who, in turning round to meet her father, encountered my gaze, and came smilingly forward.

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"Pa," said she, "this is Mr. Enderby, a friend of ours."

“Mr. who ?” said the father, eyeing me over his left shoulder, whilst his wife acknowledged my presence by a pleasant glance. All at once it flashed across my mind, that I was right in the conjecture I had entertained at my late interview with Mrs. Goode, that I had seen her face before, and that she was the identical young lady with whom I had travelled that road on my way to the wedding of Mr. Singleton. I made myself known to Mrs. Waddington, and a little merriment followed my relation of the particulars connected with that and the subsequent interview, which was instantly checked by Mr. Waddington.

"My dear," said his wife, in a kind, conciliatory tone, " this gentleman is a friend of our Kizzy's and the major's-Mr. Enderby." "Mr. End-o'-what?"

"Mr. Enderby."

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Enderby—Mr. Enderby,—I beg your pardon. Them two is my gals; and you know the other." With this elegant introduction I was satisfied. But not feeling quite at home in such company, I begged to be allowed to look after the major; and asked where it was probable he would put up.

"Oh, at the Specklebird," said Mr. Waddington, "he always puts up there." Then dropping his voice, he held me by the collar, as he whispered, "Good man that at the Specklebird; he kep' the Leopard, till his conscience called him out of it.”

I scarcely waited till he had finished, before I was off to the "Specklebird," pondering on the peculiarity of that man's conscience which could call him from a speckled beast to a speckled bird-from the tenancy of the "Leopard" to that of the "Starling," which I found to be the real name of the inn, the other having been given to it by Mr. Waddington and his followers as he afterwards told me, because, "the other birds was agin her-Jerrymire twelf an' nine!"

Yet how many among professing Christians have prejudices as fond and foolish, and susceptibilities as convenient as the landlord of the "Starling." There are still found those who strain at a gnat and swallow a camel. Ephraim envies Judah,

and Judah in return vexes Ephraim. Instead of following hard after Love, as the huntsman follows the game, which is the force of holy Paul's injunction, men run steeple-chases, "contusion, hazarding of heart or head" after differences. Why, the very use of Charity is, that it thinks no evil, and thus enables us to be at peace with those, even, whose motives as well as practices may be more or less mistaken.

But all this is by the way. As I walked on to the “Starling" in quest of Major Goode, the incidents of the meeting I had just witnessed, and its preliminaries, crowded confusedly into my mind. The euphonious names of Jem, Kizzy, and Kerry, rang in my ears, but I had no sooner arranged them in their proper order, than I guessed what appellations were really disguised under them. They were, no doubt, Jemima, Kezia, and Keren-happuch-those of the three daughters of the patriarch of Uz. Yes," said I, pleased with my own ingenuity, "these are the daughters of patient Job; but where is the father?"

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"Hi!" said a voice startling me from my reverie, as I was just overshooting my mark, by crossing all unconsciously the gateway of the " "Starling." "Gracious me! Enderby, is it

you?"

On turning round, I encountered the tall figure of the major, standing bolt upright, and arranging the tie of his handkerchief, preparatory to his joining the family group at the Hill Mizar. After the usual recognitions, we walked on together; and he told me by the way a few particulars relative to the Waddingtons. The father, he said, besides being a blessed man in the pulpit, was a "vegetable man" out of it; and from him, it appeared, the major had derived his belief in green peas and onion fritters.

I ventured a joke, and asked if this "vegetable man" were not sour krout; but the major's natural enmity to jokes, coupled perhaps with family considerations, made him not a little angry. Begging his pardon, I resolved inwardly to become watchful; and our conversation was continued to the chapel door. It was a cold, mean-looking place, poorly fitted and badly ventilated, all the windows being high over head, as if to compel the hearers to look at the bare walls, instead of the happy, smiling

fields outside. It had cost much to "get up a cause" there, but the originators of it had successfully persevered, amidst what they called great "persecution,"-by which they meant, an unwillingness in other parties to think as they did.

The sermon was an ignorant and vulgar piece of colloquial oratory. I had not expected much from my casual interview with Mr. Waddington, but his unworthy conception of the truth and his partial exhibition of it perfectly astonished me. I had heard of such things before but had never witnessed them and could scarcely believe my own eyes and ears. There was not a little railing and false accusation against other sects and denominations and churches, and such an entire absence of every thing like the spirit of the gospel, that my heart sank within me as I listened. Mr. Waddington and his people were the only persons who had really come out from the world, if we might believe their own manifesto; but subsequent enquiries satisfied me that few were more deeply immersed in it than their loquacious leader. Every "creature-comfort" was scrupulously studied, and not only health, but all things that could make life smooth and easy were actually idolized. True, there was one exception—a morbid fancy for vegetarian diet, which had, perhaps, won its way to the heart of Mr. Waddington from the fact, that it served as a vantage ground from which to make hard speeches against those who thought that every creature of God was good, and nothing to be refused, if received with thanksgiving and sanctified by the word of God and prayer. In this movement, his own family even had no sympathy; but it had touched a kindred cord in the heart of Major Goode, and made a convert of him.

From the specimen I had already had, I was not anxious to know more of Mr. Jeroboam Waddington, of the Hill Mizar. Excusing myself to the major and his lady, who were to make some little stay-for "the church was to dine in the chapel," as the bills said—and taking a formal leave of the others, I again turned homeward.

Well, thought I to myself, as soon as I could free my mind from the unhappy sentiments awakened by the sermon, there are great mistakes-great diversities of opinion-great wants, amongst these folks as well as in our own church. In every

age there have been Pharisees and Sadducees—adders to and subtracters from the words of the Book of Prophecy. Puseyism, with its gilded rites, its voluntary humility, and worshipping of angels, is no worse than that Antinomianism which eats out from it all the beauty of holiness; or Socinianism, which thinks it no robbery to rob Him who was equal with God, of all his regal honors.

But so foolish was I and ignorant, that I then imagined both of these last mistakes to belong only to dissent. I felt shocked at the sacrilegious buffoonery of Mr. Waddington, and could not help calling to mind a home-thrust by one of our best and most honored brethren in the gospel, with reference to these worldly-minded preachers of spirituality.

"O, sir!" said one of his congregation, speaking of one of these eloquent expounders of error, "if you were to see him in the pulpit, you would hope he might never get out of it.”

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Aye; and if you were to see him out of it," replied the other, "you would wish much more that he would never get into it."

The day was still lovely, but my heart was heavy. I had walked out to get rid of my prejudices, and so far from losing them, they had been confirmed. For I saw, to parody a phrase of Bunyan's, that there was a Way to Error through the Wicket of Dissent, as well as through the Beautiful Gate of Episcopacy. H. R. E.

(To be continued.)

SIR THOMAS FOWELL BUXTON, BART.

(Concluded from page 275.)

"What was he, who did all this, as to his inward self? What were the constituent elements of his mind and character? What were the interior sources-intellectual, moral, or emotional-of that kind and degree of outward and visible action which we have surveyed? And how came he to be this? Whence was that inward man that underlay and animated the outward? How much of him was elementary and inherent— born with the letter, and slumbering from the first in his rude material? How much was added, or superinduced, by subsequent events or Divine donation? By what means, cir

cumstances, agents, plans, were the life and faculties of this inward man evoked, developed, strengthened, sustained?

"In the first place, he was distinguished by power. His determinations were supreme and regal. His purpose, once fixed, was inflexible. His perseverance in action—his independence and self-trust-his capacity for courageous and continued labour—were as great and remarkable as the pertinacity, force, and decision of his will.

"His first tutor, was the gamekeeper, Abraham Plastow. But Abraham Plastow was no common character, no ordinary 'preserver of game,' whether the title belongs to serf or sovereign. He was one of those remarkable men who are sometimes to be met with in humble life, who are constitutionally constructed of the very best materials;-composed of the same marble or clay of which the finest specimens of humanity are made ;—of whom consist the 'Village Hampdens,' the 'bloodless Cromwells,' the 'mute inglorious Miltons' of the poet,―pieces and blocks of the raw material of heroic men. Under the auspices and tuition of this gamekeeper, young Buxton acquired his taste for hunting and shooting, and was indebted to him for much of skill in these accomplishments. But he owed to him better and higher things. Abraham was a thorough and noble

man.

He was a philosopher and a general;-a wise, good, and sagacious friend, who had councils to give, and principles to implant ;—a resolute master, too, of his young pupils, who, when they were in the wrong, carried his point and would be obeyed. He could neither read nor write. But his memory was stored with rustic knowledge; his heart was the seat of integrity and honour; he was intellectual in his way; a great original; undaunted, fearless; and with moral courage equal to his animal insensibility to danger. To his constant companionship with such a guide, philosopher, and friend,' in all his out-door occupations and pursuits, young Buxton was greatly indebted for the growth and nurture of that manly robustness of character, and that high-souled superiority to meanness and wrong, of which it was the object of the watchful in-door maternal influence to sow the seeds.

"We now proceed to the grand crisis in Sir Fowell Buxton's life. This was his introduction, as a youth, through a boyish