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charging the duties of a Christian minister. Attached, however, to society, easily influenced by its flattery, and persuaded by his immediate associates, Struensee became the disciple of Helvetius and Voltaire, and was early distinguished among his companions as a man of insinuating address, varied abilities, profligate manners, and abandoned principles. To advance his schemes of ambition, he sought and obtained the friendship of the Count de Rantzau Aschberg, and M. de Brandt, of whom the former became the leading instrument, and the latter the companion, of his fall. By them he was recommended to the notice of the King of Denmark, who appointed him, in 1768, physician to the court; in which capacity he accompanied the king in his visit to France and England, soon exciting in his favour the most favourable impressions of his abilities and zeal.

In May, 1770, Struensee was charged with the inoculation of the Prince-Royal, and as this operation was attended with anxiety, he soon obtained, by his subtle working upon the feelings of the parent, a similar ascendancy over the mind of the queen. His rise exceeded his expectations: he abandoned his profession, was made minister of Denmark, and, together with his friend Brandt, raised to the rank of an earl. His brother was placed at the head of the finances, and the court was crowded by his immediate connexions.

of the kingdom were assembled, and measured their importance only by the favour that he showed, was now confined in a dark dungeon, and loaded with the execrations of mankind." He was indicted for hightreason, a charge against which he could proffer no defence, and which he felt as the sentence of death. From this hour his manner became changed: he received with kindness, and subsequently with earnest pleasure, the visits of Dr. Munter, who had been charged by the court to administer to him the consolations of Religion. Into the nature of these conferences it is impossible to enter; they were daily continued while he was yet spared; and this able exposition of the truth, and the sublime morality of the Gospel, soon influenced, by the mercy of the Almighty, the mind of one who had loved the principles of the Fatalist, and, for some time, shut out from his soul the hope and the belief of a resurrection. He daily renounced his atrocious opinions; the coming hour brought with it the conviction of his past crimes; he indulged in no visionary excitement, but fortified his mind by earnest prayer, by constant meditation, and the exercise of a sincere repentance. He endeavoured similarly to influence the views of Count Brandt; he avowed his conversion, and this with a simplicity of feeling and of manner which forms the strongest evidence of its truth. "Many of his friends," says Dr. Munter, "whom I told of his present turn of thought, and of his conduct, would not believe it: however, I had not the least reason to doubt his sincerity.”

It was on the morning of the 28th of April, 1772, that he was led out to die. He passed with humility through the crowd of spectators which surrounded the scaffold. He was pale, and it was with difficulty that he spoke, but he evinced both firmness and resignation. He hastened towards the block that was yet stained by the blood of his friend, and quietly suffered the severe penalties that had been decreed.

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That petulant arrogance of conduct, which is so common with men who have been raised by accident above their common sphere, was soon evinced by himself and his companion. They showed the utmost contempt for the laws, the customs, language, and manners of the people they were permitted to govern. Influenced by no fixed principles, they respected none; they exhibited themselves as professed sceptics, and ridiculed all religious belief. The court became corrupt; foreign manners were introduced; the plain system of national society was abandoned; ancient and strict laws were repealed,—measures which tended The character of Struensee has been variously to produce on all minds a belief that every restraint, described by some he is considered as a mere of a moral and religious nature, was withdrawn to sanc-political adventurer, whose rise and fall were equally tion the conduct of Struensee. But, in the midst of the consequence of intrigue. Here he is not thus his power, in the fulness of its indulgence, when his to be considered; but as a remarkable and inheart was drunken with the tide of prosperity, he was structive example of the influence of Religion on the awfully reminded of the constant merciful providence mind. It found him proud and sceptical, indifferent of the Deity whose name he had dared to despise. to the commands of the divine law, and a believer in the perfection of unassisted human reason. He was the slave of his own passions, and the patron of the passions of others. He considered that virtue consisted in nothing else but in actions which are useful to society, and of the principles of that utility he formed himself the judge. He looked upon revealed Religion as unnecessary; and its effects, as he never had perceived them, he disregarded. But great was the change effected in his opinion. His conferences with Dr. Munter should be diligently read, as displaying the means by which that good man was successful, under the Almighty, in recalling his mind from its past delusions, in rendering him a contrite and devout believer, restoring him to the sympathy of his fellowmen, and teaching him to await, with faith and repentance, the merciful dispensations of his Creator.

The king, who had been reduced by illness into a state of the most helpless mental and bodily weakness, was prevailed upon, by the artifice of Struensee, and the influence of the queen, to place the whole power of the crown at his disposal. Count Bernstorff, the beloved minister, was dismissed; the influence of the Russian and English Courts sensibly diminished, while the doctrines of France met with willing attention and kindly patronage. Opinions of this description soon spread; tumultuous assemblies ensued; petitions were presented; and the city became a scene of riot and confusion. A conspiracy of the nobles, headed by the queen-dowager, was formed against him; and such was the aversion to the favourite, that no one was found to excite his suspicions, or warn him of his danger.

Count Rantzau, his early friend, Prince Frederick, and Colonel Koller, who commanded the guards on duty on the night of January 16, 1772, after a masked ball, entered the king's bed-chamber, ordered his valet to awake him, and induced him to sign a warrant for the immediate arrest of the Queen Matilda, and Counts Struensee and Brandt. The queen was immediately conveyed to the Castle of Cronenburgh; and " Struensee," says an elegant writer of that day, "who had seen himself the idol of a crowded levee the day before, where the first people

The case of Count Struensee, then, may be classed among the many instances of the power of Religion to reclaim the infidel from the false reasonings of philosophical unbelief; to arrest him in his course of self-indulgence; in society, to "show him how to live," and, in solitude, to "teach him how to die." We may learn from it that the real happiness of this life consists not in the pleasures of sense, nor in the pursuits of ambition; but is only to be attained by an affectionate obedience to the Divine law, and the cultivation of inward purity. S. H.

GRAMMAR SCHOOLS IN ENGLAND. Of the various methods which have been resorted to, of late years, to promote the cause of education, as among the lower, so also among the middle and higher classes of society, perhaps there is none which appears to hold out a prospect of more general success, attended with less risk of failure, than a renewed and increased attention to the established Grammar Schools, of ancient foundation, to be found, in a higher or lower state of prosperity, in almost every part of the kingdom. The number of these is, indeed, so considerable, that, under proper management, they would seem adequate to the entire wants of the community, in so far, at least, as it is represented by the Established Church, with the exception, perhaps, of the neighbourhood of London, and some other very large towns. The endowment of these schools, is, in many cases, little more than nominal; in others, it affords a competent remuneration for one or more masters, while, in some rare instances, it suffices for the support of a great and splendid establishment. This difference has existed, no doubt, in some measure, from the first. The munificent foundation of a prince, a prelate, or a noble, (with whom the wealthy merchant may not unfitly be associated,) may be supposed to have been placed, originally, on a far different footing from those which owe their origin to a bounty, equally honourable in its character, but less supported by opulence and power. This disparity, however, has been prodigiously increased by the operation of other causes, affecting the value of property generally, more particularly by the great alteration in the value of money, as compared with that of land. In fact, where the ancient grant is an annual payment of a given sum of money, it no longer fulfils, in the remotest degree, the intention of the founder: on the other hand, where lands have been assigned, they now, in most cases, produce an income exceeding almost in an equal ratio the endowment originally contemplated. These considerations will have considerable weight in determining the present constitution of each particular school. A gratuitous education cannot now be afforded where the provision bequeathed for the purpose exists only in name. On the other hand, where the funds are so prodigiously increased, as they are known to be in some instances, they will be disposed of in a manner analogous to the intention of the donor, by the foundation of scholarships and exhibitions, the erection of splendid and suitable buildings, the establishment of school libraries, &c.; in a word, by the establishment of those seminaries of public education which have contributed so largely to the maintenance of sound learning in this kingdom, and to the formation of the national mind, as it is shown in the aristocracy at large, in the senate, and in the higher walks of literary and professional life.

nor of their own creation, they are little likely to be tempted either to sacrifice it to their interests, or to disturb it by any undue interference.

The Foundation Grammar School has, besides, a past history, affording in many cases exciting and endearing recollections. Honoured names are recorded in its archives,-masters or scholars, who, in former times, have given it reputation, and who are still remembered as objects of imitation, and of honest pride. If, in decay, it may have yet some period of past prosperity to look back upon, to show what it once has been, and what it may again become.

Moreover, it possesses local advantages not soon or easily to be created in favour of any new establishment. Where the parent has been educated, there he naturally desires to send his child. The very locality of the school touches a chord of memory in the minds of many, perhaps influential persons, in the town and neighbourhood in which it is situated; persons who cannot but take pleasure in its permanence, and who may probably be induced to study its improvement. This is a consideration of no small moment; for it is from local patronage,-from the fostering care and exertions of individuals personally interested in the welfare of each particular school, that the greatest general improvement is to be anticipated, rather than from legislative enactments, which, however skilfully framed, can never be made to meet the varying exigencies of each particular case.

Lastly, the Foundation School has a substantive existence, independent of those favourable conjunctures which fashion, caprice, and other causes of transient operation, contribute to produce, and which are usually too short-lived to ensure a continuance of a prosperity which rests on so uncertain a basis. Schools, not protected by a foundation, are, indeed, peculiarly exposed to the mutability of fortune; being more easily raised to eminence, with no merit on the part of the master, than kept in repute, by the most shining abilities, and the most unwearied exertion: but the Foundation School outlives the periods of declension to which it may be subject, and gathers strength again, on the first appearance of a favourable change.

These, and many other circumstances connected with an anciently founded Grammar School, constitute that genius loci which exercises so peculiar and so beneficial an influence in certain seats of learning; an influence more easily appreciated by its effects, than referred to its causes, and which is far more easily preserved where it is actually found, than created where it does not exist.

On the whole, therefore, let our ancient Grammar Schools, however humble may be their foundation, be regarded with feelings of affectionate reverence, as monuments of a well-directed beneficence, which can never cease to deserve imitation, and to claim respect. The endowment, however, in most cases, may be True it is, that in too many instances they have considered as the least of the advantages possessed ceased, for a while, to answer the purposes for which by an anciently founded Grammar School. It is, or they were intended, that the ancient school-rooms may be, conducted on established principles, arising have fallen to decay,—and the masterships, where the out of its acknowledged constitution, and not framed funds are considerable, reduced to sinecures. But to meet the opinions, or second the views, of any such abuses are not inherent in the nature of these particular persons or parties. Hence, in ordinary institutions. They have no necessary connexion with cases, it is looked on without jealousy, and conducted the lapse of years, but are to be attributed to change without interruption. Whatever control is necessary of circumstances, not met by a corresponding change or desirable, may and ought to be exercised by the of management; which, again, must be imputed to patrons and trus.ees, especially in the choice of a the long-continued apathy of the public mind on master; who ought to be selected with the more care, these, and other subjects of equal or greater interest. impartiality, and discretion, as no subsequent inter- The same apathy which suffered the population vention, on their parts, short of absolute removal, throughout the country to outgrow the accommocan remedy an error committed in this most import-dation afforded by the churches, to an extent which ant point: but as the school is neither their property, it is fearful to contemplate,-contenting itself with

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barely keeping in repair, and this in the most tasteless and niggardly manner, the beautiful structures left to us by the beneficent piety of our ancestors. A different spirit is now awake, from which the happiest results are to be anticipated. The manner in which several of the most important Corporation Schools have been disposed of within the last few years, and the state in which they are at present found, evinces that nothing more is requisite than to set the old machinery at work, with such accommodation to existing circumstances as the change of times may have rendered indispensable.

Of Helleston School, in Cornwall, a view of which is given in the above engraving, the foundation and early history are entirely unknown. It appears, however, to be of considerable antiquity, and to have enjoyed a certain degree of reputation at a very early period. From a memorandum in the register of the parish of Landewednack, situate twelve miles from Helleston, we learn that the school was rebuilt in the year 1610; and as it is endowed with the sum of twenty marks, a denomination of money which had even at that time fallen into disuse, its foundation may, with probability, be referred at least to the early part of the sixteenth century. Its central position, as respects the western part of Cornwall, in a clean, quiet, and highly-respectable town, with some other

local advantages, will probably always render it popular (when under åble superintendence) in its immediate neighbourhood; while the remarkable salubrity of the climate may occasionally draw pupils from a distance. A meeting of the gentlemen who have derived any part of their education from this school, takes place, annually, on the first Wednesday after the feast of St. Matthew, and is very largely attended.

public examination, and various prizes are awarded. On this occasion, the pupils undergo a The edifice of 1610 appears to have been sufficiently humble, and it was succeeded, towards the close of the last century, by another of not much higher pretension. It has now been rebuilt in a very superior style, from the designs of Mr. George Nightwick, architect, of Plymouth. The entrance from the town is a somewhat enriched specimen of Tudor Gothic. The north front, facing the play-ground, in which are the windows of the dormitories, dining-room, and library, as well as of the school-room, are of a plainer character.

C.

How delightful is the communication furnished to these volumes by Mr. Serjeant Coleridge, the Poet's nephew, Sunday morning, as he entered the church-yard on Rich who places the old man before us, as stopping short one mond-hill, and exclaiming, "I feel as if God had given man fifty-two Springs in every year!"- Quarterly Review

ON LIGHT, AND ITS INFLUENCES ON ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE NATURE.

THE metaphorical expressions of all ages and nations, with respect to light, sufficiently evince the value in which that inestimable gift is held. In the sacred Scriptures, indeed, not only are temporal blessings compared to light, and temporal evils to darkness, but holy deeds are frequently described under the character of the former, and unholy deeds under the character of the latter; and with respect either to classical or oriental literature, a thousand instances might easily be adduced, illustrative of the same metaphorical use of the terms in question.

When, after a dark and tempestuous night, the mariner first perceives the dawn of returning day, although that dawn discover to his view the evil plight to which the storm has reduced his vessel, why does he still hail day's harbinger as his greatest relief, but because without the aid of light he could not possibly extricate himself from the difficulties of his situation? Or, when the child, awakened from its sleep, finds itself alone in darkness, why is it overwhelmed with terror, and why does it call out for protection, but from the influence of those undefined fears which naturally occur to the mind under the privation of light?

There is something so congenial to our nature in light, something so repulsive in darkness, that, probably, on this ground alone, the very aspect of inanimate things is instinctively either grateful or the reverse, in consequence of our being reminded by that aspect of the one or of the other: so that, on this principle, perhaps, particular colours, throughout every province of nature, are more or less acceptable in proportion as they approach nearest, or recede farthest, from the character of light, whether reflected immediately by the heavenly bodies, or from the azure of the sky, or from the thousand brilliant hues with which the setting or the rising sun illuminates its attendant clouds.

The abundant supply of light, from its natural source the sun, and the ease with which it is producible by artificial means, during the absence of that luminary, render us habitually less sensible of its real value than, undoubtedly, we should be, were we to experience a long-continued privation of it. And as to the regularly periodical privation of it, which we experience in consequence of the alternation of night with day, this is so far from being an evil, that it is obviously beneficial inasmuch as, in consequence of this very absence, sleep is both directly and indirectly conciliated, without which gift of heaven, all our faculties would soon be exhausted, and all our happiness consequently extinguished.

The beneficial influence of sleep on our whole frame is too obvious in its effects to require any formal demonstration; but it will be interesting to consider its relation to the absence of light. It appears then, that, by a fundamental law of our nature, a sense of uneasiness invariably follows a long-continued exercise of our powers, either corporeal or mental; and, unless this sense of uneasiness have been produced by too inordinate exercise, it is soon relieved by that state of the system which we call sleep; during the continuance of which, provided it be sound, and of a perfectly healthy character, all the voluntary muscles of the body become relaxed, and the nervous system remains comparatively inactive; the whole body acquiring, by this temporary cessation of its energies, a renovated accumulation of those powers which are necessary for the purposes of active and intellectual life.

By the periodical succession of night to day, we are naturally disposed to yield to the sensation of approaching sleep. For, with the absence of light cease all the usual stimuli of that sense, which is accommodated to the impulse of this "agent, and which calls our faculties into action more frequently than any other.

Although it would be difficult to prove directly, that there is any necessary connexion between darkness and sleep, yet this connexion is rendered, at least, highly probable, by the effect usually produced on the approach of darkness upon animals in general, but more remarkably on birds; for, with the exception of those whose habits are nocturnal, all birds betake themselves to sleep as soon as night approaches; and if darkness should anticipate night by many hours, as happens when any considerable eclipse of the sun takes place in the middle of the day, we still find that the birds of the field, as well as our domesticated fowls, give the same indications of composing themselves to sleep as at the regular period of sunset.

The privation of light is rarely, if ever, total; for though the empire of time is divided in nearly equal proportion between day and night, there are comparatively few nights in which there is not diffused through the air a sufficient quantity of light for many of the purposes of life. Nor, with respect to those persons who either were born blind, or became blind in early infancy, is the absence of light felt with any degree of severity; for, in such instances, although the individual may be made to understand that he wants some faculty which those around him possess, there cannot be, however, any consciousness of privation where there never had been actually any enjoyment; or where there was no recollection of it, if it had for a time existed. And even in the case of individuals who have been deprived of sight long subsequently to birth, although the recollection of the former enjoyment must more or less im bitter their present state, yet so long as the offices of surrounding friends are the means of administering to their comfort, more especially if those offices are fulfilled with kindness, the mind soon becomes reconciled to the privation; for it is a fact repeatedly observed, that blind persons, under such circumstances, are usually cheerful. Nor ought we to forget the compensation which nature affords to those who are deprived of sight, in the consequently quickened activity of some of the other senses.

Let us, however, suppose for a moment, that all the faculties and recollections of man remaining unaltered, and the general processes of nature continuing, if possible, the same as they are now, the existente of light were withdrawn from the earth,-what would then be the condition of mankind? How could those occupations of life be pursued which are necessary for the supply of our simplest wants? Who, in that case, should yoke the ox to the plough, or sow the seed, or reap the harvest? But, indeed, under such a supposition, there would soon be neither seed for the ground, nor grain for food: for, if deprived of light, the character of vegetation is completely altered, and its results, as far as general utility is concerned, destroyed. Or suppose, further, that these necessary supplies of life were no longer required, on account of some consequent alteration in our physical constitution, or that they were procured for us by any unknown means; yet, in all the higher enjoyments of our nature, how cheerless, how utterly miserable would be our situation! Under such circumstances, wisdom would not only be

At one entrance quite shut out,

but no other entrance could then be found for it; for | of the other senses, the only remaining inlets of knowledge with reference to an external world, there is not one, which, if unaided by sight, could be of any practical value. With respect, indeed, to our inward feelings, though we should, on the one hand, be spared by the privation of light, the worse than corporeal pain of the averted eye of those who ought to meet us with gratitude and affection, we should, on the other hand, lose the beams of filial or parental love, of which even a momentary smile outweighs an age of pain.

Ex

generally supposed, which derives a gratification from perceiving the resemblance of actual or probable truth; or even, and sometimes in a higher degree, from the delineation of fictitious characters and scenes. Hence the art of painting is easily made the vehicle of the ludicrous and the horrible, no less than of the sublime and the beautiful; and hence, also, the painter may incur a considerable degree of moral responsibility in the exercise of his art. But this view of the subject, though fertile in reflections of great moment, and practically too much neglected, does not belong to the purpose of the present paper.

[Abridged from KIDD's Bridgewater Treatise.]

In the vegetable world, upon the products of which animal existence ultimately depend, light is the prime mover of every change that takes place, from the moment the germ emerges from the soil. clude the agency of light, and in a short time the most experienced botanist might possibly be at a loss to know the plant with which he is otherwise most familiar; so completely obliterated are all its natural characters, whether of colour, form, taste, or odour. Thus the faded colour of the interior leaves of the lettuce and other culinary vegetables, is the result of such a degree of compression of the body of the plant as excludes the admission of light beyond the exterior leaves. Again, if a branch of ivy, or of any spreading plant, happen to penetrate, during the progress of its vegetation, into a dark cellar, or any similar subterraneous situation, it is observable that, with the total loss of colour, its growth advances with great rapidity, but the proportions alter to such a degree as often to mask its original form. Lastly, which in a practical point of view is of the greatest importance, if a plant which has grown without the influence of light be chemically examined, its juices, it might almost be said, its whole substance, would be found to consist of little else than mere water; and whatever odour it may have, is character-petual solicitation; he is too much alive to all the little istic, not of its original nature, but of its unnatural mode of growth; becoming, in short, very like that of a common fungus. The total result is, that all the native beauties and uses of a vegetable growing under these circumstances, are lost. The eye is neither delighted by any variety or brightness of colour; nor is the sense of smell gratified by any fragrance: the degeneracy of its fibre into a mere pulp, renders it unfit for any mechanical purpose; and the resinous, and other principles, on which its nutritive and medicinal virtues depend, cease to be developed. In some instances, however, the bleaching of plants is useful in correcting the acrid taste which belongs to them in their natural state, as in the case of endive and celery.

In general it is not very difficult for little minds to attain splendid situations. It is much more difficult for great minds to attain the place to which their merit fully entitles them. In the first place, elevation of sentiment is almost always an insurmountable obstacle to fortune; it is an effectual barrier against a thousand easy and certain means of advancement; talents are even adverse to advancement, unless they be accompanied with vast intrepidity of soul; with a sort of courage that men of truly honest and upright hearts do not wish to possess. For if, on the one hand, they multiply our means of attaining the proposed end, they, on the other, place before our eyes, in but too forcible a point of view, the obstacles we have to surmount. This inconvenience is great, and the multiplication of our means is not always an advantage. I am persuaded that in carefully examining the conduct of those who have attained to any extraordinary fortune, we shall be tempted to believe there is nothing so sure of succeeding as not to be overbrilliant, as to be entirely wrapped up in oneself, and endowed with a perseverance which, in spite of all the rebuffs It is incredible what may be done by dint of importunity it may meet with, never relaxes in the pursuit of its object. alone; and where shall we find the man of real talents who knows how to be importunate enough? He is too soon overcome with the disgust inspired by all matters which have interest only for their object, with the desire of permovements visible on the countenance of the person solicited, and he gives up the pursuit. The fool sees none of these things, feels none of these things-he pursues his object with unremitted ardour, and at length attains it. BARON De Grimm.

The observation of those modifications which light undergoes when reflected from the surfaces of bodies, has given rise to one of those impressive arts which are capable of contributing no less to the refinement of society at large, than to the gratification of the individuals who cultivate or admire them. For who can look on the productions of such masters as Guido, Raphael, or Michael Angelo, without imbibing a portion of the spirit which animated them in the execution of their inimitable works? or, in the retirement of domestic life, who can successfully describe those emotions which are excited by the portrait of a beloved object, a child or parent, now no more; or by the representation of that home and its surrounding scenery, in which the careless and happy hours of childhood were passed?

The intrinsic source of the pleasure which we experience from the contemplation of a painting, is probably to be sought for in that principle of our nature, of more extensive influence, perhaps, than is

"Whether A CHRISTIAN, on his death-bed, being asked, gives me no uneasiness: if I die, I shall be with God; and he thought he should die? "Yes," replied he; "but that if I live, God will be with me."

SOME years ago a clergyman was addressed by his friend thus:-"You have a very large family: you have as many children as the patriarch Jacob." "True!" answered the good old Divine; "and I have also Jacob's God to provide

for them."

WHEN We consider how large a portion of the divine moral law relates to our duty to our neighbours, and how much filthy habits are injurious to them, we surely need feel no hesitation in admitting the truth of the remark, that cleanliness is next to godliness.-HODGKIN.

Be cautious with whom you associate, and never give your company or your confidence to persons of whose good principles you are not certain. No person that is an enemy to God, can be a friend to man. He that has already proved himself ungrateful to the Author of every blessing, will not scruple, when it will serve his turn, to shake off a to his own purposes, but he will never benefit you. A bad fellow-worm like himself. He may render you instrumental man is a curse to others; as he is secretly, notwithstanding all his boasting and affected gaiety, a burden to himself. Shun him as you would a serpent in your path. Be not seduced by his rank, his wealth, his wit, or his influence. Think of him as already in the grave; think of him as standing before the everlasting God in judgment. This awful reality will instantly strip off all that is now so imposing, and present him in his true light, the object rather of your compassion, and of your prayers-than of your wonder or imitation.-BISHOP COLERIDGE.

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