
struggle. The young girl is summoned to England
by her father, and before Ninian's parting
with her occurs one of the most beautiful
ttle scenes in•the book—short and simple though '

be, it is so exquisitely natural and life-like. With a
mingled feeling of hope and fear, Ninian suspects that
it may be possible that his untold love is returned. If
so he feels that silence is no longer a duty. He could
not seek to win the maiden's affection, precious
though it would be to him ;: but if she loves him he
cannot let her suffer in silence—he will tell her all,
and leave her free. "He knew by his own heart,
wherewith be judged hers, that did she love
him, ten, fifteen, or twenty years of patient,
trustful betrothal would be as notbing, so
that he might at last take his wife to
his bosom and thank Heaven for his life's late-won
but most perfect crown." Then follows the little
scene in.which Hope Ansted speaks of her sorrow at
parting with' the games, and her affection for all of
them and for Ninian too—an affection which
had often made her long (she tells him?
to join his sisters in calling him " Brother. '
"' Do so, then,' said Ninian.' His voice was
very low, solemn, and cold. His joys and his fears
were alike gone from him, There was no need for
any struggle now." The character of Ninian
Granie may be seen from these remarks, but it
cannot be fully appreciated without a perusal of
the whole work, in which it is most beautifully
and naturally delineated. Hope Ansted at first ap-
pears unworthy of him, bUt as her nature becomes
developed its charming add truly womanly attrac-
tions become revealed. Another character worthy of
mention, and one evidentlyfrom the same hand which
portrayed the passionate, Katherine Ogilvy, is
Rachel Armstrong, the loving, devoted girl, and the
wronged and revengeful woman. The concluding
portion of her wild and wayward career, when her
anger has given place to anguish, and her intellects
have become disordered, as she looks upon the dead body
of him whom she has loved and hated with a like
intensity, is described witha pathos that is singularly
affecting. All the sorrow and wrongs of years are
obliterated from her mind, ind in fancy she is restored
to the days of her early an happy love :
" ' How soon will my husband wake, do you think,
Jane?' again asked Rachel: 'lt's hard to go without
one kiss—and yet the farm is tech a weary distance.'
' She thinks h4rself nursing
him at ray cottage, as
she used to do. Oh, ,jy poor girll' cried Jane
Sedley. It was a scene more touching than any
mad scene the renowned actress had ever played.
' Speak to her—persuade her to leave him,' whispered
Ninian, as ho drew hack out el sight. The old woman
conquering her tears, obeyed."
It is ,impossible with a few fragmentary extracts to
do justice to a work the-eta:Fm of which can better
be felt than told, and which it is necessary to read in
order to appreciate. Only by becoming familiar, with
the family circle by the fire-side of " The Gowans"
can we justly estimate the genuine home affection
which pervades their life and history, and fully enter
into the so naturally described joys and
griefs which fall to the lot of the chief indi-
viduals of "the fainily,!' not the least at-
tractive of whom is the youngest sister, Tinie,
the playful, mischievous girl, but withal a
true sprightly,ea tender-hearted Woman. Many beautiful
thotitrhts, beautifully vxpr.pcd, we might also cull
from these pages, es where :-Ecaking of a heart as yet
untouched by love, it is aid :—" Thither the one
angetql 111;' hii'l //ever desowled to trouble the wotees
awl depart, but euen in departing to leave behind a
healing power." Or again; when alluding to the
salutary effect which great grief occasionally pro-
duces upon a character, it is said :—" "Whatever sor-
row had swept over her, it hid left no bitterness, no
heartlessness, scarcely even rief. It was probably
that one—the most sanctifyin woe of all—when the
t angel of death, re-ascendin , opens heaven, and
suffers a portion of heaven' slight to fall on those look-
ing sorrowfully upwards, whose faces, like that of
Moses, bear some trace of thif brightness evermore."
But instead of attempting by such quotations to do
imperfect justice to a very delightful and admirable
work, let us rather advise our readers to read it for
themselves. It is a book truly appropriate for
Christmas time, for it breathesithroughout a spirit of
genial kindness and home affection. It appeals to
the best sympathies of our hearts,
and as such it is
certain to be prized wherever ibis appreciated.

JACOB BEIVDIXEN, the JR•W ;
adapted into
English from the Danish (if Goldschmidt. By
Mary Howitt. Colburn.
This work is intended to diffase a more accurate
knowledge of the life and feelings of the Jews. Not-
withstanding prejudice and misapprehension curiosity
must be aroused and interest excited at the announce-
ment of such a production concerning a people that
have ever been remarkable in
and therefore no doubt can be e
countries. The book is writtenby one of themselves,
all ages and in all
4tertained about the
validity of its assertions and the, authenticity of its
descriptions. Several anecdotes and traditions are
related at the commencement, which are striking and
original. The adventures of the hero are astonishing
and remarkable, but improbability does not attach to
them when his peculiar state and proscribed race are
taken into consideration. The epitome of his life
was comprised in the immortal aphorism—" For suf-
fering is the badge of all our tribe." In childhood
without playfellows, in youth shunned and scorned
by the college students, in manbeod disowned and
suspiciously regarded by those who called them-
selves friends, and, finally, his promised bride showed
herself to the world ashamed of her engagement,
betrayed and deceived him. He became a soldier,
joined a Polish friend, and embraced the cause
of his unhappy country, and fought with despe-
rate energy in one of the most lamentable con-
flicts the world ever beheld. The ever Unsuccessful
outcast returned from despair, defeat; and destruction
to the scenes of his early years to die in the prime of
life—his spirit crushed, his holies blighted, and his
heart broken. Nor could even death itself annihilate
the course of persecution, or still the voice of enmity.
The progress of his funeral was interrupted by his
enemies, and by the hands of Christians stones were
flung on his coffin as it was lowered into the grave.
His ill-starred career and m.sled destiny were declared
in the words of his only mourner, a friend of his own
people, as he looked over the hills at the woodland
country where he had beheld the deceased in the
then believed in
joy anon
paoneitmryataionnd
inofetyeornuathl e

the Days of Mary Queen of
Grant, Esq. 3 Vols. Parry
B aOsncTdoltscl.Wo.BEyLLiamoers,

Mr. Grant, the author of " The Romance of War,"
" The Scottish Cavalier," and other works, has, in
again appearing before the public, chosen a most in-
teresting subject, and one which, from its peculiar
and striking nature, is likely to inspire the genius
of an author. The history of the unfortunate Mary
Stewart is too well known to permit an historical
novelist to wander far from the truth, and in this
point Mr. Grant may defy the closest scrutiny.
There is every reason to believe that the Earl of
Bothwell was early in life married to a Norwegian
lady named Anne Throndson, prior to his marriage
with Lady Jane Gordon, from whom he was divorced
in order to be united with Mary Stewart. History
records that the unfortunate Earl, after his downfall,
was justly, but most rigorously, confined by order of
Frederick of Denmark in the Castle of Malmo uptil
his death, for piracy on the Danish seas ; and we see,
from a translation of an order for his imprisonment
now before us, that more than the merest necessaries

of life was within ld from:hirn." The story is well writ-
ten, and the auth )r has evidently taken great pains to
give a full and faithful description of the customs and
dress of the Scots i in the sixteenth century, and also
of the Norwegians at the same period; but we are
inclined to think that if he had dispensed with a few of
the toilets of the Indies and gentlemen, the reader
would not have missed them much, and would per-
haps have enjoyed the book better. The plot is
simple, interesting, and peculiar. Inasmuch that
three young ladies forsake their,lovers, or betrotheds,
for higher born and less virtuous admirers, and on
finding themselves tieceived throw themselves into the
arms of their former lovers and are at once accepted,
as if nothing had happened to diminish their former
affection. One, indeed, to prove her sincerity, is
hanged in the place of her lover, who is so shocked in
consequence that he becomes a wanderer upon the
face of the earth. The character of James Hepburn
Earl of Bothwell, as drawn by Mr. Grant, is just
what the reader would fancy such an accomplished,
unscrupulous, gentlemanly villain to be ; while
Black Hob of Ormiston gives a good representation
of the unbelieving, ruffianly, petty lords who flou-
rished in Scotland after the Reformation. The two
following extracts are a fair sample of the work, the
one describing Bothwell when his career is over, the
other the reunion of Conrad and Anna :
" The sun, as ho sot in the western ocean, shed a
mellow light upon the wide expanse of shore that
stretched upon their lee—on many an impending cliff, on
the dark summits of which waved the old primeval pines
of Scandinavia, and on whose bases the waters of the
west were dashing in foam—on many a wooded wilder-
ness, amid the recesses of which the wolves were prowl-
ing by the Druid stones of Loda, and the long-forgotten
grave of many a gothic chief.
" Buried in reverie, with folded arms and saddened
eyes, Bothwell watched the changing features and wind-
ings of that foreign shore, with all its pathless woods,
volcanic rocks, and dark blue hills, throwing their deepen-
ing shadows on each other, as the burning sun sank in
the distant sea, and the dusky tints of night shed upon
the scenery a gloom in unison with his own dark thoughts
and bitter memories.
.‘ Bitter and sad they were truly; but how unavailing!
"Now separated from the evil influence of Ormiston
and others, he deplored his wickedness and folly with an
intensity that amounted to agony. Had the universe
been his, he would have given it that he might live the
last year of his life over again, with the experience in
his mind of what the guilt, the terrors, the anxieties,
and remorse of that year had been.
" With sorrow, with envy, yes, with agony, he looked
back to the position he had held in the estimation of
others, and of himself; and felt, in the bitterness of his
soul that the eminence could never more be re-soon.
" Never more, never more I It was a terrible re-
flection.
" He thought, too, of the native land he might never
see again; and—
" Of many a tale of love and war
That mingled with the scene;
Of Bothwell's bank that bloom'd so dear,
And Bothwell's bonny Jean."
But he thought of Anna only with anger, for no human
heart could ever contain two loves. Jane Gordon he
remembered with feelings of compunction, when he
mused on her unrepining gentleness and devoted love;
but he thought most of Mary, and, forgetting that he
was himself a captive, laid many a wild and futile scheme
to freo and to avenge her.
"He could not flee from his own thoughts. They
would come again and again, weighing like an incubus
upon his mind, alike in the bright sunshine of noon and
the solemn silence of night; amid the heedless revelry
of the Norwegian officers he longed for solitude, and in
solitude the stings of conscience drove him back to
revelry and wine; and thus the deep and morbid horror
that hoar by hour, and day by day, had everywhere
pursued him, settled down like a cloud of darkness on
his soul.
" Long since satiated with pleasure, sick of ambition,
and wearied of the world, he now found how deep were
the stings of unavailing regret.
" The day, we have said. went down, and night spread
her spangled mantle on the darkened water and the
moonlit sea.
" Brightly in its calm beauty the evening star arose
from the dark heaving line of the northern ocean, and
Bothwell thought of the time when he had last watched
that orb expanding on the night, as it rose above the
ruined spire of St. Mary-in-the-Field.
"At that moment, a cry—that seemed to be wafted
over the surface of the water—made his ears and heart
tingle, as it passed away on the skirt of the hollow wind.
"Bothwell grew ghastly pale, ho covered his ears
with his hands, and rushed away to his cabin in despair."

" Konrad had no intention of remaining in a place
where all was so changed to him; but, ere he turned to
leave it for ever, be paused a moment irresolutely. Since
last ho stood there, all that had passed appeared like a
dream, but a sad and bitter one. His heart melted
within him at the very thought of his own desolation; a
shower of tears would have relieved him, but he had
none to shed, for his eyes felt dry and stony.
" Why should I remain here, where not ono is loft
to care for me now ?' he said with a smile, as if in scorn
of the weakness that made him linger, and, turning
away, was about to retire, when a sound arrested him;
once more the arras rose and fell, and Anna stood be-
fore him. He gazed upon her without the power of
utterance.
" She was alone.

" With a.heightened colour in hor cheek, and a charm-
ing timidity in her eye, she approached, and, touching
his arm, said—

"'Christina told me thou wort here, Konrad; and
wouldst though go without ono greeting—one farewell—
to me?'

" Her accents sank into his inmost soul; he trembled
hvneath her touch, and felt all his resolution melting
fast away.
"' Unkind Konrad!' said she, with ono of her sad but
most winning smiles, 'is this the friendship thou didst
vow to me at Westeray?'
" ' I have learned, Anna, that love can never bo sue-
ecediA by friendship. It runs to the other extreme—
the impulsrs the, human heart cannot pause midn•sy.'
" Thou halt learned to hate me, then?'
" ' Heaven forbid!' replied Konrad, elapsing his hands;
hate thee, Anna? oh no:'

"His eyes were full of the sweetness and ardour of
the days of their first love, and Anna's filled with tears.
" I have long wished,' she faltered in a low and
broken voice, while seating herself on the bench of one
of those deeply-recessed windows near them—' I have
long wished to see thee once more,' she repeated, with-
out raising her timid eyes, 'to implore—not thy par-
don, dear Konrad, for that I have no right to expect—
but—that thou wilt not remember me with bitterness'—
"Konrad muttered something—he knew not what.
" ' I feel, Konrad, that I owe thee much for all I have
made thee suffer; and I have now seen the worth and
faith of thy heart when contrasted with mine own, and
I blush fur my weakness—my wickedness—my folly.
thou mayst deem this unwomanly—indelicate; but in
love we are equal, and why may not one make repara-
tion as the other—l as well as thou? I have lived, I
say, to learn the value of the heart that loved me so
well, and which, in a moment of frenzy—infatuation-
0, dearest Konrad! call it what thou wilt—l forsook for
another—another who betrayed me by a semblance
of religious rites—oh! spare me the rest!' . . .
" Anna,' said Konrad, in a choking voice, as he rose
to retire—but, instead, drew nearer to her; ' though
my eye may be hollow, my cheek pale, and my heart
soured and saddened, its first sentiment for thee hath
never altered. Anna—Anna, God knoweth that it
hath not! For all thou hest made me endure for the
past two years—from my heart—from my soul, I forgive
thee, and I pray that thou mayst be happy. Anna—
dearest Anna—l am going far away from the hills and
woods of Bergen, to juin the Lubeckers, or perhaps the
Knights of Rhodes in their warfare in the distant East,
for I have doomed myself to exile; but I still regard
thee as I did, when we were in yon far isle of Westeray
—as my sister—as my friend. As we first met in this
old castle hall, when thou wert bat a guileless girl and I
a heedless boy, so shall we now part. All is forgotten—
all is forgiven. And now—farewell; may the mother
of God bless thee!'

"He kissed her hand, and his tears fell upon it; he
turned to leave the hall, but a giddiness came over him,
and a film overspread his eyes.
"He still felt the hand of Anna in his: another mo-
ment, and she sank upon his breast. All her love for
him had returned; and all her womanly delicacy, and
overweening pride, had given way before the more ten-
der and generous impulses this sudden reunion with her
early lover had called up within her.
" 06, Konrad!' she whispered, while almost suffo-
cated by her tears, if my heart, though soared and
saddened, is still prized by thee, it is thine, as in the
days of our first love.'
" And, borne away by his passion, the forgiving
Konrad pressed her close and closer to his breast.
And here, sayeth the Magister Absalom, in his quaint
papers, here endeth the most important Hoke in this
our Historie.' "

A CHARGE DELIVERED to the CLERGY
of the DIOCESE of ST. DAVID'S, by
Connop Thirlwall, D.D., Bishop of St. David's,
at his Fourth Visitation, in October, 1851.
Rivingtons, London.
(FROM A CORRESPONDENT.)
The first object to be regarded in criticism is
always the intention of the work under review, and
next the indications of ability or disability manifested
in carrying out that intention. The business of an
episcopal charge is generally to instruct, counsel, and
exhort the diocesan clergy, adapting each several ad-
monition to the varied exigencies of time, place, and
circumstances. These principles, therefore, taken in
connexion with the exordium of Dr. Thir;wall, will
materially assist the formation of a correct judgment
upon the merits of his present production. The
charge begins as follows :
" My Reverend Brethren,—The period which has
elapsed since our last meeting has been marked by oc-
currences of no slight immediate moment to the Church,
and fraught with consequences which are perhaps only
now beginning to unfold themselves ; but to my view
still more important as indications of certain mighty
currents of thought and feeling which, according
to the course they may take, may produce vast
changes both in the outward and the inward con-
dition of the Church, and in her relation to
the State. To stay or control these tendencies may be
beyond the power of any man, or body of men, even
if it were possible for any one to stand wholly aloof from
them, as a mere spectator completely
exempt from their
influence. But it may not the less concern each of us,
both for his inward peace and his practical guidance, to
form a clear notion of their nature
and bearings, and I

consider it as a main part of my duty, on this occasion, to
aid your judgment to the best of my ability, by the
statement of my own views on the principal questions
affecting the Church which have recently occupied
public attention. But before I enter on this larger field,
I feel it necessary to advert to some topics of more im-
mediate local interest, concerning the condition and
prospects of the diocese, which is the sphere of our
common ministerial labours."
The first clause of this' mysterious 'paragraph in-
vites alike clerical hearers and lay readers to exercise
their ingenuity in discovering what the Bishop may
mean by the words " no slight immediate moment;"
but, gladlye, accepting his promise of " practical
guidance •to " clear notions," we acquiesce in his
postponement of theoreticalquestions, and yield our
undivided attention to his Lordship's exposition of
the present condition of his diocese, Dr. Thirlwall
proceeds to congratulate his clergy upon the im-
provement which has recently taken place in the con-
dition of ecclesiastical buildings, and the increase of
church accommodation. Ile alludes to his visits to
"very nearly all the most secluded and least easily
accessible parts of the diocese," visits which he
seems to think, after all their meritorious toils were
but of dubious benefit, In consequence of his clergy's
unprompted In a foot-note to page 7the
Bishop gives the most pleasing piece of information
afforded afforded by this Charge. He says—
" I have consecrated fourteen churches, and expect to
consecrate another within a very few weeks. The num-
ber of churches which have been rebuilt from the foun-
dation, or completely renovated, is between thirty and
forty; and when those which are now in progress are
completed, will, I believe, exceed the latter number."
We are not aware that the parochial statistics and
notes of the Commissioners of Education of 1847
have ever been invalidated, although the prejudiced
opinions of those Commissioners on the social state of
the principality are now justly regarded as
ill-
grounded and fallacious. The following particulars,
quoted from the reports by Sir Thomas Phillips (vide
" Wales," pp. 400-1), are deemed to have been un-
questionable facts, and it is but too probable that such
they still remain. They belong to certain districts
in the diocese of St. David's, and county of Pem
broke :

" DEWISLAND HUNDRED.
" Out of twenty-one parishes, containing an aggre-
gate population of 10,840, no less than twelve parishes,
containing a population of 2,392, are utterly unprovided
with day-schools; thirteen parishes, containing a popu-
lation of 3,401, are without a resident clergyman; and
eleven parishes, containing a population of 2,462,
are without either a day-school or a resident clergy-
man."

" KEMESS HUNDRED.
" Of its twenty-six parishes, containing a population
of 15,559, no less than thirteen parishes, containing a
population of 3,460, are without a day-school; and
fourteen parishes, containing a population of 3,773, are
without a resident clergyman; and twelve parishes, con-
taining a population of 2,386, are without either a day-
school or a resident clergyman."
If the Bishop of St. David's had taken these cases,
and with them the long additional array furnished by
the pages of the same reports, and going
through
them one by one had severally added a list of the pal-
liatives or remedies applied during the last four years,
by a patient and careful hand to counteract and abo-
lish abuses so flagrant, the simple rectitude of such a
proceeding must have won universal respect,
while an opposite course of conduct inevitably
involves him in the ignominy of the guilty.
From the days of Sir Robert Walpole St. David's bas
been known as a most unhappy diocese. In fact,
reading the Words chancellor for vizier, bishop for
sultan, and mired churches for ruined villages, the
fable of " The Language of Birds" might not inappo-
sitely have been applied for many years past to the
forlorn diocese of St. David's, for long generations of
owls have probably dowered their progeny with its
dilapidated school-rooms, ;forsaken parish churches,
and mouldering chapels of ease. At p. 7 the Bishop
darkly alludes to " statements which have of late been
industriously circulated;" and at pp. 11-12, abruptly
striking at an unmentioned censor, he says—
" If the state of the diocese with regard to its churches
and schools had been brought before the public for any
purpose like that with which an appeal has lately been
made, with very happy success, in behalf of a neighbour-
ing diocese, I should certainly not have been tempted to
weaken the force of such a representation, even if it had
been somewhat overcharged, by exhibiting the brighter
side of the subject; and I am now more anxious that
our wants should be known, than that the efforts we
have made to supply them should be duly appreciated.
But the statements to which I have been adverting are
manifestly calculated for ends widely different from that
of exciting sympathy in our favour."
" Sympathy is our favour r Could a' Walpole, a
Reeve, a Radcliffe, and a Scott, exercising their united
powers of romantic fiction, contrive to invest with
attractive interest parish priests neglecting their
duty, disgracing their calling, and desecrating their
churches, while rural deans, archdeacons, and bishops
stand by to tolerate or connive at such flagitious
abuses ? Let statements of such facts be made in
what spirit they may, such facts must in themselves
arouse our indignation alike against the persons who
commit and the persons who allow of their commis-
sion, while awakening our regret and all our noblest,
tenderest sympathies fur the alienated people and for
the sacred cause of Christian truth. Still alluding to
the same statements, the Bishop adds—
" They not only contain many gross misrepresenta-
tions in matters of detail, but, while they suppress
all notice of what has been done, they studiously keep
out of sight the peculiar circumstances of the CM', which
aro the main causes of our difficulties and of our weak-
ness, and thus can only tend to mislead."
A refereace for this sentence to the appendix will sur-
prise the reader by the few and comparatively slight
exceptions taken against the grievous " matters of
detail" mentioned in the published speech of Sir
Benjamin Hall, delivered in the Howe of Coinnion..,
.July I, 1..1,7,1. The Bishop's own nceount of the con-
dition of his diocese is, however, when thorougly con-
sidered, by far the most melancholy of any yet put
forth. It pewerfully, though most unintentionally,
recalls, by a narration of visible and tangible effects,
the sad memory of past and passing generations,
through which the prosperity of the Welsh Church
has been recklessly sacrificed to a political whim,
alike baseless in wisdom and ruinous in practice.
Still alluding to Sir B. Hall's speech, the Bishop says
(pp. 12, 13, 14)—
Similarly partial and invidious is the notice which
has been taken of the large proportion of churches in the
diocese in which service is celebrated only once on the
Lord's•day. This fact can only be viewed in its true
light when placed by the side of other parts of the sta-
tistics of the diocese—as the low average value of the
livings, the scarcity of parsonage-houses, and the number
of clergymen who have the charge of more than one
churcb. Inquiries which I have recently made fur the
purpose of ascertaining the present state of the case
with regard to these points have furnished the following
remarkable results, in which I have no reason to sus-
pect the possibility of any material error:—l find, that
out of 411 benefices—the whole number contained in
this diocese-156 aro under the yearly value of 1001.,
265 under 1501., 333 under 2001. Of the remainder, 53
are under 3001., 14 under 400 L, 8 under 5001., 2 exceed
the value of 6001., and there is 1 above 8001. With re-
gard to parsonage-houses, it appears that there are at
present only 161 habitable residences, while the e ire of
339 churches is divided among no more than 162 clergy-
men. These facts throw a strong light on one another,
and on the complaints which I hare heard ever since I i
have been connected with the diocese—that the supply
of clergymen is miserably inadequate to the necessities
of the Church—a complaint which has been occasionally
urged upon me as a ground for relaxing my general
rules as to the admission of candidates for holy orders.
Independently, however, of the impediments arising
from these most widely operative causes, to prevent the
intention of tho Church from being more fully carried out
as to this part of her ordinances, there are many local
circumstances, not capable of being reduced into a statis-
tical form, which raise peculiar difficulties in dealing
with the subject, and increase the reluctance and mis-
giving with which I should in any case enforce the in-
troduction of a second Sunday service, against the will
and judgment of the minister. I trust, nevertheless,
that I may still be allowed to witness a growing im-
provement on this head also; though I am aware that it
must always be narrowly limited, so long as the impe-
diments which I have pointed to remain; and that these
are such as we cannot hope to see very speedily abated.
I shall detain you but a little longer with a few remarks
on one or two kindred topics before I pass to others of
more general interest. But I must say a few words on
the question of archidiaconal visitations in this diocese,
which has of late been brought so prominently forward.
I am, however, happily relieved from the necessity of
touching on that part of the subject which personally
affects myself, and of vindicating myself from the
eharge of having prevented or forbidden my archdea-
cons, or any of them, from holding their visitations,
because the state of the case in that respect is now so
fully known, and so generally understood, as to render
any further explanation of it superfluous, But I think
it right to state my view of the present position of the
archdeacons, with regard to the different branches of
their duties."
Proceeding to propound his
views
state of the law, and to exonerate of theif uncertain
from all
hinm
responsibility as to the archdeacons visiting or not
visiting their proper districts, his Lordship leaves the
unfortunate functionaries at their own risk and peril,
to dare or not to dare, as courage may prompt or
timidity restrain, " the serious inconveniences" and
divers which the Bishop opines
Pains and,' penalties .
may possibly attend the exercise of their "defective"
and " precarious" authority. After comparing the
offices of archdeacon and rural dean, with a faint in-
dication of preference for the latter, the Bishop pro-
ceeds to repel, as an insult, the charitable supposition
that when things amiss were observed by the ordi-
nary, and reported to the diocesan, their immediate
remedy must follow. He says (p. 17)—
" On the other hand, I must observe, that the impor-
tance of both is absurdly, as well as mischievously, ex-
aggerated, when language is used which implies that
nothing more is needed for the correction of whatever
may be found amiss in the matters which lie within their
province, than that it should be brought under the cog-
nizance of the ordinary. Wherever else this may bo tho
case, it is certainly far otherwise in this diocese. No
power with which the law has invested either arch.
deacon or bishop can provide a remedy for the imps

veritAment of the Church, the poverty of tho people, t ho
apathy of her friends, the hostility of her adversaries.
be
Still less can it supply the p lace of faithfulness and zeal,
should they unharpily Wanting, in the parochial
minister, on whose spontaneous energy, though it cannot
itself overcome all difficulties, more undoubted]Y depends
than on any other human instrument or agency what-
soever."
At p. 18 the Bishop alludes to a projected pecuniary
arrangement, made with an evident wish to benefit
the diocese, but in that conditional mood which all
the thoughts of Dr. Thirl wall so naturally assume as
their appropriate form of expression ; he proposes, if
there should happen to be a surplus of episcopal in-
come at " the next septennial cycle" of his occupation
of the see, to devote that surplus to the augmentation
of certain poor livings. This prospective benefit
being of course subject to the further contingency of
Bishop Thirlwall's translation or death. In pp. 19-
211., the present state and prospects of the Church of
England, with the probable judgment of psterity
upon them, are surveyed with characteristic fluctua-
tions of vision. Hitherto the frequent use of nega-
tive propositions, and the introduction of qualifying
phrases, such as "I do not mean that it is not," be-
fore, behind, and in the midst of every statement, have
tended much to perplex the reader's perceptions ; but
entering now upon more abstruse matter, it must be-
hove him to exert his keenest powers. Dr. Thin--
wall has evidently given much time and thought to
the consideration of the various ecclesiastical questions
of the day ; and it is impossible duly to estimate his
literary labours without patiently following his steps
through the labyrinthian depths of polemic disquisi-
tion. Versed in the subtile niceities of disputation,
the erudite Bishop proceeds, with unwonted alacrity
and zest, to examine the ecclesiastical question of
" Gorham 2,- the Bishop of Exeter." Emu-
endealating the toils of Sisyphus, he industriously
vours ifs
of
" the amount of
the agreement and the variance exhibited"
by the parties and their advocates. He alleges that
none a them distinctly knew " that ambiguity which
raised the difficulty,' nor understood the state of
the question which they
solitary repercussion the rgued. Long bandying in
a opinions of these hostile the-
ologians, he pauses to investigate the probability and
improbability of Calirvi's adopting a certain disputed
dogma; and after devoting no less than 30 pages of his charge to such academic exercises, leaves. the sub-
ject under the very same circumstances which his
Lordship describes the Court of Appeal to have done :
1. e., "Involved in a degree of obscurity and per-
plexity through which they could not find their way
to a clear determination !" Alas ! for the unlucky
clergy of his diocese who bad perhaps
Presumptu-
ously expected to be able to understands when set
before them in print, the series of propositions which
had orally baffled their keen intelligence; for now,
hopelessly posed, they reproachfully confess with Dr.
Blackmore :
" We no solution of our question find,
Your words bewilder, not direct the mind.'.

Henceforth let each remember the varied reading of
a great philosopher's injunction : "If a man's wit be
not apt to distinguish or find differences, let him
study 'Dr. Thirlwall.' " Like the departed heroes
of Ossian, Bishop Thirlwall is a Son of the Mist, and
always travels in his cloud. Obscurity invests him,
his pages are emphatically shades, where the nameless
and undefined forms of certain personages glance in
and out, now in disconsolate soliloquy, then in disso-
nant icolloquy, ever with restless steps and feeble
movement, treading uncertainly backwards
and forwards through the intricate mazes of error.
" Words," says Locke, "are made to declare some-
thing ; where they are by those who pretend to in-
struct, otherwise used, they conceal indeed something,
but that which they conceal is nothing but the igno-
rance, error, or sophistry of the talker, for there is in
truth nothing else under them." When first begin-
ning to make out a foreign book, the learner pauses
at ,intervals to translate the difficult idioms into
words of plain sense in his native tongue. Such
must likewise be the coarse of the diligent
student in perusing the writings of Bishop Thirlwall.
That " extempore' readiness of wit" which the ju-
dicious Hooker deprecated in all exponents of his
terse paragraphs, ;may more profitably perhaps be
summoned now to assist the weary faculties of labo-
rious students with some bright and happy conjec-
tures as to the probable ultimate meaning of the
various involutions, convolutions, and revolutions of
Bishop Thirl wall's disquisitions. His Lordship next
discusses at some length the questions of Church
Synods, Papal Aggression, and Liturgical Innova-
tions, leaving upon these, as upon all :other subjects,
the ends of his arguments hanging like the
floating filaments of gossamer thrown short
of their mark by the weaving spider.
The Bishop throughout intermixes intimations with
dissertations : opinions and reasons on which those
opinions are poised. It is well known that the effect
of literary compositions both in prose and verse is
often greatly enhanced when a piece happens fortu-
nately to be read under a similar combination of cir-
cumstances to that in which it originated. The dis-
courses of Dr. Thirlwall ever breathe the most tedious
extension of leisure, therefore a very deliberate, con-
siderate, and oft repeated peruiall becomes absolutely
indispensable to their perfect comprehension and en-
joyment—that enjoyment consisting in the spectacle
of ingenuity afforded by incessant counterbalancings
that perfect comprehension being only an assured con-
viction, that

" True no meaning puzzles more than wit."
That the Bishop by his present charge has neither
aided the judgment of his clergy, nor kindled their
pious zeal, is but too obvious, from the irresolute un-
certainties and frigid indifference with which the
whole compw,ition is fraught. A few brief .9entences
00 pp. alone identify it: as the work. of nj
Christian chief-pastor. I'o teach a fellow-temg
think is the high, st privilege of gifted intellect. Th.
unidesi;ed work of 0-e feeble and the perverse is to
lead other minds to hesitation, 8(' and universrd
doubt. Far La it crew us to depreciate the value of
any species of learning : all, in their several degrees,
are of important use, and deserve proportionate
honour. But the knowledge which blesses the
Christian Church by its diffusion can never be the
indecisive result of scholastic disputation delivered
with latitudinarian coldness. It is, it must be, the
rich treasure, accumulated by an earnestly inquiring
mind, poured forth by a full heart, intent on per-
suading others to trust an enlightened judgment, to
sympath'ss in humanity's holiest feeling, and zealously
to share the heavenly work of aiding mortal sinners to
become immortal saints.

THE PRESS IN THE UNITED STATES
The following is a statistical account of the ritys_
paper press in the United States. The whole num-
ber of journals in the United States on the Ist of
June, 1850, amounted to 2,800. From calculations
made on the statistics reported to the Secretary of
the Interior, it appears that the aggregate circulation
of these two thousand eight hundred papers and
periodicals is about 5,000,000, and that the entire
number of copies printed annually in the United
States amounts to 422,600,000. The following table
will show the number of daily, weekly, monthly and
other issues, with the aggregate circulation of each
class :

Dailies
Tri-weeklies
Semi-weeklies
Weeklies

ii Number.

350
150
125
2,000

Circulation. Number of Copies
printed annually.

Semi-monthlies
Monthlies
Quarterlies

Total ...

750,000 235,000,00
75,000 11,700,0'k70
80,000 8,320,000
2,875,000 149,500000
300,000 7,200,000
900,000 10,800,000
20,000 0,000
5,000,000 422,60000

2,800

Since the census was taken a large number of new
journals have been established, chiefly in the State of
California and in the territories of Oregon, New
Mexico, Utah, and Mineeota. There is a puma!,
edited with spirit and ability, among the Cheruoakicee
Indians, which is printed in the Cherokee ?
many of theidaily
and characters. Copies of a great
narly papers are sold at one cent each; batcents. Of the
two-
thirds are sold at from two to fear
are issued in the
above number of publication
Eastern States, 876 in the publications 424
States, 716 in the
Southern States,
There is one journ'g for Sod 784eriin7,t1hse4IfIrreeestienrhnabSitatantetss..
v every
ys
the editor is both the
In the great toPritoor
printer and
publisher,texhibits the extent and power of the
proprietor, of his paper. The
above statement exhibits
utmost liberty is allowed ; the
Americ3ll3'l'Be:be law of libel.
1 only check 1

NSW ZEALAND.—Letters and papers from Wel.
lington to the 16th of September have been received, but
they do not furnish much information beyond matters of
purely local interest. The state of the colony is described
as generally satisfactory.
RAILWAY Comaslorr.—On Saturday, between
twelve and one o'clock at midday, as the mail train which
leaves Birmingham at 6 A.M. arrived near Liverpool, on the
London and North-Western line, when between Huyton and
Roby stations, the express train, due about the same time,
cane in contact with it, and several passengers by the former
train received severe injuries. The mail train, was, never-
theless, allowed to proceed on to Liverpool, those who were
injured bleeding profusely all the way. In one carriage six
persons were very seriously and three dangerously wounded.
One of them, Miss Rogers, of Huyton, was conveyed to the
house of Dr. Bainbrigg,
in Islington-square, where it was
found that she had sustained great injury in the head, the
skull being in one place laid completely bare.
were promptly dressed, but the
young lady w"
progressing too muchto
injured to permit of her return home, and was convoyed
the house of a friend in Liverpool, where she is The wounds
favourably.

COTTON ~,.ILL
ikt
mills belonging Dasmorign sr Film—One of the
to Mr. Elkansh Cheetham, of Stockport,
called the Lower Carr Mills,Milis was on Friday morning dis-
covered to be on fire. The loss is estimated at about 4,0001.,
covered by intniranceS.
Two little girls, named Caroline and Hannah
Lewis., aged respectively four and a half years and fifteen
months, the children of poor parents, met an untimely death
by fire, on Tuesday, at Gloucester, during the absence of thtir
i mother, who left them alone in the house.