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SACRED POETRY.

THE ALPINE HORN.

BY THE REV. W. M. HETHERINGTON, A M.,

Minister of Torphichen.

The horn of the Alps is employed in the mountainous districts of Switzerland, not solely to sound the Cow-call, but for a purpose solemn and religious. As soon as the sun has disappeared in the valleys, and its last rays are just glimmering on the snowy summits of the hills, the herdsman who dwells on the loftiest takes his horn and trumpets forth," Praise God the Lord." All the herdsmen in the neighbourhood, on hearing this, come out of their huts, take their horns, and repeat the words. This often continues a quarter of an hour, whilst, on all sides, the mountains echo the name of God. A profound and solemn silence follows. Every individual offers his silent prayer on bended knees and with uncovered head. By this time it is quite dark. “Good night"-again peals aloud the herdsman on the highest summit. "Good night" is repeated on all sides, from the horns of the herdsmen, and the clefts of the rocks. Then each one lays himself down to rest.]

Now on the far horizon's verge the sun

Leans, as if wearied with his journey past; O'er sea and sky, o'er plain and moorland dun He seems a lingering farewell look to cast, Then hides his beamy brow, while, following Grey twilight spreads her dusky shadows o'er

fast,

Broad lake, deep glen, and valley green; at last Her filmy mantle wraps the mountain hoar, And now the Jungfrau's crest smiles in the sun no more. List! 'tis the Alpine horn! its notes ring clear From yonder lofty peak, where latest plays The day-beam, ere its blushes disappear,

And "Praise ye God the Lord!" the loud voice says; A thousand horns peal forth the strain of praise, From hill to hill, from peak to peak it swells; That holy sound a thousand echoes raise; While every mountain of its Maker tells, Man kneels in solemn prayer to Him in heaven who dwells. Tis silence all! for thoughts too deep for words Are issuing from the heart to Him, whose hand Aid to the humblest worshipper affords,

Who speaks, and sun or storm hear his command; Who guides the wanderer to that peaceful land Where every tear is wiped from every eye,

And pain or shame no more the brow shall brand,
For sorrow, sin, even death himself shall die,
And all be one bright round of everlasting joy.

The solemn pause of prayer is o'er; again
The Alpine horn shouts high a kind" Good night!"
The rocks around repeat the cheerful strain,
Day's cares and toils wing all afar their flight;
The dying echoes whisperingly invite
The weary hunter to the couch of rest;

In gentle dreams he tastes serene delight,
For sweet the slumbers of a guileless breast,-
Awake, asleep, alike by God sustained and blest.
Thus should it ever be! To man is given
Voice, reason, and religion for his dower,-
A mind to scan the works and ways of heaven,
A tongue to praise its goodness and its power;
Whether day-glories shine, or night-clouds lower,
In brightness or in gloom, O man! on thee

At early dawn, or pensive twilight's hour,
Great Nature calls her sacred bard to be,
To wake the anthem now that fills eternity!

MISCELLANEOUS.

The Testimony of an Eminent Physician to the Importance of Religious Instruction in Lunatic Asylums. The mental management of the insane (says Dr Abercrombie, in his work on the Intellectual Powers,) seems to deserve a much greater degree of attention than has hitherto been devoted to it; and it appears to open a field for intellectual experiment, which promises most interesting and important results. There

is one such experiment, the effect of which I have contemplated with much interest, namely, the influence produced upon the insane by divine service. I have been informed by Dr Yellowly, that in the asylum of Norwich the influence of this has been such, that on seeing the patients retiring from service, a stranger could scarcely detect in one of them any appearance of insanity; and that even when one has manifested, during service, any degree of restlessness or excitement, he has been instantly checked by the other patients near him. This interesting fact shows what may be done; and I have no doubt that, when the intellectual and moral management of the insane shall be prosecuted with the attention which is due to it, principles will be developed of much practical interest on this important subject.

The employment of Salt in the East.-The use of salt, which was commanded as an indispensable accompaniment of all sacrificial offerings, seems to have derived its origin from a venerable eastern custom; for as that article was always regarded by the ancients as the emblem of fidelity and friendship, its ceremonial use was evidently intended to impress on the minds of the worshippers, through a practice with which they were familiar, the idea that truth, harmony, and uprightness, should characterize all their transactions with one another, and especially all their engagements with God. That this well-known commodity was very generally recognized by the ancients as the sign of these excellent virtues, and employed as the inviolable pledge of every compact, may be perceived from the prominent appearance it makes in the amicable treaty which was formed between Jacob and Laban. And that it still possesses in some parts of the East the same symbolical character, appears from two curious anecdotes; one of which relates, on the authority of De Tott, that a person who formed an acquaintance with that ambas sador on his arrival in Turkey, turned sharply back on leaving the Frenchman's hotel, asked for a little salt, and having deliberately taken a bit of it between his teeth, assured his new friend by that action, that his confidence would never be betrayed; and from the other anecdote, we learn that a notorious robber, who had broken into a palace, and was in the act of abstracting a great collection of valuable articles, found his foot accidentally stumble, as he was decamping, on a piece of salt; in consequence of which he was so struck with the outrage he had committed, that he restored all his booty and went away as he had entered. Such notions, which the customs of the East from time immemorial associated with salt, were introduced into the service of the Mosaic law, to perpetuate along with the sacred tribute with which it was associated, the moral feelings and virtues which its symbolical character represented.-JAMIESON. (Eastern Manners.)

CONTENTS.-The New Commandment. By Rev. J. Buchanan. -Biographical Sketch. Mrs Hannah More. Part I.-A Sketch of the Early History of Christianity in Scotland. By Rev. J. Bryce. Period II.-Discourse. By Rev. W. Cunningham.-Investigations into the Natural History of the Bible. By the late Professor Scot of St. Andrews. No. 1.-Christian Philosophy. By Rev. J. Brodie. No. XII.-Christian Treasury. Extracts from Venn, Toplady, Lord Bacon, Waugh, Arrowsmith, and Gurnall.-Sacred Poetry. Alpine Horn. By Rev. W. M. Hetherington.--Miscellaneous.

Now ready, VOLUME II., being that for 1837, containing 832 pages, handsomely bound in cloth, price 8s. Also may still be had, Vol. I.. for (1836,) 704 pages, uniform with the above, price 7s. Separate Numbers from the commencement may at all times be supplied to complete sets.

Published by JOHN JOHNSTONE, at the Offices of the SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD, 2, Hunter Square, Edinburgh, and 19, Glassford Street, Glasgow; J. NISBET & Co., HAMILTON, ADAMS & CO., and R. GROOMBRIDGE, London; W. CURRY, Junior, & Co., Dublin; and W. M'COMB, Belfast; and sold by the Booksellers and Local Agents in all the Towns and Parishes of Scotland; and in the principal Towns in England and Ireland.

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THE

SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD,

CONDUCTED UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF MINISTERS AND MEMBERS OF THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH.

44

THE FEAR OF THE LORD, THAT IS WISDOM."

No. 98.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 13, 1838.

THE CHARACTER OF JESUS OF NAZARETH.
PART I.

BY THE REV. WILLIAM MALCOLM,
Minister of Leochel- Cushnic.

PRICE 1d.

his conduct to his earthly parents. At the age of twelve, we find him going up with them to Jerusalem, and interesting and attractive as the exercises of the temple appeared to him, and great as was the celebrity he was likely soon to acquire, WHILE many, covering themselves with the ar- instead of remaining there in opposition to the mour of everlasting truth, are forcing from the wishes of his parents, he returned with them field those who would call in question the nature, cheerfully to the obscure city of Nazareth; conthe necessity, and the efficacy of Christ's death; tent to make any sacrifice, if he could only assuage be ours, at this time, the less difficult, though the sorrow he had unintentionally given them. In perhaps no less useful task, to lend our humble this sequestered abode he was subject to them, aid to the same great cause, by sketching, though contributing to their comfort and their credit, with a feeble hand, the character which he main-while he daily increased in wisdom, and in favour tained in the days of his flesh. No less useful with God and man. task we say; for we hold, that the holy, harmless, and undefiled life of the Author of our faith furnishes one of the most striking and powerful evidences of its truth; nay, were every other evidence for our Lord's divinity swept away, we would point fearlessly to his character as Jesus of Nazareth, as affording an argument in its support, sufficient to silence for ever the cavillings of the gainsayer. Let us consider,

1. His conduct to his earthly parents. Cold, indeed, must be his heart, and dead to every generous emotion, who can forget the claims which his parents have on his attachment and regard. The anxious care with which they tended his helpless infancy, the many wearisome days and sleepless nights which he cost them, the fears which they felt when disease or accident threatened his life, the joy which lighted up their countenance when all was well with him,— the struggles they maintained, and the sacrifices which, patient and uncomplaining, they made, in order to bring him forward respectably into life;these are circumstances calculated to produce impressions of gratitude and affection never to be effaced.

Of such impressions the generous heart of Jesus was peculiarly susceptible. He was alive to every tender emotion. His was not that stern, unfeeling character, which has sometimes been represented as the perfection of virtue. Having assumed our nature, he felt and cherished its best affections, and surrendered himself to the influence of those ties by which man is attached to As a proof of this, we need only refer to VOL. III.

Nor does he appear to have been less under the influence of filial affection at an age when many are apt to think themselves released from parental control. After he had entered on his public ministry, he forgot not his duty as a son; and the first miracle which he performed was performed at his mother's request, to accommodate her friends, and to honour herself. To the last, his attachment to her remained unabated: for even when he hung upon the cross, amid the agonies of crucifixion, he seemed to forget them for a while, that he might pour into her wounded breast the balm of consolation. When he saw her standing by the cross, contemplating, in speechless agony, the triumph of his enemies, he resolved that this melancholy proof of her affection should not go unrewarded. Directing towards her a look which spoke at once the pity and the affection of his heart, he recommended her to the care of the disciple whom he loved.

II. His character as a friend.

It has been objected to the Gospel, that, amid all its pure and salutary precepts, there is none which inculcates or recommends the cultivation of private friendship. That it contains no express injunction of this kind we readily admit, and the reason is obvious. It was unnecessary. Private friendship is not a duty incumbent on men in every situation and circumstance of life. It is a connection which kindred spirits alone can form, and which, when they meet, they will, without any precept, never fail to form. It is a sentiment which the heart of man, under certain circumstances. is sufficiently prone to indulge; but which,

when these circumstances do not concur, no com- soon have to bewail! Every argument is em-
mandment can enforce. The absence, indeed, of ployed, and every promise given which could
every thing like positive and peremptory injunc-strengthen them for the hour of trial. And lo!
tion, seems essential, both to the formation and the his eyes and his hands are raised to heaven.
exercise of friendship. It cannot live in the at- What supplications are these which he pours
mosphere of compulsion. Unbidden is the tear forth? For whom is that fervent prayer pre-
which it sheds, unsolicited the interest it feels, ferred? Is he asking from heaven a legion of
spontaneous the efforts it makes in behalf of its angels, to subdue in a moment the power of his
object. But although he who knew what was in enemies? Prays he that God may sustain him
man, delivered not a precept which some of his in the awful struggle? No; in his anxiety for
followers might never have had it in their power his disciples he forgets himself. "I pray," says
to obey, his conduct assures us, that the cultiva-he, " for them: Now I am no more in the world,
tion of private friendship is by no means incon-
sistent with the spirit of his religion. While he
considered the whole world as a field spread out
before him for the exercise of his beneficence,
there were, in this field, some favoured spots, in
which he took peculiar delight. Kind and com-
passionate to all, he selected a few individuals as
the objects of his special regard.
He loved Mar-
tha, and her sister, and Lazarus. Mark the kind
concern which he took in their fate. When death
visited their once happy abode, his conduct testi-
fied the reality and the strength of his friendship.
Persecuted from place to place by the relentless
fury of the Jews, he had retired beyond Jordan,
that he might enjoy, for a season, the repose
which exhausted nature required. When, how-
ever, he knew that Lazarus was dead, and his
sisters, of course, inconsolable, he resolved to
leave immediately this safe and sequestered spot,
and proceed to Bethany. In vain did his disci-
ples remind him of the danger to which he ex-solate mother, a friendship so marked on all
posed himself, by appearing in the neighbourhood
of Jerusalem. Our friend Lazarus," saith he,
"sleepeth, and I go to awake him out of his sleep."
He longed to adininister relief to his afflicted
friends, and to mingle his tears with theirs. Ac-
cordingly, he appears openly in the midst of his
enemies, enters warmly into the feelings of La-
zarus' distressed relatives, and delays not to heal
the wound which they had received. Mark him
as he advances to the grave of his friend. The
tear of sympathy swells in his eye, the throb of
andissembled sorrow labours in his breast.
sus wept." Then said the Jews, " Behold how
he loved him!" Yes, he loved him; and, by
raising him from the dead, proved at once his
power as God, and his affection as a friend.

but these are in the world. Holy Father, keep
through thine own name those whom thou hast
given me." And when the ruthless band ap-
proach to apprehend him, what is his language?
For whom does he plead, as with mild, but
dauntless mien he advances to meet them? Is
he imploring their pity? Is he beseeching them
to allow him to escape? Oh no! He pleads,
| but not for himself. He surrenders himself, and
pleads for his friends. "I am Jesus of Nazareth;
if, therefore, ye seek me, let these go their
way."

In farther illustration of this point, we might now take notice of the intimate friendship which subsisted between our Lord and John,-a friendship evinced by our Lord admitting John as a witness of his transfiguration, by his permitting him, in preference to the rest, to lean upon his bosom while eating the passover, and by his giving him from the cross the charge of his discon

occasions as to procure for John the title of the disciple whom Jesus loved; but enough has been stated to show that Jesus was feelingly alive to the sentiment of friendship, and that, as a friend, his conduct is worthy of imitation.

III. His character as a citizen.

Among the Jews an opinion generally prevailed, that when Messiah appeared some mighty political revolution would take place. When Herod heard of his birth he was troubled, fearing, no doubt, lest he himself should be driven "Je-from his throne, and the province of Judea lost to Cæsar for ever. With feelings very different from these, the Jews anticipated the same result. They indulged the fond hope, a hope which, even up to the time of the crucifixion, his disciples had not relinquished,—that he was, in a temporal sense, to redeem Israel, to establish himself on the throne of David, break in pieces the Roman yoke, and lead on his countrymen to triumph and renown. Very different, however, was the design of his coming, and far otherwise did he act. His conduct on every occasion evinced that the kingdom which he came to establish was not of this world, that for him the splendour of human power had no charms, and that the luxury and the pageantry of earthly princes were, in his estimation, less than nothing and vanity. In all his intercourse with mankind, the same indifference to worldly aggrandizement manifested itself. We observe no grasping at power, no currying of

And how tender, how steady and ardent was the attachment which he cherished for the disciples, whom he had chosen, that they might be with him! How frequently do we find him labouring to remove their prejudices, to satisfy their doubts, to check their presumption, to allay their little animosities, and to open their eyes to the nature of that kingdom which he came to establish. And in that night of woe, wherein he was betrayed, when they were gathered around him in painful anxiety, not knowing whether to hope or to fear, with what tenderness and delicacy does he unfold to them the events which were about to happen! How gradually does he prepare them for the bereavement which they would

At length she began to feel, that the world, with its fascinating charms, had been exercising too powerful a sway over her heart and conduct. She resolved, therefore, to withdraw herself gradually from that unprofitable society in which she had hitherto spent the greater part of her time. An opportunity presented itself, in 1785, of accomplishing this object, by retiring from the bustle of town to take up her residence in the country. This had long been her secret wish, and accordingly having acquired possession of a little secluded spot near Bristol, bearing the romantic name of Cowslip Green, she entered upon her rural retreat with a freshness of feeling and a sweet mental tranquillity, to which, from her early days, she had been a stranger. While, however, Miss More henceforth resided chiefly in the country, she by no means withdrew herself entirely from her friends in London. She was in the habit of spending several weeks every year in the metropolis, particularly at the house of Mrs Garrick, the widow of her former friend and patron. On the occasion of one of these annual visits to town, Miss More thus writes to her sister, speaking of the society in which she moved:

favour. A work was assigned him, and to the | in a great measure, weakened by the engrossing objects accomplishment of that work he devoted all the and pursuits which habitually engaged her attention. strength of his body, all the energy of his mind, She lived too little under the power of the world to all the attachment of his heart. He had marked come. Courted, flattered, and caressed by the high in out a path for himself, and that path he pursued rank, and the distinguished in literature, it might be with unbending rectitude; through good report said of her, alas! with too much truth, that she "loved and through bad report he pursued the noiseless the praise of men more than the approbation of God." tenor of his way, neither courting the smiles nor The death of Garrick, however, we have found reason fearing the frowns of the great. At the same to regard as the commencement of a new era in her life. time, he showed no wish to interfere with the From that period she began to feel more deeply impower and authority of those in office. He spoke pressed with the vain and unsatisfactory nature of all not evil of dignities. Far from setting up any sublunary things; an air of pensive thoughtfulness was claim incompatible with the existing order of apparent in her whole deportment; and in her more things, he submitted meekly and cheerfully to the retired hours, she took a daily increasing pleasure in powers that were. The institutions and the laws reading the Scriptures, and in devotional exercises. of his country he respected and obeyed, and, by precept and example, laboured on every occasion to recommend subordination and peace. Very true, he collected a little band, with whom he travelled through the cities and villages, but is there a single instance on record of his allowing them, as they journeyed from one end of the land to the other, to injure any one by word or by deed? He chose them to be the companions of his life, the partners of his sorrow, and the witnesses of his mighty works, but nowhere, and at no time, did he encourage or permit them to disturb their country's peace, or, in any way, to injure or exasperate. others. Anxious as his enemies were to bring him into collision with the power of Rome, to hold him up as a factious, designing demagogue; and insidious as were the schemes to which, for that purpose, they resorted, they invariably failed to substantiate the charge. And when we find him at one time withdrawing himself from the multitude on the first appearance of a tendency to riot, and at another declining to interfere with the civil institutions of the land, when requested to interpose his authority regarding a disputed inheritance; when we behold Lim at Capernaum working a miracle that he may contribute his share of the government taxes; when we hear him in the temple exclaiming, "Render to Cæsar the things which are Caesar's, and to God the things which are God's," and "I sometimes get an interesting morning visitor; of thus silencing those who had come to entangle two or three I have entertained some hope that they him in his talk; when, again, we listen to him were beginning to think seriously. Lady B. and I had as, amid the acclamations of the multitude, he a long discourse yesterday; she seems anxious for relidraws nigh to the city, weeping over it, and say-gious information. I told her much plain truth, and ing, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest she bore it so well, that I ventured to give her Dodthe prophets, and stonest them which are sent dridge. If she should not stumble at the threshold, unto thee! if thou hadst known, even thou, at from the strong manner in which the book opens, I trust she will read it with good effect. Miss has least in this thy day, the things which belong to been also with me several times; beautiful and accomthy peace! but now they are hid from thine eyes;" plished, surrounded with flatterers, and sunk in dissiwhen we behold and consider all these, we know pation. I asked her why she continued to live 30 not whether to admire most his prudence, his much below not only her principles, but her underpatriotism, or his love of peace. standing-what pleasure she derived from crowds of persons so inferior to herself-did it make her happy? Happy! she said; no, she was miserable. She despised the society she lived in, and had no enjoyment of the pleasures in which her life was consumed; but what could she do? She could not be singular-she must do as her acquaintance did. I pushed it so home on her conscience, that she wept bitterly, and embraced me. I conjured her to read her Bible, with which she is utterly unacquainted.. These tine creatures are, I hope,

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

MRS. HANNAH MORE.-PART II. FOR many years, as we have seen, Miss More was immersed in the gaieties of fashionable life; and though the influence of her early impressions in favour of religion was never entirely absent from her mind, it was,

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"I have naturally but a small appetite for grandeur, which is always satisfied even to indigestion, before I leave this town; and I require a long abstinence to get any relish for it again; yet I repeat, these are very agreeable people, but there is dress, there is restraint, there is want of leisure, to which I find it difficult to conform for any length of time,—and life is short.

sincere, when they promise to be better; but the very next temptation that comes across them puts all their good intentions to flight, and they go on, as if they had never formed them; nay, all the worse for having formed and not realized them. They shall have my prayers, which are the most effectual part of our endeavours."

This quotation exhibits Miss More in a very interesting light, as embracing every opportunity of diffusing the influence of a pure religious spirit among her friends and acquaintances. It were well for the cause of true religion, if Christians were more habitually anxious to have" their conversation always with grace, seasoned with salt." Thus might many, who are from Sabbath to Sabbath unimpressed with the ministrations of the pulpit, be led, by the seasonable remarks of Christians, in private and familiar conversation, to know Him experimentally whom in their hearts they have hitherto despised. On this subject we cannot refrain from extracting a sentence or two from a letter, addressed by the Rev. John Newton to Miss More:

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it. I pass my life in intending to get the better of this, but life is passing away, and the reform never begins. It is a very significant saying, though a very odd one, of one of the Puritans, that Hell is paved with good intentions.' I sometimes tremble to think how large a square my procrastination alone may furnish to this tesselated pavement."

Though now comparatively retired from that busy world in which she had once acted so prominent a part, Miss More was not contented with lamenting the folly which she had so long witnessed, and in which she had so often participated; she deemed it her duty to send forth to the world her solemn remonstrance against it. About this time, accordingly, she published her highly popular and seasonable work, entitled "The Manners of the Great." This was the commencement of a new era in Miss More's literary life. It was now her firm resolution to dedicate her powers to the immediate service of God, and the moral and spiritual benefit of her fellow-men. The work with which she started in this new career was published anonymously, but excited a remarkable interest in the public mind, and it was not long before the author was discover

"If I am lawfully called into the company of the profligate, I am too much shocked to be in great danger of being hurt by them. I feel myself in the situationed. Nearly about the same time Miss More published a of the traveller, when assaulted by the north wind. The vehemence of the wind makes me wrap my cloak the faster about me: but when I am with your good sort of people, I am like the same traveller when under the powerful beams of the sun; the insinuating warmth puts me insensibly off my guard, and I am in danger of voluntarily dropping the cloak, which could not be forced from me by downright violence. The circle of politeness, elegance, and taste, unless a higher spirit and principle predominate, is to me an enchanted spot, which I seldom enter without fear, and seldom retire from without loss."

Miss More seems to have had great enjoyment in her retirement at Cowslip Green. Reading, meditation, occasional correspondence, and the healthful exercise of gardening, were her chief occupations, and in these varied employments the time passed pleasantly away. Her advancement in the divine life, however, was by no means so rapid as her sanguine expectations had led her to anticipate: and it is not surprising, therefore, that we should find her giving vent to her feelings in the following language, extracted from a letter to Mr Newton:

"I have always fancied that if I could secure to myself such a quiet retreat as I have now really accomplished, that I should be wonderfully good; that I should have leisure to store my mind with such and such maxims of wisdom; that I should be safe from

such and such temptations; that, in short, my whole summers would be smooth periods of peace and goodness. Now, the misfortune is, I have actually found a great deal of the comfort I expected, but without any of the concomitant virtues. I am certainly happier here than in the agitation of the world, but I do not find that I am one bit better; with full leisure to rectify my heart and affections, the disposition unluckily does not come. I have the mortification to find, that petty and (as they are called) innocent employments, can detain my heart from heaven as much as tumultuous pleasures. If to the pure all things are pure, the reverse must be also true when I can contrive to make so harmless an employment as the cultivation of flowers stand in the room of a vice, by the great portion of time I give up to it, and by the entire dominion it has over my mind. You will tell me that if the affections be estranged from their proper object, it signifies not much whether a bunch of roses or a pack of cards effects

poem, under the name of "Slavery," with her name prefixed. It was her ardent anxiety to serve the great cause in which her friend, Mr Wilberforce, was engaged; and with this view the verses were composed. The poem was well received, but her anonymous prose work passed through several editions in the course of a few weeks, and was everywhere extolled, and by none more loudly than by those whose faults it so unsparingly exposed.

At the close of the year 1789 an interesting event occurred, which prepared the way for Hannah executing the purpose she had long formed of withdrawing more completely from general society, and indulging in a closer intimacy with those whose religious sentiments were congenial with her own. Her four sisters had enabled themselves, by their prudence and assiduity, to retire from their employment of teaching, having acquired a small competency. Before taking this step they had built for themselves a house in Bath, and they

resolved to divide their time between the town and the country. Hannah still continued to reside the greater part of the year at Cowslip Green, and during the first summer after the educational establishment of her sisters had been closed, she enjoyed the company of her sister Martha, with whom she made occasional excursions to the surrounding villages. In the course of these little rambles they were struck with the extent to which ignorance and immorality prevailed among the poor, and they formed the resolution of establishing schools among them, for the instruction and religious training of the young. This plan was no sooner formed than they proceeded to put it in execution. A school was formed at Cheddar, a romantic village about ten miles distant from Cowslip Green, and in a short time it included nearly three hundred children. Miss Hannah More gives an interesting account of the commencement of this benevolent scheme in a letter dated from Cheddar, and addressed to Mr Wilberforce.

"Though this is but a romantic place, as my friend Matthew well observed, yet you would laugh to see the bustle I am in. I was told we should meet with great opposition if I did not try to propitiate the chief despot of the village, who is very rich, and very brutal; so I

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