travelling from country to country, enduring every species of hardship, encountering every extremity of danger, assaulted by the populace, punished by the magistrates, scourged, beat, stoned, left for dead; expecting, wherever he came, a renewal of the same treatment, and the same dangers; yet, when driven from one city, preaching in the next; spending his whole time in the employment, sacrificing to it his pleasures, his ease, his safety; persisting in this course to old age, unaltered by the experience of perverseness, ingratitude, prejudice, desertion; unsubdued by anxiety, want, labor, persecutions; unwearied by long confinement, undismayed by the prospect of death. Such was Paul. We have his letters in our hands; we have also a history purporting to be written by one of his fellow-travellers, and appearing, by a comparison with these letters, certainly to have been written by some person well acquainted with the transactions of his life. From the letters, as well as from the history, we gather not only the account which we have stated of him, but that he was one out of many who acted and suffered in the same manner; and that of those who did so, several had been the companions of Christ's ministry, the ocular witnesses, or pretending to be such, of his miracles and of his resurrection. We moreover find this same person referring in his letters to his supernatural conversion, the particulars and accompanying circumstances of which are related in the history; and which accompanying circumstances, if all or any of them be true, render it impossible to have been a delusion. We also find him positively, and in appropriate terms, asserting that he himself worked miracles, strictly and properly so called, in support of the mission which he executed; the history, meanwhile, recording various passages of his ministry which come up to the extent of this assertion. The question is, whether falsehood was ever attested by evidence like this. Falsehoods, we know, have found their way into reports, into tradition, into books; but is an example to be met with of a man voluntarily undertaking a life of want and pain, of incessant fatigue, of continual peril; submitting to the loss of his home and country, to stripes and stoning, to tedious imprisonment, and the constant expectation of a violent death, for the sake of carrying about a story of what was false, and what, if false, he must have known to be so?

Conclusion of the Hora Paulina.

ELIZABETH CARTER, 1717-1806.

ELIZABETH CARTER, eldest daughter of the Rev. Nicholas Carter, D. D., was born at Deal, in Kent, on the 16th December, 1717. In her early years she gave no promise of excelling in literature, and her father was quite discouraged,

and advised her to relinquish her studies; but intense and systematic application' soon met with its reward. In a few years, she acquired a very critical knowledge of Greek and Latin, and had made considerable proficiency in Hebrew, and, before her twenty-first year, she added the French, Spanish, and German to her other acquirements.2 But all attainments in knowledge she felt to be nothing without religion. Her earnest piety was the most decided feature of her character in her youth, and continued undiminished to the last moments of her life.

Notwithstanding her laborious and severe studies, she found leisure for amusement, and for the display of a cheerful and ever gay disposition. Of dancing she was particularly fond, and entered with great vivacity and high spirits into all the innocent diversions of youth. She was fond of painting, and attained considerable excellence in the art; and, before her seventeenth year, she courted the Muses, by translating from the Greek the thirtieth ode of Anacreon; and the next year she sent two or three poetical effusions to the "Gentleman's Magazine." In 1739, she gave a translation from the French of the critique of Crousaz on Pope's "Essay on Man," and of Algarotti's "Explanation of Newton's Philosophy, for the use of Ladies," which procured her a high reputation among the literati, both in England and on the Continent.3 In 1746, she wrote her "Ode to Wisdom," one of the most elegant and instructive of her poetical effusions. By this time, of course, her literary acquaintance was very extensive. Of these, Dr. Secker (afterward Archbishop of Canterbury) was warmly attached to her, and was of great service to her in her literary pursuits; and Dr. Johnson was so struck with the depth and variety of her acquisitions, that he wrote a Greek epigram in her praise.4

Encouraged by the approbation of her intimate friend, Miss Talbot, and of Dr. Secker, she commenced, in 1749, when in her thirty-second year, a translation of the writings of Epictetus. It was completed in 1756, and published in 1758, in one volume, quarto. About one thousand three hundred copies were printed, and she realized one thousand pounds as the pecuniary reward of her labors. But a reward of a much higher kind awaited her-the applause and the

"I talked of the difficulty of early rising. Dr. Johnson told me that the learned Mrs. Carter, at that period when she was eager in study, did not awake as early as she wished, and she therefore had a contrivance that, at a certain hour, her chamber light should burn a string, to which a heavy weight was suspended, which then fell with a strong, sudden noise: this roused her from sleep, and then she had no difficulty in getting up."-CROKER'S BOSWELL, vi. 310.

These acquirements were not made, as they never should be, at the expense of more feminine accomplishments. "Upon hearing a lady commended for her learning, Dr. Johnson said, A man is in general better pleased when he has a good dinner upon his table, than when his wife talks Greek. My old friend, Mrs. Carter,' he added, 'could make a pudding as well as translate Epictetus from the Greek; and work a handkerchief as well as compose a poem."-CROKER'S BOSWELL, ix. 129.

She was highly complimented for this effort by a writer in the "Gentleman's Magazine,” ix. 322:

"Be thine the glory to have led the way,

And beam'd on female minds fair science's ray;
Awak'd our fair from too inglorious case,

To meditate on themes sublime as these:

The many paths of nature to explore,

And boldly tread where none have reach'd before."

In a letter to Cave, he says, "I have composed a Greek epigram to Eliza, and think she ought to be celebrated in as many different languages as Louis le Grand."

•See Compendium of English Literature, p. 56.

approval of the learned, the wise, and the good. Scholars were astonished that so difficult a Greek author should be translated with such accuracy, and elegance, and varied learning, by a woman; and Dr. Johnson is reported, in consequence, to have said, when a celebrated Greek scholar was spoken of, "Sir, he is the best Greek scholar in England, except Elizabeth Carter."

In the year 1762, she was induced to publish a collection of her poems, in one small volume, which, before the close of the century, passed through five or six editions. The character of her poetry is such as might have been expected from the elegance of her classical learning, the purity of her moral principles, and her consistent piety. While, to high imagination, or to great creative power, she can lay no claim, her language is clear and correct, her versification sweet and harmonious, and her sentiments all that the moralist or the Christian could wishpure, dignified, devotional, and sometimes rising to the sublime.

At this time her society was courted by the good and the learned everywhere; but she never favored mere literary eminence, unless it were connected with parity of character. Without this, no talents, however brilliant, attracted her regard, or could be admitted into her social circle. What a change would soon be seen and felt throughout society, if every female had the firmness and moral courage to take this position, and to say to every known immoral character what Henry V. said to Falstaff

"Not to come near our person by ten miles!"

In the latter part of her life, Mrs. Carter began to feel heavily the devastation which death usually makes among the friends of those who are destined to long life. In 1768, Dr. Secker died; in 1770, her beloved companion, Miss Talbot; in 1774, her venerable father, at the age of eighty-six; and, in 1800, her old and valued friend, Mrs. Montagu. She herself expired, with perfect calmness and resignation, on the morning of the 19th of February, 1806.!

Of Mrs. Carter's poems we have before spoken. Her chief original prose conpositions were letters, and two numbers in the Rambler, No. 44 and No. 100. The former consists of an allegory, wherein religion and superstition are contrasted in a most admirable manner.

To the Rambler.

RELIGION AND SUPERSTITION.

SIR-I had lately a very remarkable dream, which made so strong an impression on me, that I remember it every word; and if you are not better employed, you may read the relation of it as follows :—

Methought I was in the midst of a very entertaining set of company, and extremely delighted in attending to a lively conversation, when, on a sudden, I perceived one of the most shocking figures imagination can frame, advancing towards me. She was drest in black, her skin was contracted into a thousand wrinkles, her eyes deep sunk in her head, and her complexion pale and livid as the

Read a memoir of her in Drake's "Essays," vol. v.

countenance of death. Her looks were filled with terror and unrelenting severity, and her hands armed with whips and scorpions. As soon as she came near, with a horrid frown, and a voice that chilled my very blood, she bid me follow her. I obeyed, and she led me through rugged paths, beset with briers and thorns, into a deep, solitary valley. Wherever she passed, the fading verdure withered beneath her steps; her pestilential breath infected the air with malignant vapors, obscured the lustre of the sun, and involved the fair face of heaven in universal gloom. Dismal howlings resounded through the forest, from every baleful tree the nightraven uttered his dreadful note, and the prospect was filled with desolation and horror. In the midst of this tremendous scene, my execrable guide addressed me in the following manner :

"Retire with me, O rash, unthinking mortal, from the vain allurements of a deceitful world, and learn that pleasure was not designed the portion of human life. Man was born to mourn and to be wretched; this is the condition of all below the stars, and whoever endeavors to oppose it, acts in contradiction to the will of Heaven. Fly then from the fatal enchantments of youth and social delight, and here consecrate the solitary hours to lamentation and woe. Misery is the duty of all sublunary beings, and every enjoyment is an offence to the Deity, who is to be worshipped only by the mortification of every sense of pleasure, and the everlasting exercise of sighs and tears."

This melancholy picture of life quite sunk my spirits, and seemed to annihilate every principle of joy within me. I threw myself beneath a blasted yew, where the winds blew cold and dismal round my head, and dreadful apprehensions chilled my heart. Here I resolved to lie till the hand of death, which I impatiently invoked, should put an end to the miseries of a life so deplorably wretched. In this sad situation I espied on one hand of me a deep muddy river, whose heavy waters rolled on in slow, sullen murmurs. Here I determined to plunge, and was just upon the brink, when I found myself suddenly drawn back. I turned about, and was surprised by the sight of the loveliest object I had ever beheld. The most engaging charms of youth and beauty appeared in all her form; effulgent glories sparkled in her eyes, and their awful splendors were softened by the gentlest looks of compassion and peace. At her approach, the frightful spectre, who had before tormented me, vanished away; and with her all the horrors she had caused. The gloomy clouds brightened into cheerful sunshine, the groves recovered their verdure, and the whole region looked gay and blooming as the garden of Eden. I was quite transported at this unexpected change; and reviving pleasure began to glad my thoughts, when, with a look of inexpressible sweetness, my beauteous deliverer thus uttered her divine instructions :

"My name is Religion. I am the offspring of Truth and Love, and the parent of Benevolence, Hope, and Joy. That monster, from whose power I have freed you, is called Superstition; she is the child of Discontent, and her followers are Fear and Sorrow. Thus different as we are, she has often the insolence to assume my name and character, and seduces unhappy mortals to think us the same, till she, at length, drives them to the borders of Despair, that dreadful abyss into which you were just going to sink.

"Look round and survey the various beauties of the globe, which Heaven has destined for the seat of the human race, and consider whether a world thus exquisitely framed could be meant for the abode of misery and pain. For what end has the lavish hand of Providence diffused such innumerable objects of delight, but that all might rejoice in the privilege of existence, and be filled with gratitude to the beneficent Author of it? Thus to enjoy the blessings he has sent, is virtue and obedience; and to reject them merely as means of pleasure, is pitiable ignorance, or absurd perverseness. Infinite goodness is the source of created existence; the proper tendency of every rational being, from the highest order of raptured seraphs to the meanest rank of man, is to rise incessantly from lower degrees of happiness to higher. They have each faculties assigned them for various orders of delights."

"What,” cried I, "is this the language of Religion? Does she lead her votaries through flowery paths, and bid them pass an unlaborious life? Where are the painful toils of virtue, the mortifications of penitents, the self-denying exercises of saints and heroes ?"

"The true enjoyments of a reasonable being," answered she mildly, "do not consist in unbounded indulgence, or luxurious ease; in the tumult of passions, the languor of indolence, or the flutter of light amusements. Yielding to immoral pleasure corrupts the mind, living to animal and trifling ones debases it; both in their degree disqualify it for its genuine good, and consign it over to wretchedness. Whoever would be really happy, must make the diligent and regular exercise of his superior powers his chief attention, adoring the perfections of his Maker, expressing goodwill to his fellow-creatures, and cultivating inward rectitude. To his lower faculties he must allow such gratifications as will, by refreshing him, invigorate his nobler pursuits. In the regions inhabited by angelic natures, unmingled felicity for ever blooms, joy flows there with a perpetual and abundant stream, nor needs there any mound to check its course.

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"To him who is animated with a view of obtaining approbation from the Sovereign of the universe, no difficulty is insurmountable. Secure, in this pursuit, of every needful aid, his conflict with the severest pains and trials is little more than the vigorous exercise