of the present century, with men who have graduated in our English Colleges and Seminaries, are we to neglect the remaining 40,000 Native officers of the service, who are beyond the reach of any desire to acquire English, and to whom we have no means of imparting it? The allowances they enjoy are not such as any man who has passed an honorable examination in an English seminary-that is, who knows enough of the tongue to be able to turn it to intellectual use-would be disposed to accept of. This large body of public functionaries must, therefore, remain without any instruction at all, or they must obtain it through the medium of their own language. We consider it as much the duty of Government to impart knowledge to them as to the Deputy Magistrates and Deputy Collectors. They have large power and influence in the country, which may be rendered a blessing or a curse. They are equally susceptible of mental cultivation. Their public services would be in no small degree enhanced in value by those superior acquirements which they may gain through books and tuition in their own vernacular tongue. If Government were to enter with vigor upon a system of vernacular instruction, and enlist the hearty co-operation of all its Civil officers in every district, these Forty thousand situations would soon begin to be occupied with those who had been educated in their schools, and in the course of a quarter of a century, every post in the public service would be filled by men who had received the best education it was in the power of Government to bestow on them.

THE

CALCUTTA REVIEW.

ART. I.-1. Memoirs of the Right Reverend Daniel Corrie, L. L. D., First Bishop of Madras; compiled chiefly from his own letters and journals: By his Brothers :-London: Seeley, Burnside, and Seeley;-1847.

It was at the end of the month of January, 1779, that an Eton boy, named Charles Simeon, awoke one morning to find himself a Cambridge man. The son of a Berkshire squire, he had been sent, at a tender age, to endure the hardships of foundation life at a public school, and had emerged thence at the age of nineteen, none the worse for the conflict, a sturdy scholar of King's! He had eaten the college mutton; knelt on the floggingblock; breasted the Thames; worn the grass off the playing fields at foot-ball, and the surface off the chapel walls at fives;fagged and fagging, from the lower school to the sixth form, he had roughed it to some purpose, had gained strength of body and of mind, and among his brother "tugs" had obtained some repute as a hard-headed, straight-forward fellow, and an athlete of the first water. There was muscle in young Simeon-but beyond that, there was something strange about the boy, which his class-fellows did not find it quite so easy to fathom. He was not moody; he was not unsociable; but there was at times a solemnity in his manner, which puzzled the young collegers. They laughed at him too, as school-boys will laugh, at what they cannot quite understand. And no blame to them for not understanding: young Simeon himself knew not what it was he felt stirring within him.

In January 1779, the school-boy grew into the university man. Three days after the attainment of this new dignity, he was told that, in accordance with university custom, it was expected of him that he should receive the sacrament of the Lord's supper. The announcement seemed to startle him. There was something awful in the obligation. Satan, he said to himself, might as well think of attending this solemn service. But there were three weeks before him-three weeks allowed for preparation; and what might not be done within that time to school and discipline his erring nature? With all his soul, he applied himself to the work. He made himself, in his own words, quite ill

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with reading, fasting and prayer." He humbled himself and groaned in spirit—but God at length smiled upon him. Hope sprung up in his breast and a light dawned upon his soul—a light which was never obscured.

Three or four years afterwards the same young man might have been seen slowly wending his way, from the church of St. Edward's, Cambridge. He had taken the first great step: his ministry had commenced. The weight of new responsibilities was upon him; but he felt equal to the burden. He had strength and he was now suffered to put it to the proof-to try the temper of his Christian courage. As he threaded St. Edward's passage, the jarring notes of strife issued from a mean house and smote harshly on his ear. The young minister paused and listened. A man and his wife, in loud railing tones, were disputing and accusing one another. It was a time to use the passport of his master. He entered the house; reproached the disputants, first, for absenting themselves from Church; then for disturbing those who had been more mindful of their duties; and, this done, he knelt down and earnestly prayed for them. The door was open; and a crowd collected. But the young minister was not abashed; he prayed on :-they stared and they scoffed at him, but his courage did not depart. He was about his Father's business; and he neither fainted nor failed. It was an earnest of his future career. His strength never forsook him. From that day he persevered with the dauntless valour-the inflexible resolution of one whom no selfish fears, no doubts and misgivings, no love of the world, no dread of its opinions, could drive or tempt from the straight path. And he proceeded bravely to the end. Men might marvel and stare at him; might scoff at and calumniate him. And they did so— but his constancy was not shaken; he "bore up and steered right on."

A place was prepared for him. Very early did the young enthusiast see before him his appointed work. Within a few months from the date of this little incident, Charles Simeon was called to take up the crook which he held to the latest day of his life. For more than half a century was he the shepherd of that same flock. Entering, in very youth, upon the ministry of Trinity parish, Cambridge, he only relinquished the cure, when at the age of seventy-seven, he closed his eyes upon the world for ever. No temptation-no promise, no certainty of worldly advantage;-not declining years, nor failing strength; not wealth in possession, nor ease in prospect, could induce him to forsake the temple, in which he had worshipped at the outset of his career-in which, with God's

blessing he had redeemed so many erring souls, and out of which had gone forth a spirit to evangelise the University and to work a mighty influence upon the whole Christian world.

Stormy, indeed, was the dawn of that long day-but how tranquil its close! Cambridge began by scouting him as a mountebank and a mad-man and ended by honoring him as a monarch. They broke the windows of his church, when he first ascended the pulpit; they closed their own, when uzpiz/ that was vacant. They had made the sabbath, on his account, a day of tumult and uproar, but when he passed away from them, an unaccustomed quiet reigned over Cambridge even on a market-day. When Simeon entered upon the ministry of Trinity Church, there was fierce antagonism to encounterantagonism which would have appalled a heart less true to itself and less strong in devotion to its Saviour. Appointed, in opposition to the wishes of his parishioners, he was received with enmity and with insult. The people locked up their pews, and the church wardens tore down the seats which the minister erected in vacant places. For months and months, until months had swelled into years, he bore up against this persecution preaching to a scanty congregation, with an energy and impressiveness which enhanced the attention and often touched the hearts of the listeners collected in the aisles. The parishioners complained to the Bishop that he frightened them and that strange people crowded the church. They could not, poor souls! drouze comfortably in their cushioned pews, and so, compelled to abandon them, they petitioned for a more considerate, a more oily preacher. But Simeon stood his ground manfully. For years and years, he was calumniated, ridiculed, insulted. With the parochial authorities he was at open war. They closed the church against him and he called in the locksmith to his aid. The University, too, was against him. Young gownsmen went to his church, as they would go to a fair; there was excitement to be gathered from the

hot-gospellings" of the preacher, who in vehement tones and not without some grotesqueness of manner, consigned them all to the bottomless pit. And there was always toorare attraction for Cambridge-men-a good chance of a row. Outrages of the most indecent description were committed by men who came to scoff and to riot. There was tumult and uproar within the church; stones were thrown in at the windows. From the university authorities Simeon had nothing to hope; they looked upon him as a methodist-a schismatic. His zeal was a rebuke to their supineness. They denounced him as a perilous disturber of the dreamy quiet of scholastic

life.

University preaching had always been in a different style; university scripture had always been differently interpreted. They could not countenance such a dangerous innovation upon established rules of procedure.

But better than all support from heads of colleges, Simeon had his own Christian courage to lean upon. And it sufficed to sustain him. He lived down the enmity which assailed his opening career-he preached down the ridicule which greeted his early ministrations. One by one, the men who had scoffed at and insulted him, became listeners and then proselytes. New hearers flocked to the church, and stood in breathless silence, to catch the eager, impassioned words of a preacher who had once been received in that place with noisy derision. It became the fashion for young gownsmen to crowd the aisles of Trinity Church, and, in time, the magnates of the university condescended to do honor to the once despised fellow of King's, who had raised himself far above them."It was Mr. Simeon's peculiar happiness," observes our own excellent diocesan, Daniel Wilson, in his eloquent tribute to the memory of Mr. Simeon, "to live long enough to see the prejudices which assailed him in his earlier ministry, changed throughout almost the whole university to respect and veneration. Contrast the commencement and the close of his course. He

stood for many years alone-he was long opposed, ridiculed, 'shunned-his doctrines were misrepresented his little pecu'liarities of voice and manner were satirised-disturbances were frequently raised in his church, he was a person not taken ' into account, nor considered in the light of a regular clergyman of the of the church. Such was the beginning of things. But mark the close. For the last portion of his ministry, all was rapidly changing. He was invited repeatedly to take courses of sermons before the University. The same great principles that he preached were avowed from almost every pulpit in Cambridge. His church was crowded with young students. When the new chancellor of the University placed a chaplainship at the disposal of the vice chancellor in 1833, Mr. Simeon was the person applied to to make the nomination. In 1835, the University went up to present an address to the king. The vice chancellor wished him to attend; and when the members of the senate were assembled, made a public enquiry as to whether Mr. Simeon was present that he might be presented to His Majesty as one of the deputation." "The writer of these lines," adds Bishop Wilson, can never forget 'the impression made upon his mind, when Mr. Simeon deli'vered one of his sermons on the Holy Spirit before that

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