RECORDS OF A GOOD MAN S LIFE.

MR. TAYLER is one of that class of writers and clergymen who will

• not be content with the ordinary and formal profession of Chris- tianity. We all know, that many professing Christians take up

-religion as a thing of particular days and seasons, and content themselves with certain observances, checking the use of some

worldly phrases, and more liberally employing others of a sacred .hue. But Mr. TAYLER insists in all his writings on a far more 'important application of religious faith : he makes Christianity the rule of life, not merely in regulating the worship of the Deity, . but in thoroughly and effectually guiding and directing all our re

lations of life—in short, a moral code. New life is infused into the .discipline and .ordinances of the Church. Baptism and confirma- tion are no longer forms; the child enters the Church as into the 'care of a guardian; she takes him up in all the solemn crises of life, and at his death receives him into her bosom. The Church is . the general home, the universal mother, the mediator and conci- liator between this world and the next, the outward and visible sign of the revelation of the Divine law. The Good Man, whose .life Mr. TAYLER paints, is an exemplification of this doctrine : an amiable and cheerful man, not insensible to the joys of life, but one who takes every source of satisfaction as a loan—whose trou- ibles only convince him of the vigilance of the Deity—who sees God's presence in every event, and passes a great part of his day that state of mind in which man seems etherialized into the .sharing and partaking of the nature of the being looked up to as the source of all. In this elevated condition of mind, a human :being is incapable of any of those destructive passions which . cause and perpetuate the miseries of social life. Anger, cruelty, envy, hatred, and all other kinds of evil feeling, are incompatible - with such an existence.. In affliction, he grieves, but with a sober sorrow ; the man will sometimes overpower the saint, but his an- guish is full of hope—nay, it is even mixed with holy joy : pleasure is similarly tempered, and thus is the whole life ruled. Such is Mr. TA.YLER'S picture of a good man; and we must say that it is as successful an embodying of the strict doctrines of Christianity, according to the Evangelical view of it, as we have met with, it may he placed on the same shelf with another holy piece of fiction, the Rectory of Vale/read. Besides these very high claims upon the notice of the religious : world, Mr. TAYLER is a very pleasing writer : his general ideas are often striking ; his style is mild and placid as the spirit of the writer; and he is fond of rural images and country scenes, which he paints with great beauty and much taste. Mr. Singleton, the Good Man of the volume, traces his own life from his earliest recollections, the death of his parents, through school, college, ordination, marriage, and the other incidents, until • alate period of his life; when the pen is taken up by a friend, to record his death, and usher his memorials into the world. We will give two scenes from the life of the pious and virtuous rector of Kirkstone. The first describes his feelings on repairing to his cure, immediately after ordination : it is a very beautiful passage.

And now the anxieties of my examinations and ordination are past. With what a rejoicing spirit did I quit the smoke, and the gloom, and the bustle of the town of C—, and the inn, where I remained during the week, and took my . way through scenes of pastoral loveliness at the sweetest season of the year ! I threw down the windows of the chaise and leaned forward, that the fresh and balmy breath of morning might blow over my yet heated face and brow. The trees were fully clothed with their light but luxuriant foliage, then steeped with crystal dew. The fields on either side were spread with verdure of the deepest emerald green. Roses and all the common garden flowers of early summer were blowing in the cottage gardens by the road-side, and the doors and win- dows of every humble dwelling were standing open—all open—it seemed to admit as much of the soft air and pleasant sunshine as possible. In one place the road crossed over the shallow ford of the river A—, where little shoals of minnows fled merrily away in every direction as we passed ; while farther down the river, where the azure of the sky was calmly mirrored in the stream, a herd of cows stood motionless in the middle of the clear cold waters. These are but trifling observations; but I love to pause among them, and to return to that happy, cheerful morning. During my.long and pleasant drive, I had leisure to reflect

• upon the happiness and upon the goodness of Him who had so graciously heard my prayers and accepted me as his minister.

I dined at a little country inn, for my journey was chiefly across a part of the country where there is no high-road. At the beginning of a fine glowing even- ing I reached my secluded village, then seen for the hrst time. I cannot say with what a deep and tender emotion I looked round upon the cottages of my flock, and felt an interest rise in nay heart for them. All unknown as they then were, I Caine to pass, perhaps, many years among them; to bring the message of their Saviour's love and free salvation to them ; to shareln their troubles and their joys ; to present their young and helpless infants at the bap- tismal font, praying there that a death unto sin, a new birth unto righteousness, -might be accomplished in them; to pronounce the blessing of the eternal God-

• head over the bride and bridegroom; to kneel beside the bed of the dying ; to - visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction; and (ah! how fervently I prayed that I might be enabled to do so !) to keep myself unspotted from the world.

I soon beheld the grey tower of my church, then gilded with a broad flood of sunshine ; and farther on, half hidden by the fine old trees which form so usefsd a screen from- the north-east winds, a low and venerable dwelling; built per- chance when those ancient trees were planted. A slight female-form was stand- ing near the porch, busily employed. in binding up the waving tassels of a lux- uriant honeysuckle which spread half over the projecting gable of the house. As the chaise stopped at the gate a dear and well-known face was turned to- wards me, and in a moment my darling sister was in my arms.

The next is Mr. Singleton's account of his courtship and marriage— An Irish lady and her two daughters resided in a large farm-house, situated among the hills about two miles from my ownyillage. They were, it was thought,

very poor, but no one except the cottagers seemed to know much about them. INly acquaintance with them began through my sister Lisa, who had met them several times before she had an opportunity of intrudneing me to them. Mrs. Sulivan was, I soon discovered, quite as poor as report had nsade her. She had barely sufficient to hire a few rooms at the old farm-house and to live in the most frugal manner. I have no romantic account to give of the fist visit

which Lisa and I paid to the Sulivans. It was in the depth of winter, a fire of turf and heath was blazing on the hearth, and they were busily employed at the coarsest plainwork. The furniture of the room MILS of the commonest descrip- tion, with the exception of a plain bookcase in vliih were a few volumes, =La portrait, very finely painted, of a young man whose expressive countenance bore a striking resemblance to the youngest Miss Sulivan. I soon found that I was in the company of no commonplace persons. I do net mean that the Sulivans were very superior in point of intellect, but there was that perfect sweetness and delicacy of manner about the mother and daughters which cau alone be called ladylike, and which is the fair fruit of a bumble Christian spirit. Mrs. Sulivan and her eldest daughter were apparently as much alike in disposition as in per- son: they were quiet, and rather grave, but eminently pleasing. Una Sulivan, the younger daughter, was the most innocently cheerful person I ever beheld. The instant I saw her, I thought of those two lines of Ben Jonsou,

" Give me an air, give me a face. That makes simplicity a grace."

But I may almost say, that humility was the peculiar grace of her character ; perhaps no grace is more lovely. There was about her a willing' less to bear a rebuke even from the unjust, a desire to learn even from the most igliorant,—to see in the kindest, the most charitable point of view, the failings of others. I al- Ways think that real humility is a proof of real wisdom. We. generally find that where true wisdom is in the mind, deep humility is in the heart. Thus St. James speaks of " the meekness of wisdom," in the person who is " wise and endued with knowledge." Not long after I became first acquainted with Mrs. Sulivan and her daughters, the elder Miss Sulivan married a gentleman of considerable property, it mer- chant. Una and her mother removed to London, aud we heard nothing of theni for some years. • I often looked with.regret on the little lattice window of the room silich had belonged to Mrs. Sulivan and daughters as I passed the solitary farm-house. The ;hutters were generally dosed, and the little flower-beds beneath the win- dow overgrown with weeds. How was I astonished, then, on turning- my ac- customed wistful look over the low wall which divided the garden from the lane, to observe a young female clearing away the weeds from the neglected flower-beds ! I had stood silently regarding her for seine minutes, guessing and doubting whether Una &divan was really there when a face of extreme pale- ness was turned towards me. Had I not seen her oix the very spot to which my associations hail linked her image, I might not have recognized the once blooming girl. She knew me instantly, and came forward at mice with all her former frankness and warmth of manner, smiling as she held out her hand. "Mamma will be so very happy to see yon." They were come down to the fann for a few weeks and then intended to go to Ireland and settle there. The husband of the elder (laughter had met with some heavy losses, and had gone with his wife to Spain, where the chief part of his property, lay.

" Shall I ask this delightful Una to be my wife?' was a question I soon put to myself. " She is the one whom I have lung loved. How often have I re- gretted that she was gone, and that I could not ask her ! Shall I let her go again without at least knowing that if she is lost to me, it is nut because I hasse neglected to seek her love?"

" She is indeed the very wife I would have," I said, as I turned over the leaves of a book lying upon my study-table. It was " Beveridge's Private Thoughts." I found the page I looked for very soon, perhaps because I had so often found it before when thinking of genile-Una Sulivan. " I shall always endeavour to make choice of a woman for may wife, who bath first made choice of Christ as a spouse for herself; that none may be made one flesh with me, who is not also made one spirit with Christ my Saviour. For I look npon the image of Christ as the best mark of beauty I can behold in her, and the grace of God the best portion I can receive with her. These are excel- lencies, which, though not visible to carnal eyes, are nevertheless agreeable-to a spiritual heart ; and such as all wise and good men cannot but be enamoured with. For my own part, they seem to me such necessary qualifications, that my heart trembles at the thought of ever having a wife without them.

That this, therefore, may be my portion and felicity, I firmly resolve never to set upon a design before I have first solicited the Throne of Grace, and begged of my heavenly Father to honour me with the partnership of one of his beloved children; and shall afterwards be as careful mist cautious as I can, never to fix my affections on any woman for a wife, till I am thoroughly persuaded of the grounds I have to love her as a true Christian.

" As, therefore, I desire to be happy, I must perform my duty in this par- ticular, and never aim at any other end in the choice of a wife; ue,r ey.rleCL any other happiness in the enjoyment of her, but what is founded in the principle of pure and inviolable love. If I should court and marry a woman fur riches, then, whensoever they fail or take their flight, my love and my happiness must drop and vanish together with them. If I choose her for beauty only, I shall love her no longer than while that continues ; which is only till age or sickness blasts it ; and- then farewell at once both duty and delight. " But, 0! the happiness of that couple whose inclinations to each other are as mutual as their duties—whose affections as well as persons are linked together with the same tie." * * * * I was reading on, when I heard a loud cough close to me. I looked round and saw my servant standing close by me. " I beg pardon, Sir," he said, "but I have knocked once or twice and you didn't hear me. There's a poor person waiting to speak to you ; but may-be you would have him wait a.bit, for yen seem deep in your books just now." I could not help smiling ; for my elbows were on the table and both my hands supporting my head, which was bent over mybook, and my eyes intently fixed upon the open volume. I had sunk, I suppose, into a very deep reverse, but certainly I was not deep in such dry studies as he might have supposed. I shut up my book, and shook off my pleasant dream, and went to speak to the man.

Afterwards as there was no time to be lost, I sauntered away to the hills where the oldfarm-house stood. Una Sulivan was not at home, but her mother was alone, and I took the opportunity to declare my hopes to her.

"You may go and seek Una," said her mother; "I promised to meet her att the end of the lane, where the heath begins, and this is about the time when I promised to set out. You may tell her, if you please that you have my con- Bent; but I shall leave to my dear child to decide ' for herself." I was not rejected. Una Sulivan soon recovered her cheerfulness in the bracing air of our healthy country. I saw her often in the cottages of the poor--often in her mother's society—for I had now no idea of shunning one so charming, one whom I be- gan to look upon as any own wife, my friend and companion also, not merely for tame, but for eternity. I loved her for being so perfectly womanly. With all her Irish energy of character, her enthusiasm, her glowing warmth of heart, she was humble, meek, and without a thought of display. I knew, from almost every conversation with her, that her chief anxiety was for the spiritual wants of the poor she visited, but I generally found her attending with the most de- licate and gentle care to their bodily complaints; and she always reminded me of some humble &ear dela Charite. In fact, she never came out of her sweet and lovely sphere as a Christian woman. She did not usurp the authority of the other sex ; she did not set herself up as dictator and censor of ministers and all; but ever remembered, that as Christ is the head of the man, so is the man the head of the woman. How charming she was! I once met her car- rying a heavy pail of water for a very old and feeble woman whom she had found half sinking under the burden, her face was covered with blushes when she saw me; and as she stopped to speak to me, and to rest, and push back the rich dishevelled ringlets that half hid her smiling eyes, and stood with her delicate hand upon her hip, I thought her the most graceful creature I had ever seen.

The first volume alone is occupied by the Good Man : the second contains short tales, in the same spirit of piety and. universal charity. Mr. TAYLER is a gentleman of education, and truly amiable feelings: we are happy in believing that the tenor of his works strictly accords with that of his life. And yet how shall we re- concile so elevated and devout a spirit, with the personal vanity that induces him to usher in his writings with a smug picture of his personal appearance ? Would he so broadly insinuate that he is his own "Good Man ;" and that these are the features of some such a man whose mind the body of the work is occupied in paint- ing in detail? Prefixed to a biography, we can excuse or even ap- plaud the engraving, which shows the character of the face as the book does that of the life,—for the one may illustrate the other; and in fact, a man's personal appearance is nearly connected with the events of his career : but on no ground except that of sheer personal vanity can we account for the publication of the portrait of this meek but very handsome young clergyman.