its adoption in this work is a recognition of the accuracy of the facts on which it rests,* we transcribe a few sentences:

"Dr. O'Sullivan was the elder brother of the Rev. Mortimer O'Sullivan, and was for the last thirty years chaplain of the Royal Military School in the Park. He was a man of the very strongest and most generous affections. His genius and talents were of a very high order; and we know no writer whose views, though brought before the public in the most unostentatious forms, were yet so influential in creating and guiding public opinion. O'Sulli

van's was a mind essentially modest. - even humble. Self-appreciation there was none. Of himself, we believe, he never thought. We have witnessed bursts of indignation, but it was always when some truth, which he had cherished, seemed to him outraged or insulted. And in the remote world of contemplation in which he lived, we can well imagine that he was often offended by the contrasts which he was forced to witness between all he hoped and all he wished, and the scene which actual life presented to him, and has presented to every thinking man in every age. But never was there a man more faithful to life's actual duties than he was. Humble as the duties may seem to others of the clergyman, employed ashewas, in directing the instruction of the children of the poor, it was a labour which he loved; and the sympathy of this most affectionate man followed through after life every one of the poor children who formed a great part of his entire congregation. Of the Church of England Dr. O'Sullivan was a faithful and zealous minister. But he was more than this: he loved the Church. He felt and believed it the truest, or rather the only true representative on earth of Apostolic Christianity. Every feeling of his heart, every conviction of his understanding, united him with the Hookers, and the Taylors, and the Usshers. Never was there a man more sincere in his convictions-never was there a man more tolerant of others never was there a man, whose own opinions were fixed, so little of a dogmatist. His religious and theological views were in all things consistent with those of that school of English divines who are most often designated by the name of ' High Church; but in whatever school learned, there was, in O'Sullivan's writings, and yet more in his conversation, exhibited a power of analysis that, disentangling propositions which are often presented in a form most ob

scure and involved, aided his hearers essentially in the perception of truth. His style was so perfectly lucid, and the subjects of which he treated were proposed by him, one by one, with such distinctness to the mind, that it would be scarcely possible for a sophism to escape detection when such a mind was engaged in the examination of any subject. If you differed from O'Sullivan, it never arose from your dissent to any one proposition he stated; it never was from any inference drawn by him illogically from the premises before his mind-it most often was from your own violation of the condition on which he imagined himself arguing, and your regarding as absolutely fixed by authority that which he, yielding to no man in his respect to authority, would seek to examine by such lights as reason and experience suggested to him. The truths of Christianity, when he spoke of them-and of them he was fond of speaking, when he found fit audience were dwelt on by him, rather with reference to their correspondence with man's nature, and their adaptation to the great purpose of restoring and strengthening it, than to their place in creeds, or articles of religion. In his writings and conversation, as in the works of Butler and of Erskine, the perfect adaptation of the great Scriptural doctrines to effect this, their peculiar purpose, by their influence on the mind, was dwelt on as of itself furnishing evidence of their truth. Every advance in knowledge, of whatever kind, made -every advance in improvement that society gained, brought with it new proofs of the truth of Christianity. In minds of less power, Knox's views led to the extremes of Methodism or Puseyism, for the late fantastic movement in England is referable to Knox as its proper author; and the Newmans, and other proselytes, who seem to lead, are themselves only followers of a man whom they but half understood. Except in a very well-balanced mind, there is danger in speculations, always uncertain, and apt to become vague and fanciful.

Thinking over Dr. O'Sullivan's works, and remembering his conversation, both in his more serious and his more playful hours, we can bring to our mind no one opinion of his which did not exhibit a sound judgment; and, separating as we now seek to do, all that was accidental and unimportant, or that growing out of the particular occasion, cannot but be, however delightful at the time, gradually forgotten and disregarded, we really never knew any man in whom there was combined so much practical wisdom, such entire absence of unjust pretensions,

with such unaffected manners, and such

overflowing kindness of heart. It is painful to think that this conviction is pressed upon us, when we can never more meet on earth this most excellent man.

"We regret that at no time Dr. O'Sullivan had the charge of a parish, as we can scarcely imagine a man more fitted for its best duties, from his warm sympathies with all classes of men-from the absolute love with which he regarded the young-from his singular power of conveying information free from the slightest trace of pedantry, and in communicating which he almost seemed to be himself also a learner and from the affection with which he was regarded by every person with whom he came into any relation. In a country distracted as this is with differrences of opinion and mutual distrust, we can scarcely imagine a greater blessing to a district than the residence in it of a man of his truthful nature, of his frank and earnest disposition, of his generous appreciation and nurture of all that promised good, and, to speak of what is also of great moment, his natural and unpresuming dignity of manner. What the Church and what society has lost, or rather what might have been easily gained for both, no man can estimate. Our business, however, is with what was, not with what might have been, and the duties and services rendered by Dr. O'Sullivan were of no light character."-Vol. i., pp. vii.-xii.

Dr. O'Sullivan was for the last twenty years of his life chaplain of the Military School, in the Phoenix Park, near Dublin; and the children elucated there were the subject of his constant care. It was probably for them that he drew up a little catechism, which we find thus adverted to:

"The last task with which Dr. O'Sullivan was engaged was the publication of a Church Catechism. It is drawn up with exceeding simplicity, yet there is no one doctrine taught by the Church that is not brought forward in this little work, not alone in the language of our Church formularies, but also in the passages of Scripture from which that language is formed; and always with the accompanying recollection that it is children who are to be taught, and that the clearest and most direct language is that in which it is fitting that explanations, which are to remain on the memory, should be expressed. This little catechism has been introduced into many schools, and we have seen letters from several clergymen speaking of it in terms of high praise.' "Vol. i. pp. xii. xiii.

In the introductory notice we find the following extract, from the letter of a friend :

"With what amount of innocent and cheerful playfulness would our dear friend, S. O'Sullivan, enact, on occasions, in private, the part of L'Allegro !' Who, without 'holding both his sides,' could have heard him relate some of his Irish stories? Nor was the Celt the only subject his humour drew upon. The classics also were at his command. I remember, at a dinner party, where a number of literati were assembled, he gave the adventures of Ulysses in the cave with such irresistible drollery, as to keep the table in a roar for perhaps fifteen minutes. One distinguished poet declared to me afterwards that it was 'the best thing he ever heard in his life.' His comic readings were also incomparable.

"But pathos was, perhaps, his forte. I cannot remember any one who could read pathetic pieces with the same beauty or tenderness of expression. His intonations were singularly affecting when he read, with tears, a tragic poem of Wordsworth or Southey, or when he rivalled Kemble in some impassioned passage from Shakspeare. And this power of natural and beautiful intonation was useful in matters of the gravest character. Congregations, for example, were made more sensible of the power of our Liturgy when he prayed, and not merely read, the Church service. Very much, too, of the effect of his sermons was due to the excellence of their delivery.

This was more

strikingly the case when, from any unforeseen accident or sudden call, he was required (as was frequently the case) to extemporise a sermon. If an expected preacher of a charity sermon was suddenly taken ill, or if the light failed when he was himself in the pulpit at evening service, or if a lecture on a chapter of Scripture were proposed at family prayer, or if lecture or exhortation apt for the moment, and at a moment's notice, were found desirable for the boys at the Hibernian School, O'Sullivan was found ever ready; and the only perceiveable difference, perhaps, between his elaborately-written, and his almost totally extemporaneous discourse, was, that the delivery of the latter was the more effective.""-Vol. i. pp. xxx. xxxi.

His death took place on the 6th of August, 1851. The immediate cause of death was the rupture of a blood vessel in the lungs, but his health had been for some time before perceptibly declining:

"He was not unaware of the probable issue of his malady. Once, and perhaps only once, he said 'They wish to hide from me their apprehensions, as if I could be without a knowledge of my condition; but here, as well as in the world to come, I have God before me and around me.' Indeed his long protracted illness, which left him the power of thought, while enfeebling or taking from

him all other powers, naturally disposed him to meditation. He was conscious, too, of the divine mercies vouchsafed to him in the time of trial; and whenever, with deep emotion, he spoke of love in his own household, of the affectionate friends who, for more than a year, had volunteered to discharge, in their turns, duties for which sickness had disabled him, and of the generous and unremitting attentions of his two medical friends, the late Dr. Robert Graves, whose great genius and industry he had discerned in early years, and Dr. Elkington, of the Military School, of whose consummate skill and judgment as a physician, and of whose kindness as a friend, he had daily proofs, it was impossible not to see that in his fervent gratitude for so touching proofs of attachment and good-will, He who made this gracious provision for him was never forgotten; and upon occasions when, under the burden of bodily infirmity and in pain, he sunk by slow and laborious efforts into a posture of supplication, there was an air of reality in his attitude and aspect, and silence, so unambiguous and convincing, that 'behold he prayeth' would come spontaneously into the remembrance of any who looked upon him in such acts of devotion.

"Good men's lives unconsciously bequeath legacies of soothing recollections to loving and loved survivors, and few there have been who, in the same circumstances, have left such materials for hopeful meditation as the writer from whose literary remains the following selections have been taken. In all his performances, as in those now offered to the reader, the integrity of one zealous for truth is ever manifest, one whose praise is ready for the deserving, whatever may be his sect or party, and whose anger is without sin, because the vice, not the transgressor, is the object it would destroy. In his active life, narrowly limited as were his opportunities, he left many a grateful remembrance behind. He wished no evil to mortal breathing; he desired good to all; he did good, 'hoping for nothing again,' to many who could not, and to many who would not, recompense him, and was never weary in welldoing. Nor was he, even on earth, without a reward. If ever the story of his life be written, it will be shown, that few men were richer in friends than he.

"One evidence of the affectionate interest he was gifted to inspire, may meetly be recorded here. In reply to a question addressed to him, long since, in conversation, by an illustrious friend, Sir William Hamilton, he expressed a hope that Dr. Martin would be his literary executor. Care of an extensive

parish, arduous and varied intellectual labours, direction of the studies of hopeful sons, all brilliantly successful in their academic career, might plead excuse for declining a new task; but the chosen friend felt as if the wish of the departed had assigned to him a sacred duty, and to his generous and untiring exertions these 'monumental volumes' owe their existence.

"They are submitted to the reader without a comment. The interval of separation from the subject of this notice has not imparted to the writer's mind the idea of a divided existence; and if he dared to describe the character of his brother's productions, his language would shrink into the same coldness and reserve with which he spoke, in the days when their lives were one, of the being on earth whom, with a deep and strong affection which never knew abatement or interruption, he had longest loved and honoured."Vol. i. pp. xlvi.-xlviii.

Some letters from persons who had been educated at the school are given, which prove the affection with which he was regarded; and we cannot close this paper more appropriately than by transcribing the following record:

"Extract from the Proceedings of a Special General Meeting of the Governors of the Royal Hibernian Military School, held at the Royal Hospital, on Friday, the 5th of September, 1851:

"Major-General his Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge in the chair. Proposed by Colonel Cochrain, and seconded by Colonel Turner-Resolved, that this Board cannot come to the resolution of appointing a Chaplain to the Royal Hibernian Military School without recording their feelings of sincere condolence with Mrs. O'Sullivan on the sad bereavement which she and her family have sustained in the death of the late Chaplain, who presided for so many years over the religious instruction of the children in the institution, and whose worth has been so highly appreciated by the governors. (A true extract.)

"April, 1852.*"

"CHRISTOPHER Foss, Sec.

We ought to have said in express words what, however, is implied in our account of this work, that we have seldom read volumes of greater or more varied interest. They deserve to be popular.

VOL. XLII.-NO. CCXLIX.

2 B

harvest still remains behind to reward the labours of future investigators. Very lately, the writer of this article, in conversation with an active and intelligent companion of Layard, was assured, that in the district lying between the Tigris and the Euphrates, and farther east, towards Persia, at least one hundred ancient cities are calculated to be buried under mounds, removable with time and perseverance. There appear to be few local obstacles which cannot be surmounted by money, directed with skill and judgment. Babylon is in itself an unexplored mine; but there the impediments of climate still frown like angry sentinels, and the same marsh fevers spread their devastating influence, which thinned the hosts of Alexander, and terminated his victorious career. Our knowledge of these localities is different from what it was when Morier visited them, and wrote as follows:-"Excepting the ruins of some large and lofty turrets, like that of Babel or Belus, the cities of Babylon and Nineveh are so completely crumbled into dust, as to be wholly undistinguishable, but by a few inequalities of the surface on which they once stood. The humble tent of the Arab now occupies the spot formerly adorned with the palaces of kings; and his flocks procure but a scanty pittance of food amidst the fallen fragments of ancient magnificence."

The traveller of 1810-16, little foresaw that within five-and-thirty years these fragments would be collected together, to an extent, and in a state of perfection which, if not witnessed by daily thousands, would be rejected as fabulous, and now present, in the halls of the Louvre and the British Museum, a living history of an extinct and mighty nation.

The great plain lying to the eastward of Damascus, and stretching towards Palmyra, or Tadmor in the desert, is a region as little known to European travellers, and as seldom traversed, as the inmost recesses of Australia, but abounding with monuments of early antiquity, the importance and extent of which imagination

cannot fathom, and no conjectural estimate can possibly determine. It is daring and adventurous to explore the primeval forests of America, the interminable prairies of the Far West, the scorching deserts of Africa, the wilds of Borneo, or the jungles of Madagascar and New Zealand. In all these regions, nature revels in unbounded majesty, and the impress of human civilisation is unfelt and unacknowledged. But the older countries of the world, and, above all, the Biblical lands, are invested with historical associations, and clothed in a garment of classical antiquity, which simple grandeur of scenery fails to rival. A bridge, an aqueduct, a mouldering temple, or a crumbling wall-vestiges which connect the works of man with those of his Creator; which tell of earthly revolutions, the destruction of cities, and the overthrow of kingdoms, whether produced by Divine wrath or human agency; these memorials are eloquent in silence, and preach dumb homilies, more impressive in moral and religious application than the unbroken solitudes of the New World, which have never echoed with the sounds of human labour, and contain no relics of human ingenuity. The forests of Lebanon, the quarries of Baalbek, the mines of Ophir,* have remote associations peculiar to themselves, which we cannot attach or extend to the back-woods of Ohio or Kentucky, the embowelled riches of Potosi, or the treasure-bearing rocks of California. The name of Jordan possesses a charm which Sacramento and all its golden streams can never supersede or wash away. There is something grand in surmounting the Cordilleras, and in sitting, wrapt up in contemplation, "on a peak in Darien;" but it is yet more interesting to stand on Calvary, to ruminate over Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, and to ride round her ancient walls, while we carry back our thoughts to the events they have witnessed, and the changes they have undergone.

Two very extraordinary volumes are now before us, lately published in Paris, and simultaneously in an English translation in London.† They treat