within six months. And this act is not to abridge the courts ecclesiastical. Believe me to be, Mr. Editor, very respectfully, your's, EDWARD CROMWELL BROWN. 1824. East Retford, May 1, P.S. I will thank you, Mr. Editor, to insert the following, by way of addenda to my letter on Drunkenness, which appeared from col. 322 to 327. "By 3 Geo. IV. c. 77. so much of By 29 Car. II. c. 7. no tradesman, artificer, workman, labourer, or other person, is to work on the Lord's day, works of charity and necessity only excepted, on pain of forfeiting five shillings, if the prosecution be com menced within ten days. Neither shall any person use, employ, or travel with any boat, wherry, lighter, or barge, without permission from a jus-1 Jac. I. c. 9. as relates to penalties tice, under a penalty of five shillings. If any person travelling on this day be robbed, the hundred shall not be charged. No writ, process, warrant, &c. (except in cases of treason, felony, or for breach of the peace) shall be served on a Sunday, on pain that the same shall be void; and the party serving the same shall be liable in damages. No person is to cry, or expose to sale, any wares, merchandises, fruits, herbs, goods or chattels whatsoever, on the Lord's day, on pain of forfeiting five shillings to the poor, and also the articles exposed to sale, or to stand in the stocks for two hours: But by this statute, milk, before nine in the morning, and after four in the afternoon; and by 10 and 11 W. III. c. 24. mackarel, before and after divine service; may be sold on a Sunday. By 13 Geo. III. c. 80. no person shall on a Sunday or Christmas day kill or take away any game, on pain of forfeiting not less than ten pounds for the first offence, and not less than twenty for the second offence; or, in default of payment, to be imprisoned for not less than six months, and, at the expiration thereof, to be publicly whipped. By 21 Geo. III. c. 49. the keepers of houses for public entertainment upon a Sunday, to forfeit £200 for every offence; and shall also be subject to such punishment as the law directs for keeping disorderly houses. And,-By 55 Geo. III. c. 9. no baker residing within the bills of mortality, and within ten miles of the Royal Exchange, shall bake victuals after two o'clock on the Lord's day. I should have said, that by 1 Eliz. c. 2. and 23 Eliz. c. 1. persons above sixteen years of age, who absent from church above a month, are to forfeit £20 per month. But, that by 1 W. & M. Protestant Dissenters are exempted from penalties. and punishments of innkeepers, &c.; and also so much of 7 Jac. I. c. 10. and 21 Jac. c. 7. as relates to the disabling persons to keep an alehouse for three years, in the cases therein mentioned; and also so much of 1 Car. I. c. 4. as relates to the penalty on alehouse-keepers and victuallers therein mentioned; and also the clauses in 30 of Geo. II. c. 24. relating to the penalties on persons licensed, &c. are repealed:-And every licensed person selling ale, &c. lawfully convicted of any offence against the condition of the recognizance to be entered into as thereby directed, (and in which is particularly mentioned drunkenness, tippling, cards, bear, bull, or badger baiting, cock-fighting, &c.) for the first offence to forfeit a sum not exceeding £5; for a second offence, a sum not exceeding £10; and for a third offence, a sum not exceeding £100. Constables, headboroughs, police-officers, or patrols, are disabled from holding an alehouse, &c. Nor shall any victualler, &c. serve as a constable, &c. on pain of forfeiting ten pounds." No. THE CAMERA OBSCURA. All the man imbruted in the swine." SARAH M- was born of poor but 543 The Camera Obscura—Indulging our sinful Passions. 544 is often the cause of much after anxi- | for her, and at last her body was ety and uneasiness, and, when joined found in a pond, near her former to personal beauty, its effects are the home. more to be dreaded, and its encroachments should always be guarded against. But to my tale. At about the age of eighteen, she was placed as servant in a wealthy gentleman's family, and for some time lived beloved and respected. This gentleman had an only son, who, at the period she entered the family, was from home on the continent, where, having plentifully indulged in pleasure, and engaged in a course of dissipation, at his return his whole aim seemed bent upon the gratification of his passions, to the cravings of which he alone attended. He saw and remarked the beauty of poor Sarah,— and immediately devised her ruin. He was a young man of a prepossessing appearance, and pleasing address, and by assiduous attention and seeming kindness, he won the heart of the girl; and proceeding step by step in his work, he at last, in an unguarded moment, trampled down and destroyed her innocence and virtue, and effected his diabolical end. Remorse follows crime as the shadow follows the substance: passion when indulged generally leads to sorrow; and what we do under the influ- | ence of its heat, becomes, in cooler moments, ample food for repentance. Poor Sarah, after yielding to the wishes of her paramour, became truly miserable. The wonted hilarity of her countenance fled by degrees away; her eye became pensive and dull, her cheek hollow and colourless, and she lost all her former mirth and joy. The utmost dejection was observable in all her motions, and even an unconcerned spectator was inclined to pity the wreck of beauty that he saw before him. Conscious that she soon would be unable to conceal her situation from general knowledge, she wept and mourned in secret, knowing not what course to take, and dreading to communicate her case to any onetill at last she gave way to despair. He who drinks deeply into the cup of pleasure, thinks not what bitter pains are felt by those who have helped to compose its draught, and have ministered to his gratification. Poor Sarah's situation has been that of many others: and while the perpetrator of the evil has been revelling in pleasure and surrounded by mirth, his victim has been writhing with the bitter pangs of remorse, and perhaps plunging deeper into crime to hide her care in a whirlpool,-and a disconsolate family have been bewailing the loss of one who was once their comfort and their joy. What a monster is he, who, when he casts his evil eye upon innocence, thinks but of its ruin! and yet there are many such in the world!-There are many whose hearts seem dead to every thing but the gratification of unlawful passion, and who cast not a look at the awful misery which their conduct brings upon others. Did the gratification, the unbridled gratification, of our desires affect but ourselves, the case would be somewhat different: but it strikes to other hearts-it robs innocence of her brightest jewel, and plunges into an abyss of vice those who, but for our interference, might have walked in ways of piety and virtue. I extenuate not a crime like that of the miserable female whose fate I have here recorded,—that will always meet with its punishment,— but he who prepares the snare, and preys upon the victim, will find that the deed will be heavy on his heart, and eventually he will be charged with it. In the giddy maze of pleasure, men neither heed nor think of these things; for, intoxicated with the cup which they drain but to fill again, they are insensible to all around; but when affliction places upon them her heavy hand, and the grisly visage of death looks glaringly in their faces, remorse will start from her hiding-place, and One day she left her master's house, conscience will loudly and imperaunder pretence of going to the village tively cry, and they will feel full sorewhere her family resided:-she re-ly the evil of their past conduct, and turned not at night,-the next day the awful prospects of their future she was likewise absent,-she was existence. sent for, and it was then found that she never had arrived at her father's house search was diligently made This paper may perchance meet the eye of one who is deliberating on the indulgence of his passions, and who (To be continued.) REMINISCENCES FREQUENTLY UNACCOUNTABLE. is almost dazzled with the prospects | thought, when seated with our friends his imagination presents to him. I at the fire-side, that we could predict will freely allow that these unlawful the very words that were going to be pleasures are very tempting to the said, and remember also somewhere eye, and appear decked with every hearing what had just passed, as captivating charm, and every alluring plainly as though it were a repetition grace. But let me tell such a one, of the dialogue. Yet this we deemed that Pleasure always promises more morally impossible, and we could than she performs; and that the light by no means point out the time or which shines so glaringly is merely a place. Still we felt assured it was delusive and artificial flame, which too strong for mere coincidence. We leads to some dangerous marsh, where have tried to solve it by a theory of peace and comfort will be destroyed, dreams, by sheer imagination, by reand every good principle choked and ferring it to a shadowy recollection of smothered. something that had resembled it, but we could never satisfy ourselves, or get clear of it. We are better, however, enabled to judge of the effects, than account for the origin, of these vague reminiscences-these waking dreams which steal over us as if unawares, when we least expect them. Their influence is, in general, pleasing; and, as regards myself, how often have I delighted to indulge the train of thoughts they inspired,—even when of a tender or melancholy nature, connected with far-gone times. As sociations arise in the soul;-one brings with it a thousand ;-all that is dearest and best of our young days again rises to view; we wander in the same fields, we visit the same spots,-the same objects, and the same voices, are about us, and we become playmates and schoolboys such as we used to be. The scenes of our early wanderings, the holiday expeditions, the far-off favourite haunts, sought with an eager yet a timid joy-the truant pleasures snatched with all the zest, but with none of the anguish, of real guilt ;-how pleasantly does the dim recollection of all these come across the mind, mellowed by the touch of time--and sweeter for the contrast of cares and sorrows that have followed them. It is curious to observe in what various degrees of distinctness the memory of past things recurs with a kind of involuntary recollection to the mind. Though we may account for the chief part of these stray thoughts and feelings by the great law of association, there are others so faint and indefinite as to defy our utmost skill of research, (however expanded the retrospective organ may be,) to discover why, or how, or what they are doing there. Waving all discussion of the hypotheses and arguments of philosophers, physicians, and metaphysicians, with the different states of mind and morbid phenomena, we shall satisfy ourselves with giving the result of our own experience, and stating a few simple facts, which we doubt not all must have at times observed, but which are no less pleasing and surprising for being familiar, and coming home to men's business and bosoms. How often, on arriving amidst perfectly new scenes and characters, a sudden thought seems to flash across the brain, that we have somewhere seen such a place or such a person, when we have the best reason to suppose we never could have done so before. Certain tones of music heard for the first time, expressions of countenance, a picture, or a book-all at times seem to come over one's feelings with some old claim of acquaintanceship-though we could demonstrate they were all new; yet, they seem to talk to us of some vague transactions of the past. For ourselves, we have often No. 66.-VOL. VI. In fancy, I can often return, with as lively a relish as I once tasted them-to the very same woods and lanes;-I cross the stile, and walk the green where the urchins used to play-and enter the wicket gate, through the garden to the parsonage house. I see the school-in the exact order I left it-I see the church spire at a distance-I mount the brow of the hill-and, approaching, I seem to open the white gate just as I once did, into the sacred precincts of that holy place I must ever revere, where 2 M the first delicious feelings of indistinct and nameless piety swelled at my heart. How I seem to go in again, as I have so often done on the sabbath morn, taking the same exact seat, listening with the same fervour of unfolding love and gratitude as I once did, to the same mild voice breathing heavenly truth and tidings, which I delighted in, (though I did not always comprehend,) even then. Too blest, could I always have remained what I then was or could I always fancy thus!-but the spell is broken ;-such scenes are far away, and I remain what I am. R. T. 2 ANIMADVERSIONS ON FREEDOM OF INQUIRY. MR. EDITOR. SIR, I beg leave to make a few remarks on an essay, entitled" Freedom of Inquiry," and subscribed "Zelim," which appeared in your number for March, col. 235. I am as great a friend to freedom of inquiry as any man can be; but unbounded freedom of inquiry, like absolute liberty, is inconsistent with the happiness and well-being of man. It certainly is pleasing for the moment to enjoy an unbounded prospect, and to roam with eager curiosity over the fairy land of discovery. But does the sight of an unbounded prospect, does the satisfaction of a vague euriosity, increase the happiness of man? Does it not, rather, unsettle the mind, and call off the attention from present pursuits to be involved in an endless labyrinth? Let the man, who has carried freedom of inquiry to its utmost verge, candidly tell me, whether he enjoys more satisfaction at this moment, than he did before he engaged in the arduous pursuit? We know who has said, " He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow;" and for the truth of this position, I appeal to every man's experience. Pope has happily described, in two lines, wherein the felicity of man consists: "The bliss of man, could pride that blessing A find, 17 Is not to think or act above mankind." The full meaning of which, I conceive to be, is, That each individual should confine his thoughts to that occupa tion to which it has pleased God to call him. But there is a pride in the heart of man, which prompts him to be equal with the greatest of the great. And when he finds himself unable to attain the summit of his wishes, he impotently vents his venom by impugning every authorized establishment. It is from this principle that the cobbler at his stall will, with the most daring arrogance, canvass the conduct of ministers, and rashly condemn every measure which opposes his own opinion; as if he himself had been privy to their most secret councils, and were a competent judge of the state of the nation. Zelim, col. 235, says, "To doubt of the wisdom of inquiring after truth, is to doubt whether the eye was made for seeing." In a limited point of view, this position is sufficiently palpable: but the eye may be injured by a too intense application, or by beholding objects too diminutive.-And so it is with freedom of inquiry: it may be carried too far; nay, there is every reason to believe it is carried too far, because man is ever prone to extremes. Zelim observes, in col. 237, "These latter absurdities, (viz. the prohibition of the Scriptures to be read except in. the Latin tongue,) it is true, were removed at the Reformation; but in almost all Protestant churches, free inquiry has ever since been discouraged, and, as far as was possible without the infliction of bodily pains and penalties, forbidden, by making the recital of certain forms of belief a part of the general service, and by loading all deviations from the instituted faith with threatenings of eternal misery.” Here Zelim directly condemns all articles of belief, as if he had forgotten that the good and wise have in all ages been a guide to the ignorant and unwary. He seems to think that man comes into the world endued with all the energy of mind which he possesses in maturer years. He forgets that there is a natural imbecility in youth, which needs a ruler and a guide. If creeds have been formed, it is by men of piety and learning, who have read with patient assiduity, and maturely pondered the Scriptures. And who are fitter instruments for such an undertaking? But creeds are condemned as burdensome and unnecessary to rational creatures. I would ask Zelim, were his parents " JUVENIS INSULATUSIO Nottingham, April 3, 1824.1 religious? and if so, did they not | the sake of indulging their sinful pass think it their bounden duty to impress sions and inclinations.' on his infant mind the leading doctrines of Christianity? Does Zelim never recollect reading," He that believeth shall be saved; but he that believeth not, the wrath of God abideth on him." Now, if it is right for parents to teach their children the principles of religion, where is the impropriety in the ambassadors of God setting up landmarks by the way, to guide the unwary in the path of truth? But, surely, in times when the very foundation of religion is attacked, it is a stay and support to us to reflect that we are in the possession of creeds, embodying the main truths of our most holy faith, which were believed, and reverently handed down to us, by our forefathers. Let not Zelim imagine that I have entered the field against him, influenced by the spirit of party-it is purely from the love of truth. For if any one ought to feel aggrieved at constituted ecclesiastical authorities, it is I, whose prospects in life have been blasted through the arbitrary decisions of one of the heads of our venerable establishment. IT is a doubtful matter whether men receive what is equal to each other, or whether there be a difference made, We shall proceed to examine this question. In col. 238, Zelim says, "It is ignorance, not knowledge, which makes men discontented." Surely Zelim There must, in one respect at least, never contemplated the untaught rus- be some difference, because the souls tic lying prostrate on the sunny bank of all men are lodged in different bocontented with his lot. Did the know- dies. It has been considered by philedge which Adam acquired by trans-losophers, that two things cannot be gressing the command of God increase or diminish his happiness? The hill of knowledge is steep and craggy, and few there are who reach its height. But of those only, who ascend its summit, and take a dispassionate view on all sides, can it be justly said, that knowledge does not make them discontented and troublesome? Zelim adds, in col. 240," To make men virtuous, there seems nothing more necessary than to convince them, from the known nature of things, and from certain experience, that it is their interest to be so."-Here Zelim discovers the grossest ignorance of the human heart. To say that men would become virtuous if they knew it was their interest to be so, is to deny the truth of Scripture:-"Men love darkness rather than light, because their deeds are evil." "Ye will not come unto me, that ye may have life." Passion, not reason, since the fall, is our lord and master.-All, not only the openly wicked and profane, but the very best of men, discover this humiliating truth: That they err from the path of virtue and happiness, not, Zelim, because it is involved in darkness and obscurity, but for 1 exactly similar:-at any rate, in their relations they cannot be; for divide the universe into parts, each part must differ from every other; therefore, a spirit united to any portion, must be differently related to things around, from what it would be, if placed any where else. If we pry into the niceties of the subject, we may find that the very creation of spirit may constitute a difference in it, but this difference will be of a relative kind. It may be in relation to the period in which its existence commenced, or in the parti cular place in which it was created; further than this, perhaps, we have no occasion to look for variety among spirit-for the same Almighty Being may create to-day, as he did yesterday; but who can say that an unchangeable Being cannot have the same sort to-day as yesterday? It all resides with him. Spirit, as matter, must be formed out of nothing, and in nothing there can be no yariety. In the operations of the Almighty about the same objects, we therefore have little reason to expect variety; and hence we may conclude, that the souls of men are originally alike. But there is a difference, and that |