as a
hypocrite--a feeble and unnatural mixture of baseness and cunning. Sir
Walter, with all his prejudices and all his antipathies, not only
better knew the national type, but he had a more comprehensive mind;
and he drew David Deans, therefore, as a man of stern and inflexible
integrity, and as thoroughly sincere in his religion. Not but that in
this department he committed great and grievous mistakes. The main
doctrine of revelation, with its influence on character--that doctrine
of regeneration which our Saviour promulgated to Nicodemus, and
enforced with the sanctity of an oath--was a doctrine of which he knew
almost nothing. What has the first place in all the allegories of
Bunyan, has no place in the fictions of Sir Walter. None of his
characters exhibit the change displayed in the life of the ingenious
allegorist of Elston, or of James Gardener, or of John Newton.

He found human nature a _terra incognita_ when it came under the
influence of grace; and in this _terra incognita_, the field in which
he could only grope, not see, his way, well-nigh all his mistakes were
committed. But had his native honesty been less, his mistakes would
have been greater.

He finds good even among Christians. What can be finer than the
character of his Covenanter's widow, standing out as it does in the
most exceptionable of all his works,--the blind and desolate woman,
meek and forgiving in her utmost distress, who had seen her sons shot
before her eyes, and had then ceased to see more?

Our subject, however, is one which we must be content not to exhaust.

THE LATE MR. KEMP.

The funeral of this hapless man of genius took place yesterday,
and excited a deep and very general interest, in which there mingled
the natural sorrow for high talent prematurely extinguished, with
the feeling of painful regret, awakened by a peculiarly melancholy
end. It was numerously attended, and by many distinguished men. The
several streets through which it passed were crowded by saddened
spectators--in some few localities very densely; and the windows
overhead were much thronged. At no place was the crowd greater,
except perhaps immediately surrounding the burying-ground, than at
the fatal opening beside the Canal Basin, into which the unfortunate
man had turned from the direct road in the darkness of night, and had
found death at its termination. The scene of the accident is a gloomy
and singularly unpleasant spot. A high wall, perforat