in Christian ministers; and no small portion of it characterised your father, though ever ready to buckle on his armour, and fight under the banner of his Leader and his Lord.

"While a pilgrim on earth, your father ever kept his eye on heaven. The future was ever present with him. His letters, notes, and communications to me had this mark upon themwhile alluding to things temporal, he never forgot those that are spiritual and eternal. It mattered not how humorous they were, how redundant, or how talented, for the humour, the redundancy, and the talent were continually, as it were, trodden under foot by some closing weighty Christian exhortation, suggestion, or remark. He might be said, by the language of his lips and his pen, always to be building Christian temples, and the top-stone, the Redeemer, was sure to be brought in with shouting.'

"There was an earnest sincerity in his attachment to the sacred Scriptures. He seemed to me to attach a solemn and peculiar significancy to every chapter he read, and every text that he quoted; and again and again has he impressed me, by his remarks, with a deeper reverence for God's Holy Word. Ever anxiously solicitous for the honour of his Divine Master, he would have the Saviour here, there, and everywhere; He must always be the Alpha and the Omega, ruling and reigning as 'the Lord of lords, and the King of kings.'

"What his infirmities and less loveable qualities were I cannot tell, for it so happened that I seemed to visit him in his sunniest seasons. Towards me there was always manifested by him the cheerfulness of unaffected pleasure-the 'flare up,' if I may speak so familiarly, of a friendly and affectionate spirit. I used, now and then, intentionally to excite him, by playfully taking up an argument the reverse of his known opinion, and then he came forth as an armed man to the battle, and we waged the war of words together. His eloquence, ingenuity, and resources in argument were striking. Great was his complacency when our weapons were laid aside, and he was acknowledged the victor. I do believe that he liked and loved me the better for the contention.

"You have, my dear Sir, too much affection for your honoured parent, and too great a respect for his memory, to require from me any apology for these remarks. I always fancied that I saw more in my departed friend than other people saw ; when alive I loved him, and now he is called away I honour his memory. With my kindest remembrance to Mrs. Shepherd,

"Believe me to be, my dear Sir,

"Yours sincerely and affectionately, "G. M."

Emm. Here is dear MRS. SHERWOOD'S MEMOIR.* I have read it through with no little enthusiasm. My earliest recollections of the "Youths' Magazine” are connected with her as a contributor.

Ed. No one has occupied a position similar to the one she filled as a writer for the young. Her unaffected style; her genuine heart-breathed piety, interwoven with the story, and not clumsily stuck into it, as in some religious tales; her thorough acquaintance with the world, and at the same time her intimate knowledge of the sweetest scenes of domestic life; and her charming vividness of description forcing upon the reader a conviction of truthfulness;-these are features of a line of authorship in which she has been unsurpassed, and, I think, unequalled. A memoir of such an authoress, especially one chiefly autobiographical, will be read with avidity by every one who has been charmed by her numerous works.

Emm. Yet I have been a little disappointed. I expected to find more about her books. The memoir is more about herself as a private person, than as an authoress. I do not mean that this is not extremely interesting; but I should like another volume, devoted to her literary life. As she has left behind an autobiography extending to fifteen volumes, I am sure her daughter can furnish a supplemental volume, and this would be eagerly welcomed.

Ed. We need not advise our readers to buy or borrow this memoir; they will be sure to do it. To provide, however, some account for those who can neither buy nor borrow, we promise them a sketch or two in our coming numbers.

Mrs. M. Was not Mrs. Sherwood unsound, at least, in the latter part of her life?

Ed. In the "Monk of Cimies," and in a volume of "Henry Milner," some sentiments are glanced at, scarcely expressed, which one cannot approve of. They probably mark a slight failure in mental grasp, such as advanced age may be expected to produce. But Mrs. Sherwood by no means deserved the indignation with which many good, but hasty people, tried to brand her as a heretic; nor was it fair to condemn all her writings for some errors detected in volumes composed in the decline of life. No one can read this memoir without being convinced of her clear and strong evangelical piety.

Aug. We must reserve this pile of books for our next meeting, Don't forget, sir, to let us have the particulars of your stay in Belgium.

* London: Darton & Co.

ADAMS & KING, PRINTERS, 30, GOSWELL STREET, LONDON.

WAS favourably impressed by the general appearance of this antique city. It has a cleanly, quiet, thriving look, as if every body did his own work and minded his own business. The splendid docks, affording accommodation for 2,000 ships, speak

B

well for its maritime commerce. Its manufactories of silk, its sugar refineries, and its lace works, furnish no little employment to its bustling artisans.

I was pleased with the manners of the people. The peasants seem simple, industrious, steady persons; the women plod along in their hooded cloaks, with Flemish demureness. I admired the handsome lace caps, with their singular lappels. I did not admire the strange bonnets of the market-women, with their fronts of an inch wide; nor did I think the wooden shoes very elegant, nor their clatter very musical.

I admired the fine architecture, the capriciously winding streets of stone-built houses. These quaint old houses, six and seven stories high, tapering up to a pinnacle, and their fronts adorned with that luxuriant tracery which characterises the buildings erected in Flanders by the Spaniards, present themselves in such picturesque groups, that one is quite ready to forgive the irregular construction of the city.

Then the splendid churches. Probably no place in Europe is so rich in magnificent ecclesiastical structures, embellished by the most remarkable works of art. Antwerp is enriched by the best productions of Rubens and Van Dyck, and other great masters who were natives of the city. I entered the cathedral, having feasted my eye on its beautiful Gothic spire, and found a new feast within. The fine proportions, the exquisite paintings by Rubens, the Gothic stalls, the carved pulpit, the richly adorned altars, contributed powerfully to aid that appeal to the senses which Rome loves to present to her votaries.

St. Jaques is an imposing looking church. It contains many precious works in sculpture and painting. Its richness of decoration is quite dazzling. I saw Rubens' tomb and altarpiece, Van Dyck's picture of the crucifixion, and Duquesnoy's marble statue of the Virgin. Close to St. Paul's church I found a frightful attempt to represent to the eye the torments of pur

gatory. Lost souls could be seen through iron-barred windows, with anguished faces, in imploring attitudes. Above was the Virgin despatching succour.

The

coarse manner in which this horrible scene is executed, must disgust all persons but the low and vulgar. It contrasts greatly with the numerous paintings of great beauty contained in the church. I have not time to describe the other churches.

But how was I impressed in a religious point of view? By no means favourably. The people I discovered to be ignorant and superstitious; under the pleasant surface I learned that gross immorality too frequently lay; the numerous "drunkeries" had their tale to tell. On the Sunday evening I saw thousands going to and coming from a suburban festival, held in honour of "St. Job." At this feast I was informed that the most awful scenes could be witnessed.

If splendid and pompous religious ceremonies could make people religious, the Antwerp citizens would be models of devoutness. It was during the month of May that I was there, and the Masses were more numerous and imposing than usual. I saw crowds of devotees, market women with their baskets, soldiers, fashionable ladies, priests, kneeling on their praying chairs, with eyes fixed intently on the image of the Virgin; their lips moving, and in many cases, I doubt not, their hearts joining in this exercise of devotion.

They seemed in earnest. I felt sure they were, for they were getting their souls saved, and the most thoughtless might well be earnest then. As they rose from their knees and left the Churches, dropping a curtsey to some altar by the way, I generally noticed a very complacent look upon their faces, as if they had done some excellent thing, and might now go back to their marketings, or their frivolities, with a very easy conscience.

As it was the month sacred to Mary, there was more devotion than usual. There was one crooked old