it was crowded. But the most numerous society of worshippers, I believe, are the Methodists. I saw two of these; both ran over with attendants. I had heard many ridiculous things of a set of Methodists called jumpers, for all new religions are treated with ridicule, and exhibited in an erroneous light. These, by some, are deemed "mad;" by others, "traitors, who read Paine's works, have designs against government, and ought to be suppressed by the magistrate."

Being told, September 8th, 1799, in the evening, they were at worship, I hastened to the chapel, and found the doors crowded without. Gaining a passage, I perceived myself in a spacious room with two galleries, crowded with about five hundred people; many, no doubt, like myself, were spectators only. There were not many There were not many pews, the great body of the hearers stood in the area, and with a devotional aspect, indicating all attention. The preacher possessed uncommon lungs.

After a few minutes, he delivered himself in short sentences, with the utmost vehemence, evidently designed to strike the passions of his hearers. Ignorant of the Welsh tongue, I could not understand them, but was told, upon enquiry, they were ecstatic sentences, selected from scripture, chiefly the Psalms. At the end of one of these issued a small hum from the people; a second sentence increased it; a third, still more, &c., till, in the space of one minute, the crowd broke out into the most rapturous violence of voice and gesture. Every one seemed to adopt a sentence of his own, perhaps caught from the minister, and continued to vociferate it with all the exertion of which he was capable, and this in a kind of tune or cadence. One hundred different tunes, yelling from one hundred different voices, in a single room, must produce horror in the extreme. never experienced sounds more discordant. That person was the happiest who could exert the loudest, continue the longest, and jump the highest.

I

They performed in parties of from two to eight. Sometimes the two sexes joined, but generally not. If one began to jump, another answered him, face to face; then a third, fourth, &c., forming a kind of ring.

As jumping is most violent exercise, they were obliged to desist, at intervals, but the body was kept in motion, something like what I have seen in dancing. The hands, head, and feet, were more employed, but the tongue never lay. The parson disappeared when he had raised his people to that pitch of enthusiasm he wanted. who did not understand their words, but could only observe their gestures, and hear their sounds, could scarcely detach the idea of quarrelling, and was fearful lest, by standing too near, they should jump upon my feet, or I give offence by impeding their rough devotions.

I,

They were all decently dressed. The females were the most numerous. Some of both sexes, advanced in years, made but miserable jumpers. They seemed just as much intoxicated with exertion as they could have been with liquor; and, had a thirsty traveller passed by, he could not have been charged with impropriety had he stepped in and called for a pint.

The scene continued near an hour. It gradually wore off, for nature must sink under violence. I could perceive a small degree of finesse, arising from pride, in a few of the worshippers, who chose to lie by till the rest were exhausted, and then begin with double energy.

When the performers had exerted themselves to the very last moment of their ability, so that they were unable even to stand, the husband, or friend, took charge of them with seeming pity, and, I observed, cast an eye round, to see if any of their garments were giving the slip. Caps, handkerchiefs, and aprons, were obliged, by the friend, to undergo a renovation.

Upon enquiry, I found these boisterous worshippers were people of very orderly life, and I am inclined to think, they are no more conversant with Paine's writings, or the arts of government, than with algebra.

As every shoot of the grand tree which composes religion is supported by scripture, I make no doubt but this inoffensive race can bring unanswerable texts in support of theirs, though I had not the pleasure of conversing with any one of them. Their ecstasy seemed to proceed from a profusion of heavenly love, perhaps founded upon the words," Rejoice in the Lord evermore,

and again I say, rejoice." If this sentence does not command jumping, it gives a latitude. The conduct of David is still more in point,-"Who danced before the Lord with all his might." Nay, he proceeded one step further, he leaped before him, and in a dress too thin to be delicate.

I have since had an opportunity of perusing their articles of faith, which are consonant to those of the established church, are nearly the same as those of the Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists. Their

rules of church government are excellent, and correspond with the best I know, the Quakers. Their rough exercise in devotion is not mentioned.

The mind of man, like his fingers, retains an active principle. If he can find employment for neither, he becomes a burden to himself. Strength of body and of mind may be considered as tools by which we perform the business of life. If we use them too little, they rust; if too much, they wear out. It follows, prudence lies in the medium.

I. MOUNT OF OLIVES.

WHEN first I saw true beauty, and thy joys,

Active as light, and calm without all noise, Shined on my soul, I felt through all my powers Such a rich air of sweets, as evening showers Fanned by a gentle gale convey, and breathe

On some parched bank, crowned with a flowery wreath;

Odours, and myrrh, and balm in one rich flood
O'er-ran my heart, and spirited my blood;
My thoughts did swim in comforts, and mine eye
Confessed," The world did only paint and lie."
And where before I did no safe course steer,
But wandered under tempests all the year;
Went bleak and bare in body as in mind,
And was blown through by every storm and wind,
I am so warmed now by this glance on me,
That midst all storms I feel a ray of thee.
So have I known some beauteous paisage rise
In sudden flowers and arbours to my eyes,
And in the depth and dead of winter bring
To my cold thoughts a lively sense of spring,

Thus fed by thee, who doest all things nourish,
My withered leaves again look green and flourish ;
I shine and shelter underneath thy wing,
Where, sick with love, I strive thy name to sing;
Thy glorious name! which grant I may so do,
That these may be thy praise, and my joy too!

II. CORRUPTION.

SURE, it was so. Man in those early days Was not all stone and earth;

He shined a little, and by those weak rays Had some glimpse of his birth.

• Paisage, -a scene; Fr. pays; W. pau.

He saw heaven o'er his head, and knew from

whence

He came condemned hither,

And, as first love draws strongest, so from hence His mind sure progressed thither.

Things here were strange unto him; sweat and till, All was a thorn or weed;

Nor did those last, but, like himself, died still

As soon as they did seed;

They seemed to quarrel with him; for that act
That felled him, foiled them all;

He drew the curse upon the world, and cracked
The whole frame with his fall.

This made him long for home, as loth to stay
With murmurers and foes;

He sighed for Eden, and would often say,—
Ah! what bright days were those!"
Nor was heaven cold unto him; for each day
The valley or the mountain

Afforded visits, and still Paradise lay

In some green shade or fountain. Augels lay leager here; each bush and cell, Each oak and highway knew them; Walk but the fields, or sit down at some well, And he was sure to view them.

Almighty love! where art thou now? Mad man
Sits down, and freezeth on;

He raves and swears to stir nor fire nor fan,
But bids the thread be spun.

I see thy curtains are close-drawn; thy bow
Looks dim too in the cloud;

Sin triumphs still, and man is sunk below
The centre, and his shroud.

All's in deep sleep and night; thick darkness lies
And hatcheth o'er thy people-

But hark! what trumpet's that, what angel cries,— "Arise! thrust in thy sickle!"

VI. ISAAC'S MARRIAGE.

"And Isaac went out to pray in the field at the eventide, and he lift up his eyes, and saw, and, behold, the camels were co ning."-GEN. xxiv. 63.

PRAYING! and to be married! It was rare,

But now 'tis monstrous; and that pious care,
Though of ourselves, is so much out of date,
That to renew't were to degenerate.
But thou a chosen sacrifice wert given,
And, offered up so early unto heaven,

Thy flames could not be out; religion was
Rayed into thee like beams into a glass;
Where, as thou grewst, it multiplied, and shined
The sacred constellation of thy mind.

But, being for a bride, prayer was such
A decried course, sure it prevailed not much.
Hadst ne'er an oath nor compliment? thou wert
An odd, dull, suitor; hadst thou but the art

Of these our days, thou couldst have coined thee twenty

New several oaths, and compliments too plenty.
O sad and wild excess! and happy those
White days, that durst no impious mirth expose;
When conscience, by lewd use, had not lost sense,
Nor bold-faced custom banished innocence!
Thou hadst no pompous train, nor antic crowd
Of young, gay, swearers, with their needless, loud
Retinue. All was here smooth as thy bride,
And calm like her, or that mild evening-tide.
Yet hadst thou nobler guests,-angels did wind
And rove about thee, guardians of thy mind;
These fetched thee home thy bride, and all the way
Advised thy servant what to do and say;
These taught him at the well, and thither brought
The chaste and lovely object of thy thought.
But here was ne'er a compliment, not one
Spruce, supple, cringe, or studied look put on.
All was plain, modest, truth. Nor did she come
In rolls and curls, mincing and stately dumb;
But in a virgin's native blush and fears,
Fresh as those roses which the day-spring wears.
O sweet, divine, simplicity!
O grace
Beyond a curled lock or painted face!
A pitcher too she had, nor thought it much
To carry that, which some would scorn to touch;
With which, in mild, chaste, language she did woo
To draw him drink, and for his camels too.

And now thou knewst her coming, it was time
To get thee wings on, and devoutly climb
Unto thy God; for Marriage of all states
Makes most unhappy, or most fortunates.

This brought thee forth, where now thou didst undress

Thy soul, and with new pinions refresh

Her wearied wings, which, so restored, did fly
Above the stars, a track unknown and high;

And in her piercing flight perfumed the air,
Scattering the myrrh and incense of thy prayer.
So from Lahai-roi's Well some spicy cloud,
Wooed by the Sun, swells up to be his shroud,
And from her moist womb weeps a fragrant shower,
Which, scattered in a thousand pearls, each flower
And herb partakes; where having stood awhile,
And something cooled the parched and thirsty isle,
The thankful earth unlocks herself, and blends
A thousand odours, which, all mixt, she sends
Up in one cloud, and so returns the skies
That dew they lent, a breathing sacrifice.

Thus soared thy soul, who, though young, didst

inherit

Together with his blood thy father's spirit,
Whose active zeal and tried faith were to thee
Familiar ever since thy infancy.

Others were timed and trained up to't, but thou
Didst thy swift years in piety out-grow.
Age made them reverend and a snowy head,
But thou wert so, e'er time his snow could shed.
Then who would truly limn thee out must paint
First a young patriarch, then a married saint.

VII. THE SHOWER.

WATERS above! eternal springs!

The dew that silvers the dove's wings!
O welcome, welcome to the sad!
Give dry dust drink, drink that makes glad.
Many fair evenings, many flowers
Sweetened with rich and gentle showers,
Have I enjoyed, and down have run
Many a fine and shining sun;

But never, till this happy hour,
Was blest with such an evening shower!

VIII. LOOKING BACK.

FAIR, shining mountains of my pilgrimage,

And flowery vales, whose flowers were stars!
The days and nights of my first happy age,
An age without distaste or wars!
When I by thought ascend your sunny heads,
And mind those sacred midnight lights
By which I walked, when curtained rooms and beds
Confined or sealed up others' sights;

O then, how bright and quick a light
Doth brush my heart and scatter night!
Chasing that shade, which my sins made,
While I so spring, as if I could not fade.
How brave a prospect is a traversed plain,

Where flowers and palms refresh the eye!
And days well spent like the glad East remain,
Whose morning glories cannot die.