London, but without its weight, does
honour to the age that raised it, and to the place that contains it.
Perhaps the eye of the critic cannot point out a fault, which the hand
of the artist can mend: perhaps too, the attentive eye cannot survey
this pile of building, without communicating to the mind a small degree
of pleasure. If the materials are not proof against time, it is rather
a misfortune to be lamented, than an error to be complained of, the
country producing no better.

Yet, amidst all the excellencies we boast, I am sorry to charge this
chief ornament with an evil which admits no cure, that of not ranging
with its own coemetery, or the adjacent buildings: out of seven streets,
with which it is connected, it lines with none.--Like Deritend chapel,
of which I have already complained, from a strong attachment to a point
of religion, or of the compass, it appears twisted out of its place. We
may be delighted with a human figure, complete in stature, exactly
moulded with symmetry, and set off with the graces of dress; but we
should be disgusted, if his right side seemed to attempt to out-walk
his left.

This defect, in religious architecture, arises from a strict adherence
to the custom of the ancients, who fixed their altars towards the east.
It is amasing, that even weakness itself, by long practice, becomes
canonical; it gains credit by its age and its company. Hence, Sternhold
and Hopkins, by being long bound up with scripture, acquired a kind of
scripture authority.

The ground, originally, was part of a farm, and bore the name of the
Horse-close; afterwards _Barley-close_.--Thus a benign spot of earth,
gave additional spirits to a man when living, and kindly covered him in
its bosom when dead.

This well chosen spot, is the summit of the highest eminence in
Birmingham, with a descent every way; and, when the church was erected,
there were not any buildings nearer than those in Bull-street.

The land was the gift of Robert Phillips, Esq; whence the name, ancestor
to William Theodore Inge, Esquire.

In all degrees of people, from the bishop to the beadle, there seems a
propensity in the mind to arrive at the honours of Sainthood: by joining
our names in partnership with a faint, we share with him a red letter in
the almanack.

Out of six churches in Birmingham, three bear the names of the donors.
St. Bartholomew's would, probably, have taken that of its founder, John
Jennens, Esq; but that name happ