ons are various. The following list will show his industry
at least: 'Athanasia,' in four books; 'On Immortality in 1849;' 'Letters
written during a Tour in Germany in 1851;' 'Memoirs of William Knibb, the
celebrated Missionary in Jamaica;' 'A History of the United States of
North America;' 'Theology, or an Attempt towards a Consistent View of the
Whole Counsel of God;' 'The Work of the Holy Spirit in Conversion
Considered;' 'Elements of Natural History; or, an Introduction to
Systematic Zoology, chiefly according to the Classification of Linnaeus.'
Besides, Mr. Hinton has written pamphlets in favour of Voluntaryism in
religion and education, and published sermons innumerable. In the pulpit
or the press, his labours are most unremitting. He may be denied the
possession of great talent, but all must admit his power of persevering
toil.

The only drawback in connection with Mr. Hinton, I am told, is that his
temper is rather uncontrollable--that he is rather more rugged than need
be: indeed you will not attend long at Devonshire Square before you find
this to be the case. It is a pity it should be so. A man should have
more command over himself. Young preachers may be put out by a cough, or
any other sign of indifference; but old practised hands should have long
outgrown that.

SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

A playwright in the pulpit seems an anomaly. The stage and the pulpit
have generally been at bitter war. Jeremy Collier had the best of it in
his day, and I believe would have the best of it in ours. The stage with
its paint and sawdust and glaring gas--the stage as it is--is the last
place to which an earnest man would turn with hope. Originally
religious, it has long ceased to be such. It has become simply an
amusement--if the reproduction of all that is heartless and flippant and
rotten in society be considered as such. Our English Catos don't go to
the theatre at all, and when one who is not a Cato goes there, it becomes
to him a sight melancholy rather than otherwise, unless he have sunk
altogether into the unhappy life of that dullest of all dogs, a gay man
about town. As to the stage being a school of morals, the idea is the
most preposterous that ever entered the head of man. At the best, when
it collects a goodly company--when it is lit up with beauty--when it
resounds with merriment--when it is electrified by wit--it is a pleasant
place for the consumption of an idle hour. More it is not now. More