TH THE original of this month's Portrait is too extensively known, and too deservedly respected, to require any elaborate introduction, as there are few will honour this Sketch with a perusal who have not some personal knowledge of its amiable subject. Our notice will indeed be brief; for however publicly interesting is the sphere of duty in which he moves, it consists but in a repetition of the same engagements, and perhaps his best praise is, that in the discharge of those duties and engagements he is constantly to be found. The labours of a Parish Priest are necessarily restricted, but their worth is not the less valuable, because their site of action is not more extensive.

The Rev. JAMES RUDGE, D.D. and F.R.S. was born at Croom Hall, near Yate, in the county of Gloucester, on the 27th of April, 1785, and is the son of a highly respectable solicitor, who was also coroner for the county. He was brought up at Crypt-school, in the city of Gloucester, and received nearly the whole of his classical education under the able superintendence of his uncle, the Rev. Thomas Rudge, the present Archdeacon of Gloucester, and Chancellor of the Diocese of Hereford. From this seminary, which was at that time in deservedly high repute, he went to Oxford, in the year 1801, and was entered, as a scholar, at Pembroke College, where he continued to reside for several years. Having passed his exa

mination, under the new-statute, with much credit to himself and tutors, at the usual time, he took the degree of B.A. and in the year 1814 was admitted to the distinction of Master of Arts; while in 1919, that of Doctor of Divinity was also conferred upon him. In the year 1809, he became Minister, and was shortly afterwards elected by the parishioners Lecturer of Limehouse: in which place he has continued to reside ever since, having had the sole superintendance of this extensive and populous parish confided to him, since his first entrance into Holy Orders. In the year 1815, be was a candidate for the Sunday Evening Lectureship of St. Lawrence Jewry, Guildhall, London, and was elected after a severe contest, the vicar of the parish, Dr. Byam, being one of his opponents. On the Friday evening endowed Lectureship in the same Church becoming vacant in the present year, he was solicited to become a candidate, and gained the appointment with a great majority over the other competitors. These are the places to which he has confined his pastoral labours, except occasionally preaching for the various charities in the metropolis, and visiting the inmates of our various prisons, when called upon to discharge those painful, but highly useful, offices of religion and humanity.

But there is no part of the duties of the parochial minister, wherein his labours have been more extensive, his

success more unequivocal, and his joy, consequently, more abundant, than in his visits to the poor and sick of his own parish. Claims of this description have been both numerous and pressing, and have never been resisted; and his daily experience, in this department of ministerial usefulness, is supposed to equal, if not exceed, that of any clergyman of the present day. With respect to his visits to our prisons, above alluded to, they have been dictated only by a motive of doing good, and have never been made but at the request of some unfortunate object, or at the express desire of some particular friends. Connected with his intercourse with the wretched inmates of a prison, the following singular and authentic anecdote deserves to be recorded, and which serves to shew that, even from their minds, the impressions of honesty are not altogether banished. Some time since, as Dr. Rudge was returning from the house of his mother, in Mortimerstreet, Cavendish-square, hewas knocked down by two men, who robbed him of a valuable watch and seals, and the silver he had in his pocket. While they were in the act of accomplishing their purpose, the Doctor thought he recog nised one of the men as a person, whom he had been the means of extricating from prison, on his repeated representations that he had been inveigled by Vaughan, and others, into the commission of the crime, of which he bad lately been convicted, and for which he theu was daily expecting the warrant for his execution. Whether the villain was aware, at the time, of the person he was robbing, is uncertain; but on the following day, when Dr. Rudge intended to have gone to Bow street, and have there mentioned the circumstance, the watch and seals, together with sixteen shillings and sixpence, the whole of the silver he had about him at the time of the robbery, were returned, with a note expressive of regret for what had occurred, and with many thanks for "Mr. Rudge's kindness to poor prisoners!" The watch was a present from one of his parishioners, upon which he placed great value, and his name was engraven on the back of it.

In the year 1818, a most horrid murder was committed at Greenwich, on the bodies of Mr. Bird and his housekeeper; and scarcely any event, at the time, excited a deeper interest in the public mind. A man of the name of

Hussey was taken up as the supposed murderer, and was afterwards executed at Maidstone for the crime. When in prison in London, he was visited by Dr. Rudge, at the request of his friends; and after his conviction, the wretched man himself wrote to Dr. R. a letter expressive of his wish to see him. At the suggestion of a number of respectable persons the wish was complied with, as it seemed a matter of no common importance to extract from his lips some confession of his knowledge of, or participation in, the murder. This difficult task was cheerfully undertaken by Dr. R. He was a considerable time locked up with Hussey in the cell on the morning of his execution, when he made a full acknowledgment of his guilty participation in the crime, and afterwards confirmed it on the scaffold, where he desired to see Dr. R. a few moments before the drop fell. Some of the particulars were afterwards published ;* but it is understood there were some circumstances connected with the murder, &c. &c. which have never been revealed. Hussey died very penitent; but to the very last in despair of mercy being extended to him in another world.

The following eloquent character of the late lamented Princess CHARLOTTE was given in a Sermon preached by Dr. Rudge, at Limehouse Church, upon the day of her late Majesty's funeral:

"Without any invidious and unchristianlike comparisons, which ought ever to be reprobated, in the case of the Princess Charlotte there were some peculiar circumstances, which tended to deepen exceedingly the national disappointment and suffering. She was in the bloom of youth, and had all the freshness and all the charms of that happy and delightful period of existence. When warmed and animated by any subject in which she felt a deep and lively interest, and this was not uncommon with her, her countenance was beautiful. I have indeed seldom seen one in which the marks and lines of beauty might be more distinctly traceda The smile and intelligence by which it was distinguished, bespoke wisdom and benevolence. Perhaps it was impossible for the painter to embody on the canvass her fine and commanding look— her speaking and intelligent eye: at least, I think, the character of that

* See Vol. LXXIV. page 168-170,

countenance is wanting in all the portraits that I have seen. To a graceful and captivating exterior were added a constitution of mind, at once powerful, energetic, and masculine; such a vigour and strength of intellect; such a quickness and vivacity of parts; such a capacity and aptitude for business; such a force and originality of thought; and such a command and eloquence of language, as astonished and delighted those who had the happiness of enjoying her society, and of hearing her discourse. Nor were the qualities of her head surpassed by the virtues of her heart. To the former were joined a sweetness and affability of temper, a mildness and condescension of manner, that were truly admirable to contemplate. I remember one instance, in which they shone out most conspicuously; and I hope it is not foreign from my present business to mention it. A few years since, I had occasion to apply to her in behalf of an object of extreme distress, for whom, it appeared, nothing effectual could be done. I was anxious that the life of this individual might be spared; but the law interposed its strong and inflexible arm; and, for the crime of forgery, he paid the forfeit of his life. This unhappy criminal left behind him a wife, and a defenceless and innocent babe, for whom,' said the Princess. I am exceedingly interested, and if pecuniary aid be wanting, most cheerfully shall my contribution be given.' The night previous to the execution of the wretched criminal I had passed, throughout, with him in the cell, and saw him to the scaffold. The last moments of a dying person have always an awe and interest about them; and they never can fail to agitate a heart of any feeling, or one that casts a prospective look into that which is transacted in eternity. Has such a person cast off his sins, and did he quit the stage of existence in the frame and temper of mind which marked penitence for its stains and pollutions; and wilbsuch an one be a recipient hereafter of the mercy of God in Christ Jesus? What shall be definitively the aftercondition of any man, even of him of the highest attainments in religion and virtue, may be hoped, indeed, but cannot be decided on this side of the grave. It is a question which ought never to be agitated. On a subject of this kind, an awful reserve is main

tained throughout the Scriptures; and that spirit, therefore, which prompts some to fix upon the place of torment as the future abode of human delinquents, is a spirit emanating from the prince of this world, and to be had in utter reprobation? To whichever side we look, the subject is embarrassed with difficulties; and we might, therefore, expect to find, in a judicious person, the utmost reserve and caution, when it becomes one of the objects of his contemplations. This rule was scrupulously observed by the Princess, in conversing on the case to which I have alluded, and her remarks were those of a feeling, judicious, and discriminating mind. Mercy,' she said, is the darling attribute of Heaven. How conspicuously is it displayed in our Redemption, the whole of which is a dispensation of benignity to fallen man! I would, therefore, in no instance, limit the mercy of ALMIGHTY GOD and I think that this point is decided in the case of the labourers, of whom our SAVIOUR said, that the last should receive the same recompense as the first. With respect to the signs of penitence displayed by this young person, might they not be the fruits which faith had wrought in his mind? They are acceptable in the sight of Heaven; for angels rejoice in the conversion of a penitent sinner; at least it is agreeable to charity, and not contrary to any doctrine of religion to believe, that all will experience hereafter the exercise of mercy, if they have truly repented, and are in faith and forgiveness with all they have offended." In this manner did this amiable Princess converse, impressing all who heard her with a conviction of the solidity of her understanding, and the benevolence of her heart. In her altachments she evinced the utmost ardour and sincerity, of which she at various times furnished memorable proofs. Now, these points of her character were well known to the public. She was loved, and idolized, if I may be forgiven the term, by the people. As she grew in years and stature, she gained, day after day, on their hearts and affections; and every act of her too short and contracted life tended but to strengthen and confirm the original prepossessions in her favour. Thus, when it was judged advisable for her to change her state and con

ANNALS OF PUBLIC JUSTICE. (Continued from Vol. LXXVII. page 494.)

THE CZAR AND CZAROWITZ.

DURING

URING the tumults in Russia, when the Princess Sophia's intrigues to avail herself of Iwan's imbecility were defeated by Peter the Great, several ancient Boyards with drew to their country-houses in dis gust or fear. Mierenhoff, one of this number, bad a mansion about twelve versts from the metropolis, and resided in very strict retirement with his only daughter Feodorowna. But this beautiful young Muscovite had accompa. nied her father with more reluctance than he suspected, and contrived to solace ber solitude by frequent visits from her affianced husband, Count Biron, one of the Czar's body-guard. Though her lover laid claim to a title so sacred, his attachment to the imperial court and the kind of favoritism be enjoyed there, had created a jea. lousy not far from rancour in Mierenhoff. Mixing private feuds with political secrets, he devised a pretext to dismiss the young captain of the guard from all pretension to his daughter; but the young couple revenged themselves by clandestine disobedience. On one of the nights dedicated to their meetings, the Boyar chose to visit his daughter's apartment with an affectation of kindness. She, apprised of his intention only a few moments before, conveyed her lover into a large chest or press in the corner of her room, and closing the lid, covered it with her mantle, that he might obtain air by lifting it occasionally. But the Boyar unhappily chose to take his seat upon it; and after a long stay, which cost his daughter inexpressible agonies, departed without intimating any suspicion. Feodorowna sprang to raise the lid of her coffer, and saw Biron entirely lifeless. What a spectacle for an affianced wife!—but she had also the feelings of an erring daughter conscious that detection must be ruin. She had strength of mind enough to attempt every possible means of restoring life; and when all failed, to consider what might best conceal the terrible circumstances of his death. She could trust no one in her father's household except his porter, an old half-savage Tartar, to whom he had given the name of Usbeck, in allusion to his tribe. But this man had taught her to ride, reared Europ. Mag. Vol. LXXVIII. July 1820.

her favourite wolf-dog, and shewn other traits of diligent affection which invited trust. Feodorowna descended from the lofty window of her room by the ladder Biron had left there; and creeping to the porter's hut, awakened him to crave his help. It was a fearful hazard ever to a Russian female little acquainted with the delicacies of more polished society; but the instinct of uncorrupted nature is itself delicate, and the Tartar manifested it by lis tening to his distressed mistress with an air of humbler respect. He followed to her chamber, removed the dead body from its untimely bier, and departed with it on his shoulder. In an hour he returned, but gave no answer to her questions except that "All was safe." She put a ring containing a rich emerald on his finger, forgetting the hazard and unfitness of the gift. His eye flashed fire; and making a hasty step nearer, he seemed disposed to offer some reply; but as suddenly turning his back, and shewing only half his tiger-like profile over his left shoulder, he left Feodorowna in silence, and with a smile in which she imagined strange meaning.

The absence of the captain of the imperial guard could not be undiscovered long, and it was not difficult for his family to trace his nightly visits to his bride. But there all clue ceased; and after some mysterious hints at the secret animosity of her father, the search seemed to die away. An extraordinary circumstance renewed it. Biron's body was found near the imperial city with a small poignard buried in it, bearing this label round the hilt

"The vengeance of a Strelitz."The sanguinary sacrifice of the Strelitzregiment by Peter's orders, for their adherence to his sister Sophia, appeared to explain this inscription; and the friends of Count Biron instantly ascribed his fate to the scattered banditti formed by the survivors of this proscribed regiment. Feodorowna, though not the least surprised at the incident, was the only one who rejoiced, as she felt the security it gave to her secret. Her father preserved an entire silence and impenetrable indifference on the subject. The Emperor, notwithstanding the eccentric zeal of his attachments, chose to leave his favorite's fate in an obscurity be thought useful to his politics, and scandalous to his enemies. C