But when of morn and eve the star

Beholds me on my knee,
I feel, tho' thou art distant far,

Thy prayers ascend for me.
Then on! then on! where duty leads,

My course be onward still,
On broad Hindostan's sultry meads,

O'er black Almorah's hill.
That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates,

Nor wild Malwah detain,
For sweet the bliss us both awaits,

By yonder western main.
Thy bowers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say,

Across the dark blue sea,
But ne'er were hearts so light and gay,

As then shall meet in thee."
Some minor fugitive pieces follow, but we have no more room
for extracts of this kind.

The portion of the volume which comes next under our observation, is that which contains the Hymns intended for public worship. No reader of these, will doubt the general beauty of their formation ; but, we apprehend, that there are very few, but who will doubt their adaptation to the purposes for which they were intended. If we may venture on a subject which would appear more appropriate to some ecclesiastical assembly, than the pages of a literary journal, we would observe, that, as to what is appropriate to public worship, there is a very general, though perfectly palpable, mistake, in all the collections of hymns which have come under our notice. If our views are correct, public worship consists of prayer and praise; the former, comprising all the varieties of penitential expression, and all the modes of supplication; the latter, confined more particularly to the expression of the grateful feelings of the heart. What has mere narration to do with the act, either of prayer or of praise? And yet there are many hymns which are nothing more than sacred history rendered into verse. There can be no feelings of approach to the Supreme Being in this-neither can there be any hymn, or psalm, which is made up of mere pious truisms, however delicately and elegantly expressed. There are very few of the hymns of this collection, but what are obnoxious to this objection; and, moreover, we believe, that a collection which should maintain the perfect consistency of devotion, is yet unknown to any denomination of Christians. We will illustrate this remark, by one or two instances :

The Fourth Sunday in Advent.
“ The world is grown old, and her pleasures are past ;
The world is grown old, and her form may not last ;
The world is grown old and trembles for fear;
For sorrows abound and the judgment is near!

The sun in the heaven is languid and pale ;
And feeble and few are the fruits of the vale,
And the hearts of the nations fail them for fear,
For the world is grown old and the judgment is near !
The king on his throne, the bride in her bower,
The children of pleasure all feel the sad hour;
The roses are faded and tasteless the cheer,
For the world is grown old and the judgment is near!
The world is grown old !-but should we complain,
Who have tried her, and know that her promise is vain ;
Our heart is in heaven, our home is not here,

And we look for our crown when judgment is near.” This is in a pacing, undignified measure, totally unsuited to the grandeur of the subject; and, except that the sentiment is. pious, we see nothing in a hymn of this kind, which bears the remotest relationship to the peculiarities of worship; as another instance of the same class, we give the following truly beautiful lines, entitled “Epiphany:"

* Brightest and best of the sons of the morning!

Dawn on the darkness and lend us thine aid!
Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid!
Cold on his cradle the dew drops are shining,

Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall,
Angels adore him in slumber reclining,

Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all!
Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion,

Odours of Edom and offerings divine?
Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,

Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine?
Vainly we offer each ampler oblation;

Vainly with gifts would his favour secure:
Richer by far is the heart's adoration,

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
Brightest and best of the sons of the morning!

Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid!
Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid!” We would ask, where is the prayer and where is the praise of this Hymn? if there is in it devotion at all, it is a fervent application to the “Star of the East”—for its guiding light to find the place of the Redeemer's birth, and would consequently seem rather Sabeanism than Christianity. As a contrast to these, by which our meaning will be distinctly understood, we give the following hymn for “Christmas Day:"

“Oh, Saviour, whom this holy morn

Gave to our world below;
To mortal want and labour born,

And more than mortal wo!
Incarnate word! by every grief,

By each temptation tried,
Who lived to yield our ills relief,

And to redeem us died!

If gaily clothed and proudly fed,

In dangerous wealth we dwell,
Remind us of thy manger bed,

And lowly cottage cell!
If prest by poverty severe,

In envious want we pine,
Oh may thy spirit whisper near,

How poor a lot was thine!
Thro' fickle fortune's various scene

From sin preserve us free!
Like us thou hast a mourner been,

May we rejoice in thee!” In the whole collection of the hymns written for the weekly service of the church, there are but four or five, which, in our opinion, are at all appropriate. They are generally very beautiful, and show the taste and the fine feeling of piety which dwelt in the breast of the writer, but are not calculated either to excite or to express that species of devotional fervour, which seems so intimately connected with an act of worship. The whole secm to us to be better suited to form a class, which might be appropriately termed “Sacred Melodies," and which, set to music, might fill up the interval between the popular songs, to which some religious persons object, and those hymnswhich are manifestly devotional. To us, there appears not only impropriety, but impiety, in a hymn sung for the amusement of a miscellaneous company; and for many a religionist who would be shocked at his daughter's amusing her friends with an “Irish melody,” and yet have no reluctance to her showing off her accomplishments in a hymn, or anthem, is to us very much like "straining at a gnat, and swallowing a camel.” Such poems as these hymns of Heber, generally, maintain a middle ground, full of pious sentiment, yet not rising into the sublimity of prayer or praise, and admirably suited, if judiciously arranged and adapted to music, as we have said, to form a class which shall be peculiarly attractive, because no piety could be offended, but, on the other hand, the taste and the heart improved. Besides the hymns, there are a few translations of Pindar admirably exécuted, but each too long for quotation. There are some short translations from the Hindoostanee, one of which we will give.

Sonnet by the late Nawab of Oude, Asuf ud Doula. In those eyes the tears that glisten as in pity for my pain, Are they gems or only dew drops can they, will they long remain? Why thy strength of tyrant beauty thus, with seeming ruth, restrain, Better breathe my last before thee, than in lingering grief remain! To yon planet, Fate has given every month to wax and wane: And—thy world of blushing brightness—can it, will it long remain? Health and youth in balmy moisture, on thy check their seat maintain; But—the dew that steeps the rose bud-can it, will it long remain? Asuf! why, in mournful numbers, of thine absence thus complain, Chance has joined us, chance has parted—nought on earth can long remain,

In the world may'st thou beloved! live exempt from grief and pain!
On my lips the breath is fleeting--can it, will it long remain?

On the whole, we look upon Bishop Heber rather as a chaste and delicate and classic poet, than as distinguished by any strong marks of genius. He appears to us to have been made, not born a poet. It is to his matchless “ Journal,” that he is to be indebted for his lasting fame, as most acute and accurate in obser. vation, and most interesting in description; and it is for his selfsacrificing spirit as a missionary Bishop, that his memory will be cherished by all to whose hearts the cause of Christianity is dear. We know not how better to close our protracted remarks, than by the following extract from the tribute to the memory of Bishop Heber, by Amelia Opie, which, with two others of not equal merit, have been attached to the memoir with which this volume commences:

“Here hushed be my lay for a far sweeter verse

Thy requiem I'll breathe in thy numbers alone,
For the bard's votive offering to hang on thy hearse,

Shall be formed of no language less sweet than thy own.
" • Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee,

Since God was thy refuge, thy ransom, thy guide;
He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee,

And death has no sting, since the Saviour has died.'"*

ART. II.-Malaria: An Essay on the Production and Pro

pagation of this Poison, and on the Nature and Localities of the places by which it is produced. By John M'CulLOCH, M. D. F. R. S. Physician in ordinary to his Royal Highness Prince Leopold of Saxe Cobourgh. Svo. pp. 480: 1827.

DR. JOHN M'Culloch, is not the politica economist, but the geologist; in which character he enjoys a well-earned fame. The present volume, however, may well be considered as a chapter on political economy, if that science may be regarded as embracing the mcans of diminishing disease and death, encouraging a healthy, instead of a morbid population, and obviating the greatest source of destruction in every military expedition. The facts and reasonings contained in this work, though medical, are not technical ; and are such as every man in the community, reasonably educated, may understand and decide upon; and which every man in the community is deeply interested in knowing.

Miasma, marsh-exhalation, malaria, is something which originates from swampy, marshy, moist ground, wherein vegetables

• Written by Bishop Heber, on the death of a friend, see page 163.

having grown, die and putrefy. In Italy, the localities of such putrefying vegetables, go by the name of maremmes; and the infectious matter there generated, when mixed with the atmosphere, is malaria, bad air. The general conditions necessary to produce it, are, a warm temperature of the atmosphere, and dead vegetables putrefying in a moist place. Vegetables that die and become disorganized in cold weather, do not appear to produce this infectious malaria ; nor do vegetables that die, and are dried up by heat, in a dry place. Nor do we find it in places bare of vegetation, unless vegetable matter, liable to putrefy, be found there accidentally, or brought there purposely. Nor do we find this miasmatous air prevalent in the winter season; the months of July, August, and September, including, in warm climates, one half of October, are the seasons when this pestilence chiefly prevails. But, it has been observed, that places producing remittent fevers in the fall, are liable to produce intermittents in spring. Places completely covered with water, do not produce malaria, although the margins of such places do

This poison is now usually supposed to be a gas, acting by its chemical properties; by others, it is presumed to be an exhala• tion, effluvium, or odour; the ancient opinion, at present not

considered as worth investigation, is, that the deleterious quality of the air impregnated with it, is owing to animalculæ. All these theories we shall consider by and by.

The book contains eleven chapters, of which we shall give a brief analysis.

Ch. 1. On the effects of Malaria, and the utility of knowledge relating to it.

Few people are aware of the extent to which malaria affects us. It is the source of more than half the diseases to which the human race is subject, and of more than half the mortality which depopulates mankind. It seems to be the angel of destruction, ordained to maintain the necessary proportion between population and the means of subsistence. It detracts one half from the value of life in Holland ;-at least as much, and probably more, in Italy, where the maremmes extend two hundred miles, from Leghorn to Terracina, having a breadth, according to Chateauvieu, of forty miles; besides the pestilence of Rome and its neighbourhood, which threatens with dreadful probability, in less than half a century, to reduce that former mistress of the world to a desert.

"Let us turn to Italy, (says Dr. M’Culloch :) the fairest portions of this fair land are a prey to this invisible enemy; its fragrant breezes are poison; the dews of its summer evenings are death. The banks of its refreshing streams, its rich and Aowing meadows, the borders of its glassy lakes, the luxuriant plains of its overflowing agriculture, the valley where its aromatic shrubs regale the eye and perfume the air; these are the chosen seats of this plague, the throne VOL. IV.NO. 8.

37