the glories of the heavenly state, and the advent of the great events
foretold in prophecy; for instance, this verse from the opening of one
of his judgment hymns:--

"Lo, I behold the scattered shades;
The dawn of heaven appears;
The sweet immortal morning sheds
Its blushes round the spheres."

Dr. Johnson, in his Lives of the Poets, turns him off with small
praise, it is true, saying that his devotional poetry is like that of
others, unsatisfactory; graciously adding that it is sufficient for
him to have done better than others what no one has done well; and,
lastly, that he is one of those poets with whom youth and ignorance
may safely be pleased. But if Dr. Johnson thought Irene was poetry, it
is not singular that he should think the lyrics of Watts were not.

Stoke Newington is also celebrated as the residence of De foe. We
passed by, in our walk, the ancient mansion in which he lived. New
River, which passes through the grounds of our host, is an artificial
stream, which is said to have been first suggested by his endlessly
fertile and industrious mind, as productive in practical projects as
in books.

It always seemed to me that there are three writers which every one
who wants to know how to use the English language effectively should
study; and these are Shakspeare, Bunyan, and Defoe. One great secret
of their hold on the popular mind is their being so radically and
thoroughly English. They have the solid grain of the English oak, not
veneered by learning and the classics; not inlaid with arabesques from