self. Adieu, once more, Eliza! May no an- for ever! Adieu, adieu, adieu !' is probable that he first met the celebrated Eliza's departure brought on a fit of "Eliza." Mrs. Sterne and Lydia were despondency. Mrs. James, too, for whom still abroad; "Kitty" had disappeared; Sterne had the warmest regard, was unthe post of Yorick's "Dulcinea " was well, and he was anxious about her. He empty, and Eliza filled it. She was the wrote on the 9th of April to Lydia, to say wife of Mr. Daniel Draper, a counselor of how unhappy he was. "Thy mother and Bombay, and bad been sent by him to thyself are at a distance from me, and Europe for her health. In appearance she what can compensate for such a destituwas far from handsome, but she had an in- tion ?" He begs them to return. Life, telligent and interesting face, and a singu- he said, was too short to waste in separalar sweetness of expression. She fairly tion. "Whilst she lives in one country, captivated the susceptible sentimentalist, and I in another, many people will suppose and he began to write her a series of let- it proceeds from choice. Besides, I want ters which would have made the counsel- thee near me, thou child and darling of or of Bombay stare if he had seen them. my heart." Such an appeal could not be They are in his most rapturous style. refused. Sterne had gone down to CoxSwift never wrot8mmore tenderly to Stella. would in May, utterly worn out, "lying He signs himself Tristram," Yorick," in the bottom of the chaise the most of "Thy Bramin." If we were to look only the route, upon a large pillow," and there, at the words, we should have to acknowl- in the month of September, his wife and edge that Warburton was not far wrong daughter joined him. in calling the writer a "scoundrel," and Feeble as he was in body, his genius that Thackeray's indictment against him, was as bright as ever, He was now enwhich is founded chiefly on these letters, gaged on the Sentimental Journey, and in was proven. But the facts show that the December had two volumes ready. It was relationship between the pair was inno-arranged that he should come to London cent. Mrs. James was aware of the senti- to superintend their publication, and that mental friendship from its beginning to Mrs. Sterne and Lydia should take a house its end, and accepted it as harmless. for the winter at York. It cost him a Great allowance must be made for struggle to part with his fondly-cherished Sterne's extravagance of phrase. In ap- child, whose praises he was always ready proaching women he invariably adopted a to sing. tender euphuism which Sir Piercie Shafton might have envied. He did not mean half he said. And his years made the idea of love ludicrous. He was nearly sixty, and, as he says himself, "ninety-five in constitution." Half the letters, too, were written after "Eliza" had started on her voyage back to India. "Il s'occupa de cette dame," writes M. Jules Janin, "avec une tendresse infinie, mais, il s'en occupa bien plus quand elle fut absente que lorsqu'elle était près de lui." On the 3d of April she sailed in the Earl of Chatham from the Downs. Sterne's adieux pursued her till the sails were set. As a "She is a dear, disinterested girl proof of it, when she left Coxwould, and I bade her adieu, I pulled out my purse, and offered her ten guineas for her private pleasures, her answer was pretty, and affected me too much: from France may have straitened you; I would 'No, my dear papa, our expenses in coming rather put a hundred guineas in your pocket than take ten out of it.' I burst into tears." And thus, with tears on his side, and no doubt on hers, the father and daughter kissed each other for the last time. They were never to meet again. Sterne took the same lodgings he had occupied on his last visit. They were at 41 Old Bond-street, on the first floor of a wigmaker's shop. For a few weeks he was able to share in the familiar round of dinners and assemblies; but, at the beginning of March, the "vile influenza," of which he had complained a fortnight before in a letter to Lydia, struck him down finally. Like the good Archbishop Leigh-gay party near still stood upon the threshton, he had once expressed a wish to die, old, he lifted his wasted arm as if to ward not in his own house, but " rather in some off a blow, and murmuring, "Now it is decent inn." That wish was to be ful- come," passed away without a groan. filled, too nearly for his comfort. Lydia and Mrs. Sterne were far away, and for the last few days of his life, his friends, the Jameses, do not appear to have been able to be near him. On Tuesday, the 15th, with the hand of death upon him, he wrote a last letter to Mrs. James: Do "My spirits are fled 'tis a bad omen. not weep, my dear lady; your tears are too precious to be shed for me-bottle them up, and may the cork never be drawn. Dearest, kindest, gentlest, best of women! may health, peace, and happiness prove your handmaids. If I die, cherish the remembrance of me, and forget the follies which you so often condemned, which my heart, not my head, betrayed me into. Should my child, Lydia, want a mother, may I hope you will (if she is parentless) take her to your bosom? Mr. James will be a father to her. Commend me to him, as I now commend you to that Being who takes under his care the good and kind part of the world. Adieu! all grateful thanks to you and Mr. James." With this touching appeal for the daughter, who was always uppermost in his mind, Sterne laid down his busy pen for ever. On the Friday following the end came. A strange incident marked his dying moments. In a street close by, "Fish" Crawford, a companion of the dying humorist's giddiest hours, and "one of the gayest young gentlemen, and the greatest gambler that ever belonged to Scotland," was entertaining a party of friends at dinner. Some one mentioned Sterne's illness, and it was determined to send to inquire how he was. The footman charged with the errand could learn nothing from the landlady in Bond-street, but was told that he might, if he pleased, walk up-stairs and ask the nurse for the latest news. He did so, and on entering the room found the brilliant Yorick totally exhausted and just expiring. The sick man's glazing eye may perhaps have rested for a moment on the liveried emblem of the glittering vanities he had loved too well. A hired attendant was chafing his frozen feet, and for a time he seemed relieved; but soon the cold rose higher, and while the nurse was still rubbing his legs and ankles, and the messenger from the "The gentlemen at the dinner," says the footman, "were all very sorry, and lamented him very much." They soon forgot him, however, for not one of them followed his body to the grave, and not one of them would lift a finger to help his wife and daughter. Garrick wrote a few lines to commemorate him, but for years no memorial marked his burial-place. Perhaps it was felt difficult to write an epitaph that should be both kind and truthful. We should now feel a similar difficulty, if we were to make a formal effort to sum up his virtues and vices, and strike a fair balance between them. In his writings and in his life what a maze of inconsistencies and contradictions this poor Yorick was! An original genius, yet a frequent plagiarist; intolerably af fected, yet able, when he chose, to write with perfect simplicity of style; a "fellow of infinite jest," yet a master of the deepest springs of pathos. And his character is as perplexing a mixture as his books. When we think of his London frivolities, his sentimental attachments, his entire forgetfulness of the cloth he wore, and to which he was, beyond all question, a disgrace, we are inclined to turn away in disgust, and join with a good-will in Thackeray's heartiest invectives. But presently we find there is some excuse for him. We remember his mercurial temperament, and the ease with which, having no strength of body or of mind, he took the impress of the licentious age in which he lived. We find, too, that he was not without a heart; that he could be genial and faithful to his friends, and loving to his child, generous to the distressed, and always ready to sympathize with the sorrowful. These qualities are some atonement for many faults, and form a fair ground for passing a judgment, as charitable as may be, on the chequered life of Sterne. We believe him to have been neither a hero nor a rogue. The most indiscreet of men and reckless of writers, he always wore his heart upon his sleeve, thus courting the censure he often deserved. He committed iunumerable follies, but, upon the whole, was rather weak than wicked. d edt ni 9988 WALTER to 7-waИ bodaeth EDITOR OF THE ECLECTIC MAGAZINE, le ammugib bh most gnived ayah evil-proc failure of his voice, after a pastorate of some four years, he removed to the milder climate of Philadelphia. In the beginning of 1841 he began editorial life as the conductor of the American National Preacher, which, with the omission of some years, he has continued to conduct;. and during this period, more than seventeen hundred thousand copies of sermons have been published in this monthly periodical, from nearly five hundred ministers of all evangelical denominations. The series of thirty-eight volumes forms a mass of sermon literature which, for variety, interest, and value, it would be difficult to overrate. In 1843 he became the proprietor and conductor of the New-York Evangelist, a weekly religious journal which has served, and is still serving, its generation with ability and usefulness. After twelve years of laborious service in conducting it, he relinquished it on the temporary failure of his health. In the mean time (1846) he became also the proprietor and conductor of the American Biblical Repository, one of the oldest and most celebrated of our religious quarterlies; and at the same time likewise the proprietor of THE ECLECTIC MAGAZINE, in which this notice appears. From pecuniary claims upon it he was compelled to add another to the list, making five periodicals at one time, which he managed for a number of years, with needful literary aid. anode with The subject of this notice entered Yale College in 1824, and graduated in the In 1849, suffering from exhausted class of 1827. The two subsequent years strength, he went abroad, visiting Engwere employed in efforts to pay off the land, France, Switzerland, and Italy; incurred expenses of college life. He walked over the demolished walls of studied theology in the seminary of Yale Rome, and among the sad ruins of beauCollege, and was licensed to preach the tiful palaces, caused by the terrible bomgospel in the spring of 1833. He had bardment of the French army, to drive married Miss Susan M. Duryea, of New- out the hero Garibaldi and reconquer York, a descendant of a Huguenot family; the Eternal City to the power of the and, on account of her feeble health, spent pope. He spent a night on the summit with her a year in England and France. of Vesuvius, when it was belching forth In the autumn of 1833 he was ordained streams of melted lava, presenting a scene and installed pastor of the Congregation- of indescribable grandeur. He returned al church in Medfield, Mass. On the home by way of Scotland and Ireland. ར In the summer of 1851 he went abroad | gion, he returned over the mountains to again for a brief season, spending ten Malaga and Gibraltar, and thence to Pordays in surveying the vast treasures in tugal, stopping some time in Lisbon on the Crystal Palace, gathered from the rich the Tagus. He then took passage in the countries and governments of Europe, and British Peninsular steamer to Southamp from the distant climes of India. He vis- ton and London, and reached New-York ited Holland; passed up the Rhine; spent after an absence of ninety-five days, having some time at Munich, that wondrous city traveled a distance of over eleven thouof art, thence down the Danube to Vien- sand miles. Since 1853 he has been alna; passed through Bohemia and Sax- most constantly occupied with his editoon Switzerland to Dresden, Berlin, and rial and other duties. Jod Hamburg, and returned home by way of Paris and London, to resume his la bors. 10tonbroo of Again, in 1853, he sought relaxation in foreign travel. After a brief visit to North Wales, he went to London, to Paris, and thence to southern France, crossing the Pyrenees from San Sebastian to Valladolid, and over the Gaudarama mountains to Madrid. After various detours, and visiting places of historic interest, he passed through central and southern Spain to Seville and Cadiz; thence through the straits to Gibraltar, by way of Tangiers, and to Malaga; and over the mountains to Granada and the Alhambra, the ancient and last home of the Moors of Spain. After a brief sojourn in that most interesting historic reamorfodal lo 69 WHITHER O whither love shall we go,00 2018 In a shallop of crystal ivory-beaked, an To a sweet little Eden on earth that I know, Mixed with myrtle and clad with vine, ayes7 In the autumn of 1860 he became the proprietor and publisher of the American Theological Review, the editorial depart ment of which was under the direction of Professor Henry B. Smith. After two years this work was united with the Presbyterian Quarterly Review, and passed into the hands of Rev. J. M. Sherwood, its present proprietor and editor, in conjunction with Professor H. B. Smith and other scholars eminent in theological literature. This sketch is necessarily imperfect, and personal; but we trust it will answer the end designed by it. Impaired health rendering rest needful once more, Mr. Bidwell left early in July for the north of Europe, and is now probably at St. Petersburg. "No, no, no! For the bud ever breaks into bloom on the tree, All along the valley while I walked to-day, Mr well-beloved friend, at noon to-day Over our cliffs a white mist lay unfurled, A white abyss beneath, and nought beside; Yet, hark! a cropping sounds not ten feet down. Soon I could trace some browing lambs that hied Through rock-paths cleft and brown. And here and there green tufts of grass peered through Soft lavender, and sea-thrift: then behold The mist, subsiding over, bared to view A beast of giant mould. Jane FLOWERS AND CHILDREN. BY CHARLES MACKAY. On, the flowerets, the bonnie wee flowerets, Glinting and smiling and peeping through the grass! And oh, the children, the bonnie little children, I see them and love them and bless them as I pass! I bless them-but I'm sad for them I wish I could be glad for them, For who, alas ! can tell me the fate that shall befall? The flowerets of the morning, The greenwood path adorning, 70 May be scattered ere the noontide by the wild wind's sudden call; Or plucked because they're beautiful, Or trampled under foot by the cattle of the stall And the smiling little children, the bonnie little children, That sport like happy moths in the sunny summer sheen, May perish ere the daytime Of their sweet expected May-time, And sleep beneath the daisies and the long grass growing green; Or a worse, worse fate may light on them, The bonnie little maiden may be wooed and cast From the London Eclectic. THE BOATMAN. BY PISISTRATUS CAXTON. "No rest on the river-that's past for thee; The beacon but shines as a guide to the sea. A One chime of the oar, ere it halt evermore, Then seems there to float Down the length of the way- From the town and the mart- From the gamesters in vain Of invisible dies An echo that wails with my wailing and sighs, |