Your face is far too round, and rather yellow

You've surely got the jaundice, Mr
Moon."

Some of the younger members stuffed their handkerchiefs into their mouths, and others laughed outright; but Mr Winterdykes walked

back to his seat with the same composure that he had left it.

Mr Theodore Peacock was next applied to; rather a handsome young man, with a Roman nose, and a Grecian brow, but withal, somewhat too fashionably dressed to have much genius. He who allows his mustachios to grow, who wears a diamond ring on his little finger, and buries his ears within the collar of his shirt, can never write good poetry; he will never produce any thing superior to the following translation of Mr Theodore Peacock, who, turning with an air of fashionable badinage to Miss Ellen Sommers, beside whom he sat, recited these lines:

Cantata,

From the Italian of Zappi.
"Dunque, O vaga mia diva," &c.
"Because no blushing roses deck
My gentle Clementina's cheek,
Fears she to see my love decay,
And fade like evening light away?
Ah! knows she not her's is the hue
Of love most tender, warm, and true?
Ah! knows she not young lovers slight
The flowers with flaunting colours bright,
But never willingly forget
The pale, but modest violet?
Ah! knows she not, at break of morn,
Though no vermilion tints adorn
The lily, yet Aurora loves,

As o'er the mountain's brow she roves,
To pluck that flower so white, so fair,
And bind it in her golden hair ?"

Miss Sommers, whose face was, in fact, remarkably pale, seemed not a little disconcerted by the somewhat indelicate manner which she was thus made the object of general attention. With the hope of concealing her confusion, as soon as her admirer had finished, she hastened to comply

with Lady Caroline's request, that she would read or recite the poem which she had selected for this evening from her numerous stock. There was something peculiarly interesting in this young lady's countenance. Her eye was of a deep melancholy blue, and her whole appearance presented me with a personification of female genius, more in unison with the beau-ideal of my fancy, than I ever expected to have seen realized. I listened, therefore, with much attention, to the following verses, or, as the Italians would call them, qua

dernarii.

The next candidate for public applause was a gentleman in black, at least six feet high, and though probably on the borders of fifty, yet as slender as a stripling of eighteen. He was certainly one of the most awkward beings I had ever seen, yet there was something like humour in his face. I was not surprised to hear him commence with hoping that the ladies would recollect he was an old bachelor, and, besides, that he was answerable only for the words, not for the ideas, of the poem he was about to recite, it being a translation, and was entitled

sneer,

'Old Wisdom's below, shall I show him up here ?'

'Poor square-toes!' cried Cupid, suppressing a smile;

'And has he been waiting, kind soul, all this while?

Pray tell the old boy I am busy to-day, He may call the next time that he passes this way.""

Every body declared that this was positively libellous, and that, as none but an old bachelor would have written it, no one but an old bachelor would ever have thought of translating it." Here, I am sure, is a gentleman," said Lady Caroline, turning to me with one of her sweetest smiles, "who entertains less satirical notions of the tender passion, whether he be a bachelor or not." "Your ladyship does me only justice," answered I, with a bow. "I am a bachelor, and I may say 'an old one too,' but I have not yet forgot the time when I enjoyed

The bloom of young desire, and purple light of love.""

My "hour was now come." No apology would be taken, and to vindicate, therefore, the sincerity of the declaration I had just made, I repeated, as well as my memory would allow, some lines I had written before I was nineteen, and which I had dignified with the name of

Mutual Love.

"O! 'tis a joy all joys above

To know that an innocent heart is

thine,

To press with thy lip the lips you love,

And round the dear neck thy arm to

twine :

land beauties of the other. In short, I entered into all the simple concerns of these simple rustics, and I was then as much impressed as they were themselves with their interest and importance. The minister of a parish in Scotland, at that time, did not occupy a station which, in point of wealth, could entitle him to put himself above the sphere of the humblest cottager. Enjoying, as my father did, the respect and attachment of all his flock, he was at the same time admitted more as an equal than as a superior; and the minister's son was not treated with more respect. From the indulgent course of studies which my father had prescribed, I was sent to college, and to severer masters, in the town of, where I remained for ten years, without having visited my native village. I went through my trials and public examinations with what my friends were pleased to term considerable éclat, and I had been licensed to preach at the neighbouring Presbytery, before I made my appearance at the manse. I came home the night before, and was to begin my public ministry by preaching my first sermon in my father's pulpit.

What a change was here effected in a few years! From the wild, regardless youngster, I had become the staid, sober, religious instructor. Instead of associating familiarly, and entering heartily into their little schemes of adventure and of mirth, I was to address them and rule them in the character of teacher and master. After a sleepless night, I was indulging in these reflections, which partook as much of a melancholy as a pleasurable colouring, when I was reminded by my father that the religious duties of the morning were about to be performed. These were gone through with that piety and peace which are exclusively the characteristics of God's people. When seated at the breakfast-table, I could perceive the varied aspect and demeanour of the domestic circle; my mother was pale and agitated, and I saw her tremble as she handed me the cup. My lovely sister was flushed with hope, and anxiety, and pride, and joy, and my father, as if striving with similar feelings, or as if wishing to impress me with the dig

nity and seriousness of my duties, was more than ordinarily grave and austere. I was struck also with the peculiar expression of our old servant John's countenance, as he occasionally came into the room. He had known me from my infancy, and it was but as yesterday that he had seen me a "haffins callan," running wild about the braes. There was an odd mixture of mirth and melancholy, a repressed smile, and an assumed gravity, which, if I had been in other mood, or in other circumstances, would have afforded me some pleasure to analyse. But notwithstanding every effort, I could not free myself from something like a feeling of anxiety or apprehension. I succeeded, however, in bringing myself into a state of calmness and self-command; and after conning over my sermon for the sixtieth time, I took the road to the church. My spirits were cool, and though I felt a slight tremor in my frame, I was firm and collected. I was accompanied by my good old father. The neighbouring roads were crowded with people cleanly and decently dressed, proceeding on their way to church, to hear their former companion deliver his maiden sermon, and there was something extremely interesting in the sight of people gathering from all parts of the country, to the house of God. It is here that the powerful influence of religion is felt much more universally, and is displayed much more unequivocally, than in the artificial societies of towns or cities. The glens, and hills, and dales, speak in the native language of religion, and their inhabitants yield to the divine influence which is impressed upon every thing, around them, and lead their views from "Nature's works to Nature's God." Their contemplation is not obscured, or their attention distracted, by the forms of art or the distortions of fashion; and they join in the simple worship of their forefathers with a simplicity and singleness of heart which is not to be found amidst the refined and artificial votaries of fashion and folly. On my entering the church, I saw many faces of old acquaintances, whose eyes were directed towards me with friendly and anxious interest; and when I entered the pulpit along with

their own revered and ancient Pas tor, I could easily perceive emotions of pride and exultation mantling their homely but kind countenances. My father's 's prayer was extremely affecting. He besought a blessing on our present meeting, and he prayed earnestly and pathetically for strength and understanding to the speaker who was to address them in the holy character of His Messenger. I was nearly overcome, and I rose to commence my labours with some degree of trepidation. The church was hushed, the most profound silence prevailed, and all eyes were intensely and earnestly fixed upon the pulpit. I was calmed by this universal acquiescence-I experienced the indescribable influence of an attentive audience, and I felt all my energies roused. My text was that most beautiful verse in Ecclesiastes, and which I never repeat but with a thrill of delight, "Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them." I cannot speak of the merits of the sermon. In these my riper days, it appears, upon cooler consideration, to have been too flowery and poetical too much regard being paid to the language and the periods, and too little to the substance and the sense. Like the greater part of young preachers' sermons, it sacrificed too much to the graces of oratory, and could suffer, with much probable advan tage, to be pruned and weeded. I have the sermon yet beside me, and, on perusing it yesterday, for the first time these twenty years, I felt my cheek burn, and my pulse beat quick, at the thought of having once coolly and warmly applauded the prurient and extravagant effusion. Let no one talk to a young man of the importance and seriousness of his pastoral duties, or of the necessity of being plain and practical in his weekly addresses to his fellow-men. There never was a young preacher who did not look upon the pulpit merely as a place adapted for the display of his talents. He views it as the public arena, where he enjoys the only opportunity afforded to his profession of putting forth his strength and mind, and exhibiting his powers of

oratory; and it runs counter to the laws of Nature, to expect that he will repress these powers, or sacrifice this opportunity of shewing them, for the bare performance of his cold and abstract duty. The mistake is, that he looks upon his duties as too much of a profession. I feel ashamed now, of the exuberant ornaments of this my first Discourse, but then I felt satisfied and proud of them. At some of these artificial pauses, I thought I perceived a slight move ment of applause amongst my homely friends, and I was gratified with the supposed force of my preaching. I was excited to still greater exertions, and was delivering, with encreased energy, one of my most laboured passages, when I was suddenly laid hold of by my arm, which was extended, to add force to my exhortations. My father, assuming my place in the pulpit, addressed the audience, "My friends, our young friend John seems to ha'e forgot where he is, and who he is speaking to. We are not in a theatre, nor are we come here to listen to theatrical airs. He is young, and will learn→→ ay, and he maun learn before he again preaches here. We are ower auld to be led away by sound, in place of sense, and we are engaged in too important a work to be diverted from the execution of it by mere poetry and noise." I learnt a lesson from this severe rebuke, of which I was the better all the rest of my days, and I never again offended the ears or hearts of my unsophisticated congregation, by theatrical airs, or theatrical composition. It was not long ere I recovered my character with my father, and the most soberminded of his congregation, and I was soon set down as being one of the soundest and plainest preachers in that neighbourhood.

With the encreased experience of a long life, and varied observation, I have become more and more convinced, that the more nearly a preacher approaches to simplicity in his ser mons, the more nearly does he ap proximate to that standard of excellence held out to us in the Holy Scriptures. It is very evident, that religion, in all its views, and in all its bearings, embraces elements of thought, capable of engaging the