himself, that his delineation of Dr. Buchanan is executed with much fidelity.

Having thus slightly introduced both Dr. Buchanan and his Biographer to the public, we have set ourselves to consider in what way we can best convey to them our own impression of these volumes, and prompt them to turn from our imperfect copy to the original work. And we have determined that we shall best accomplish this double object by giving our readers pretty copious extracts from those letters of Dr. Buchanan, which occupy so large a portion of this interesting memoir-and by attaching to these extracts a few such observations as may arise in our progress. Our readers, we are persuaded, will not regret that we suffer Dr. Buchanan to speak as much as possible for himself.

The life of the subject of these memoirs may be naturally divided into four parts-the period before he went to collegethat which he spent there-the years spent in India-those after

his return.

Dr. Buchanan was the son of virtuous parents in Scotland and discovered, at various moments of his early years, a mind not altogether insensible to the devout instructions which he received. At fourteen, especially, it appears that he spent much time in meditation amidst the rocks on the sea shore. But these serious impressions were soon dissipated, and he conceived the extraordinary and criminal desire of deceiving his parents, of quitting their roof by stealth, and of making the tour of Europe on foot. In the following letter we have a curious account of a part of the journey, on which he entered in conséquence of this resolution.

،، I had the example of the celebrated Dr. Goldsmith before me, who travelled through Europe on foot, and supported himself by playing on his flute. I could play a little on the violin, and on this I relied for occasional support during my long and various travels.

، ، In August 1787, having put on plain clothes, becoming my apparent situation, I left Edinburgh on foot with the intention of travelling to London, and thence to the continent: that very violin which I now have, and the case which contains it, I had under my arm, and thus I travelled onward. After I had proceeded some days on my journey, and had arrived at a part of the country where I thought I could not be known, I called at gentlemen's houses, and farm houses, where I was in general kindly lodged. They were very well pleased with my playing reels to them, (for I played them better than I can now,) and I sometimes received five shillings, sometimes half a crown, and sometimes nothing but my dinner. Wherever I went, people seemed to be struck a little by my appearance, particularly if they entered into conversation with me. They were often very inquisitive, and I was some

times at a loss what to say. I professed to be a musician travelling through the country for his subsistence: but this appeared very strange to some, and they wished to know where I obtained my learning; for sometimes pride, and sometimes accident, would call forth expressions, in the course of conversation, which excited their surprise. I was often invited to stay for some time at a particular place; but this I was afraid of, lest I might be discovered. It was near a month, I believe, before I arrived on the borders of England, and in that time many singular occurrences befel me. I once or twice met persons whom I had known, and narrowly escaped discovery. Sometimes I had nothing to eat, and had no where to rest at night; but, notwithstanding, I kept steady to my purpose, and pursued my journey. Before, however, I reached the borders of England, I would gladly have returned; but I could not: the die was cast; my pride would have impelled me to suffer death, I think, rather than to have exposed my folly; and I pressed forward.

"When I arrived at Newcastle, I felt tired of my long journey, and found that it was indeed hard to live on the benevolence of others: I therefore resolved to proceed to London by water; for I did not want to travel in my own country, but on the continent.

"I accordingly embarked in a collier at North Shields, and sailed for London. On the third night, of the voyage we were in danger of being cast away, during a gale of wind; and then, for the first time, I began to reflect seriously on my situation.'" (Vol. i. p. 8-10.)

He next describes the bitter fruits which he reaped from this treacherous expedition. Having reached London, he says,

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My spirits were nearly exhausted by distress and poverty. I now relinquished every idea of going abroad. I saw such a visionary scheme in its true light, and resolved, if possible, to procure some situation, as an usher or clerk, or any employment, whereby I might derive a subsistence: but I was unsuccessful. I lived some time, in obscure lodgings, by selling my clothes and books; for I did not attempt to obtain any assistance by my skill in music, lest I should be discovered by some persons who might know me or my family. I was in a short time reduced to the lowest extreme of wretchedness and want. Alas! I had not sometimes bread to eat. Little did my mother think, when she dreamt, that she saw her son fatigued with his wanderings, and oppressed with a load of woe, glad to lie down, and sleep away his cares on a little straw, that her dream was so near the truth! What a reverse of fortune was this! A few months before, I lived in splendour and happiness! But even in this extremity of misery my eyes were not opened. I saw indeed my folly, but I saw not my sin: my pride even then was unsubdued, and I was constantly anticipating scenes of future grandeur, and indulging myself in the pleasures of the imagination.

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"After I had worn out many months in this misery, observing one day an advertisement in a newspaper, for "clerk to an attorney," I offered myself, and was accepted. I was much liked, and soon made friends. I then obtained a better situation with another gentleman in the law, and, lastly, engaged with a solicitor of respectable character

and connexions in the city, with whom I remained nearly three years. During all this time I had sufficient allowance to appear as a gentleman; my desire for going abroad gradually abated, and I began to think that I should make the law my profession for life. But during a great part of this time I corresponded with my friends in Scotland, as from abroad, writing very rarely, but always giving my mother pleasing accounts of my health and situation."" (Vol. i. p. 11, 12.)

We find him recovering the proper tone of mind under the friendly counsels of Mr. Newton, by whom he was taught the extent of his delinquency, and the depth of the precipice, on the edge of which he stood."

At this time, generally speaking, the decisive change in his character must be said to have taken place. He passed from a state of occasional licentiousness, of almost habitual indifference, of falsehood, disobedience, and unkindness to his parents, to a state of serious and habitual devotion of himself to God. If there be any who doubt the reality of such a change, we would entreat them to consider the language in which Mr. Buchanan himself describes it-and the judicious comment of Mr. Pearson. One class, Mr. Pearson says, may be disposed to treat the whole as visionary and delusive, the other as weak and unimportant. We can afford to give the reply only to the former of these objectors.

"In reply to the former of these objections, it may be observed, that, even admitting the change in question to have been sudden, it does not necessarily follow that it was enthusiastic and visionary. I do not in the smallest degree,' says a peculiarly calm and cautious writer, " mean to undervalue, or speak lightly of such changes, whenever, or in whomsoever they take place; nor to deny that they may be sudden, yet lasting: nay, I am rather inclined to think that it is in this manner that they frequently do take place.' But in the present case, sudden as that impression appears to have been, which was the turning point in the mind of Mr. Buchanan between a life of sin and of religion, between the world and God, it was neither the first nor the last which he experienced; but one of many previous convictions, which had been comparatively ineffectual, and of many subsequent influences, which issued in the real conversion of his heart to God, and which continued through his future course to establish and edify him in Christian faith and holiness. The substantial effects which followed sufficiently rescue the impressions which have been described from the imputation of enthusiasm, and vindicate their claim to a more legitimate and divine origin." (Vol. i. p. 29, 30.)

The change wrought in Mr. Buchanan was a change from the practice of falsehood to the love of truth-from occasional licentiousness to habitual holiness—from a life of self-indulgence to a life of usefulness and benevolence-from the state of a weed

encumbering the soil which bore it, to that of a branch, shaking its golden fruit into the bosom of the weary and destitute. If, indeed, the precise period at which this change begun, or was completed, be asked for, we are desirous rather to refer the inquirer to the Great Author of that change than to reply ourselves. It may have been begun in baptism. The occasional fits (if they may be so termed) of seriousness in the early life of Mr. Buchanan, may have been so many indications that the spark was early communicated, and was afterwards rather covered than extinguished-or the process may have been wholly dif ferent. The light of truth may have visited his soul now for the first time-and the dawn and the blaze of sunshine, like the rising of the Eastern day, have been well nigh contemporaneous. It is not for us to limit the movements of Him who is invisibleor to prescribe laws to Omnipotence. But if the evidence of the change be asked---we direct the inquirer to look around---look at Mr. Buchanan, wherever placed, or however circumstanced. Tread in his footsteps in the East---and though the monuments of heroes and philosophers be forgotten, or remembered only to the shame of those whose bones they cover, you shall find in the institutions to which he gave birth---in the increased civilization and happiness of those introduced to Christianity by his labours of love---in the case of hundreds rescued by him from idolatry, and licentiousness, and blood---an imperishable monument to the power of that grace which could transform the cold and cruel deceiver of tender parents into the firm and affectionate friend of the ignorant and miserable, in every spot of the universe. This is evidence which no reasonable man can hesitate to admit.

But we must now follow Mr. Buchanan into the second stage of his eventful life. It is not wonderful that, in his new state of mind, he should have felt a desire to enter into holy orders. He thus describes the origin of this desire in a letter to Mr. Newton.

"Yesterday morning,' he observes, I went to hear Dr. S. Near the conclusion of the service, I was insensibly led to admire this passage of the prophet Isaiah, How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the Gospel of peace!' It occurred to me, that that enviable office was once designed for me; that I was called to the ministry, as it were, from my infancy. For my pious grandfather chose me from among my mother's children to live with himself. He adopted me as his own child, and took great pleasure in forming my young mind to the love of God. He warmly encouraged my parents' design of bringing me up to the ministry."" (Vol. i. p. 33.)

"These things passed rapidly through my mind. I wondered that I had not thought of them before. Your suggestion occurred to me, and I seemed clearly to perceive the hand of Providence in my not

having been articled to the law. I now beheld it as an unkindly and unprofitable study, a profession I never cordially liked, and was thankful that I might shake it off when I pleased. These reflections filled me with delight, and as I walked home, the sensation increased; so that by the time I entered my chamber, my spirits were overpowered, and I fell on my knees before God, and wept. What shall I say to these things? At first I feared this change of sentiment might be some idle whim that would soon vanish. But when I began to deliberate calmly, reason pleaded that the plan was possible; and the wisdom and power of God, and my love to him, pleaded that it was probable. I thought that I, who had experienced so much of the divine mercy, was peculiarly engaged to declare it to others. After fervent prayer, I endeavoured to commit myself and my services into the hands of Him who alone is able to direct me."" (Vol. i. p. 34, 35.)

But whatever might be the wishes of Mr. Buchanan, there appeared no means of meeting the expense, by which alone they could be accomplished. In this state of things, Mr. Newton introduced him to the late Mr. Henry Thornton, Member for the Borough of Southwark; of whose merits we need not remind our readers, nor revive the recollection, for they cannot be forgotten, of his steady love and strong pursuit of truth-his political integrity-his noble impartiality-his mild dignity, commanding the affections of a multitude, without stooping to their passions-his fervour of piety, and magnificence of charity. Mr. Thornton, having carefully investigated Mr. Buchanan's pretensions, determined to send him as a student to Cambridge.

The whole of the extracts given by the author from the letters of Mr. Buchanan, at this period of his life, are, as might be expected, peculiarly interesting; and we shall proceed, according to our plan, to transcribe such parts of them as may serve to carry on the history of their author.

The first extract describes the views with which he entered upon his university career.

"I was emancipated,' he writes to Mr. Newton, from the law a few days ago, and am now willing to enter into the eternal bonds of the Gospel. I have been endeavouring to arrange my studies in some measure preparatory to my going to Cambridge; but I find so much to do, that I know not where to begin. I wish to devote my greatest attention to the Bible, and am desirous of adopting some regular plan in studying it; but I cannot please myself, and I am a perfect stranger to the system which is usually followed. The Bible appears to me like a confused heap of polished stones prepared for a building, which must be brought together, and each of them fitted to its place, before the proportion and symmetry of the temple appear. I would fain hope that the foundation-stone is laid with me; but the raising of the superstructure appears an arduous undertaking, and the pinnacle of the temple is quite out of sight, even in idea. I conjectured that probably