Book ^.^^ifeJr4L_ ( L I TERARY V^i *• 'i-Xi't AND RELIGIOUS SKETCHES B'Y REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT Of the Methodist Episcopal Churclu i'RESS OP T. HARRIES, 72 EQW; WDCCCXXXII. 1 I \ •30456 ' Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1832, by T. Harries, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New- York.' — i Thomas Harries, Printer, 72 Bowery.^ f CONTENTS. Page, Introduction, . - - 5 The Deluge, . - - 9 Wesleyan Missionary Hymn, - - 15 Summei field, - - - 16 The Mandate, ... 21 Infant Schools, ... 22 The Missionary Enterprise, - - 23 The Sacramental Feast, - - 29 Religion of Ancient Mexico, . - 30 Algiers, a Sonnet, ... 33 A Plea for Africa, - - - 33 God, .... 47 Summer, . - - 48 Saturday Evening, - - - 50 George the IV. — King of England, - - 51 Religion, - - i - 54 Religion and Poetry, . _ 56 Saul of Tarsus, a Sonnet, - - 60 Centennial Ode, by Charles Sprague, - 60 John auincy, L. L. D. - - 62 All is Vanity, ... 63 Part of an Address, - - - 64 Sonnet — Constantinople, - - 71 Montgomery's World before the Flood - 72 The Autumnal Evening, - - 74 Loch Lomond, - - - 75 Right Rev. Reginald Hebet," D. D. - - 77 Sonnet, - . - - 81 Our Country, - - - 81 Glory, ... - 95 Adventures of a ContrlI)ution Box, - - 96 IV Plainiive Harp of Judea, Pain,, The Parting, Aftectioiis Last Proof, - Why sliould we Die ? - French Revolution, Farewell to Summer, - Ancient Egypt, Ireland and America, - Loss of the Hornet, The Bible, The Consumptive, Infidelity Destroys Itself, Jerusalem Overthrown, Man of Pleasure, - ' Star in the East, The Mount of Olives, Passage of the Red Sea, Washington at the Delaware, • The Coming of Christ, Asylum for Oppressed Humanity, Napoleon, General Richard Montgomery, Aurora Borealis, The Eclipse, The Year mdcccxxx, Address, - Loneliness, African Mission, WelUngton, The Christian's Encouragements, Biblical Sublimity, Stony Point, The Faithful Saying, - Extracts, - Primitive Christianity. - 99 100 101 102 104 105 109 109 111 113 114 120 121 126 127 132 133 137 142 143 148 151 160 167 168 168 170 175 177 183 185 198 205 210 220 220 INTRODUCTION^. This book is called into being by the voice of friendship. It is a slight memorial which the author would leave behind him to perpetuate his memory among the virtuous and the good. The object of writing it will be obtained if it shall promote generous sentiments, shall elevate the standard of the morality and purify the taste of the reader. To deepen the impressions of a short acquaintance, to rescue from oblivion the labors of hours that have been snatched from the absorb- ing routine of public duties, and to repeat from the quiet page some thoughts that may have been uttered from the pulpit, VI are motives of sufficient strength with the author to induce him to gather up a small volume of fugitive compositions, many of which have been before present- ed to the public in various forms and through various channels. Although the subjects may be diversified, yet the author hopes the unity of one spirit rules in them all— the spirit of kindness to man and love to God. The noiseless flight of time, which, with hasty wing like a bird of passage, is bound to another clime, renders it most important that what we would do on earth should be done quickly. The track made on the ocean sands by the sea-fowl is not more evanescent than the life of man. The warning of inspiration— work while the day lasts, for the night soon cometh wherein no man can work— is reiterated by the united voices of nature and providence. Whether it be the work ol repentance, or of literature, or of art, soon it must be done, or an irrevocable Vll voice will pronounce it forever undone. These considerations may apologise for many defects in the follov^ing pages, arising from hasty preparation or the pressure of weighty avocations. It is very possible that many things in this volume may be obnoxious to a fastidious criticism which would rather contemplate a man's apparel than the heart which a mean attire may embosom. But to such criticism I have only to plead a purity of motive which * smiles at the' critic's * dagger and defies its point'— while it would be almost a shame to make a book so perfect that those whose trade is fault-finding should have no exercise for their vocation. Not to the haughty spirit, lifted far above the level of a fellow humanity— not to those who are too proud to use the powers which their Maker has entrusted them with for the furtherance of human happiness— not to those who would scorn to learn, even from a child, the simplest Vlll element of knowledge, does the author dedicate this book. It belongs rather to the humble christian who may yet have a pure and classic mind, redolent with the aspirations of poetry as well as devotion. To those who seek for glory and immortality— to those who would pluck the most fragrant flowers of earth to weave a chaplet for the brows of their Redeemer— this book is most respectfully and affectionately dedicated. J^ew York, March, 1832. THE DELUGE. This may be classed with no other event. It stand:- aioiie. The recorded transactions of men, the desolating |JOwer of the elements, the cracks, tremors and eruptions of the crazy earth, may be graduated by some scale of comparative sublimity, force or terror. With occurrences of the one kind there are similar records to compare, ' and the mind enjoys a secret pleasure in balancing the recent evil with the kindred one more remote. This satisfaction arises in part from the grateful conviction forced upon the mind that there is a demonstration oi" method in the recurrence of calamity — that the event, however distressing, has a parallel — and, as the earth, on which the hopes of men are resting, survived the antecedent dispensation, so, even now, when the thunders have done uttering their voices, or the spirit of the storm has passed by, or the spasms of organic- matter have quieted themselves, the interrupted order of nature will revert to its own place. It will soon be over, is the uppermost thought in danger — and then, 1* 10 calculations may be made, projects entered upon, the future bent into the circle of the present, and man, once more, seem to himself the lord of the creation. But in a new, untried calamity, appalling circum- stances astound us ; the courage of the bravest cowers under the approaches of a foe, uniting tremendous strength with unknown rules of action — and unearthly terrors gather themselves, like a cloud of fearfulness, over a scene of undefined, measureless ruin. Such was the deluge. It was poured out from the windows of heafven, it gushed up from the boiling fountains of the great deep without measure, parallel, antecedent, or genealogy. This is the event of one name ; its genus one ; its species one ; its fashioning after its own fearful image, casting its shadows forward in the revelations of Noah's prophetic spirit. All nations own this occurrence as indisputable ; and a thousand venerable traditions testify of the deluge of waters along with the water marks which are abundantly found in the highest mountains, and may be identified in the geological structure of the continents and the islands. No element, perhaps, excepting that of fire, could have wrought such changes — for, when the shoreless waters subsided, the fragments of the broken up world were tossing to and fro and rounding them- selves into a dry orb, under far other than antediluvian features and combinations, the retiring waves sported with the ancient mountain tops as with pebbles, and surge after surge laid up on high the immense ridges 11 of new modelled hills with deep and lengthened vales between. There is one peculiar circumstance connected with antediluvian remains not a little astonishing ; — it is, that human skeletons have never been found, nor the ruins of a single edifice or monument, evidently belonging to the world before the flood. Man and his works perished. At intervals, indeed, the naturalist finds imbedded in the secondary formations of rock the gigantic bones of the Tapir and other animals of the old world whose species seem to have become extinct in the deluge ; but the bare fleshless skeleton of a man who proudly rejected the spirit warnings of prophecy and lifted up his haughty looks towards the first black drops of the predicted storm, has probably never been revealed by the sunlight of heaven. The new world, drenched, reorganized, purified, was as if man had never been upon its vivifying bosom. The blood of ancient violence had been washed away. The proud cry of millions had subsided to the feeble supplications of eight individuals, who stood alone in a strange, voiceless, unpeopled land, by the side of a rude altar, from whence the curling smoke of sacrifice went up, answered by the beautiful Iris, God's bow of promise in the cloud. An event of such severe application, as might have been expected, has taken a deep hold on human sym- pathy, terror or curiosity ; and almost every being, who has become an inhabitant of earth since that time, has had his thoughts, to some extent, busied in exploring the 1^ gloom and storm of that sunless season. Every spirit has peered out upon the watery grave of kings, of proud, aspiring nobles, vi^hose generations ran directly back to Eden, and who still felt in the purple flood of life at their hearts the slowly diminishing impulses of the recent immortality of human nature. Genius, in eloquence, in song, or on the canvass, has often kindled over this theme and reaped fresh harvests of earthly immortality on this wide field of universal death. It is not our purpose to spread the glorious or the gloomy colors of fancy, in mingled drapery, over the deluge scenery. More true sublimity lurks in the account of this event given in the sacred records than may be found in the most labored, minute, or graphic displays of inventive probability. We follow the words of God ; and, like the pioneer raven sent out from the window of the ark, hover a moment longer over this stormy resting place between the world's creation and its end. The warning was long by the voice of Noah — and longer still by his unremitted labors in building the ark of safety for himself, his family, and those beasts of the field and fowls of the air who might be destined to propagate their kind thoughout the solitudes of the new world. — Threatened judgment comes on tardy wing — for God is merciful beyond earthly conception of the most merciful. Arrived at last, it is sudden — as if the kind Creator of humanity was unwilling to hang out his protracted, unavailing terrors over those whose incorrigible obstinacy in sin had brought down destruction upon theni. Many graphic writers, and the pencil of the artist, have united in presenting a picture of long continued struggle — the black agony of horrid death — the arduous ascent to the jnountain summit — the wild shout of pursuing waters — the cutting off of every hope — the sight of the buoyant ark outriding the storm — and the wild, unutterable wrestlings of the spirit of despair, tormenting the drown- ing nullions in their death struggle. But we cannot follow the path of such. The painter, whose heaving canvass discloses an enormous serpent winding himself around the topmost rock of the highest mountain, while all around roll the seething waters, reveals a strong probability of nature — or when he paints a cataract near a summit where the laws of nature would forbid a river to flow — or when he defies the doctrine of gravitation and shows the angry, foaming masses of water,stretching upward, like reversed waterfalls, he may be sustained by the solemn evidence of recorded causes, if not effects. But let him people the last, the highest, visible elevations with drenched, miserable, living beings,he gives needless and uncalled-for severity to a judgment too tremendous to exaggerate. Long before the highest hills were topped with foam, all earthly life, except that afloat in the ark and that whose breath is the deep sea itself, had probably become extinct. When man punishes man, he sustains the poor, shivering form of his brother in slow torments, taking life in excruciating measures, inch by inch — but the judgments of God, slow in their approach, are sudden in their transaction. The calamity comes. — 14 The public mind seems stupified ; and, in a moment, the Red Sea envelopes a host; the earth swallows thousands ; fires from heaven wrap cities in flames ; earthquake sinks them in dust, or the howling currents of the broken up seas and the dreary descent of floods from the opened windows of heaven finish the catastrophe of the world before the deluge. There is one point of lonely sublimity in this tragic event not yet delineated by the pencil. It is an after occurrence, when every earthly groan had long been Imshed and the sea-weed shrouds had been woven around more millions than perhaps ever will find footing again at once upon our earth. The heavens had wept their last drop, and, v/ith a pale blue aspect, reflected nothing but a heaving counterpart below — a dark mirror of unbroken waters, rolling to the lunar influence without a shore to graduate the tides. Those v/aters were receding. Evaporation lay upon their bosom, and curling mists, with a fragrance like freshly opened furrows of spring, floated on the dim edges of the horizon where sky and billow met, and there seemed to form mimic mountains, shadowy resemblances or mockeries of the world that was. From a window of the ark, a dark wing essays its flight. A raven, the first of birds to navigate the atmosphere fluid of the new world, comes out, after a year's confinement, and flaps his pinions between sea and sky. The flight of this pioneer, who returns no more, and the visionary line of vapor mountains towards which he directs his course, and the 15 croaking of disappointment, as he finds them thin air — together with the solemn silence of the buried creation below, form an assemblage of lonely, impressive images, more truly affecting than the fury and affright of the deluge onset. WESLEYAN MISSIONARY HYMN, Sung in the church in John-street, J^ew-York, at the anniversary of the Methodist Missionary Society. Tune— 'Elim's Well.' Hear the gospel trumpet sounding Louder than the ocean's roar ! Hear it from the hills resounding, Break in music on the shore ! Hear it, mourner, Let thy sorrows flow no more. Where the Gothic altars solemn Fed a feeble, flickering flame, Wesley, leaning on a column, Call'd on God, his Saviour's name ; Then from heaven, Fires of living glory came ! Brighter with his mission glowing, Earth grew sweet with Sharon's rose ; Songs, like those of Eden flowing, Broke the rubric's dull repose. Then in power. Banner, star, and cross arose. 16 See another angel flpng O'er the broad Atlantic wave ! Asb'ry Hfts his trumpet crying, • Jesus came a world to save.' Happy tidings ! Millions in the fountain lave. Now, a thousand trumpets thunder Deep along the vaulted sky ; Now they part the spheres asunder, While the lightning arrows fly — Deep conviction Fills with tears the sinner's eye. O'er the silver lake of Simcoe, Hear the Indian chorus swell ! Softly blending with night's echo All these strains of Jesus tell ; Precious music, Like the gush of Elim's well. Blessed Jesus ! reign forever ! Seated high on victory's car ; Bend the nations to thy sceptre, Wave thine ensigns from afar. Hallelujah ! Thou art Christ the morning star. SUMMERFIELD. The communion in which the beloved Summerfield labored, the entire community of the American church who had seen him, or heard of him, and thousands in Europe sorrowing for his untimely death, cut down as * 17 it were in the very freshness of his morning bloom — anxiously expected, in his memoirs, to see the excellent saint once more on earth. They expected to see his better part, unclaimed by the grave, come up before them in all its loveliness, breathing peace upon them as it passed, and still eloquently pleading, till the end of time, the same precious cause to which he was devoted far life. The circumstance of his feeble health, together with his untiring, successful labors, had awakened a strong sympathy in his favor. When the immense multitudes that waited on his ministry saw, in the exhausting flame of his eloquence, the fire that was consuming the victim on the altar, they felt as if a martyr was before them. How powerful is such preaching ! Let not the cold-hearted man, the frozen- blooded critic, presume to censure labors for God under such circumstances. One sermon, poured out in the sacrificial flame of life expiring in the kindling brightness of immortality, will be very likely to do more good than the mighty tomes of theology that may have consumed, iazy centuries in their structure. It is here we find one cause of complaint against Summerfield's biographer ; he censures him over and over again, for laboring under the pressure of ill health. But could his biographer have seen, as we saw, that his most powerful eflbrts for God were those put forth in nature's feebleness, when the lamp of life was faintly gleaming, like the solitary taper that burns itself away in the chamber of death, he would not have censured — we confidently believe he would have applauded the 2 18 self-devotedness of the saint rather than have blamed the rashness of the self-wasting individual. The deep and well-founded impression which had seated itself on Summerfield's mind, that his course must be a short one, and that what he accomplished for heaven must be done speedily, was, of itself, a sufficient stimulus to call him out, with a trumpet's voice, to labor while his brief day lasted. Another cause of complaint which we prefer, with much tenderness, against Summerfield's biographer, is, that he had not been a witness of his preaching, nor a confidential friend — the sharer of his bosom thoughts, his cares, joys, sorrows, triumphs, despondencies. He has, therefore, compiled a biography of Summerfield which may be satisfactory to those who never saw Summerfield — but, to those who have seen and tasted the sweet elements of his heavenly eloquence and the joys of his soothing converse, it does not fully reveal the image of their departed brother. An immense multitude must yet feel that Summerfield is no more — that he lives only in their fading remembrances. The pages of his biography, although very faithfully filled up from his correspondence, his journals and sketches of public addresses, do not develope the man. There stands in the pages a resemblance of Summerfield — but a mist, to eyes that have seen him, has gathered over the out- lines of the generous, devoted, soul-touching brother, and never shall they see him again, save in memory's vision, until they see him standing along with Wesley, with Whitefield, with Spencer, with Heber, before his Saviour's throne. 19 If it require a genius to take the lineaments of the human form, to spread over the dull canvass the speak- ing images of life, how much more requisite is genius to portray the lineaments of the immortal mind which has developed itself under a type of surpassing beauty ! — Montgomery could have written the life of Suramerfield had he been acquainted with him ; for, in the few extracts from the pen of Montgomery, found in the volume, the character and the soul of the dear servant of Jesus are spoken more fully than in all the biographer has written. A biographer had no need of dwelling on minute faults or imperfections in Summerfield's character in order to convince the thousands who were to read the book that he had not flattered the subject of his biography — it should have been his higher aim to have described, with the genius of truth, the elements of moral loveliness which produced such unparalleled emotions in the minds of the thousands before whom the brief, but beautiful being passed. The life of Summerfield, by Holland, should settle the question forever whether it were proper for strangers to be the biographers of men whose tenderness, purity and sweetness of daily action make up a moiety of their entire characters which is exceeded only by the power of their genius or eloquence. It will do very well for cool, collected strangers to write the lives of philosophers, statesmen, bookmen — for, in these departments, the transcripts, unerring and permanent, are alike tangible in any mood of mind, and faithfulness and elegance of combination are the needful requisitions for successful 20 biography. But Summerfield's glory was in his soul, in his eye, in his outpourings of benevolent emotions, in his passions, flowing out, to use his own expressive words, like molten gold, and begetting their like in every heart that bowed under their heavenly influence. Summerfield in gone. Earth beholds his face no more. His accents of purity reverberate no more in tlie house of prayer, the chambers of sorrow and death — nor shall they ever thrill again through the enchanted social circle. But a sweetness remains behind him- A fragrance is left where he trod. A glory lingers where the martyr passed. An offering blazing on the altars of holiness, the perfumes of his sacrifice fill a thousand temples. How sweetly rests the frame that was worn out in the service of Jesus ? When memory recalls him, how like an angel does he rise up from the dominions of death, the very personification of love, of friendship, of generosity, of truth, of meekness, of patience and heavenly ardor ! Thus death is conquered mid cannot keep his spoil — for, fresh in beauty, his friends, the thousands of Israel, shall call him forth at will until they go to his place to abide with him forever. The suff'rages of earth have placed his glorified spirit in heaven — for, while a stranger here below, none ever doubted his citizenship in that better country. What earth has lost, heaven has gained. With his life below fled his last groan. The paleness of mortality gave place to eternal bloom — and the feebleness of his nature caught immortal energies from the first gentle breezes of the better world. 2J THE MANDATE. On to the west — dark Indian, westward go — And bathe thy weary feet in rills of snow Wild gusLing down the Rocky Mountains' steep- Thence, passing onward, tarry not to weep ; Thy tears would scorch the honey flowing soil, And deep, like molten lead, its verdure spoil — For tears of wrong shall bathe the thunder's wing And rouse the storm's portentous murmuring. Go westward, Indian, and return no more ! Thy doom is spoken in the mountain roar — The spirit of the winds hath groaned aloud — A grave is painted on the summer cloud — Forebodings hang their signals out at noon — Thy fate is written in the maniac moon, And eveiy bird of sombre wing and plume Hath croaked in prophecy of coming doom. Go v/estward, remnant of illustrious kmgs, Tracking the sun in its far wanderings ; O'erpass the ancient mounds, the desarts hoar, And stand on the Pacific's sounding shore — Then gaze upon its purple 'wave and say * There is no farther space where I can stray — No plain beyond — no hill — no dell— no lake, Where I the song of chase and joy may wake. The surge of pale-faced warriors from the sea Hath swallowed all that once belonged to me — And now it beateth on the Rocky Mountains And sweeps along Missouri's highest fountains, Too soon to break in foaming thunder here, And leave the red man desolate and sere. Ah, quit this world, ye forest kings— for lo There is no place for you the skies below. 9.* 22 IxSTFANT SCHOOLS. it was a remark of Newton, at the height of his philosophical attainments, that he felt like a youth picking up pebbles on the shore of the great ocean of truth. This impressive remark was, no doubt, elicited by two considerations — one, that the farther the human mind progresses in the knowledge of natural science, the more boundless appears the field of inquiry — -and the other consideration alludes to the manner of acquiring know- ledge. The babe and the philosopher have but one way to acquire knowledge. Fact after fact must be learned by both — pebble after pebble must be picked up — until the governing principle is discovered and an entire class of subjects comprehended within its influence. There appears to be a single maxim at the foundation of infant school instruction wdiich should never be disre- garded by those who stand so near the fountain head of thought to direct its earliest currents — which is to teach truth. This maxim should include a limitation called for by the philosophy of mind — which is to teach the infant no truth without giving some reasons, or leading the learner's mind towards the causes from whence the effects are supposed to emanate, or the facts to be derived. This mode of instruction, in its earliest stages, presents the mind with the truth in its simplest forms — self evident, or palpable facts. The great secret of interest- ing the mind of an infant in the natural sciences and the usual routine of infant school instruction consists in the appeal made to his curiosity, his social feelings, love of amusement, and that satisfied state of mind induced by 23 learning and understanding any subject. It is, nideed, rather a late discovery that similar feelings pervade the infant school and the university. The acquisition of knowledge carries its own reward with it to the bosom of the philosopher and the nursing babe — and, now, that the way is discovered to make philosophers of our babes, it is harldly within the range of speculation to determine before hand what effects this new era of instruction will produce on the rising generation as they shall succeed to the duties of public and private life. THE MISSIONARY ENTERPRIZE. Since the pen of the eloquent Wayland has portrayed the dignity of the missionary enterprize, no one will attempt to retouch a picture which has been presented to admiring Europe and America, as one of those rare productions of genius, so much like angel visits on our earth, 'few and far between.' In VVayland's moral painting the coloring is lighted up by the purified fires of the sanctuary ; every tint is expressive of mental grandeur, and the shadowings involve the elements of sublimity. But the emotions of the morally sublime are not the deepest that are called out by the spirit of missions. There is an emotion, yet more touching and distinctive, which belongs to this enterprize — it is tenderness. Tenderness becomes humanity. It is better to weep 24 than laugh. The modern C^sar, when he wore the iron crown of France, never appeared more truly great than when, under the trembling light of the moon, he wept on the field of battle over the affectionate dog, keeping his death-watch beside the remains of a master whose voice should never salute him more. In days more distant from ours, Xerxes, whose command had enough of potency to burden the earth with the living masses of his army destined for the invasion of Greece, has left but one line in his history able to withstand the pelting storms of time — it is the record of the fact that he wept at the thought of death's wide harvest, spread out, like a map, in the plains below him. These tears of tender melan- choly remain, while every thing else the monarch may have done is lost, or losing itself, in the whirlpool of years. The King of kings, Jesus, the Judge of the earth, when on his earthly mission, left no pledges of his divine humanity more precious than his tears. He wept at the tomb of his friend — he wept over the snow-white towers of Jerusalem, destined by the righteous judgments of heaven to sudden ruin — and the Roman plough, passing over Moriah, could not, when it tore up the lowest foundations of the temple, obliterate the traces of a Saviour's tears. The soul goes out with the tears. Sublimity may fill the eye with fire, thrill through the frame, and give new intensity to the consciousness of existence ; tenderness carries a man from himself, and gives up his poured out affections into another's bosom. The one enlarges ; the other diffuses and distributes through the wide range of 25 humanity its own forgotten being. The one may be excited by the voice of the thunder speaking solemnly to the dark clouds, by the beetling brow of the mountain, by the sound of many waters; the other claims no affinities to inanimate bulk or brutal force — its gushing affections flow only at the touch of soul, or when the spirit of God breathes on the heart, disposing it to immense goodness and the overflowings of benevolence. Just before the missionary enterprize commenced, the earth presented one of its darkest historical pictures. War — war — with brazen throat bellowed from continent to continent, and howled over every sea. The truce was asked only to renew the stores of national venom and the preparations for national extermination. The remote shores of this western world were stained with fatricidal blood, and shaded with Gallic and British standards. Side by side, quiet at last in death, on the gory fields of the American revolution, lay the soldier of England, the soldier of France, of Hesse, of Prussia, of Poland — and yet the American struggle was only as a few drops before a horrible cataract of waters pre- cipitated by whirlwinds from the rent clouds to the earth, when compared with the gigantic water-spouts, that, at tlie commencement of the French revolution, walked terribly from the Champ de Mars to the Pyramids of the Nile, and from die Eternal City to the embers of Moscow, hurhng ancient dynasties to the howling winds, and forming bubble kingdoms of imposing, though transient, magnificence, where the beast of the iron foot had trodden down the concentrations of the feudal ages. 26 The world was full of widows and orphans. There was no comforter. Infidelity would not stand by its followers, either in life or death. None but the messengers of the Most High could impart consolation. They came ; angels, having the everlasting gospel to preach, brushed away the sulphur clouds of battle, and taught that the nations should love each other and learn war no more. As far as their silver trumpets have sounded and the ravishing music of their song been heard by the kingdoms of the earth, so far has sweet peace succeeded, and the milk of human kindness been poured out to the sorrowful and the afflicted. Examples speak a more impressive language than words. If the missionary spirit is that of tenderness, the lives, the sacrifices, self denials and labors of the missionary will be imbued with the dew of human kindness. Did the tenderness of the illustrious Coke acknowledge the common boundary of earthly affection ? Geographical limits were nothing to him. The wide earth he strode — the wide seas he sailed, in calm, in tempest, in shipwreck, carrying up with him, from the dripping wave, his only freight — the immortal love of the gospel for perishing souls. England, Ireland, France, the West Indian Islands and America, saw him again and again on his tender errands, more heavenly each time. And when his waning years prophesied of his coming rest,- he conceived the immense and almost boundless design of adding India to the fields inclosed by a Saviour's love. Hail, first missionary to India! Proudly rides thy bark before the fragrant land breeze 27 freshening from the Isle of Bourbon. Midnight lias arrived and gone again ;-^and, at thy accustomed hour of prayer, thy body is cold in death. Translated from the threshold of India to the kingdom of heaven, without sickness, at the holy hour of intercession, how great the change from prayer to everlasting praises ! A ship was seen bearing up against the obstinate winds of the great Indian ocean. It moved without proclamation, or shout, or defiance — bowing like a reed before the monsoon and glancing through the permitting waves like a peaceful swan. There were on board that ship two hearts united by the tenderest love — he, the missionary and minister of Jesus Christ — she, the lovely vine clinging to the oak for human support while she lifts up her rich, red clusters to heaven. One in Jesus — one in the glorious purpose of preaching the gospel to the heathen — one in the sacred union of souls — in the mingling of pure affections ; happy pair ! how shah the heavens glow with eternal beauty over your heads to shelter you from the scorchings of India's fierce haired sun — and how shall the balmy winds breathe health over the waste that these lovely pioneers of American benevolence to heathen India may long breathe the vita^ air, and go on together to life's far distant verge, loving the miserable more and more as their own love towards each other gains new strength at every successive stage of their Christlike career! ***** But why the tumult of baffling winds ? The coast of India, gained and lost, and gained and lost again, is like the tantalizing stream, that, fabulous, flies away from the thirsty Iip» 28 The vessel, like a sea bird, on ruffled wing, scours along under the angry brow of the tempest. Why does gloom' gather on the good man's brow? Why sits he pale and disconsolate — disturbed and agonizing, by the bed-side of his companion all the live long night — and why watch out the day? Shall she die — away from the land of her fathers — away from every tender tie save her husband and her God — even before the great work, for which she lived, for which she had renounced country and friends, had been commenced? Prepare thyself for bitterness, thou pale watcher ; for thou art, all lonely and sorrowful, by the dying bed of that devoted being whose heart, though breaking up in death, still clings to thee. Thou art the only witness of those last looks which reveal thoughts of impassioned fervor — far wandering ones that travel life over in a twinkling of time, recalling every tender thought, every endearing word. She steps alone into eternity, pointing with her farewell gesture to idola- trous India. In the spicy isle of the Indian ocean a column of marble bears this plaintive tale — and bears the name of Harriet Newell. A traveller on his horse was toiling beneath the sun of Georgia. He had overpassed the sands. The broken hills, the forests, the rude wigwam, the dark scowls of Indian suspicion rose on his view, like the phantasms of a hideous dream. He meekly spoke to those who had rarely known tlie white man, save in battle or treachery — he spoke to them tenderly of Jesus — he told them how his Saviour and their Saviour had died for them, and how, like his Saviour, he was willing to lay down his 29 life for them if they would only love his Lord. Surprised and overpowered to tears by such language from a white man, the unbending sternness of the savage character began to soften into the mellowness and glow of christian love. This traveller loved these benighted Indians unto death. He laid himself down on their blanket — and they saw, with broken and adoring hearts, how a good man — a lamented missionary could die. THE SACRAMENTAL FEAST. I eat the white memorial bread, I drink the Sacramental cup — My thoughts the passion mountain tread Where Jesus gave his spirit up. 'Twas night — the doves of dewy heaven With drooping, evening wings at rest, — Brief calm before the tempest given, — Were rustling in their downy nest. Then came in shadows, gloom and fear. In blood, in tearfulness, in death, The traitor— cross— the gory spear — The sigh— the groan — the parting breath. But — onward — o'er the crimson hill, Ripe harvests of the earth are spread — Bright crowns ofUfe the vision fill, For Jesus sleeps not with the dead. 3 30 RELIGION OF ANCIENT MEXICO. The attention of the world has been so frequently dii'ected to the idolatrous systems of India, that the stupendous structure of Mexican idolatry, as it existed at the time of the Spanish invasion, is rarely mentioned, and scarcely retains any hold on the memory of man. The sources from which we compile the following brief historical sketch, are the Letter from Cortez to the King of Spain on the conquest of Mexico, and the History of Bernal Diaz, an eye-witness of what he describes. At the time of the invasion, Mexico, at the very summit of earthly prosperity, sustained her tenth king, Montezuma — a monarch inheriting many noble qualities of mind and gentleness of disposition united to warlike energies. The form of government was monarchical, but not hereditary, and the police of the empire was a most skilful and politic combination of well-balanced powers and checks, producing the firmest consolidation of interests. Indeed, the reflecting mind can scarcely reconcile the horrid cruelty of their bloody religion with the hai*mony, and, in many respects, equitable frame of their government. Architectural grandeur, and the towers of temple, fortress, palace and tomb, gave ancient Mexico, seated in the midst of her quiet lake, the appearance which may be supposed to have belonged to Tyre, once the queen of cities, as she smiled in beautiful sublimity over the blue waters of the Mediterranean. Well might the Spaniards pause in wonder as their column of battle, like a cloud slumbering a moment on 31 the brow of the stupendous mountain environs, came in full view of this magnificent city. The market sent out the roar of business to the hills louder than that of Constantinople or of the Eternal city — and the unlooked for, and, as yet, undescribed grandeur of the palaces and temples was calculated to make the deepest impression on a foreign mind. The chief temple of their religion occupied as much ground as a town capable of sustaining five hundred inhabitants. It was, indeed, garrisoned by ten thousand men, the body guard of the sovereign. Surrounded by high walls, with four massive gates, it threw up to a great altitude more than twenty towers or pyramids, each one surmounted by an idol. At a little distance from this temple stood a tower, a true emblem of hell, its vast door resembling the opened mouth of an enormous monster, filled with demon and serpent forms of terrible size. It was a place of human sacrifice, covered continually with blood. In the larger temple were two altars highly adorned, and over them the gigantic figures of their war god, Huitzilopuchtli, and his brother, Tezcalepuca, the god of the infernal regions. The first had a great face, terrible eyes, was covered with gold and jewels, had a necklace of gold and silver wrought into the figures of human heads and hearts ornamented with precious stones of a blue color, and his huge body was bound with golden serpents ; the other had the countenance of a bear with great shining eyes, and an equal profusion of gold and jewels wrought into, if possible, a more diabolic assemblage of infernal imagery. Before the first of these 32 shapes, lay three human hearts, v/et with blood — before the latter, four — taken from the victims while alive, by making a sudden incision in the side, tearing out the heart, and casting it before the idol, while the eyes of the victim were rolling in the death agony, and the limbs quivering in the mortal pang. These sacrifices were so frequently repeated, that the stench from the shedding of blood and its consequent putrefaction, was almost intolerable. In this place was a drum of enormous size, the head of which was composed of the skins of large serpents, making a noise when struck that might be heard at the distance of two leagues ; and, says Bernal Diaz, so doleful, that it deserved to be named the music of the infernal regions. The bodies of all their idols far exceeded the human form in size, and were composed of a mixture of pulse and grain, formed into a paste with human blood. Their priests w^ere numerous, — imposed upon themselves the vow of continence, permitted no female to enter their dwellings, wore their hair in thick clotted masses, and lacerated their ears in honor of their gods. The children of the caciques were educated by them, and their testimony respecting each pupil decided whether his name should be inscribed on the list of nobles or plebians. Personal merit alone formed the distinction of the nobility. This brief outline only presents a single view of the stupendous fabric of idol worship reared in the ancient city of Mexico. The idolatry of India may cover a wider field — but it has not so deep a tinge of blood as that which shone on the cruel altars of the descendants of the Aztecs. ALGIERS — A SONNET. The Gallic standards climb thy height, Thou city of the Pirate horde ; Red flames are on thy bastions bright, The fiery besom of the Lord — For groans are in thy horiid cells ; The anguish of a thousand years Comes rolling with the battle yells O'er pavements wet with bloody tears. 'Tis dreadful on thy crescent hills to gaze. While the Archangel's vials pour The wild, retributory blaze On mount and tower and shore ; How terribly the heavens frown When blood has brought their thunder down ! A PLEA FOR AFRICA, Delivered July 4th, 1830, in Bennet street Church, Boston — in behalf of the American Colonization Society. Ethiopia shall stretch out her hands unto God — Psalm Ixviii. 31. The rise and fall of nations are sublime subjects for moral contemplation. The fabric of empire is composed of mind as well as matter ; and when the revolutions of destiny are permitted by Providence to encroach on nations, and resolve them into their original elements, the component parts still inherit the principles of vitality. — 3* 34 Like those blocks of living marble dug up from Grecian ruins, these scattered fragments may be collected in some future day to build a nobler temple of dominion. History warns the powerful to tread lightly on the oppressed. Let armies as coundess as the locusts which overspread Egypt in the day of God's anger, pass over any given territory, tracing their march widi the wildest havoc, and sweeping the bare soil to its very dust with the desolating cannon — still let not the oppressors triumph. In some secret cavern of the earth — in some untravelled glen — in some sunless gorge, a few miserable beings may shelter themselves until the blast of war has overblown. These may be the fathers of a great people, whose first work, in the great drama of Providence, may be that of a bloody retribution. 'Let not the oppressor triumph' — says a great voice from heaven. God abhors the proud. The sighing of the prisoner comes up before him. The robe of sackcloth is as beautiful in his eyes as the gorgeous attire of palaces — and the human form, furrowed with the task-master's whip, is as acceptable to its Maker, as the pampered and delicately beautiful countenance of him whom the winds of heaven have not been permitted to visit too roughly. The analogies of all conquered nations warrant these introductory remarks. The conquered have in their turn become the conquerors — the slaves have become the masters — the harp hung on the drooping willows has lost its moaning sound, and in the renovated hand of its possessor has poured out the martial song of the triumph- ing trumpet. What sight more deeply affecting to the 35 sympathies of humanity could have been witnessed than those spectacles of earth's deepest sorrow so often seen in the luxuriant vales of Palestine, when God had given up his chosen people into the hands of their enemies ? The sacked and smoking streets of the dear Jerusalem — ohj could they remain there ! would afford the miserable some mementoes of former happiness. The eye red with weeping might rest on some of the mighty stones of the first temple, or on some lonely monument crowned with a name dear to Judah, strong and immortal in death. But no ! away over hill and valley, over brook and meadow — away over mountain and river these exiles, forlorn and weary and broken hearted, must go, while over them hangs the strong probability, if not certainty, that the beautiful places that had once known them should know them no more. Prophet and king, prince and counsellor, the care-worn man of war and the drooping virgin, chained together in ranks, with feeble age and infancy along, darkened thy hills, Judea, more than once with their mournful procession, formed under the eye, and urged along by the spear of the Assyrian. INo song is heard among these thousands ; the inconceivable weight of national sorrow stifles and hushes the very groan — tears only, sad and hopeless ones, fall in silent showers on a soil soon destined to become sand under the blast of desert winds. Far north — to the cold waters of Babylon — go sit you down and mourn — ^yet not in quiet- ness ; the task-master's scourge shall resound in your ears ; heavy burdens shall press you down ; your deli- cately formed young men shall stand as menials in the 36 courts of strange monarchs — and they that carry you away captive shall require of you mirth, saying. Sing us one of the songs of Zion. This picture of deep and immense national sorrow is one of truth — a retrospective one, copied from the pages of God's word. Yet a land so swept by the tempest of war, and so emptied of its'dwellers, has, after a lapse of years, a solitary succession of winter and spring and summer and autumn, voiceless, desolate and dreary, heard again a turtle-dove raise its sweet melancholy voice, and next an old man, who could just remember the day of the spoiler when he was a little boy, with tottering step, after a captivity of seventy years, traces with his staff the outline of city, temple and tomb, and calls upon the Lord God of Israel until the old echoes awake again in the hoary mountains, and beat against the brazen hea- vens. Then comes a virgin along the valley, and as she lifts her song and takes her timbrel, the spring breathes over the land ; the verdure breaks forth ; the rose blushes beneath the rock ; Kedron murmurs once more over its shining pebbles ; the valley of Jehoshophat is burdened with unwonted exuberance ; Bethlehem seems lo smile above the ramparts of white rocks, and Jerusalem gathers around her stately form the clouds of power, while the crown of dominion begins to settle on her brow. After these views, I introduce the doctrine of my text, which is : — That while no nation can he reduced so low, without entire extermination, as not to leave the hope of a future renovation, every nation must infallibly rise in power and glory, to whom the mighty promise of God hath extended. 37 It was the promise of Jehovah that brought his poor afflicted people from Egypt, where they had suffered the terrible evils of slavery. It was his promise that led the wanderers through a dry and thirsty land, and made their armies, when they at length invaded the land of Canaan, like the unbound waves of the great sea, dreadful in their overflowing strength. A supernatural power walks abroad through that host where God's banner, all unseen to the faithless eye of the multitude, floats heavily and broadly before the undimmed eye of faith and heavenly confidence. — 'In this sign, I conquer,^ said Constantlne, v^hen a fiery cross was suspended In heaven — and thus, when the Christian finds the promise of God pledged to the fulfilment of any event, he places all his confidence there and acts as though the event had passed and become one of the records of history, or was even then passing before his eyes in the full tide of its accomplishment. Faith has a power unknown to earth ; it rends the heavens, and takes fast hold of uncreated strength ; it uncovers the hiding place of futurity, and knows some- thing of those great dispensations which are meted out in the strong promises and threatenings of the Holy One of Israel. When God has threatened, in years gone by, to exterminate any nation and blot the last trace of their lineage from the face of the earth, the christian is not seen, like the incredulous Scavant of modern times, raking in the dust of Tyre and Sidon, sacking the hollow and tenantless tombs to find one descendant of perished empire, to mock the promise and impeach the threatening of * Him who cannot lie.' Where God has spoken his 38 sweeping judgments against a nation, none need expect to find a drop of patrial blood in the veins of any one on the bosom of the earth. The explorer of long perished empires, in his frail boat on those purple waters where Tyre once sat down the * Queen of Nations,' may look into the deep and find its bottom paved with broken columns, the carved and lustred marble of her day of pride ; but let him ask the wandering Arab, or the fierce Bedouin, or the solitary fisherman who dries his net upon the wave-worn rocks, if they can trace their descent to a city which centuries ago frowned above these tossing waves in the sublimity of power — they shall shake their heads in astonishment, and answer — no. For their des- cent they will point far eastward to the desert. They know not the name of those sea-washed ruins, and have no tradition of departed empire to chant in hollow cadence to the beating of wild billows. The promise and the threatening of Heaven are alike certain in their fulfilment. Where now are the proud millions of Babylon ? Where her Kings — her hundreds of provinces — her brazen gates. — her lofty towers, and golden palaces ? They are no where to be found. Wind and water, war and earthquake have raged against the very earth on which its corner-stone was planted, until darkness and doubt brood over the bleak and desolate site. Perhaps this wonder of the world stood here, where the reedy, sinuous Tigris steals along through a plain of boundless prospect — or perhaps the spot is indicated yonder by mounds of enormous bricks — or still farther GO, where shaggy furze and stinted shrubbery hide from 39 human eye the den of the dragon, and the retreat of the desert serpent. There is no descendant of Babylonian kings, of whom we may ask where the temple of Belus stood, or the awful city lifted up its batdements. Yet of a poor, peeled, despised nation, who once were slaves to Babylon the Great, hundreds of thousands now may be found scattered over the provinces of the earth. With them lives the remembrance of ancient days, and the loved name of their own Jerusalem. Preserved by the promise, and obliterated by the threatening of Heaven's Majesty, I hold these two nations up before you, as spectacles of solemn import. The one indeed, is the shadowy, unsubstantial, ghostlike form of a deceased empire, slain by the curse of the Almighty ; the other although scarred by the descending lightning, bleached by the bitter north winds, or scorched by the Siroc of the desert, is still a mighty form, through which a warm life-blood gushes, and to whom, eternal blessings that shall blend earth and heaven in a measureless flood of glory, are about to come through the fulfilling promises. I have lingered enough in the ancient world to fix the great truth in the minds of this respected audience, of God's faithfulness in the fulfilment of his national promises and national threatenings. The day — the high occasion — the voice of liberty, echoing from the thousand hills of this favored land — and, alas ! the groans of millions, heard low and smothered, like the first meanings of an earthquake, call me to the momentous considerations of our own times. I come weeping and deprecating the wrath of Him, who goeth forth, at times, through the 40 earth, making inquest for blood, and terribly shaking the guilty nations. Spare, Lord, in thy hot displeasure. Let the dark wing of vengeance linger awhile in the already gathered cloud. Let the red sword rest longer still in its scabbard. Frown not upon this chosen people — for thy frown is death — extermination. Thy loving kindness is better than life ! Over against the southern part of our continent, divided from Europe by the Mediterranean sea, another continent stretches along, holding us in equipoise, like a weight in the opposite scale of the balance. This should be called the monumental continent, as it is a land whose every promontory, and every speaking, murmuring river testify of wrong, of outraged humanity, of nature bleeding in immense agony through millions of palpitating pores, and staining every land and discoloring every sea with gory blood. What hath Africa done, that her children should blacken beneath a heavier, more lasting curse, than ever rested on any other nation ! What hath she done to thee, great America, that thou boldest her sons, her daughters, her feeble infants in bondage, and refusestto let them go ? ' Carthage must he destroyed,^ was the Roman motto, when her Scipios drove the legions of Hannibal from the vine-covered hills of Italy, back again to Africa — but the motto of the christian world against every son and daughter of Africa, has breathed a fiercer and less tender spirit. To erase from being, is to inflict but a momentary pang — v/hile to enslave generation after generation, from the earliest dawn of hfe's clouded day, to its dark going down, is to entail torture in such a fearful 41. shape, as to make it bear no imaginary similitude to everlasting wo ! Oh ! could we this day assemble the enslaved sons of Africa ! — bring forward the millions free America holds in bondage, alike regardless of human or divine right — make the Indian islands give up their slaves, and Southern America yield her's — place them where the cool winds of heaven might fan their throbbing foreheads in the amphitheatre of your broadest valley ; for their numbers would throng a wide extent of territory — and there, speak peace to all their troubles ! We would tenderly say — bleeding Africans ! Your God remembers you. He did not account of you as dust trodden down to be carried away by every passing wind. He did not leave you without a promise. The mighty pulsations of joy could not be full in the mind of uncreated benevolence until, in the deep communions of His spirit with man, He had revealed Africa stretching forth her hands — her hands — for alas ! she hath worn manacles, and could not lift up her iron-eaten sinews to the avenger of nations ! Oh, Africa! this is the broad charter of thy coming freedom — the promise of the everlasting God. When human charters, that have attracted the admiration of the nations, shall cease to convey freedom in their tenure, thy charter shall be found fresh and undisputed in that book, so magnificently described by Pollock in his * Course of Time,' as being the * Most wondrous book ! bright candle of the Lord ! Star of eternity ! the only star By which the bark of man could navigate The sea of life, and gain the coast of bliss 4 42 Securely ; — only star which rose on time, And, on its dark and troubled billows, still, As genei'ation drifting swiftly by. Succeeded generation, threw a ray Of Heaven's own light, and to the hills of God, The everlasting hills, pointed the sinner's eye.' The quenchless fire of the Ethiopian eye, the tireles;^ vigor of the African frame, the ardent temperament of nature, the maturity of the affections in that fervid clime — all, all forbid, equally with the glorious promise of the Maker of all worlds, that Africa should be lost — should ring no paean to the praise of Almighty goodness, when the harmony of the redeemed nations goes up from earth to heaven. Who will dare chain a noble, a king, to whom empires are hastening to do homage ? Yet, oh Africa, this nation of freedom have enslaved thy children and thy kings ! The day is past, when any attempt may be expected to vindicate slavery on philosophical or religious princi- ples. It is a horrible wrong, unjustifiable, impeached by every noble feeling that throbs in the bosoms of the collective race of humanity. Is it possible that the con- stituted authorities of a nation so highly favored as this — so exalted to heaven in point of privilege — should feel a single doubt as to a proper and most imperious object for the appropriation of national revenue, when the overflowing ^ treasury of the nation should demand a legislation for the appropriation of such super-abundance ! The war-ships of our heaven-delivered land — our eagle banner of victory — the one to convey to their native 43 shores, and the other to wave over and shelter the long exiled sons of Ethiopia, would present the noblest image of moral grandeur that ever reflected on the glassy bosom of the great deep. After the national debt shall have been discharged, it will not be beyond ihe resources of America to relieve and return one fourth of a million of slaves annually, with safety to themselves, and most especially glorious to the country that shall institute such operations, to repair the measureless extent of wrong that has been inflicted, for generations, almost by the common consent of man, on an unoffending people. I need not here repeat what has already been effected by the American Colonization Society. The transactions of this institution are known to all. They are so full of benevolence and the hallowed impulses of Heaven's own mercy, that one might, with the propriety of truth, compare its radiant influences to a rainbow, insufferably bright, spanning the sombre clouds of human wrong, that have accumulated on the horizon of our country's prosperity, and beating back, with calm and heavenly power, the blackening storm that always threatens, in growling thunders, a heavy retribution. ' One of the earliest acts of this society was to des- patch a competent agent to Africa, to explore its coasts and the countries bordering upon them, and to select a suitable spot for the establishment of the contemplated colony. The society was eminently fortunate in the choice of its agent, as it has been, generally, in those whom it subsequently engaged in its service. A selection was finally made of a proper district of country, a 44 purchase was effected of it from the native autliorities, to which additions have been made, as the growing wants of the colony, actual or anticipated, required. The country so acquired, embraces a large track of fertile land, capable of yielding all the rich and varied products of the tropics, possesses great commercial advantages, with an extent of sea-coast from 150 to 200 miles, and enjoys a salubrious climate, well adapted to the African constitution, and not so fatal to the whites as many sickly parts of the United States. * Within that district of country, the society founded its colony, under the denomination of Liberia, established towns, laid off plantations for the colonists, and erected military works for theii; defence. Annually, and as often as the pecuniary circumstances of the society would admit, vessels from the ports of the United States have been sent to Liberia, laden with emigrants, with utensils, provisions, and other objects, for their comfort. No diffi- culty has been experienced in obtaining as many colonists as the means of the society were competent to transport. They have been found, indeed, altogether inadequate to accomodate all who were willing and anxious to go. ^ The colony contains, at this time, about sixteen hun- dred inhabitants, emigrants from the United States ; the colonists become acclimated and healthy — have erected comfortable houses for themselves and families, and necessary public edifices, and are pursuing diligently and thriftily their private vocations, cultivating farms, following mechanical trades, or engaging in commerce with the natives of the interior and along the coast. As a 45 community, It has acquired and maintains a character and influence with the tribes or nations around it ; preserves order and quiet within ; protects each in his rights of person and of property ; has its courts, its militia, schools for the children of the colonists and of the natives, a printing press, a newspaper, public hbrary, churches, and frequent and periodical performances of divine service — in short, it presents, in a land of ignorance and depravity, of Paganism and Mahommedanism, the interesting and bright exhibition of an intelligent, moral, and christian community.' It must be seen in this review, hasty, indeed, and inadequate to the magnitude of the subject, that although wonders have been accomplished by the Society, its efforts notwithstanding are not sufficiently powerful to diminish the evil to any great extent. The society is worthy of all praise, as it embodies nearly all the energetic feeling that exists in our nation on the subject of slavery. But the Herculean task is imposed on the wrong should- ers. Take it from those of spontaneous benevolence and philanthropy, and place it on those of power and national resources, and the feeble wrestlings of an infant with the monster slavery, would give place to the secure and effectual operations of full-grown manhood. It may be assumed as an undeniable position, that the expenditures of ransoming and establishing the two millions of slave population on their native continent, would be less than the expenditures of a war that should have for its object the extermination of two millions of human byeings. It costs less to save than to destrov. 4* 46 Christian America ! I rausl, reluctantly, close m)" plea in behalf of enslaved millions, by charging home upon the capitol where the emblematic eagle spreads his broadest, boldest wing — upon every legislative hall in the slave-holding states — upon magistrate and people — upon army and navy — upon plain, mountain and river, the deep, and, as yet, irreversible stain of slavery. The Genius of Columbia, as she surveys from the loftiest peak of the Alleghanies, the azure field where the stars are sprinkled, has also in prospect the nebulous vapors that roll up heavily from the slave-cultured earth. The eye of HEAVEN is brighter than her's of the * stripes and stars' — and Heaven is all ear to record every extorted groan. The solemn demand in the high chancery of heaven against the beloved country of my adoption and tenderest love, will not be the price of what Africa now is — but of what she would have been, if her millions who have miserably perished in inhospitable climes, like branches rent from the parent tree, had remained on the shores of her Gambia, her Niger, and had from the genial influences of peaceful commerce, and the renovations of civilization, surpassed the grandeur of her once renowned empires. It is the ghost of a mighty people that points the fleshless hand towards America : then, solemnly raising it towards heaven, says, ^ I mill meet tJiee there* — not at Philippi, in night and battle agony, but at^the bar of God, under the blaze of the judgment fires, just when the highest hills in heaven are reddened with the united flames of Africa and America. 1 will meet thee there to usk for my kings and queens, 47 my sons and daughters, my cities, my national renown — and for my eternal salvation ! Slowly, like one stiffened in death, the accusing spectre has vanished. It is for us my beloved countrymen — it is for us to lay this terrible spirit forever, that he accuse us not at a moment when all that have breathed on earth — * the world's gray fathers' and the latest born, shall be witnesses of our disgrace — when the hollowness of our boast of freedom shall provoke ' the jeers of the world.' GOD. Skies dark with azure glory see, Above which swim the ships of heaven ; They all belong, oh God, to thee, And by thy breath their sails are driven. Clouds spread like thunder-thrones abroad — Wind — flame — and night — and curling ware All speak the Everpresent God, Strong to destroy, but swift to save. Wide ocean, hush thy beating breast. Emblem of vast Eternity ! God's voice hath calmed thy waves to rest, And hemmed with sand thy drapeiy. Beautiful earth, crowned with wild flowers. With honey-suckles redolent. His voice with music fills thy bowers, And thy fair liills with merriment. 48 SUMMER. It is a recent remark that the United States are scorched with the summer of" Syria and frozen with the winter of Russia. The consequence of these extremes is that our scenery has a character distinct from other continents. The glowing' sun would ripen the rich fruits of the tropics if the winter did not abridge the period necessary for ripening them — but even our severe winters if they destroy fruit and flower, have no injurious power over foliage. The American forest is made up so much of the evergreen that the snow and frost destroy only half of the mountain beauty ; an imperturbable green, more beautiful on account of the white back ground, smiles all winter long above the deep snow. The excess of foliage, if it may be so called, marks the strength of our soil and the exuberance of our climate. The American mountains, with but few exceptions, are wooded to their very summits, and waters, purer and sweeter than the fabled Olympian nectar, gush down their sides and irrigate the evergreen forests. The great changes discernable in the course of the year, throughout a wide extent of our country, are a refreshing of the deep standing color of the evergreens in the months of April and May. The hills and mountains throw out a livelier tint — the table lands and the vallies are covered over with a mellowed, fawn-colored foliage, intermingled with snowy white where the flowers precede or overpower the leaves — the chasms between the districts of unchanging verdure are filled up with the softer shades that are doomed to an existence measured by summer suns and winds. 49 This is the first great change. The second is after the frosts have passed upon shrub and leaf and flower ; given to some a brown color, to others a fiery red, and the rains and winds have wept and moaned over the autumnal quietus of the leafy groves. Between the birth and death of flowers and foliage the American summer reigns with unrivalled glory. The intense heat is generally so well balanced with rain and dew that the sun rarely scorches the verdure, except in seasons remarkable for drought. The interchange of rain and sunshine is worthy of note. The mercury in the thermometer may range during the day above ninety — thunder gusts of brief duration may drench the earth one hour to be absorbed by the unveiled rays of the next hour — and the general equation of the heat be sustained throughout the day until sober evening has cooled the atmosphere and thrown the creeping vapors along the margins of rivers and brooks. The summer moons are glorious. From the remark- able elevation of the visible concave they pour their enchanting light into the bosom of the greeen woods the embrasures of the hills, and abroad over the tranquil surfaces of lakes and streamlets. The atmosphere is not stained and consequently contracted by colored vapors — all is transparent — the skies are blue above, and the stainless moonbeams diffuse their silver radiance over the face of nature, softening the wildness and beautifying the sublimity of our magnificent scenery. 50 SATURDAY EVENING. Down rolls the sun — and man may rest, For Sabbath bells will chime to-morrow, And holy hymns, to God addressed, Shall chase away the bosom's sorrow. Come, poor man, come and rest thee now, Thy week of toil for bread is o'er — Come, wipe in peace thy care worn brow. For God hath heard thy prayer once more. Again the channel of thy wealth In blushing torrents shall roll by — Nor more by shipwreck, flame and stealth, Shalt thou be clothed with poverty. Come, rich man, stop the thousand wheels That roar in labor night and day. And, as thy soul in silence kneels, Come, learn the words thy heart should pray To God in heaven, The only King Of kings serene. How shall I give as he hath given — How suffer like his suflfering My guilty soul to screen ! Oh could I love As he hath done Through death's cold night ; And then, when morning smiled above The ice-cold sepulchre of stone. Still love with |)ity and delight ! 51 Let me forgive My enemy, And let me sigh, O'er sins that in my memory live, And just and faithful let me be Till I have found my home on high. 'Tis Saturday evening — and lonely in heaven The moon like a pearl to the earth is given, Deep notes of joy on the soft winds are thrown, And nature, this night, smiles for man alone. GEORGE THE IV. — king of England. We have words of eulogy for a king no more than for another man. In our estimation all men are equal — excepting always the equality of those miserable beings who flutter in the sunshine of courts and live in the smile of princes. George the Fourth was born in the palace of St. James, August 12, 1762, and lived to be far advanced in his 68th year. Until he was thirty years of age his person was considered a model of manly beauty — and every grace of form was armed by his facinating and seductive manners, investing him with a dangerous power over the female heart which he seemed not disposed to exert on the side of virtue. After the age of thirty, other ravages than those of time began to develope in his constitution, and his body exhibited a strong inclina- 52 tion to an unwieldly, unnatural corpulency, attended with gout and inflammatory symptoms. It is rather a matter of wonder that he lived so long, than of surprise at the occurence of his death in his sixty-eighth year. The political career of this king may be summed up in a few words. In the early part of his life, he, as prince of Wales, headed the opposition, or the whig party — and thus arrayed, with Fox, Burke, Windham, Spencer, Fitzwilliam, and others, opposed the administration of his father, George III. At the commencement of the French revolution, he deserted the party whose creed hardly recognized the divine right or the legitimacy of kings. After this he made no stir on the political arena until the year 1810, when his father's insanity made the prince in every thing but name a king. It would be an act of injustice to the English nation and an impeachment of the wisdom of British ministers to give the king the credit of the vast, complicated and successful operations that may have been brought to a successful termination during his reign. In a government sO admirably balanced in the distribution of power as the English, the chief of the nation, may be entitled to credit for two things — for a judicious choice of ministry, and for not opposing them when once in place. George the Fourth is entitled to credit on account of both of the above named considerations. During the jeign of George the Third, England was a loser in the game of nations ; during the reign of George the Fourth she has triumphed often in arms, oftener in policy — has been the centre and rallying point / 53 of that stern vengeance which fell upon the legions of Napoleon at Waterloo — has gathered laurels with a prodigal hand — has added immensely to a national debt almost beyond the reach of numeration before — and has gained — not an inch of territory. We will simply allude to two transactions that may appear in a dubious light on the pages of history — one the relentless persecution of Queen Caroline ; the other, the imprisonment of Napoleon. It is not for us to express an opinion on either of these topics. We speak of them as of those things already under a bitter censure from large portions oi that conmiunity whose united or preva- lent opinion makes up the decisions of history. With regard to the christian character of his late majesty but little can be said — It is, however, a remarkable fact that the Bishop of Winchester, who was his spiritual adviser, received his honors on account of his faithful, uncompromising plainness and fidelity to the King of kings. ' Sumner,' said the king one day to Winchester before his episcopal advancement, 'you make me tremble in view of my responsibility to God.' He was observant of the sacred rites of religion in his last hours, and received the sacrament after his physicians had communicated to him their belief of his approaching dissolution. Like most men who have lived pleasurable lives, the king, during his sickness, shuddered at the thought of the pains of death — and saw nothing fearful in dissolution, excepting -the attending agonies. His dying words were most eloquent. Nature then spoke her own language. 6 54 It was a king on his death bed — one who had filled the cup of worldly grandeur to the brim. Power was inapotency then. Habits of command were of no avail in the conflict then raging. Desiring his attendants to change the "position of his head, he suddenly motioned them to desist, and putting his hand on his breast, said — Oh this is not right ! This is death 1 Oh, God, I am dying. The mind often goes out into the dark, explorins:; to find out, if possible, what may be the nature of those untried sensations which precede and attend the struggle of dissolution. Here we find all that we can know until we make the experiment for ourselves and for none else. The sensation which was immediately consequent on the rupture of a blood vessel, is recognized by the king. It was a new, untried one — it was death. — One exclamation to his maker closes a monarch's volume of spoken things, — and even this exclamation breathes nothing of hope. It carries terror, surprise, if not despair, in its impotent cry. What a lesson for the great ! George the Fourth has gone where he is not known as a monarch — but as a man. RELIGION. This word connects two worlds together. It embraces every thing pure, holy, blessed, peaceful, in this world, and carries forward the immortal mind in rapturous anticipation to the full fruition of eternity. Religion is 55 not profession, so much as possession ; it is not creed, so much as deed. It is that which honors God and blesses man. Madmen have quarrelled about religion, soldiers have fought about it, and countries have been depopulated on its account, while it has been far away from all these scenes of strife, and no more responsible for the fires of persecution or the destruction of battle than the sleeping infant. Religion is peace — and all opposition to it is war. It comes and softens the heart of the sinner, renders the glorious Jesus visible to the mind's eye, checks and finally subdues the current of moral wickedness, and prepares the temper for the concord of heaven, where no voice of contention shall ever be heard, and no jarring sectarisms dispute the territory. Religion is a principle of life, or it could not breathe amidst the pollutions of our moral death. Sustained by the mighty spirit of God, rendered efficacious by the pangs and blood of an Infinite Sacrifice, it comes upon mankind like a conqueror — but it conquers by love — it hushes the tumults of the soul — makes peace between the creature and the Creator — and signs, even here upon earth, the preliminaries of future inheritance. Not to be purchased by oceans of tears, the tears of penitence must flow before religion comes into the soul to abide there. Not to be bought by duties, hard and laborious, the duties required by God must cheerfully and spontaneously be fulfilled before the sanctifier takes up his abode with the servant, who shall one day, if persevering, become a son. Earth has no moral sun, but the sun of religion — heaven has no other light and needs no other to throw insufferable effulgence throughout all its glorious scenery. 56 RELIGION AND POETRY, The connection between religious emotion and poetic enthusiasm is a subject worthy of more than a transient reflection. The sensibilities and emotions connected with religion have perhaps less of fervency than the ardor of poetry — but they have an energy, a power to mould, transform and sustain beyond any earth-born feeling. Religion, in its moments of triumph, calls in the aid of poetry to sustain with its ministry the wing of devotion rising towards its native heaven. In seasons of religious despondency, too, the harp is taught to moan with melancholy music. Plaintive thoughts, — the remem- brances that come over the mind of the captive, — the bright anticipations of faith, spontaneously clothe them- selves in poetic drapery — and, from this circumstance, a very common error has originated; which is, that religious emotion is nothing more than the action of the mind under a high state of excitement. The advocate for the individuality and the supernatural origin of religion has a marked advantage over the champion for the excitements of genius, taste, passion or sublimity, derived from the last scenes of life, when time gives up the being of a few years to the unchanging dominion of eternity. It is but seldom that a man of genius retains in the hour of death the enthusiasm which distinguished his life. A man of genius may indeed have the nobler enthusiasm of religion to sustain him when earthly objects cease to interest him — ^but, to a very general extent, men feel at death the impotency of fame, riches, power or human grandeur in any of its varieties. 57 and reach out their imploring hands towards the mighty spirit whose influence is supposed to extend beyond the boundaries of this world and control the destines of the future. It is just to consider poetry as the servant of religion, bending its vivid perceptions of beauty and the melody of its song to the service of a better one than itself. Miriam, on the farther shore of the Red Sea, could not praise the author of her country's deliverance without calling to her aid the triumphant measures of the Hebrew verse — and, throughout the volume of inspiration, the higher emotions of dtvotional triumph are poured forth by different writers through the language of impassioned song. An analysis of the pleasurable sensations created in the cultivated mind by poetic imagery will at once detect the difference between religion and poetry. — Montgomery, who is an excellent authority on both subjects, spurns the idea advanced by Dr. Johnson, in his life of Waller, and subsequently in his life of Watts, that sacred subjects are unfit for poetry, nay, incapable of being combined with it. He considers the native majesty and grace of religious emotions far above the reach of human embellishment, yet would advocate the propriety of pressing into the service of religion the noblest powers of men — and remarks that a poet of christian character can find no more difficulty in blending beauty, simplicity, and sublimity with heavenly aspirations, than in combining the same qualities of song with the dreamy flights of fancy or the pictorial descriptions of nature and the human passions. 5S Montgomery has given examples from authors of the last generation of pure simplicity and pathetic expression which would have been most admirably suited to sacred themes. We give two of his quotations in his own language : — * See the wretch, that long has tost On the thorny bed of pam, At length repair his vigor lost, And breathe and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale. The simple note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies. To him are opening paradise.' Grmfs Fragment on Vicissitude. It cannot be questioned that this is genuine poetry ; and the beautiful, but not obvious thought, in the last couplet, elevates it far above all common-place. Yet there is nothing in the style, nor the cast of the sentiment, which might not be employed with corresponding effect on a sacred theme. The following stanzas are almost unrivalled in the combination of poetry with painting, pathos with fancy, grandeur with simplicity, and romance with reality : — ' How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould. She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy-hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 59 There honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there.' — Collins. The unfortunate author of these inimitable lines, a little before his death— in a lucid interval of that madness to which a wounded spirit had driven him — was found by a visitor with the bible in his hand. * You see,' said the poor sufferer, * I have only one book left ; but it is the best.' It is too late in the age of mental philosophy to make the assertion that poetry has no power to pour its notes of sweet and transporting melody into the quiet recesses of a deeply humbled heart. The genius of poetry comes at the call of the holy affections. The most enduring monuments of mind on earth are the productions of the muse. Homer, embalmed in his own immortal verse, survives his country ; Maro is destined to a longer remembrance than the 'eternal city' — and later poets have exerted an influence over the hearts of men and the manners of generations, other than those in whose time they wrote, far mightier than regal authority or the patronage of governments could command. But, if a stranger to the poetry of the world from Hesiod to Byron should inquire in what other poetry than that found in the bible is the purity, the sublimity, the pathos, the elevating and spirit sustaining themes of our holy religion best illustrated and most invitingly presented to the eye of taste and genius, — we must, with a few reservations, say — it is yet unwritten. 60 SAUL OF TARSUS. — A SONNET. On, Saul of Tarsus ! spear and shield upraise — Thy heart beats high with persecuting ire, Upon thy brow ambition's lightning plays, Thou breathest threat'nings, rocks, and chains, and fire ; Thou art all haste and stirring hot to do The bidding of the bloody priests, and break Tiieir tliunders o'er the sainted band ; but rue Thy pride ! above, around thee, voices wake — More than the noon-day light from heaven descends, And Saul, the persecutor, trails the dust ; Prostrate he has — his iron spirit bends Subdued by Him he dared to call accurst ; But now he owns the voice, the light, the power, Of ONE whose word will make the mightiest cower. CENTENNIAL ODE. — by charlesspuague. The two hundredth anniversary of the settlement of Boston was distinguished by the efforts of genius worthy to 'notch the centuries' in their course. We have, from the importance of the occasion and the established reputations of the orator and the poet, noticed their respective productions separately — as things not of every day occurrence ; and here, if criticism is most at home with burning eye and iron pen when rending into tatters the webb of an author's thoughts, there will be little chance for critical display in the subject before us. It is preposterous for any one to think of melting by the 61 warmth of his hand the glittering diamonds. While the icicles which hold the rainbow in their brilliant transpa- rence may dissolve, the true diamonds will still shine on unchanged by contact, collision, bright ever in storm and sunshine. If one should ask what was the machinery of Spragiie's poem — what its plot *? We answer — it has none. His poem is the lofty discoursings of the muse as she stood on the elevation of two centuries, looked over the past, and kindled in prospect of the future. On such an occasion it was meet that the poet should commence in the spirit of sacred invocation : — Not to the Pagan's mount I turn, For inspiration now : Olympus and its gods I spurn — Pure One, be with me, Thou! — After one of the most philosophically correct delinea- tions of the character of the pilgrim fathers, Mr. Sprague calls up from the silence of death ' those fated bands, Whose monarch tread was on these broad, green lands,' — and follows the retiring trail of the mighty forest hunters until the frail grass is now scarcely bowed by their step. How cheerless was the extinction of the Indian ! Cold, with the beast he slew, he sleeps ; O'er him no filial spirit weeps ; No crowds throng round, no anthem-notes ascend, To bless his coming and embalm his end ; Even that he lived, is for his conqueror's tongue, By foes alone his death-song must be sung ; 62 No chronicles but theirs shall tell His mournful doom to future times ; IMay these upon his virtues dwell, And in his fate fore;et his crimes. Mr. Sprague's ode, than which no better one may be printed for a century to come, closes with a holy aspiration of praise to the God of the pilgrims. JOSIAH aUINCY, L. L. D. Without acknowledging a belief in the doctrines of phrenology, we admit that nature sometimes labels her noblest workmanship with its inscriptions in which there are no mistakes — palpable indications of mental energy and intellectual power which stand out in bold develope- ment in the expressive features. Mr. Quincy, the president of Harvard, has a countenance of the first order, which lights up with every emotion of his mind when it is excited; but it is his forehead that most distinguishes him and gives him no mean claim to be considered a model of intellectual statuary. Having lately witnessed the display of his eloquence before the thousands who stood before the centennial altar, we max be permitted to express our ardent wishes that the ancient university over which he presides may catch something of his bold, energetic spirit ; and learn, at least, that it is of nearly as much importance how as 63 what is spoken in public addresses. There is no need that we follow the chain of his argument in an oration so widely distributed and celebrated as president Quincy's centennial ; yet we may say, that when we heard his powerful sketch of the pilgrim character, and saw the mighty dead breathing and living again under the strong inspiration of the orator's genius, we felt as if no nation could boast a descent so illustrious as the American people, or better honor a noble descent than in thus recounting the deathless virtues of the fathers of religious and civil liberty in the western world. In president Quincy's own language we repeat : — Human happiness has no perfect security hut freedom; — freedom none hut virtue ; — virtue none hut knowledge ; and neither freedom, nor virtue, nor knowledge has any vigor, or immortal hope, except in the principles of the Christian faith, and in the sanction of the Christian religion. ALL IS VANITY. The proud world is fading, dear, Like the leaves of autumn sere, FalUng round the dying year — All is vanity. Grandeur's star declines apace, Mighty ones have veiled the face, Death hath won ambition's race — All is vanity. 64 Pleasure painted mountains green, Groves with babbling streams between ; Darkness hung around the scene — All is vanity. Friends and lovers near thee now, Faithful to their fervent vow ; Low in dust they soon shall bow — All is vanity. Wealth and home embowered with love, Shelter thee, a wounded dove ; Fortune's sun now hides above — All is vanity. Heaven, above the wrecks of time, Spans the universe sublime. Change nor storm are in its clime — ■ Blest eternity ! PART OF AN ADDRESS, Delivered at Boston, April 7, 1828, before the Hibernian Relief Society. Wherever the feet of man may roam there is one delightful image present to his fancy. It penetrates beyond the region of the imagination, and takes deep hold on the heart. It is the love of country — not that selfish affection which pours itself out on individual inheritance — the parcelled glebe or amassed treasures ; 65 it lakes a wider, holier range, and loves not only tlie mountains, the vales, the streams, the placid lakes, the soft fleecy clouds, the deep transparent skies — the loud storm, the tempest gloom even — but the image of intel- lectual beauty, above all the rest, enchants the soul of the wanderer. No nation has so low a place in the hearts of men, but that the mention of its name shall awaken an intellectual form of giant grandeur, of loveliness, of melancholy, of exalted patriotism ; or of wild cruelty, and tyrannic perfidy. Here is in fact the tribunal of nations. In the loneHness of the human heart, the deep and quiet recesses of thought, the spectres of national character rise to receive applause or disapprobation ; they come from the far off world beyond the flood ; they burst from the catacombs of the Nile, they shake the marble ruins of the Acropolis, and rise from the tombs of Rome — and, pale or glorious, dark or lovely, await the decisions of posterity. Yet the image of one's own country comes to the soul with all the freshness of life. It is a mid-day dream, entrancing the soul at high noon. The sweet charm of memory combines the graces of moral beauty, the breathing forms of early friendship, the majesty of high patriotic example, and the tones of the minstrel bard, into such a vision of felicity, that it is to be cherished, loved — almost adored. The sons of some nations have before them the broad field of their country's renown, almost stainless, and far and wide reflecting the unpol- luted splendors of national honor. Such have only to 66 drink in the enthusiasm of their native air to be what their fathers were — worthy of the choicest honors of earth, and to wear the garlands that have been twined by the seraph hand of female loveliness. Such have only to read their country's history, to inhale their country's spirit. But what more than mortal meed of honors shall be awarded to those whose high designs, whose virtuous sympathies, brilliant genius, lofty daring, and sublime memorials, have thriven and been established in defiance of circumstances — against the storms of fate, the thun- ders of power, and the undying bitterness of a causeless 'hatred ? What green garland of immortality shall crown the brows that have been bared to the pitiless winds of misfortune, and were yet radiant with the light of intellect and ' the searching victories of mind ?' There is a lovely island which is washed by the bright waves of the Atlantic ; there is such a charm lingering around its classic ground that whoever has ever fixed his eyes upon its calm scenery can never — never forget Ireland. So great is the antiquity of its institutions, that when the ruin lay like a thunder cloud on the horizon of the Roman Empire, and the Goths and Vandals rolled their barbarian hordes over the Campania, and swept Italy with the besom of destruction ; the sweet Emerald Isle was a refuge for the learned and virtuous of other countries. The terror of a falling nation never reached this sequestered and beautiful island ; the shrieks of the victims were lost in the wild passes and glens of the Alps, save when the demon 67 hordes, like an avalanche, broke from the eternal brow of the mountains, and shook the vallies of northern Europe. How pleasant here to recognize the begin- nings of literary distinction — the ardent love of letters that have ever distinguished the Irish nation ! These illustrious refugees scattered the seeds of literary inquiry, and became themselves incorporated with a people who were soon called to meet the wave of Norman conquest that had rolled over England and Scotland. The Danish yoke, once imposed on these spirit breathing men, sat heavily, and was indignantly thrown off in the deadly tug of war. Ireland then had her kings of noble deeds ; she had her Brian, who, one thousand years after the birth of Christ, in the eighty-eighth year of his age, strew- ed Clontarfs bloody field with Danes, and poured out his life in the arms of victory. Then — then, oh, my native country ; invited by intestine broils, the cross of St. George emerged from the waters, and the English threw their pale around thy Dublin ! 1 will no longer follow the thread of history. I will suppress my sighs. I will lean over Erin's broken harp in sad, heart-burdened silence. I will not call up feelings that should inflame a continent. I will not uncover bloody scenes. A minister of the religion of the blessed Prince of Peace, I will stoop over the wounded, the broken, the flying ; and to him whose life-blood is fast ebbing, I will say — forgive the heart that conceived thy death, and curse not the hand that gave the blow. Oh, could I but say to him who dies in a distant land of exile 68 —thine own Emerald Isle is blooming for thy children, and thy children's children, and no hand of the oppres- sor is there ! There shines the star of freedom purified from the disastrous eclipse of six hundred years — ^there flowers are springing freshly on the graves of thy coun- try's martyrs! — A minister of peace, I shall not detail the history of the fifty thousand Irish vt)lunteers who declared the holy intention of giving liberty to their country — nor the strong league of United Irishmen who rose up at the voice of the sweetest eloquence that ever thrilled in the forum or the field. Every cord of this league was sundered by the sword and the bayonet, and ' the smoking flax' gave a frightful splendor to the flames of civil war. I would not call up the names of Fitz- gerald, O'Connor, the pale, lovely ghost of Emmet, dear to the heart of female fondness — nor yet, the war- like Tone, or the She ares, to. sigh in this blessed evening zephyr, and accuse the strong arm of power with violence. No, no. As dearly as I love my country, let the shades of her patriots appeal for justice to the high court of eternity where they now inhabit — and oh that some gentle hand might avert the storm thai shall arise, rending, outbreaking and charged with retribution, should the day of reckoning come ! Should the cold hearted, with disdainful calmness, ask the questions — What right has Ireland to all this sympa- thy ? What^ redeeming qualities has she to shed a beautiful lustre over the story of her sufferings ? What gifted sons of song have ever swept her lyre ? — with a reproving silence, I would point them to the world's 69 history. But should the student of human nature, witli a sincere desire to learn the truth, ask questions of similar import — should the young patriot, whose heart is just swelling with the proud events of past ages and the splendid movements of the present, inquire why this dismantled country sustains such a place in the affections of her children wherever thrown on the world's wide bosom — or why the name of Ireland is dear to the friends of freedom in every nation under heaven, I would say, there is a soul in the country which disdains the shackles of its body politic — there is a heart there, around which flow the generous impulses and life blood of freedom. An Irishman in chains, standing on the very verge of an untimely grave, has had the spirit and the voice to make the tyrant of his doom tremble on the rotten seat of justice. Untitled, unaided as he was, with the death of a traitor impending over his youthful head, one uttered the voice of his country full dreadful to the minions of power. Hear him. ' TFhen my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, lei my epitaph he written."* Oh, I would dwell on his loved name, and this hall should resound with an epitaph for him that would outlive ^ the storied urn' — but I will not call up an association of thought to awaken your bursting sorrows ; for your own American Emmet sleeps in death. If we look for the laurels of Ireland's military re- nown, we shall not find them blooming on her beautiful landscape only. We must untwine the garlands of other lands and tear from them the proudest evergreens ; we 70 shall diminish the banners of the Island Queen ; we shall wither the lilies of France, and weaken the strong Eagle's pinion. But why all these exotic plants of renown? This question hurls an accusation against thrones, and is the voice of outcry against the arm of the oppressor. — The senates of the Emerald Isle- — her fields — her cabi- nets, her forum, bar and altar, should have gathered up her choicest sons, and the light of their genius would have shown like a new day, doubling the effulgence of years gone by. These plants of genius were torn away from their native soil in the disruption of storms and in the deep agony of separation ; the parent stock, the ex- uberant root, they left behind them, and bore with them wherever they roamed the bleeding fibres of affection. The same hand that hath been laid cold and heavy and excruciating on the sensitive population of Ireland has indeed struck the mountain wastes of Scotland ; but the hills felt it not, nor did her hardy sons fall under the concussion like the delicate plants of the green isle. Scotland has been rescued in a great degree by her literati, who have, in the absence of physical power, after losing the balance of empire, substituted a moral power, before which the nations of the earth have bowed down in idolatry ; yet even this noble expedient of exchan- ging the trappings of royality for a despotism over the heart, could not have succeeded in Ireland where the voice of her patriots and the songs of her poets were, like the fabled strains of the sw^an, the premonitions of death. But there are no figures of rhetoric that may reach the heart of Ireland's sorrows ; she mourns her loveliest 71 sons in exile, and even the glory they bind around their brows in a stranger land, awakens sorrow at home — for there should the sun of their glory rise — and there should they rest after life's brief triumphs were over. The sorrow stricken seer of Israel, had Ireland been his country, would have poured out the melancholy words : ^Mine eyes do fail with tears, my bowels are troubled, for the destruction of the daughter of my people ; because the children and the sucklings swoon in the streets of the city. They say to their mothers, where is corn and .wine ? When they swooned as the wounded in the streets of the city, when their soul was poured out into their mother^s bosom."* S ONNET — CONSTANTINOPLE. The Cresent spans thy gate, Byzantium ! Barbaric hordes defy thee in thy might — In wild, far gleaming sheen and pomp tliey coinje To dare the Roman to the deadly figiit — They roll the storm of strong invasion on And Calvary's sign is shaken in the sky ; The warrior band that shook the world are gone, The breach is made and Constantine must die ; Last of his race — alone — in fate's thick gloom His gleaming broadsword lit him to his tomb, And, where he fell, dark boughs of Cyprus wave — While eastern Rome, a meteor quenched in blood. The earth's proud lord, became the Moslem's slave, And wailing swept along Marmora's chrystal flood. 72 M02^TG0AiERY'S WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD. The muse of the pious Montgomery, in selecting the subject of his poem from the dreamy world which we dis- cover so dimly beyond the prismatic waters cf the deluge, opened a wide field for the display of his fancy and for the creations of his genius. — Antediluvian history is but a narrow genealogical line drawn from Eden to Arrarat. On each line of this line of descent, nations rose, and vast transactions came into being. The poet may people this waste with such an order of intellect, and such classes of events as shall please him, if he do not contradict the record of the Scriptures. Montgomery, in his ^ World before the Flood,' des- cribes only the transactions of a few days and nights — but, by way of minstrel and episode, brings into view the remoter scenes of Abel's death and the dying hour of Adam and Eve, the first of mankind. — The time of the poem is laid in the two last days of Enoch's walk on earth, when the progeny of Cain, headed by a giant king, and directed by a sorcerer of tremendous power, invaded the glen of the patriarchs, where they, remote from pride and lust, worshipped in primeval simplicity. As the host of Cain approaches, Javan, who has, for years, been a wanderer from the glen, deserts from the inva- ding army and hastens to inform the patriarchs of their impending ruin. He treads once more the scenes of his childhood — and, in a bower not unkn wn to him, discovers Zillah, the idol of his earliest affections, asleep. He leans over her, and hears her in an unquiet dream 73 pronounce his name ; he retires. With a melodious instrument of his own invention he fills the grove with unwonted music, and Zillah is awakened by strains that seem to her nothing less than angelic. The incidents which rapidly crowd themselves into the poem at this point of time are highly exciting. After Javan's happy reception by the patriarchs, and the cele- bration of the great anniversary of Sacrifice, instituted by Adam, the destroyer came like a flood upon the quiet dwellers in the glen. They were taken captive and carried into the camp of the giant. Here Enoch prophesied of the destruction of the idolatrous host, and when the rage of the monarch and his captains could be restrained no longer, and they rushed like bloody tigers upon the prophet who was unrolling before them the awful scroll of prophecy, he ims not, for God took him. His mantle descended on Javan, who led the patriarchal captives unharmed through the host of amazed enemies. The mount of Paradise was in sight in the distant western horizon. The flame of the cherubim sword played upon its lofty summit. . The giant king and the host of the idolaters were filled with rage against heaven, and an unconquerable desire to storm the site of Eden and possess again the garden of God. But now ' Red in the west the burning Mount, arrayed With tenfold terror by incumbent shade, (For moon and stars were wrapt in dunnest gloom) Glared like a torch amidst creation's tomb.' Supernatural horror, amazement, omens of unex- 74 plained import, conspired to distract and paralize the impious invaders — and tliey miserably perished by their own hands. The World before the Flood is in ten cantos, and is brief enough not to tire, even if its high poetic merit did not delis^ht, the tasteful reader. THE AUTUMAL EVENING. The mooa Is up, and all the jewelled stars are set Deep in the mild cerulean. No chang:e Is on the face of heaven. The fields of air, Like silver-spangledb-wns spread out. No wild winds sweep or clouds obscure. — All, all is holy — as if boundless love From Eden had baptised the element In its sweet waves of blessedness. But earth — oh earth, thou faded one ! Thy melancholy tresses lowly hang Like willow branches o'er the ancient graves- Thy summer robes are old and gray, — Thy voice is mournful, like the distant sound Of lonely w^aterfalls heard solemnly At midnight hour when other voices sleep. Hail autumn evening ! Best time to muse along the weeping streams Where vegetation hastens to decay Piled in exuberance of fragrant death — For here a lonely whisper speaks to man 75 Of winter clothed in winding sheets of snow — Of spring beyond — and thus a lesson gives To him whose footsteps turn the falling leaf, And tells him that the places where he trcada Shall know him not again ; but on beyond The dreary winter of the tomb the spring Of virtue shines in its unchanging green. How happy they who see the olive leaf; The token of that rest ! They hear at night The singing of the turtle dove. They know- That Jesus lives — and that his Paradise Hath many roses blooming fresh for them. — And many crowns are there. And harps Strung to immortal melodies of bliss. Go, autumn, haste away, — let winter come, Tliat spring may sooner bathe my head In its cool waters and its scented dews ! Time endeth : but the heaven of heavens shall hold The peaceable, the just, the pure in heart, Who dwell as pilgrims in the vale of earth. LOCH LOMOND. Scottish scenery is of the . grandest and most picturesque descriptions, and yet it often has a moral association connected with it which lends additional sub- limity to nature's boldest oudines. Many circumstances have united to give this double celebrity to Scotland. The clanship of the inhabitants, — the fearless, idomiiablc character of the soldiery, and every man was a soldier, — 76 the frequent internal contests, as well as movetnents of foreign offence, or defence against foreign aggression, — have marked Scotland's lakes and mountains, her vales and casdes, with the deep traces of battle, of deathless achievements, — while the songs of her minstrels, and, more than all, the unsurpassed genius of her literati have created a broad halo of glory all around her wildly classic territory. The eye of the traveller is not more attracted by the rugged peak that disparts the clouds in their passage than by the historical reminiscence that clings forever to the bleak rock like the moss which woos the moisture of heaven to its granite bed. Through these associations the gloomy cave becomes an object of interest, the sunless gorge, down deep at the base of the fearful Trosacs, is sought out because it has been embalmed in song as the jaws of fate to conflicting warriors ; and every tranquil lake, or roaring linn, or broad estuary become mirrors in which the departed rise to view in the strug- gles, the triumphs, the last catastrophes of border and international warfare. It is not within the limits of our intention to note the writers whose living productions have contributed to render Scottish scenery so redolent in the recollections of national virtue, bravery, crime, ambition, and glory. We are only to present Loch Lomond, a lovely lake that sleeps as calm as at its first creation amidst the cold hills and thunder-crested mountains of Dumbarton and Stir- lingshire. Lake Lomond is situated in Dumbartonshire and partly in Stirlingshire ; it is twenty-eight miles in length, and 77 embosoms thirty-three islands — some of which are inhab- ited, while others are covered with antique ruins concealed in the umbrageous groves of ancient yews, and others still are wild, precipitous rocks where the lone osprey or the sea eagle dwells. The whole lake is shadowed by hoary mountains or ancient woods. The Grampian mountains terminate at its southeast corner, while in the northern part of Stirlingshire, Ben Lomond rises to the height of three thousand two hundred feet above the lake which washes its base. It would be impossible to do justice to the scenery of this lovely lake in a hundred representations — yet the sketch we give is a faithful and striking part of the imposing whole. It is a remarkable fact, that in the great earthquake which destroyed Lisbon in Portugal in 1755, the waters of Loch l^omond rose and fell with sympathetic and violent agitation. RIGHT REV. REGINALD HEBER, D. D. Late Lord Bishop of Calcutta. The life of this distinguish divine of the English Church, compiled by his widow, has lately been published in this city by the Protestant Episcopal Press. A biogra- phy composed from the lamented bishop's correspondence, unpublished poems, and private papers, cannot fail of 7 78 giving the reader a deep acquaintance with the progress of mind which distinguished this luminary through his active, useful life. Reginald Heber was born April 21, 1783, at Malpas in the county of Chester, England — of which place his father was for many years co-rector. He was entered at Brazen Nose College in the Univer- sity of Oxford in the autumn of 1800. Heber was uncommonly successful throughout his university course. It was in the spring of the year 1803, that he wrote, as a college exercise for a particular occasion, his celebrated poem, ^ Palestine.' Of the dehvery of this poem, Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine gives the following description : — None who heard Reginald Heber recite his ' Palestine' in that magnificent theatre, will ever forget his appearance — so interesting and impressive. — It w^as known that his old father was somewhere sitting among the crowded au- dience, when his universally admired son ascended the rostrum ; and we have heard that the sudden thunder of applause which then arose so shook his frame, weak and wasted by long illness, that he never recovered it, and may be said to have died of the joy dearest to a parent's heart. Although Mrs. Heber seems to doubt the immediate effect of this joy upon his father's life as stated above, fne description she has given of the same scene, written by an eye witness after an interval of twenty-four years., is scarcely less graphic : — « Reginald Heber's recitation, like that of all poets whom we have heard recite, was altogether untrammelled by the critical laws of elocution., 79 which were not set at defiance, but either by the poet unknown or forgotten ; and there was a charm in his somewhat melancholy voice, that occasionally faltered, less from a feeling of the solemnity and even grandeur of the scene, of which he was himself the conspicuous object — though that feeling did suffuse his pale, ingenuous, and animated countenance — than from the deeply felt sanctity of his subject, comprehending the most awful mysteries of God's revelation to man. As his voice grew bolder and more sonorous in the hush, the audience felt that this was not the mere display of the skill and ingenuity of a clever youth, the accidental triumph of an accomplished versifier over his compeers, in the dex- terity of scholarship, which is all that can generally be said truly of such exhibitions, — ^but that here was a poet indeed, not only of bright promise, but of high achieve- ment, — one whose name was already written in the roll of the immortals. This poetry is now incorporated ior ever with the poetry of England.' When Reginald Heber returned from the theatre, surrounded by his friends, with every hand stretched out to congratulate, and every voice raised to praise him, he withdrew from the circle ; and his mother, who impatient of his absence, went to look for him, found him in his room on his knees giving thanks to God, not so much for the talents which had, on that day, raised him to honor but that those talents had enabled him to bestow unmixed happiness on his parents. Towards the middle of the year 1805, Mr. Heber, m company with a distinguished friend, made the tour of 80 northern Europe and visited Norway, Sweden, Russia, Hungary and Germany. After his return, he commenced his ecclesiastical course as a humble ' parish priest' in Hodnet. The particularity with which his biographer has made Heber speak his prejudices as well as his virtues, has detracted from the perfection of his moral portrait. We find him to be less than an angel. He writes thus of the Methodists, meaning, we suppose. Dissenters in general : — ' The Methodists in Hodnet are, thank God, not very numerous, and I hope to diminish them still more ; they are, however, sufficiently numerous to serve as a spur to my emulation.' — ^ The Methodists are neither very numerous nor very active ; they have no regular meetings but assemble from great distances to meet a favorite preacher. Yet I have sometimes thought, and it has really made me uncomfortable, that since Rowland Hill's visit to the country, my congregation w^as thinner.' When higher advanced in church dignity he forbade his curates to open their chapels to Rowland Hill. We have not space to follow Reginald Heber through his successful course of authorship and church prefer- ment. He was the angel of the church in India. He has given his name to deathless ' Palestine.' The deep, rich, solemn numbers of his poetry illustrated scenes where the harp of David gathered its inspiration ; but in no one of his productions, does the simplicity of his sacred classics glow with such purified splendor, as in the Missionary Hymn, commencing — ' From Greenland's icy mountains,' &c. 81 SONNET. . THE DEPARTURE OF A WAR SHIP. She leaves the strand with loud hurrahs and song, The cannon's voice, and trumpet's shriek along. Invokes from heaven her country's unbound breeze To roll her bulwarks on the seething seas ; It comes — and fresh with incense breathing flowers From murnuuing, whispering, love-inspiring bowers, Bears shout and tarewell — sigh and bursting prayer In one deep gush of balmy evening air. The sun is down — the warrior ship is gone — And ocean's waters running heedless on. ' I'll wait for thee,' the dark eyed virgin sighs. Whilst thou, around the globe in foreign skies, Shalt roll the standard sheet of Washington, And bring me baek thyself— thy duty done.' OUR COUNTRY. Delivered in Bennet-street Church, Boston^ on the afternoon of the Ath of July, 1830. ' For they got not the land in possession by their own sword, neither dil their own arm save them; but thy right hand, and thy arm, and the light of thy countenance, because thou hadst a favor unto them.'— Psa/w xliv. 3. The commemoration of past events has a very early (late in the annals of the world's history. Israel had appointed seasons for rejoicing, when the remembrances df other days crowded upon the mind. Greece and Rome abounded with memorials of signal deliverances, 7* 82 and splendid victories. The eras when their existence commenced and the achievements of their bold warriors and stern patriots were, at stated seasons, brought freshly to their remembrance by the monuments of antiquity and the festivals of their religion. England has her days of song and chivalry, of humiliation and prayer, com- memorative of wonderful events in her history. But what nation on the globe has greater reason to rejoice than the one, the anniversary of whose independence we this day commemorate. The deliverance of this country from foreign aggression, and a long-continued train of evils, is the theme of our rejoicing. The recollection of this proud event brings up around each heart a host o^ the most interesting associations. We are at once thrown upon the day that tried men's souls. The story of that day's suffering and wrong, peril and death, defeat and victory, written as it is in the blood and tears, the privations and sorrows of the patriotic men who dared to do, or die, is unfolded to their children's children ; and we have come hither to gather strength and courage over the glorious record. The orator for God, the statesman and the scholar, have made it the subject of their theme, and the burden of their song. And each revolving year it has been received with renewed feelings of joy and acclamations of pleasure. But have we not, too often, while doing homage to the patriots of the revolution, forgotten the Almighty hand that preserved this country in the terrible conflict, and conducted us in safety through the storm of war, and the desolations of an overbearing foe ! The song of praise has not always 83 been of God. The voice of rejoicing seldom rose higher than the ru2;ged passes that frown defiance to the world. We are here — not to be forgetful of what God, by our fathers has achieved for this land of promise — but while we would give the events, to which this day more immediately belongs, their legitimate place in each heart, we would be reminded of the interest Heaven has always taken in our affairs, and indulge in reflections intimately connected with the sublime occasion. The pilgrim fathers were conducted to these shores by an Almighty hand. They might have passed to other lands, far from the agressors, and been safe. There were countries nearer home that would have gladly welcomed them to their shelters. But a mysterious influence rested upon their minds; and, although it was a hazardous enterprize, teeming with danger, they rallied their broken spirits, braved the winds of heaven, the storms of the angry deep, and, in hope against hope, in the very depth of winter, sprang upon the ragged rock of Plymouth, bearing with them the seeds of a holy religion and a vast empire. Their origin and national character, form a strikmg circumstance in the history of the country. They were of no plebian race, neither were they all of high patrician birth ; but generally selected from that class, which, in England especially, constitutes the very best and most enterprising of her citizens. They were inflexible, brave and true. Independence of mind, a fearless spirit, with an unparalleled strength of purpose were characteristics by which they were distinguished. Another and a far 84 different race might have been our fathers ; but God had high and important purposes in view, and he therefore selected men who possessed the power and were furnished with the materials to lay the deep and broad foundations of a nation, destined to be unexampled and glorious. They were pious — the followers of the meek and Jowly Jesus, Had they been the disciples of Mahomet or the worshippers of idol gods, their children would not have stood where they do this day, nor tlieir country present, after the lapse of centuries, such a sublime spectacle to an admiring world. The nature of the constitutions and laws they framed and adopted ; the moral tendency, the strictness of their religious sentiments, all give evidence of an overruling Providence. Had the laws by which they were governed been less rigid and severe, their morals more pliable and their faidi cast in a more polished mould, it is a question whether their children would have retained, for so many yeai's, customs and manners, which, though antiquated and ridiculed by the refined and sceptical, have contributed in a great measure to preserve the American citizen as yet, from many of the glaring absurdities and extravagant notions of his trans-atlantic brethern. On the whole we may consider the character of the pilgrims, their conduct and views, as not only beneficial, but absolutely necessary, in a religious, moral and political point of light, in forming the basis of a^reat and highly intelligent community. Their preservation from the scalping-knife of the savage and from the sword of France, is another mark of divine favor. No personal bravery, no tower of 85 strength could have secured them from the accumulated dangers that beset them. The country was then covered with thousands of the red warriors, armed and on the watch for their prey, urged on by Frenchmen who thirsted for blood. Early in their history we also mark a gracious interposition of Divine Providence in the discomfiture and defeat of a powerful armament. Ere it had reached these shores, the Lord commissioned the elements to fight against it, and the proud fleet was scattered, dismasted, and broken by the four winds. And when the seeds of war sprang up in the breasts of the revolutionary heroes, were not the councils of Great Britain strangely perplexed ? The voice of wisdom forsook the senate and council chamber, and the spirit of her king, her nobles, and people cowered to a base and palpably ignorant policy. With haughty indiiFerence to the cry of oppression and a vain reliance upon the puissant arm of her soldiery, she flung down the gauntlet, crossed the rubicon, and recklessly plunged into an inglorious war, which she imagined would result in the chastisement and humiliation of the men she insultingly termed hoys, — rebels to her crown and dignity. She had not counted the cost when she dared her colonies to the combat ; and sore and bitter was her repentance. At this period, big with the destinies of millions, when all that is dear and valuable to man was at stake, and the hopes of America were on the point of being blasted forever, the immortal Washington appeared on the arena of battle. A mysterious and all-wise Providence seemed to designate him as the angel that was to lead 86 the American armies to victory and conquest. He soon redeemed the pledge his opening campaign gave to a deeply anxious and troubled people. His course was brilliant and successful. He met the veterans of a hundred hard-fought fields, wearing the laurels of victory, and they were beaten and slain ; the country rescued from the invader's sword, and its rights and privileges confirmed and acknowledged by the voice of nations and the wisdom of our fathers. The framing of the constitution, that great pillar of our country's glory, is not among the least of the blessings by which these United States are distinguished. But who can read the page that opens upon the fiftietli anniversary of our independence, and not be Ftruck with astonishment at the death of the two venerable patriots, Jefferson and Adams, who were both on the morning of that auspicious day, basking in the sunshine of a nation's smile; but, ere the sun had set, were gathered with their fathers? — who can pass over this imperishable mark of divine interference, and not feel the full force of our observations ? The prosperity which has always crowned this country — more especially since her independence was established, is further proof that God is with us. She has increased in territory and in population, in riches, in enterprize, and renown. Her religious, literary and political institutions will bear a proud comparison even with those of Great Britain, France and Germany. From what has been said, we may fairly infer, that America is destined, at no distant period, to take a more 87 elevated and important station in controlling the destinies of the earth. If she is but true to herself, she can never retrograde. She must prosper, gathering strength and stability as she advances. The Almighty seems to have determined in her favor. As long as the religion of Jesus is permitted to lie deeply rooted in her institutions, she cannot fall. The Rock of Ages is as yet her abiding place. She is supported by pillars of strength and beauty, that suffer no decay, and that bid defiance to the hand of the oppressor and the tooth of time. Stupendous are the purposes, to accomplish which, she is to be the honored instrument. In the youth and vigor of her days, untrammelled and unconfined, bearing in her bosom the elements, that have already given omens of great promise, what may she not perform ! Already hath her voice broken in thunder across the Atlantic ! The fast-anchored isle has felt the potent spell of her giant power, and yielding to necessity, she has at length emancipated a gallant and generous people who had groaned for many centuries under a galling and ignominious thraldom. In this long deferred act of common justice, we see some of the fruits of her noble example, and the beginning of that deference which will one day be paid more promptly and openly to these United States throughout the world. Her voice is swelling to a louder note in other lands, and wherever the star-gemmed banner sweeps the free air of heaven, there will her influence be felt, and the fame of her doings create a flame and arouse a spirit which rivers cannot quench, nor armed muhitudes sub- due. The beacon of freedom to both hemispheres, its 88 light will soon blaze on every island, sea and mountain on the globe, until myriads, guided by its mellow radiance, shall proclaim universal emancipation from chains and slavery, and man assume his legitimate place in the great scale of being. A yet more glorious contemplation is afforded by this animating subject. For achievements of moral sublimity, never emulated nor surpassed since the commencement of time, America stands eminently conspicuous. Emana- tions that bear the royal signature of Heaven cluster around us on every hand. Movements of a high and lofty import, which cast far into the shade all that has ever taken place on the earth since the hour of man's redemption, seem to be shaking the universe, and strongly intimate the near approach of wonderful events. Christians in former times waged war on the borders of the enemy's dominions only ; their battles were but skirmishes. But their sons have resolved to penetrate the thickest ranks, and to attack the strongest fortresses ; and they aim at nothing short of the complete overthrow and downfall of the empire of sin. The resources of this country are vast, her spirit bold and daring, not easily subdued, and capable of great and brilliant enterprise. It is but natural then for us to place her in the front rank of the Sacramental Host — her stars pouring light on the millennial morning, while her spirit- waking trum'pet shall break upon the ears of slumbering millions. While we contemplate this magnificent scene, and behold the glorious prospect which the torch of inspiration 89 reveals to our wondering eyes, let us fear and tremble, lest we interrupt the high purposes of the Almighty, and, by our rebellion and obstinacy, turn away the streams of his munificence. We may contribute to the downfall of these high and towering hopes, by becoming forgetful of his mercy, and setting at naught his council. Are there not already monitory voices in the land?— Do they not appeal to our hearts in the touching and emphatic lan- guage of nature, and of truth? From oppressed and tortured Africa, plundered of her children, the voice of retribution falls thrillingly upon our ears ; its doleful echoes are heard in the South — they sweep mournfully in sullen murmurs and low cadences of sorrow from the distant shores of the Atlantic to the Rocky Mountains, swelling into harsh thunder as they pass through the halls of our proud Capitol, and far off climes repeat the ever to be lamented cry of slavery. This deep crimson stain must be erased from the escutcheon of our country ; it may have to be washed away in our best blood and in our bitterest tears. From the roll of our country's story it can never be blotted out ; there it must remain an everlasting drawback to her fame — a beam shorn from the effulgence of her clustered stars. A yet deeper cry comes up out of the dark shade of the wilderness. It is the voice of the princes of the land. Their proud elastic foot, no longer impresses the free soil. The mighty forests that had stood for ages clothed in grandeur and majesty, the green halls and beautiful bowers of their fathers have fallen before the men who have usurped their homes ; driven almost to the shores 8 90 of the Pacific, a cruel policy if not speedily prevented, may yet seal their final and irrevocable doom. On to the west — dark Indian, westward go — ilnd bathe thy weary feet in rills of snow, Wild gushing down the Rocky Mountain's steep- Thence, passing onward, tarry not to weep; Thy tears would scorch tlie honey flowing soil — And deep, hke molten lead, its verdure spoil — For tears of wrong shall bathe the thunder's wing, And rouse the storm's portentous murmuring. And shall we not be visited for these things ? Most assuredly we shall. Let us then hasten, while we yet can do it. to redeem our character and pluck the remnant of a brave people from destruction. If we cannot restore to them their inheritance, we. can at least stay our rapa- cious hand ; we can insure them protection from an all grasping policy ; we can recommend them to t hecross, and bind them by its sacred influence forever to our hearts. Their retributory cry will then be changed into a song of joy, and into expressions of gratitude ; and the noble stock resuscitated, shall bloom again, to bless, and not curse, the destined Canaan of the new world. The blood of our countrymen, slain by infidelity and intemperance with their associates in profligacy, error and vice, lifteth another cry, high up into the heavens*] It calls sternly for vengeance on these offsprings of a most ' cruel and relentless fiend. Such enemies as these should find no favor, no harborage among the children of the pilgrims. For these sins the land mourns. While these are countenanced, nay, even sometimes passed by with i 91 out reproof, and, what is still worse, applauded, there is great cause to fear ; and although as yet no very alarming consequences may have been the result, such departures from the living God, must sooner or later, terminate unfavorably, leaving our country a prey to the tempest, that has overwhelmed in its resistless course the mightiest empire of the old world, — that rolled upon ill-fated France an avalanche of guilt and crime, and whose destructive influence, if not boldly and successfully encountered, may, ere long, bury deep in its own ruins the noble fabric, reared by the toils and virtues, the blood and prayers of the illustrious fathers of our country. Eloquent voices come down out of heaven to reprove us. They warn us of approaching evils, and call loudly upon us to repent in dust and ashes. Let us, then, as individuals, each one contribute his part to stem the tor- rent of corruption, to build up the waste places of Zion, and to oppose sin in every shape, without fear and with- out favor. It is high time for christians to awake, for the American people to arise, and clothe themselves in the armor of pure and undefiled religion. The enemy is at the door. He is forcing an entrance into our most sacred places. The temples of religion and the seats of learning are tainted with the monster's foul breath, and the promise and strength of our young men are bowing down under the wei2;ht of his relentless and withering arm. Beneath his iron heel the loveliest flowers of earth are crushed, and the beautiful buddings of virtue forever blasted. There is no time to be lost. And while each 92 for himself makes secure the foundation of his own hopes, let our prayers ascend for our country, that amid all the flashings of its brightness, it may be irradiated by the light of religion, blessed by the prayers of its citizens, worshipped with the gratitude of every patriot heart ; and then the return of this glorious day shall be hallowed by increasing associations of moral sublimity, till every beam shall have met in one common focus, even the salvation and happiness of every individual who forms a part of, and lives within, the boundaries of the great Republic of the western world. There can be no enthusiasm excited by this subject that shall seem disproportioned to the thrilling importance which gathers around the contemplations of this day. — ■ One of the noblest moral pictures of antiquity is that of Curtius leaping into the gulph that had yawned in the Roman Forum — and the patriot poet could not have found in the rainbow regions of fancy a more glorious picture than that drawn by Robert Treat Paine, which represents Washington standing at the portals of our national temple, catching, on the point of his sword, the lightnings of faction and guiding them harmlessly to the deep. But higher honors await the American patriot who walks around the bulwarks of our empire, lifts the voice of warning at every suspicious appearance, and moulds its highest towers to the transcendant model of Republican beauty and christian simplicity. Bombastic, inflated forms of speech, although used to surfeiting on the subject of our national independence, do not belong 93 to it any more than the gaudy coverings and silken frippery belong to the perfect forms of ancient statuary. The sublimity of circumstance and of fact is enough to chain the tongue to its most chastened simplicity, while the ardor of the grateful, distended heart burns in the eyes, and lends eloquence to language. We have alluded to infidelity, as a serpent foe m the midst of us — but although we warn, we do not fear. This serpent shall trail the dust beneath the chariot wheels of pure Republicanism — and a little further onward, chained to the millennial car, the monster's blood and the torn fragments of his sinous body, shall be scattered in the whirlwind revolutions of angry wheels. There is a natural land where there is no serpent. There shall be an entire world where no moral serpent's hiss shall startle innocence, or interrupt the singing of the turtle- dove for a thousand years. We boldly, on this day of national joy and independent emotion, dare the monster, infidelity, to do his worst to enslave the empire of free christian minds around us. We hav^e a bill of rights which we dare vindicate, and a bill of a thousand wrongs to thunder at the head of the infidel, while he remains an incorrigible one. We have a declaration of inde- pendence from the slavery of vile principles and moral pollution in the words of a greater than Jefferson. We, as christians, this day stand to our arms. We abjure the blighting breath of scepticism ; — we defy the legions of hell, in the name of the living God, and foresee the day when the sneers of the enemies of the cross shall change 8* 94 to the settled, deeply -graven lines of despair — the galling mockery of scorn, and the burning venom of unavailing envy. Then, Christian patriot, comes your triumph ! The meek then shall Inherit the earth. The bat-winged minions of darkness shall retreat before this morning of moral independence; and one wide generous glow of radiance diffuse itself above, around the lovely and loving disciples of the ever-blessed Jesus. Then shall earth be like heaven. Then the rejoicings of this day, shall break out in every desert, and barren land, while the ancient fertility hastens back to earth, as when Adam first sung his morning hymn in Eden. Then the sons of God will shout for joy, as in the morning of the young creation. Then a more heavenly song than the hoarse trumpets breathe, or the deep-mouthed cannon utters, shall rail its harmonies through the vocal creation, swelling its solemn sweetness to every ear — ' Peace on earth, goob 'One song employs all nations; and all cry, * Worthy the Iamb, for he was slain for us !' The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy : Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round. See Salem built, the labor of a God ! Bright as a sun the saci'ed city shines ; All kingdoms and all princes of the earth Flock to that light ,• the glory of all lands Flows into her ; unbounded is her joy. And endless her increase.' 95 GLORY. 'Tis a stain on hill or strand, A flasli upon the sea, The gleaming of a gorgeous brand Through charging chivalry . • 'Tis a flower of tearfuUeaves That tells of sudden death- While friendship o'er the fallen grieves And wastes elegiac breath. 'Tis a wreath of battle smoke Thrown raddy up to heaven. What time Bellona's thunders broke Through clouds of sulphur riven. 'Tis eloquence or song In soft — or brazen strains, Sweeping a thousand hearts along In ecstacy — or chains. 'Tis a flash of wisdom's eye In council chambers bright, To guide a nation's destiny Through triumph, wane, and night. 'Tis beauty's pearl eyed, sunht form On death's cold shadow gazing — Or rainbow arches after storm, In humid splendor blazing. 'Tis death and Ufe so strongly blent That mortals in the strife Know not for whom the boon is sent Till they have done with Ufe. 'Tis Cyprus, urn, and bust, The mausoleum of fame, To lend a pile of buried dust A never ending name. 96 ADVENTURES OF A CONTRIBUTION BOX. T am a square-built old gentleman, and have a very prominent member to my face which is, by many who have the same feature in full perfection, considered a sign of sagacity. I say no more about my personal ap- pearance, but will briefly tell what I have seen, heard, and what I have done. I sit in the altar at church look- ing anxiously around on every new face — I know all the old ones — and on no human being do I so imprint my coun- tenance as it were as on the clergyman if he is a stran- ger. I read the lines of his countenance, notice the movement of his head, and count his steps up the pulpit stairs, to know if he makes two steps to a stair, or two stairs to a step. I then count the audible beatings of his heart, and cast about in my mind what his message is and what he has come for. If he smoothes down his hair to prevalent fashion or adjusts it a la mode in any way, 1 have not great hopes that he will aid me, or that I can be of any great benefit to him ; but if he passes his hand unconsciously through his hair, making it assume an erect and fierce position, I regard him as a workman who is determined for one not to be ashamed of his calling. I proceed to relate the proceedings of a certain Sabbath morning. Far and wide through the papers and in a previous meeting had the fame and the benevolent er- rand of the minister preceded his appearance. He did not come unawares. He did not appear in an obscure pulpit — nor was there a contribution box in the altar be- low him which had not been in good society. He was 97 pale ; I was glad to see it, for candidly I never knew much done in the pulpit by rosy cheeks. Emotion dwells in the pale rose not in the red. A clergyman who has not, before he reaches the pulpit, thought enough of his subject to feel its emotion resting on his spirit like an unseen power or influence will not expect to storm heaven or frighten hell on that same day. But, perhaps, I am out of the line of my business in making these re- marks — although I have a heavy interest at stake, and must even be permitted sometimes to preach to preach- ers. The introductory services were finished in rather a low, husky voice — but a sound ever and anon reached the very heart and sent a thrilling emotion through my frame like the jarring of an organ. Ah, thought I, emo- tion and prayer are hid in the husky volume of that low toned voice ! Right glad was I to be forgotten in the commencement of his sermon that I might be remember- ed, as I thought I must be, in the peroration. I like a wet notice. I had rather be called out into an aisle slippery with tears than into one radiant with smiles. I do not like plumes, or pokes, or ribbands in church ; al- though they are good creatures they should not obtain %c mastery and shut out from the view of mortals the light of heaven and the light of the messenger's counte- nance, and — but I am leaving my subject. The minis- ter rose and in about five minutes threw the toils of the gospel net around every living soul within the hearing of a voice that began to discover an intimate connexion be- tween itself and the attention and the passions and the 98 Hearts of the audience. No one had thought of the min- ister's figure, his eyes, his voice, or his gesture, except- ing my humble self, and I began to be ashamed that I had. The subject he had chosen — I do not like my phrase — his sermon was the Great Gospel itself like a fresh shower of rain rolling down almost without a cloud upon the smoking earth, while the bright sun-beams and the dancing rainbows came down with it. I saw the cloud, as I called it, coming up and expected a clap or two of thunder — but it never so much as shut out the sun- shine, while it deluged all below it. — It was all weeping and.no battle. I was glad of one thing — which was that there was an upright, living body within the discourse — a palpable sub- stance as it were which would always be remembered by those present so that no one who wept that morning would ever be ashamed of his tears if he had never wept before. I expected every m.oment that the minister would plead his cause as he had so nobly done that of his Lord- But no — no such thing. He only spoke of a woody re- gion, a scattered people, and no one to lead them heaven ward, and incidentally remarked that every one there knew how to relieve them as well as felt the acknow- ledged privilege. He ended — and, although he never mentioned my name, I instinctively went to my work. — The first person I addressed dropped his penny back again into his pocket and wrote a check which he gave me to be paid on the morrow : bank bills came to light : I went to the sea of waving plumes and heaving bosoms J 99 — the first bedewed me v, ith tears — the next gave me a ring — the next a diamond pin — and hundreds wept the more diat they had nothing to give — in the gallery a sailor gave me the last shot in his locker — another the las^ twist of his tobacco. I w^as then full. I could contain no longer. I over- flowed in the sight of the whole assembly. The next morning I read ray fame in every newspaper. PLAINTIVE HARP OF JUDEA. Oh that I had wings like a dove, I would fly away to my rest ! In the desart thick woven above, I would find a moss-covered nest ; — The wilderness, solemn with shade, Should shelter from storm and from wind, The wanderer sorrow hath made. And soothe with soft murmurs his mhid. The song of the mountain bird, lieard All lonely and plaintive at night, Is sweeter than timbrels that cheered The dance in the silver moonlight — There's more peace in the waterfall Than in angry shoutings of men Who loudly upon heaven call, Then go to their sinning again. Dark city ! how violence roams From thy wall to the central tower, 100 Ejecting the poor from their homes, And wreathing for wealth a bower 5 The Sorceress skill'd to destroy, And Guile, with a serpent's deep art. The palace and cot shall annoy. But, afar, on the mountain top, Where solitude spreadeth her throne, Wiiere the clouds their first showers drop, I will bow me in prayer — alone ; At morning and evening and noon I will speak, and be heard above. And answered, from heaven full soon, With the Cherubim voice of love. PAIN. There is a lesson for man in the infliction of pain and sickness. These must originate in the command or permission of God, and we are to receive them as coming from his hand in a line still more direct than those calamities which originate in the wickedness or ignorance of men. Pain comes upon us as a teacher of humility. Earth wears no longer the thousand illu- sive colors of deception — the drapery which our vivid fancy may have woven over the deformities and taste- less enjoyments of the world do not float in the sunless atmosphere of a sick chamber. We learn what life is —and begin to feel what death will be. The astronomer who would send his farthest gaze through the deeps of i 101 heaven avoids the sun, and his telescope takes the altitude of the skies at dusky eve or in quarters adverse to the orb of day. Too much light near at hand obscures a distant view — and too much of life and the joys of health obscure the view to that better country reserved for the pure in heart. In sickness the room is darkened like that in which the camera obscura is located. It is overshadowed that, the waving trees, the rushing streams, the dewy meadows, the mountains and vales of a distant scenery shall be made visible — and the hour of sickness should be made the hour of looking away to the hills where our Redeemer has gone. As the functions of nature and the senses become the occasions and the avenues of pain, the time is favorable to ascertain if the mind has that culture which will give it happiness when flesh and sense are alike in the cold tomb. Like to a wandering star, travelling with dubious course from dark to darker spheres towards the blackness of darkness intense, is that intelligence which has ever relied on sense as the minister of its every pleasure, when sense no longer stands by in the warm habiliments of flesh and blood. On earth, such an one has received his good things. THE PARTING. And are the moments past, The loved ones flown — And must we part at last To weep alone ? 9 102 Shall friendship's wreath untwine; Its roses fade — And all I once called mine In death be laid ? Yes — time hath hurtled by^ We part in tears. The wreath is sere and dry. No more it cheers ; But memory o'er the urn Of past joy moves, And speaks in words that burn Of those she loves. And we shall meet again, Thou wounded dove, Forever to remain In bowers above : — There heavenly anthems swell Like piping winds — And peace and union dwell In holy minds. AFFECTION'S LAST PROOF. Mr. Isaac Johnson and his accomplished wife, the lady Arabella, daughter of the Earl of Lincoln, emigrated to Salem, from Linconshire, England, in the early settle- ment of Massachusetts Bay. Soon after the death of his lady, Mr. Johnson removed to Boston, and was one of the first permanent residents. ' At his death he was buried at his own request, in part of the ground 103 upon Tremontain or Boston, which he had chosen for his lot, the square between School street and Queen street. He may be said to have been the idol of the people, for they ordered their bodies as they died, to be buried round him, and this was the reason of appropri- ating for a place of burial what is now called the old burying place adjoining to King's Chapel.' HUCTHINSON. There is not on record a more touching proof of affection than that disclosed in this short paragraph of New England History. It is generally considered that duty terminates with the close of life. But here, at least, there is proof of a consideration that extends to the dominions of death. The peculiar circumstances of the pilgrim lathers rendered their attachments more lasting and holy than most of the friendships of earth ; they had left the cultivated and intellectual circles of England, where every earthly comfort awaited them, and, ' on the dark new England shore,' expected nothing but priva- tions of bodily comfort, balanced by the magnanimous consideration of religious liberty, * freedom to worship God ;' — and thus separated from the scenes of early association, amidst the wild and comfortless scenes of a new country, what more natural than that, in life and death, these worthy men should cling around the leading stars that had guided their pilgrimage. Imagination lingers around the death-beds of these founders of a noble nation, and listens to the last mandate of parental authority — let my body repose near the beloved Johnson. What earthly crown has one half 104 the respect and sincerity in its motto that this dying request inherits. It is a tribute which the proudest statesmen and sages might envy. Through every vicissitude of earth, the waste of flesh and bones, and the final resurrection in which long decayed dust shall be raised again, to be near one in favor with God and man, would be pleasant — and the commitment of our cherished bodies to the same dust which covers a benefactor, is almost as much an act of the other world as of this — it would seem like the last deed of time and the first action of eternity. WHY SHOULD WE DIE? Why should we die Within the dark cold grave to he ? The world is fair and friends sincere, And life is sweet and home is dear ; Mild charity is standing by, And love, like nature's melody Through grove and brake and bower heard. Is true to each impassioned word ; A thousand ang-el voices sigh. And murmur sweetly — do not die. Why should we die, And^see no more the deep blue sky. The earth with all its garniture. The snow-drop in its whiteness pure. The red rose in the summer sun. The autumn foliage ripe and dun, 105 The blushing morning and cahn eve, The seas that roar, or rills that leave The rock to wander peacefully — From these — from all — why should we die = Why siiould we die ? Hope whispers with her lucid eye ! And brighter far than hope there comes One brightening all the darksome tombs— r One who has trod the vale of death And lost amidst its glooms his breath — He, Angel of the Covenant, now With crowns of glory on his brow, With mercy kindling in his eye. Says sweetly — sinner, do not die. FRENCH REVOLUTION. The wonderful doings of antiquity are wonders no more. Brutus, who struck at a tyrant's heart , Cato, who embraced the point of his own sword rather than compromit to a tyrant the dignity of the commonwealth; Tell, whose principles of mountain liberty made tyrants turn pale, and other names, long since given to history and song, must now be given to those shadows which time is weaving around them — for they are outdone, not by an individual or a few individuals, but by a whole people. The patriot who rises against existing government single handed, urges the populace to arms by the aids 9* 106 of a persuasive eloquence, and, perhaps, himself strikes the blow that rids the world of a tyrant, to some extent must sustain the character of executioner as well as patriot, but when an entire people rises without one inflammatory appeal being made to their passions — and when, whatever blood must be shed, is shed by the many handed nation, majesty presides in every omnipotent act ; will becomes fate, and monarchs on their despotic thrones must bow like the rush before a, power second only to the Almighty's The French nation rose in one moment The Sabbath was quiet — and the streets of Paris discovered no unusual indications. No mortal being was dreaming of a storm. The ministry, the tools and panders of an ignorant despot, were, on that sacred day, signing the ordonnances of their own fate. God is higher than the thrones. It was His eye alone that saw a sepulchre open, wide and dreary, in the centre of Paris ; it was His hand that wrote rottenness on the throne of Charles the tenth ; God saw prospectively the smoke of conflict hanging like funeral drapery around the spires of the Louvre, of the Tuilleries,and the massive towers of the Notre Dame. But the king of the French and his five ministers at St. Cloud — how little dreamed they of entering, on that sacred morning un sanctified by them, the last week of their power — the great week of the revolution ! Did the wild spirit of Napoleon ride in the winds, and look through the coming storm abroad over the scene of his earthly glory 1 Was his imaginary form perched on the cannon built pyramid of Place de Vendome, rejoicing 107 in the downfall of a dynasty that had neither by virtue or crime earned a throne ? "^Ve know not ; but we know that many of his predictions, uttered on the lone rock of the Southern ocean, were fulfilled in the whirlwind, the storm, the eclipse of a failing despotism, and in the new day star of Freedom that rose over the short yet fearful commotion. Sunday was quiet ; Monday was a day of determination among the friends of liberty ; Tuesday the death shots began to rattle, and on Wednesday the clouds of battle settled heavily over the city ; the tocsin rung out its cry of anguish and dismay through the gloom, the reverberating cannon muttered solemnly of destruc- tion ; and night, after such a day, scarcely brought additional gloom. Among the dreadful things of the world's history, the stillness that reigned throughout the streets of Paris on Wednesday night may be numbered. The shots became less frequent, and, at eleven o'clock, the last echo broke upon the dull ear of night — then it seemed as if the heart of war was broken, and its last groan uttered. But to men accustomed to horrible scenes this still- ness was more dreadful than the brazen thunders of the day. Uncertainty hung over the destinies of France. Four wretched hours bounded this deathlike silence, and before the morning light visited the world, the tocsin, as if sounded by invisible beings, simultaneously, from one end of Paris to the other, awakened the cry of to arms — to arms ! This was the people's tocsin. Heavy sounds, the breaking up of pavements and the urging forward of cannon, disturbed the morning, and the 108 ruddy sun rose on Lafayette at the head of the old National Guards, raised up as by a resurrection morning, to the overthrow of despotism. The terrible men of the fauxbourgs came down — those dogs of blood that howled aTound the guillotine of '95. They came for once in a holy cause. The nation moved this day in its strength — and tower and palace and boulevard, one after another, fell into the hands of the illustrious Lafayette, the veteran of three revolutions, and now, more then ever, the saviour of beautiful France. The tricolor waved on the centre pavillion of the Tuilleries, and on the summits of Notre Dame. The work was done. The conflict was over. A nation was free. Its tyrants were weeping fugitives towards the sea shore, or lurking in mean habiliments of disguise through the provinces. What a lesson to tyrants ! Never let impious man think the mountain of his earthly power to be strong ; never let him forget that God is over all, and is right ab]( to humble the proud. A throne is but a bubble. We have seen it burst, leaving thin air in place of its unsub- stantial fabric. But there is one throne of Sapphire above the heavens which is established forever. There change cometh not. — Revolution invadeth not the kingdom of God. The poorest saint on earth may have a throne there and be a king where the proud kings of earth can claim no domination, no throne, no reverence, no name. i FAREWELL TO SUMMER. The Summer is over — farewell ! The surf of the sea is roaring, The winds moan low in the dell, Like those for the absent deploring ; The mountains grow russet and gray, For the seasons, like man, pass away. There's a world where winter comes not, Where a farewell enters never, Where no clouds the atmosphere blot, And no change our friendships sever ; That world is the home of the soul, And how swiftly it flies to its goal ! ANCIENT EGYPT. This venerable land still retains its consideration, as the earliest nursery of religion and the sciences. Its gran- deur was of a mould too solid to wear away by the attrition of years. Its architecture, although in ruins, is of gigantic proportion and enduring materials. Its ruins are more distinct than tho^ of later countries, and all have this strange national peculiarity about them — they are indelibly printed with characters which have, until recently, remained unintelligible through centuries. 110 1 The vale of Egypt reaches from the ancient ruins of Meroe, or from the cataracts, along the course of the Nile until it meets and mingles with the waves of the Mediterranean. * Far off from sunburnt Meroe, From falling Nilus to the sea That beats on the Egyptian shore.' From the sea which once drank in the 'seven mouthed Nile' the majestic ruins of city after city are found up to the very cataracts, encumbering the vale with relics of departed grandeur — and the same features of archi- tecture, immense weight, solidity and collossal proportion* exist in all that remains from the prostrate pillar to the everduring pyramid. M. Jean Francois Champollion, a distinguished French scholar, profiting by the investigations of an Englishman, the late Dr. Young, whose attention had . previously been devoted to the same subject, seems destined to be the reader of the hieroglyphic volume of antiquity. Champollion's Precis du Systeme Hierogly- phique shows the victory he has gained as well as exhibits the hopes which stimulate him forward in his illustrious course of discover}^ The first achievement of Dr. Young, and since of Champollion, was to discover that the names of kings, royal names, were invariably inclosed in a sort of oval ring, called by Champollion a Cartouche. The characters within these rings signified the name of a kins; — and when this name had been ascertained. A Ill progress, of course, was gained in the work of making an alphabet. ChampoUion has discovered hieroglyphics to be of three classes or kinds, having each their distinct and obscure peculiarities. Greppo's valuable work, I now publishing in Boston, on the general subject of t Eg}"ptian liberature and the recent discoveries, must ! make a valuable acquisition to our stock of knowledge , I and the Christian cannot but be grateful that in this age ' of philosophizing and searching for facts, ChampoUion has found on the monuments and within the rolls of papyrus he has read, the strongest collateral proofs of the vera- city of the sacred records of inspiration. IRELANDAND AMERICA. AN ORIGINAL ADDRESS, Written for and pro7iminced by J. JV*. JMaffilt, Jr. at an Jlcademiccd exhibition in Portsmouth, W. H. From the Emerald Isle, where hearts are brave, And Emmet sleeps in liis patriot grave, The land of song, of beauty, and of soul, Where fancy reigns, and generous thoughts control — That land, where genius spreads its ample wing, Where liberty hath sons and poets sing — From Erin, loveliest of the sea girt brood That rise in grandeur mid the ocean flood — 11^ A voice was heard that, crash'd her galling yoke, And the oppressor's iron power broke ; 'Twas freedom's voice that rolled along her hills Imparting music to her murmuring rills, Bade Ossian's deathless harp again be strung, To thrill and echo all her vales among, Called up the past, the glorious record gave, That swept oppression 'neath oblivion's wave. Long, long had the foot of slavery crushed, The soil that with a thousand beauties^blushed — The garden of the world, the fairest isle That e'er reflected heaven's enchanting smile, Till proud Columbia burst her bonds away, And rose at once in freedom's halcyon day ; Asserted to the world she would be free, And struck the blow that gave her liberty ! 'Twas then Columbia welcomed freely home The high born race of Erin doomed to roam. And bade the exiles sit beneath the tree That shadowed hearts thrice dear to liberty ; — They came— and when the foe impressed this soil, They shared with you, in blood, in sv^^eat, and toil- Beneatli your stars they rush'd to deadly strife, And struck with you for country, home and life. And when in later wo pale Erin wept, Your richest treasures o'er the Atlantic swept, Dropt gems of feeling on the sainted isle. — 'Tis done — with you the merry peals arose, And Erin now is plucking freedom's rose — Her lovely mountain streams are bland and free^ Her fragrant winds are shouting Jubilee ! The roar of free born voices shake the earth. And bless this land of freedom's earliest birth. 4 113 LOSS OF THE HORNET. Like hungry lions roaring At night-flill for their piey, The growhng winds are pouring Tlieir thunders on the bay. — Their thunders on the ocean — Their wings sweep from the land — Air, earth, and sea, in nnotion, Obey the loud command. Obey their loud commander And yell the death huzza, Resolved to sink or strand her, The war siiip on her way. — The war-ship on the billow Repeats her plaintive gun, Then makes the rocks her pillow— Her voyaging is done. — Done is her voyaging ; But sternly she went down With her pennons bravely flying And stars upon her crown. Her stars with honor beaming Lit up the deep below. And still her flag is streaming Where coral mountains grow. — Where rise the coral mountains With blooming sea-flowers dressed By the deep ocean fountains The Hornet moors at rest. 10 114 THE BIBLE. Substance of an address, delivered in Duane-street church, JsTov.lWif 1830, before the 'New-York District Bible Society.' Among all the miracles of eternal Love, there is none greater than the miracle of revelation. I address a Bible Society — a class of philanthropists banded together for the thrice holy purpose of spreading the holy Scrip- tures through the habitations of the poor — through the Sabbath Schools — and far distant, if Providence shall open the way, over the wide seas. It will not, therefore^ be unappropriate, to speak a few words about that wond- rous book of God which has remained with us till the present time, through all the changes of rising and falling empire — through vicissitude and wo — through gloom and sun-shine. Listen ye lovers of this sacred treasure, while I feebly attempt to shadow forth its immortal beauty and the freshness of its eternal blessings. Let me draw a picture of a world without a Bible. — But how shall I paint a world without a moral sun .^ Creation clouds itself in gloom. The stars sink away in their deep and rayless sockets— like the eyes of beauty quenched in death. The feeble taper of human life only burns and throws around it a faint halo of half visible illumination, disclosing only the black and heavy shadows around, like the walls of an impassable sepulchre, where the buried millions of earth await their change, which is only from a dubious animation to an unknown, untriedy echoless annihilation or suspension of being ; — ^nor need they wait long, for sad experience teaches them daily 115 that they stand like soldiers, whose ranks grow thinner and thinner under the blaze and storm of a battle — a battle in which all on both sides are slain, and no one left to howl a lamentation. Amidst earth's millions no one appears happy. No one knows of an hereafter with certainty. The nations grope in darkness — thick darkness. But suddenly a ray of light shoots down from heaven, like the first born light of the vitgin creation, and discloses wonders which had been hid for ages. Burning leaves of golden light follow each other in quick succession down from the empyrean. They remain with men, throwing their splendor on all around — while they leave, behind them, a line of living light which discloses a world to come — an eternity of happiness to the penitent beyond the dark vale of time. I will leave this figure to consider for a moment the wonderful preservation of the gift of heaven to men. — Passing by its preservation before the cannon of Scripture was completed, we look at it as it was slowly and pain- fully multiplied by the pen during the first centuries of Christianity. The Roman Church held the sacred volume in deposit. It was graven on parchment, and lay magnificently in the cloisters and cells of devotion. But, a storm of seven-fold fury was gathering in the north, and the Vandal flood, swelled by the barbarians of a thousand Tartar clans, came rolling down on beautiful and enerva- ted Italy. Art sunk beneath the thundering cataract. — Palace, pillar, tomb, and temple were swept from their ancient locations. Every thing beautiful and grand, was lost in the whirlpool of savage war. The Collisseum itself up scarcely stood secure, while gloriousRome, letters, oratory, music, poetry, refinement, all struggled a moment, and then sunk in the abyss of Gothic destruction. What hand now could save the holy Bible, when books perished in one universal conflagration — and the orb of ancient science sunk behind the hills that skirted the Campania ? The book of God seemed to be lost through the mental night which succeeded the overflowing of these destructive waters. But an astonishing providence presided over the precious bequest of the will and law of God. When the besom of barbarianism had swept over, and the world again seemed weary of ignorance, the Bible, buried like a strong tree by the mountain avalanche, shoots up again through the superincumbent ruins by its own native vigor, throwing up its fresh, emancipated branches to heaven. First, in the light of the reforma- tion, the Bible appeared, a flame, ever burning, yet unconsumed. Then followed in its train, as the thousand lesser stars follow the evening star, the arts, sciences, literature, and a part, at least, of ancient erudition. But the Bible came forth — first — -alone — entire. No rent was made in the majestic drapery of Inspiration. It was still the glorious thing which the martyrs hugged to their bosoms amidst the flames or when they were thrown to the wild beasts of pagan Rome. I will now speak of the grandeur of the sacred writings. Every line from Genesis to the last amen of the apocalypse breathes a spirit not of this world — the grand spirit of its author. We should be startled to see a 117 magnificent column rising from a desolate plain, rich with splendor, incased with jewels, precious stones, and the beauties of an indescribably grand architecture, throwmg itself upwards through the mist of time until on its capital rested the clear sun-light of immortality. Such a column, amidst the monuments of art and science, is the venerable Bible — the rich, fragrant, perfect word of God. Side by side with the grandest poetry, eloquence, or literature of the ancient or modern w^orld, the Bible transcends them all in the grandeur of its subject — the beautiful simplicity of its diction, and its unmeasured influence over the minds of men, as well as over their future eternal destinies. The Bible is the only book that shall survive the con- flagration of the w^orld. In some form or manner, unscorched by flame, its blessed leaves will be opened on the judgement morning. In another figure of speech I will call the Bible the siar of eternity. It has risen over the troubled waters of time. The feeble mariners of earth, catch its light over the heaving waves, and, by its pure splendors, they may guide their frail bark into a haven of eternal rest. I shall call the Bible the charter of freedom on earth. Where, oh, ye men of a free Republic, would have been your liberty^ had not Jesus said with an authority? earth and its kings cannot ruluse to hear. Do unto others as ye would have others do unto you^ Cannot every observer, who regards the signs of the times, notice the increasing influence which the code of inspiration is now exerting on Councils, Cabinets and Kings ? Has it not taught, and is it not now teaching in 10^ - ^^ 118 a voice of thunder — that all men are equal as well as /ree? I shall call, in another figure of speech, the holy Bible the chart to conduct the soul through the valley of the shadow of death. It is said of the dying Napoleon, that when his features began to sharpen under the approaches of death, he ordered the bust of his far distant infant son to be brought and placed at the foot of his bed. Tt was an affectionate command. It moves a parent's heart to hear of it. But, oh, could the departing soldier of destiny only have seen the dark future before him made glorious and plain by the light of this chart of salva- tion — could he liave caught its holy illustrations flashing heaven and glory upon his darkening eye, he need not have sought earthly alleviations from earthly objects — nor then, would the last words of his dying delirium have been the commands of an earthly battle ! In a more affectionate and soothing phrase, I shall call the Bible the comfort of the poor. Softly and gently it lays its hand on the poor man's head — and says — son, be of good cheer ; thy sins may be forgiven thee ! Al- though a few fleeiing hours have been spent here below in comparative sorrow and poverty, riches, that never make unto themselves wings to fly away, may be yours, where all sighing and sorrow shall be unknown forever. The Bible speaks peace to the widow who mourns with unavailing wo the departure of her beloved from her arms and the light of life ! It says to her — weep not for the Almighty is thy husband and protector. The Bible is the treasure and inheritance of those 119 dear children who have no father and mother to watch over then' tender footsteps. The influence which this good gift of heaven is exerting over society in favor of suffering humanity, is even a better security for the wel- fare of an orphan than an immense legacy of wealth would be. The Bible is the sailor's friend on the tossing seas. It commands the troubled waves of his soul to be calm, when the horrible deep boils like a pot around, and the great monsters of the sea await his going down for their meal. It is like a sheet anchor which he heaves upward, and fastens beyond the clouds while his bark goes down to the ocean caves, the mermaid's haunts and the coral groves. The Bible is the christian's monument which we may raise up over the tomb of every dear, departed friend. We look upon its ever-during lines and read of the grand resurrection, when soul and body shall come together again, never to be rived asunder. We read its storm- defying, golden letters, — -Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord : yea, saith the spirit, from henceforth they shall rest from their labors. On the bloody field of Waterloo, more than one hfeless soldier was found with his immoveable head pillowed on his Bible. It is the soldier's friend. It is computed that five hundred pro- fessing christians fell on the same wild field of death. What must have been its comforts to them ! It is one of the good deeds of this Society that, through its instru- mentality, the blessed word of God has been translated into the language of the Mohawk Indians. 120 And now let me address this attentive audience on the subject of exertions in favor of this blessed charity. Shall the poor native of the forest reach out his brawny, imploring arm to you for a Bible ; and will you tell him that you have none for him ? Shall the poor widow, struggling with poverty, sitting lonely in her poverty- darkened apartment ask you for a Bible to carry comfort and consolation to her widowed heart : and will you tell her that you have none to give her ? Let every one of this audience reflect that the time is short in which any record of our charity can be made in our favor. The stream of life wafts us all towards the great balancing of our accounts in the eternal world. And then, shall the items of our pleasure bill immeasura- bly exceed that which we have given the Lord Jesus Christ in the calls of charity ? It is for us to wipe away the tears of sorrow by our benevolence — to cheer the fading earth by deeds of kindness — to swell even the rivers of praise that murmur through the vales of Paradise, by the contributions of our charitable hearts :— and may God add a blessing to our alms ! THE CONSUMPTIVE. It is not uncommon in certain stages of the consumption to have frequent dreams of the dead. The scenes of early youth and those companions in pleasures long departed, and the objects of the heart's love seem to rise 121 to the mind's vision in the hours of sleep with the vivid- ness of life. Virtuous love at this quiet, pensive moment of waning vitality triumphs with a refreshed energy ; and often, in lonely musings, the image of a ' death cold' lover becomes, in the power of recollection, almost palpa- ble to sense. Pale lovely wanderer of earth ! why sigh at eventide When golden sunlight trembling leaves the quiet mountain side, In haste, on purple lines upborne, to visit realms afar And leave its sentinel behind — a bright-eyed watcher star? Sure as the daylight goes away, so sure its glad return Shall kindle glorious fires again to cheer thee as they burn. Pale lovely wanderer of earth ! why midst autumnal gloom Walk pensively and tearfully, like those who seek the tomb ? Sure as the fallen leaf decays, so sure it buds again When April comes with mellow winds, and gusliing founts of rain ; The merry strains from air-wing'd birds, in ecstacy shall thrill, And thy lone heart with bliss the while, deep throbs of love shall fill. Pale lovely wanderer of earth ! why tremble at the sign Of friends departed near thy couch to note thy life's decline ? Thy being fades to bloom again in beauty's angel bower. Where virtue's loveliest daughters dwell, and ruin hath no power — Where Jesus is — thy Savior there — and there thy death cold love Hath summoned home his sweet Annette ; — he waits for you above. I INFIDELITY DESTROYS ITSELF. The short history of modern infidelity is this. — When the reformation had broken in upon the tyramiy of Rome, and the nations of Europe had spiritual freedom, 122 life from the death of ages, offered them by the martyrs, and champions of renovated Christianity, it fared well with those who accepted the glorious boon, and ill with those nations who clung the closer to the rotten hierar- chy of the papal church. Germany, baptized in the waters of salvation, hailed her most glorious days ; education, along with holiness, diffused immortal splen- dor through all the Helvetic clime. But France, second only to the Latin fortress of the See Apostolic, clung to the mitred crown and lent her strength to him who had, in his attributes, exalted himself above all that was called God. Learning no wisdom from the loss of kingdom after kingdom. Papacy still adhered to its assumption of power over earth and heaven, over hfe and limb, as well as over the undying soul, which the stern prayers of the Church tossed in its purgatorial sufferings, like those forbidden to rest when the torments of earthly penance and ghostly absolution were over. The natural retreat to one whose reason refused to swallow down the enormously distended mass of miracle and saint, the mingled rites of heathen worship and christian ceremonies, would be infidelity. Infidelity was born in the bosom of the Romish Church. The Infidels of France played with the infernal passions of men as with fiery serpents. The broad experiment was made whether earth could at once be turned into a hell of furious execration, and summary bloodshed. Heaven was to have been robbed at once of every expected accession from earth ; and, in contempt- uous mockery of the dead, the inscriptions of the 123 cemeteries declared that deg,th was an eternal sleep. The Sabbath became a decade of mirth, such as the Creator had never sanctioned. The shining talents, and learning, the wit of the age, became auxiliaries to the new and amazing theories of licencious systems, and grovelling practices. Infidels seemed amazed at the long bondage under which they supposed themselves to have been groaning — a bondage to moral precepts, to good order and religious principles. Awake, at length, they determined to enjoy their new found freedom and all creation opened before them where they might prowl, and lay rapacious hands on riches they had never earned, honors they had never deserved — making havoc of beauty, virtue, and the loveliest beings that had ever adorned the circles of social life and the duties of affection and constancy. The measures pursued by these fiends in human form to propagate their principles, or to destroy the pure, confiding faith of the humble christian, were ridicule, violence, death. Voltaire, with a perpetual sneer woven into the fibres of his countenance, used the artillery of wit, sarcasm, and ridicule to overthrow the religion and the name of Jesus Christ. ' Crush the wretch,' was the motto of infidelity, which passed like a watch-word from kingdom to kingdom in the darkened conclaves of the Illuminati. The reckless deeds of proscription, violence, and death were done by Danton, Robespiere, Marat, and the hell-hounds who licked the blood of the guillotine, and howled their orgies amidst death-groans, and the shrieks of murder. History has never had 124 , crimson deep enough to paint these bloody scenes. Here, Modern Infidel, was thy beginning ! Here the young monster, abominable to earth and heaven, was baptized in the blood of infants, of maidens, of youths, of matrons, and virtuous men. Hell celebrated with her horrid orgies this new era of human misery, as if man had fallen once again from a state of wo to a deeper ruin. Too much for heaven to bear, the sin of this dreadful time was not permitted with impunity. Left to their own counsels, the millions of infidelity were for a time like hungry wolves that leave the sheep-fold desolate to prey upon each other, until few were left to howl in the madness and torment of their punishment. The terrible agony of this period humbled no one. Men gnashed their teeth, blasphemed against heaven and repented not. Foiled in its work of bloody exter- mination, Infidelity went into the schools and universities to poison the fountain of happiness. Germany, eminent for literature and science, was caught in the snare of the adversary. In the struggle for classical eminence, the student of the German gymnasia and universities were taught in their exegesis of heathen authors to imbibe as it were the very vitality of the writer ; they were to translate themselves back to the time in which he lived and wrote ; they were to drink in the religious opinions, receive his notions of mythology, and think his thoughts with the same eagerness of pursuit and absorbed mind they should have done the oracles of inspiration. The legitimate consequence has been that all religious 125 opinions, with the exception of the truth itself exerted an equal influence over tlie youthful mind. It soon became no matter whether the Deity was ' Jehovah, Jove, or Lord.' This is the legitimate cause, doubtless, of all the unsanctified literature of Germany — and offers no argument against education if it be sufficiently guarded with a salutary religious influence. It is pre- posterous for Christians to go back to heathenism for religion. German neology as well as the more bare- faced and unblushing infidelity of French derivation have deeply affected society in England and in this country. Iadeed,where have they not gone poisoning the happiness of man in time, and obscuring the glory of his eternity, in the same proportion that they weakened his responsibility and clouded over the brightness of liis immortality. Infidelity is now old enough to see that every blow, it has thus far struck against the sublime and av/fuUy venerable fabric of Christianity, has rebounded with accelerated momentum against its own fortress. Voltaire little thought that his infidel tracts would furnish the hint for a religious movement that should wrest every victory from his hands and leave him a shorn, weak, and blasted man, trembling on the bed of death — his name linked to infamy and moral deformity forever. He little thought that the very identical press which vomited forth his blasphemous scoffings should, in a few years, become a hallowed instrument in the hands of benevolence and Christian charity of diffusing light over those fields he was clouding with mental darkness. 11 125 t The worltl became afraid of Iniidelity under its first bloody type. Fear fell on the nations. Oh^ never, ne- ver, said they, while time wanders onward towards eter- nit}^ let us see the gory scenes, the he adless trunks, the spouting life-blood, the maniac features of a revolution in favor of infidelity. Never, said they, while earth adds page to page of her fearful history, may the startling, ghosts of a thousand hellish monsters again cross our vision — -and, never again may demons rock the cradle of empire with clotted fangs, or gaze on the infancy of a new dynasty, with burning, blood-shot eyes. If we mistake not, the more serpent-like, insinuating^ and covered infidelity of the later school is soon destined to become the loathing of the nations, and beget a deeper ^ 3fe -action than even the bloody reign of terror. JERUSALEM OVERTHROWN Compassed with armies— rent with war-- Black with a scorching curse — ^ What wait Jadea's milUons for, A better or a worse ? Pierced with the brazen engine beam Gray walls, hke storm-clouds torn, Their shadows cast o'er Kedron's stream Where Jesus went to mourn. 127 A city terrible — but doomed — Bowed — scathed — and struck with death- Now sees Moriah's piles illumed With red volcanic breath ; — lloWd hotly up from court to court. Like swelling ocean-founts, The lava in its fearful sport The golden summit mounts. Jerusalem — sublime in gloom — With lighted mountains shone. Brief tapers of the clammy tomb Which burnt — and left her lone! How ghastly on the Jewish eyes The fires of ruin glared, While imprecations to the skies A redder vengeance dared! But, as the blasted city fell Beneath the Roman plough, Fate's wizard sisters wove their spell Unbroken — even now. 'Tvvas blood that sealed Judea's doom And all her towers rived ; The cross had dug a nation's tomlj — Yet the slain Lamb survived ! MAN OF PLEASURE. The man of pleasure generally disregards religion and affects to despise it in others. This view of a subject so important arises from a cause less sincere than high spirit- ed minds would willingly admit — it is the result, less of 128 A irreligious feelings or malice against the truth than of a paltry spirit of imitation. One of the first lessons taught in the schools of fashion, is, that religion is heavy, hypocrit- ical, stupid, morose, and either from entire thoughtless- ness, or a wish to cherish a view according to such teach- ings, a settled course of action is entered upon, which permits and even authorises constructive contempt of the pure principles of mental happiness. It is but strict jus- tice to this large class of our fellow beings to believe them at heart of sounder principles than their exterior deport- ment implies. But, haply, over these reflections from the pen of a sincere friend to humanity no man or woman of pleasure may pause — and sigh to regain what has been lost in the vortex of a mis-named life of enjoyment. The balance of argument is in favor of one side of the question at issue, because almost every advocate for religion knows what the happiness of earth-born pleasure was as well as feels what heaven-born tranquility now is. The unripe youth who never trod the path of virtue long enough to have become a worshipper at its shrine, and never sincerely sought the tranquil pleasures that flow up from the wells of salvation before he became a dweller on the enchanted ground of worldliness, is incompetent to judge of Christianity ; while every christian can read his heart and sum the exact amount of its permanent happiness or despair, he cannot fathom the deeps of heavenly joy. Cultivated taste recoils from the undigested remarks which the worlding must of necessity make when religion is his theme ; science disdains the inaccuracy which distin- guishes such common-place observations on the hidden 129 things of a divine philosophy ; polished manners are put to the hhish by the effrontery of supposing the mighty dead as well as the accomplished and intellectual millions of the living advocates of a happy Christianity to bo enthusiasts, idiots, or hypocrites ; — and christians them- selves should ever avoid associating or identifying human infirmity, or intellectual weakness with the ennobling and heart-expanding emotion of religious happiness. The history of mind which belongs to the man of pleasure is a brief one ; its oudines may be hastily given. The moral and innocently upright standard of action set up in early youth is first weakened by doubts, and then destroyed by adverse deeds. A life of pleasure cannot be sustained without the baseness of deception. It can- not be carried out to its full excess without alienating the heart towards temperate pleasure, and moral restraints. It is one of the distinctive characteristics of mind to seek with increasing avidity what it has partly attained. Thus one acquisition in knowledge arms the mind with an increased power and sharpened avidity for a second and more magnificent acquirement; and one trespass on human or moral rights sends the hungry mind to grasp for more with a miser's wretchedness. The christian moralist meets the argument raised in favor of worldly pleasure, from the usual cheerfulness of its devotees, with an assertion that this surface of ap- parently innocent hilarity, and the play of the spirits arc? deceptive, and do not indicate the real amount of solid enjoyment. It is like the playful, glassy sporting of a laughing sea, while just below, the tremendous contortions of a whirlpool, which fasten themselves (o the flintv cliffs "11 130 a thousand fathoms down, are curHng in angry vehemence for the gallant ship that shall dance over those too smooth waters. It would be a picture too dark for our pencil were we required to portray the hollowness of all which sin and uncontrolled passion promise, and all they dress up in , the gorgeous colors of deception. Under the severe inspections of truth, whole armies of seemingly glorious beings w^ould resemble the haggard multitudes that pour from the gates of a long beleaguered and famished city ; famishing, indeed, for the lasting enjoyments of the heart, these thousands, under the pale light of torches, seek for food, on selfish and darkened and sterile plains. One picture drawn from life will be enough. A form beautiful enough for a seraph enters the mazy dance, and floats like a fragrant exhalation of grace and loveliness through the palpitating ranks of youthful fashion. The worship of this being is its own self; its enthusiastic and love-inspired eyes are lighted only by the glow of self admiration ; it would, to increase its own perfection of beauty, throw a shade on all around — and, that it might breathe before a higher assembly the intoxicating airs of a more exquisite elysium of flattery, would spread a mortal paleness on every face around — a blight of deformity or death. Imagine one hundred of these beings in one of those halls where art excludes nature, and the ravishing tones of music seem to breathe oblivion to human woes, and a re- quiem to vindictive or selfish passions, and here see each being regarding itself as the star of intense admiration, and regarding every other only as a satellite to reflect its own transcendant lustre, and, otherwise, of no account in 131 creation — and you have an idea of the true state of the world of pleasure. The shrewd man of pleasure is so well convinced of the justness of the estimate which Christianity puts upon the devotees of earthly grandeur, that he places, if possible, less confidence in such grades of character than the chris- tian does. Ask the Chesterfields of any age or country how much they believe in the thousands of warm and plausible pretensions of eternal friendship, which they hourly hear ; the lip curled in scorn will give the answer. Enviable state of human being w^here the rich robes of splendor veil only aching bosoms — where kisses only betray — and volumes of honeyed phraseology are thrown out by treacherous tongues, and not believed by a single listener ! But heavier charges rest against the man of pleasure than that he is unhappy and insincere. The worship of the God of this world is not without its thousands of victims offered up in the freshness of youth, and lost to honor, sincerity and eternal life. Were I to count the possessions of a professed man of pleasure, I would say the villa embowered with shrubbery, the willow and the, pride of India, is his — the rooms of state are his — the soft lascivious lute and harp and viol are his — the crimson curtains that blush around guilty scenes — the imposing trappings of royality are too often his own. But he has other tenements. The slave ship, freighted deep with human woe, is his — the lazar house — the sepulchral hospital — the low-vaulted prison — the house of infamy — the storm invaded cottage, the wretched abode of groans and hopeless want — the house of the widow when her only 132 daughier's purity is for ever lost, and her only son ascends the gallows — the gamester's hell is his, and deeper prisons of final wo. The splendor of such a view is overbalanced by its wretchedness. Two thirds of the noisesome graves that pierce the maternal bosom of the earth, belong to the pleasure grounds of the infidel and the debauchee. The scorpion remorse that rears its snaky head in the twilight of eternity, is his — the trumpets of war are his— the duellists' pistol — the suicide's poison, and the raven that flaps a heavy wing over doleful scenes of ruin and decay. No Vv-onder that ancient philosophy revered a purer morality than Epicurus taught, and no wonder that in every sanctuary in our land prayer is made for those whose feet are wandering in forbidden paths, along the Stygian stream of moral death. Philanthropy, sweet angel of life, visits the dark house of the man of pleasure, and begs for dear heaven's sake, the very wretched rem- nants of worn out lives. Oh, hov/ happy, if these wrecks of humanity may float at last in the heavenly seas of peace — where the hov^ding v/inds shall never ask for prey, and ruin never mock at mental agony. I STAR IN THE EAST. Niolit fj.ir^g; a sable stole o'er Bethlehem , On which, as on a velvet ground, each gem, Strov/n beautiful and grand, lay glorious there ; — And yet was seen, embosomed in the air, One star to astrologic lore unknov;n, Tbnclike a flame of love on midnight's ocean shone ! 133 Low o'er Olivet's trembling outline hung This new-born flame, whence milder splendors sprung Than ever flooded heaven or silvered earth ; Hail thou, bright herald of my Savior's birth ! Were every golden urn of Vesper dim, Tljy gushing fount of light would roll its waves to Him ! Now heaving up the skies — an eye of love, The magi saw the wonder roll above The arc where constellations gambol wild — They saw — and knew that Heaven's great monarch smiled, And took their jewelled gifts in haste to crown The kingly head that drew such rays of glory down ! On Bethlehem's manger low, the radiance glowed With ten fold beauty as a Babe it showed — 'Twas Christ— Creator and Redeemer— there Nursed by the virgin in a straw-built lair ; Oh, let my contrite soul with wise men bow To Him who died for me — yet Uves in glory now. THE MOUNT OF OLIVES. There in dark bowers embosomed, Jesus flings His hand celestial o'er prophetic strings ; Displays his purple robe, his bosom gory, His crown of thorns, his cross, his future glory; — And while the group, each hallowed accent gleaning. On pilgrim staflf, in pensive posture leaning — Their reverend beards that sweep their bosoms, wet With the chill dews of shady Olivet — Wonder and weep, they pour the song of sorrow. With their loved Lord, whose death shall shroud the morrow. PierponVs Mrs of Palestine, 134 The scenery of Palestine Is alive with holy recollections. The modern traveller, at this distance of time from the date ol the grand transactions which have rendered Judea a land of sacred classics forever, can scarcely place his foot where there is not a fragrance exhaling from ancient story connected with the dust, the rocks, the hills, vales and tombs of the land of Canaan. So striking is the face of nature now, that the mind is lost In wonder in striving to conceive the glorious appearance of the country, when It was emphatically the glory of all lands — when the hills were green to the summits, the vales warm and irriguous, and the tops of the elevations crow^ned with fortresses and batdements that frowned defiance to the invader. — But Jerusalem Itself, with Its temple-crested mountain, and the scenery around It, may be supposed the diadem of beauty, sublimity and strength to the whole country. In Croly's lively pencIHngs we give the outlines of the temple as it rose on the adoring eyes of the chosen nation. * I see the court of the Gentiles circling the whole ; a fortress of the whitest marble, with Its wall rising six hundred feet from the valley ; Its kingly entrance, worthy of the fame of Solomon ; Its innumerable and stately dwellings for the priests and officers of the temple, and above them, glittering like a succession of diadems, those alabaster porticos and colonades, in which the chiefs and sages ot Jerusalem sat teaching the people, or walked, breathing the pure air and gazing on the grandeur of a landscape, which swept the whole amphitheatre of the mountains. I see, rising above this, stupendous boundary, the court of the Jewish women, separated by its porphyry pillars and richly sculptured wall ; above this, the separated 135 court of the men ; still higher, the court of the priests; and highest, the crowning splendor of all, the central temple, the place of the sanctuary and of the Holy of Holies covered with plates of gold, its roof planted with lofty spear heads of gold, the most precious marbles and metalb every where flasliing back the day till Mount Moriali stood forth to the eye of the stranger approaching Jeru- salem, what it had so often been described by its bards and people, a mountain of snoiv, studded toith jewels ! But a litde way from this glorious mountain, eastward over the valley of Jehoshaphat through which Cedron flows, is the Mount of Olives, now a lonely place, w^ierc contemplation loves to dwell and muse on two events in our Savior's life which have consecrated its scenery — the mental agony in the garden, and his final ascension from the earth. Of the first named incident the evan- gelists speak in tones of sorrow — and, although Jesus ascended into heaven to prepare mansions for all his followers, the elevated and original Bossuet speaks thus despondingly of his separation from the church : — ' but she has only heard his enchanting voice, she has only enjoyed his mild and engaging presence for a moment. Suddenly he has taken to flight with a rapid course, and, swifter than the fawn of a hind, has ascended to the hidiest mountains. Like a desolate wife the church has o done nofliing but groan, and the song of the forsaken turfle is in her mouth ; in short she is a stranger and a wanderer upon the earth.' The Mount of Olives, even now shaded in part by the tree from whence it derives its name, is situated to the east of Jerusalem, from which it is separated by 136 the brook Cedron and the valley of Jehoshaphat. The garden of Gethsemane lies over the brook on the accli- vity of the mountain. As the traveller approaches Jeru- salem through the village of Jeremiah, Olivet bursts upon his sight along with Moriah and Zion. It has three eminences or summits, one of which stretches away to a Sabbath day's journey from Jerusalem. It was in this elevation that King David three thousand years ago went weeping when Absalom's rebellion forced him to abdicate his throne for a season ; and from its elevation Jesus beheld and wept over the devoted city. We close this article with a few extracts from the journal of the lamented missionary to Palestine, Fisk, who, with his friends, Parsons, King and Wolff, frequent- ly repaired to Olivet to gaze on Jerusalem and ponder on the sublime and melancholy associations connected with its scenery. ' We made our first visit to Mount Olivet, and there bowed before him, who, from thence, ascended to glory, and sat down on the right hand of the majesty on high. There we held our first monthly concert of prayer in the holy land. There is no doubt that this is the mount from which the Mediator ascended to his Father and to our Father. On this interesting spot, with Jerusalem before us, and on this interesting day, when thousands of christians are praying for Zion, it was delightful to mingle our petitions with theirs, and pray for our friends, for ministers, and churches, for missionaries and the world. From this Mount we have a view of the Dead Sea where Sodom and Gomorrah stood, and the mountains beyond Jordan from which Moses beheld, in distant prospect, the promised land. 137 With some olive branches from Olivet, and some flowers from the mansion house of Lazarus in our hands, we returned by a winding w^ay around the south of Mount Ohvet, till we came to the brook Cedron, where it enters the valley of Jehoshaphat. This valley seems like a frightful chasm in the earth, and when you stand in it, and see Mount Zion and Moriah towering above it with steep hills and precipices, on your right hand and left, you can easily feel the force of those sublime pas- sages in the prophet Joel, in which the heathen are represented, as being gaihered together to be judged. — The prophet seems to represent tlie Almighty as sitting in his holy temple, or on the summit of Zion to judge the multitudes in the valley beneath him ; and there executing his judgements, while the sun and moon are darkened and the stars withdraw their shining, and Jeho- vah roars out of Zion, and utters his voice from Jerusalem, and the heavens and the earth shake ; and it is thus made manifest to the confusion of idolaters, and to the joy of the true Israel that God dwells in Zion, his holy moun- tain, and is the hope of his people, and the strength of his children of Israel. PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA. The miracles of the first dispensation of Christianity were called for by the stupidity of mankind. The sys- tematic course of nature lulls the mind to sleep, and the 12 138 being who is hourly conversant with wonders quite astonishing as any miracle could be, accustomed to the frequency and regularity of their recurrence, learns to regard them as the necessary order of events — and, therefore, not surprising. On this rock Infidelity has made desolate shipwrecks. The Infidel has disbelieved the bible account of miracles, simply because the laws of nature were abrogated by such occurrences ; when, in fact, to the eye of the reflecting philosopher, the uniform course of nature, according, day after day as well as century after century, with known principles of being and motion, is a standing miracle, transcendently more incomprehensible than any occasional and startling devi- ation. But all mankind were not philosophers and became insensible to the hourly mysteries of nature and of their own being — and their Father in heaven, for great moral purposes, ordered, from time to time, certain innovations to rouse them to a perception of a present deity. The miraculous cleaving of the Red Sea, its walls of waters on either hand of the dry passage like ramparts, and their ruinous junction, after the chosen people had passed through, afford a picture of sublimity unequalled on the canvass that heaves with the grandest scenes of time ; yet no single miracle on record has been so obstinately ascribed to natural causes as this. The truth of the passage of a fugitive nation safely over this sea, and the destruction of their followers stands on a basis broader than that of the Pyramids. ' The site of this event has been pointed out from the 139 day of its occurrence to the present — and, in Napoleon's expedition to the Nile, in the early period of his military career, as Lockhart relates, it was near being the scene of another catastrophe that might have had an important influence on the destinies of the world. Towards evening, Napoleon and his suite rode into the shallow waters of the Red Sea at the reputed spot of Pharoah's overthrow, desirous of ascertaining to what extent they were fordable to their horses. Darkness was gathering, when suddenly the tides, there extremely rapid, were upon them, and the horses found themselves beyond their depth. The point of compass was lost, the shore was not visible, and a council of war was instantly called to decide on mea- sures for escape. Napoleon, by one of those decisions of mind so frequently useful to him in the future emer- gencies of his eventful life, ordered a circle to be formed and each horseman to ride from it as a radius from a centre, stopping when the depth of water prevented further progress. The next movement was for all to follow the horseman that rode on the farthest, showing the longest path of shoal water — and this w^as Napoleon's path from the grave of one of the Pharoahs. The story of this catastrophe of Pharoah is not desti- tute of deep moral instruction. The unyielding character of man, when roused up to take decisive positions, is well illustrated in the entire history of the Egyptian plagues. The nature of the greater part of these calamities was such as would scarcely permit them to be referred to natural causes. They had all been threatened as warn- ings to the proud king to favor the oppressed people of 140 the Lord; these warnings were unheeded, and the judgments came. Every time the impious monarch arrayed himself against his Maker, he had failed. He had seen the prophet raise in his hand the rod which he had turned into a serpent, and smite the waters — the waters turned into blood ; he had seen frogs cover the land, and invade his bed chambers ; he had seen the dust of the earth become a loathsome animation ; he had • seen the air burdened with flies ; he had seen the cattle of his plains afflicted ; he had seen his people affected with a disease in common with every living thing ; he had seen the atmosphere gather blackness, and when the appalling thunder broke in the gloom, hail mingled with fierce flames smote upon the vales of Egypt ; he ' had seen locusts in countless millions swarm on his coasts, and leave no green thing behind them ; he had seen and felt the Stygian darkness that lay like a dreadful incubus over all his land — a blackness alike impervious to the sun's bright ray, or the glare of earthly fires ; he had heard the melancholy midnight cry arise from one extremity of his realm to the other as the angel of death struck the pitiless blow on every first born — and yet, even then, he barely consents to let this people go. Ten times warned and punished, who would have thought that the plains of Egypt would have gleamed far and wide with martial array, and that vengeance should have put on its cruel trappings to sweep from the earth a long afflicted, enslaved people ! The circumstances of the chosen people, the gathering wrath of their pursuers —the Red Sea with its multitudinous waves before, and m 141 the rough waves of plumes, of spears, and chariots and archers behind, and the passage through the parted billows, are well described in an unfinished poem of the late elegant and pious Bishop Heber of India. The ibllowing is a brief extract ; Friend of the poor! the poor and friendless save — oriver and Lord of freedom I help the slave. North, south, and west, the sandy whirlwinds fly, The circling pale of Egypt's chivalry, On earth's last niargin throng the weeping train, Their cloudy guide moves on — and must we swim th« main ? Mid the light spray their snorting camels stood, Nor bath'd a fetlock in the nauseous flood. He comes — thieir leader comes — the man of God, O'er the wide waters lifts his mighty rod, And onv'-ard treads ^ the circfing waves retreat, In hoatse, deed murmurs, from his holy feet ; And tlie chafed surges, only roaring show. The hard wet sand, and coral hills below, With limbs that falter, and with hearts that swell, Down, dowii they pass, a steep and slippery dell : Round them arise, in pristine chaos hurl'd, The ancient rocks, the secrets of the world ; And flowers that blush beneath the ocean green ; And caves, the sea-calf's low roofed haunts are seen, Down, safely down the narrow pass they tread, The seething waters storm above their head ; While far behind retires the sinking day, And fades on Edom's hills its latest ray. Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light. Or dark to them, or cheerless came the night-, Still in the van along that dreadful road, Blazed broad and fierce the brandished torch of God ; Its meteor glare a tenfold lustre gave On the long mirror of the rosy wave< 12* 142 WASHINGTON AT THE DELAWARE. A winter's night with cloud and wind, Hung gloomy on the Delaware, — No watch-fire shone on Jersey shore, Nor trod the sentry soldier there ; Tiiat sound might be icy rush Of geUd waters sweeping by ; That deep toned echo in the blast Might be the owlet's forage cry — ' For man in dreamy slumbers blest Had long his grateful pillow prest. The stirring, dipping, muffled strokes That swept along the cloud or wave Might be the phanthom winds at play As when they leave iEolus' cave — But, mounted on the Jersey shore, Half seen through gloom, he must be man. Or spirit, on a war-house throned. Like one who leads the battle van — 'Tis one who leads the battle on. The Patriot soldier, Washington ! An army from the frosty flood, Like spectres into column drawn, Awaits, the wild hurra of death When morn shall lift its sullen dawn ; Dark wheels beneath the cannon bent Roll dreary on the crusty snow — That snow shall redden with the morn, _^ And sheet the icy dead below, — For, like an orb of blood at even, The warning sun discolored heaven. Hope, as the day- dawn struck the hills, Had Ughted up the Chieftain's eye, — 143 Fair Trenton heard histluinder peal, And saw his charging eavahy ; Wo tlien to Hesse's sleeping ranks, Harsh hail-stones swept their tents away, The battle fires, the chills of death, Grew bright — then marble oold, that day,- And rude hands pulled the standards down That wav:d for En^-land's haughty crown. THE COMING OF CHRIST. For thus saith the Lord of Hosts ; yet once, it is a little while, and I will shake the heavens, and the earth, and the sea, and the dry land j And I will shake all nations, and the Desire of all nations shall come : and I will fill this house with glory, saith the Lord of Hosts.— Hag^gai ii. 6-8. First — The commotions in the world subsequent to the appearance of the Messiah were literal. No meta- phor was intended by prophecy in this instance. The great movement here foretold commenced in less than 200 years after the utterance of this passage. The conquest of Babylon by Cyrus opened the Drama. Then followed the conquest of Greece by Alexander — then the Persain monarchy was swallowed up in the whirlpool of Alexander's victories. Soon, however, under this warrior's four successors, the great Syro-Grecian empire melted away before the stern generals of Rome. The earth bowed before the conquering eagles of the seven- hilled city ; every nation became, in its turn, a component part of the magnificent republic just putting on the mantle of royalty, the imperial purple. Then the temple of 144 Janus was closed. War shook the earth no more. Every heart was enlarged with the expectation of a blessing more exalted than earth could afford. The Jewish nation had not been exempted from the general tumult. The soldiers of the holy land shared in those convulsive throes of battle that covered the earth with blood, rapine and terror ; but they still, to a great extent, held on to their nationality, supported by their mountain positions, and, more than all, by the promise of God, given through the departing Jacob's words, that the sceptre should not depart from Judah nor the law- giver from between his feet until Shiloh came. Less than any other nation was the Jewish people subsidized or crushed by the Roman yoke, when in one of the provinces a babe was born, who was to rule the Great Rome itself, and make the blessings of a new and pecuhar kingdom, unlike earthly power, co-extensive with the years of time added to the unmeasured units of eternity. Second. — The religions of the world — the fabrics of opinion were shaken. The ancientbeauty of the Jewish ceremonials, all glorious as they had been, was on the decay — like the stars of night that wane as the god of day approaches in the blushes of the morning. The Shekinah was dull in the holiest of holies, and gave no responses from heaven. A pride, equalled only by the cloud of selfish ignorance, hung over the minds of the descendants of seers, elders, priests and kings, and the once undivided faith of Israel was now rent into factions, sects, or fierce clans that would have devoured each other from the earth if power had only equalled their mutual hate. 145 The pagan philosophers had worn themselves out in their fruitless search after the universal good. Their theories had multiplied like the devv-droj)s of the morn- ing. Heathen mythology, as affording any views of futurity, or any system of faith or morals, haa ^been exploded by the action of the philosophic Grecian mind. Socrates, the brightest light in the gentile world, had reasoned deeply into the mysteries of human nature, had seen the bewildering errors of the schools — reached out his supplicating hand for a superhuman helper, and almost repeated the prophecy of the men of God when he predicted that one should be revealed, who, through suffering, should dictate to man the path of virtue. Morals and public virtue were low in consequence of the doubt- ing and unsettled state of the public mind. Temples were deserted. The oracles were dumb. Heavenward was every expectation turned for a new dispensation and for a mental light to irradiate the thick darkness of a world. Third. — The coming of the desire of all nations, here predicted, is rendered most strikingly significant by the phrase applied to him. Desire of all nations — because the expectation had gone abroad from the cataracts of the Nile to the pillars of Hercules that a great personage was about to appear and act an indescribably grand part on the theatre of the earth. Josephus, Tacitus and Seutonius testify that a rumor went through the Roman empire, awakening alarm and jealousy, that this universal king was to arise in Jewry. Desire of all nations — because all nations sought wis- 146 dom and light. Thus Christ is called the light of the Genliles. Desire of all nations — because in his person he was beautiful, the likeness of his Father's glory, fairest among ten thousand, the one altogether lovely, the one whose errand was benevolence — whose advent was love. Desire of all nations — because of the offices with which he was invested, the Savior of man from the tyranny of sin, the link between heaven and earth, the days man to bear our burdens and taste the bitterness of our doom, the good physician to heal when mortal skill is of no avail, the prophet to teach the heart the mysteries of perpetual love, the king to rule with a sceptre of mercy and then to make all his subjects the partners of his kingdom and the sharers of his throne, the priest to offer sacrifice and make intercession for us where flesh cannot stand before the burning throne. Desire of all nations — because of the structure of the human mind which universally feels its need of something more than earth can bestow, because of the anxieties which throb in every bosom, the endless reachings of thought, the unsatisfying researches of the learned, the pantings after immortality, — all teach that the ' Desire' of the human heart must be satisfied from God and from the living fountain opened by the toils and dying labors of Calvary. Fourth. — The object for which the Desire of all nations came was to fill this house with glory. It was to fill the Jewish temple with his presence. It was to fill, spirit- ually, the dark heart of man, the temple of the Holy 147 Comforter, with uncreated light and the solemn ant delightful emotions of never-ending praises. It was to fill, evangelically, the wide world with the splendors of holiness, for the whole miiverse is God's temple. It was to i)romulgate a glorious code of doctrines and precepts such as the wisest sages of earth and the long line of the children of philosophy had never even thought of, full of his own perfection, and bright with his own mentiil glory. It was to throw backward on prophecy the splendor of fulfilment, and forward on eternity the full blaze of the doctrines of the resurrection. Fifth. — In the application we find a beautiful analogy between this subject and the method in which Christianity is propagated in the heart of an individual. Worldly hopes, enjoyments, and all the bright prospects of earth are first shaken ; then with a bitter conviction of the instability and deficiency of human hopes, the desire of all nations is cordially welcomed to the soul. He enlightens, renovates, saves. Heaven has consecrated a way of approach for the penitent millions of mankind to other joys than those of time, and other glories than those of a fading world. A shining pathway is -broken up from the murky atmosphere of earth to the higher region of uncreated and perpetual sunshine. Heaven has sanctified human nature by connecting it with divinity. Christ has entered deeply into a sympathy for the woes of humanity, and has, himself, tasted every cup of earthly sorrow. An evangelical hope is embosomed in the amplitude of this subject. The shaking of nations at the present k 148 time, betokens an enlargement of the truth. The refuges of lies break up. The hopes of the infidel fail. The cold and formal churches are coming into motion. The long hardened Jews shake off the unbelief of black and i peeled centuries. The thrones of despots who would i bind the human mind in chains of frozen ignorance, are i shaken as with a whirlwind, and strange voices speak in i the stilly night of the blood which is found in the skirts - of the papal church. There is, gathered from all these 3 signs — these signals of earth and heaven — a demonstra- ■ tion approaching to absolute certainty, and that certainty ' strengthened by the immutability of prophecy, that a i great moral revolution is at hand — that the light which 1 our missionaries bear to foreign lands and the heathen 1 wilds is coming back again in reflected radiance to the 3 sainted circles of our churches, the domestic ahars of our r land — and even once holy and beautiful Palestine may/ soon bloom again as when Moriah threw to heaven the.^ new-born glories of the first temple. ASYLUM FOR OPPRESSED HUMANITY. There is a consideration connected with the history; of the United States which should command the grati-' tude of every American. It is the fact that hitherward the poor and oppressed of all nations are wending their way. Spread the map of the world in any part of the 149 earth and ask the inhabitants to point you out that spot where liberty, and plenty, and equality are enjoyed in the greatest measures, and the finger will ever point to happy America. Other countries have their advanta- ges ; some are more favorable for the higher acquisitions of science and the more generous patronage of literature and the arts ; others afford the w^ealthy particular dis- tinctions, and honors may be purchased like the market commodities ; and others still may hold out greater inducements to the tourist, the antiquarian and historian, who love to linger over storied scenes, and muse along the path of departed empires. But of all lands, free- dom hath chosen this as her peculiar seat — the throne from which to dispense her equal blessings. The thousands who yearly cross the Atlantic to make America their home and the country of their children, and the facility with which they mingle in the mass of our citizens and sustain our blood-bought institutions, are subjects of the most pleasing philanthropic contem- plation. They come from the banks of the Danube, from the hills of Savoy, from the Emerald Isle, from classic Scotland, from the manufactories of Manchester, and from merry France, and bring with them the arts and industry of the lands from whence they came — and if, perchance, they may bring the vices of the old world with them, they find themselves here beyond the influence of the glowing excitements to crime which abound in ancient communities. When once scattered throughout our salubrious country, with competence following every stroke of the hammer or the spade, the motives to dis- 13 150 honest practices grow too weak to influence men who feel, after a very brief sojourn in this land of their adop- tion, that they have reached an asylum where want may never assail thera or their children, and hunger never look in at their windows. It is an interesting reflection which may be made in the streets of this city almost any day in the year as the Swiss emigrant, in his gi'otesque habiliments, followed by his wife and children, passes along in his journey to the far west— that those flaxen-headed urchins may one day be found in the senate and councils of the nation — and that little eye of Helvetic fire now gazing wildly on the first city of the new world, may one day hold in its eager vision the sufl^rages of millions and the consulate of a nation of freemen. Those reasoners who would preserve the pilgrim stock unmingled with foreign blood scarcely know to what point their arguments would centre. We want not the patrician blood of Venice to propel the central move- ments of our republic. Our safety must ever consist in a perpetual inroad upon the territories of caste, and pedigree. Virtue must be our sovereign-— not blood ; and the more Europe or Asia shall send over to us to earn their bread with us and learn the great doctrines and duties of self-government with us, the less the danger of hereditary power and family influence. It is thus we reap the harvest of the earth, gathering strength from the weakness ol other nations, iood from their famine, consolidation from their disruption — and should every source of European intelligence be cut ofl*, we 151 could read of struggles, of increasing sufferings, of kingdoms breaking up, as we beheld the increasing emigration of the miserable, and those who fled Irom war * as doves to their windows' towards this last asylum for oppressed humanity. NAPOLEON. Napoleon was, we had almost said, an anomaly among mankind. Splendor, energy, fearlessness and forecast met in union, and lent a method and a glory to what often might have seemed naked, uncalculating exertions of desperate power. But the eulogists of Napoleon have sought in vain to find in the elements of their hero's mental composiiion die unerring pledges of his vast suc- cess. Men as brave, as decided, as stern, as terrible, as selfish, may have been — and yet their names have never gathered a lurid brightness from the conflagration of a hundred cities, nor have been thundered into an immortal memory by the roar of a hundred batdes. It is more philosophically natural to regard Napoleon as a peculiar concentration of power and terror and success — the production of a peculiar era — the incarnation of the spirit of a period that may never return again. It confers a deserved honor on the administration of die moral Governor of the world to diink and speak of Napoleon as only an instrument to effect judgments strangely ter- 152 rible, and to scatter the accumulations of ancient art and hoary crime to the four winds. The late President Dwight of Yale College regarded the era of his dynasty as comprehending the period during which the sixth and seventh vials of the apocalyptic vision were poured out. This view, if correct, reveals the secret of his unexam- pled displays of successful power. If true that the almost universal convulsions which occurred between the years 1792 and 1815 constituted the great battle when the birds of the air were invited to feast on the flesh of kings and of captains and of mighty men, — then it is easy to decypher the sentences in which his grandeur was written. Armageddon, the mount of mourning, is, with murh propriety, the prophetic scene of the dreadful contest. An unusual number of kings, and nearly all the feudal nobility and men of highest rank, connected with royal blood of every country in Europe were immediately engaged in the sanguinary battles — and the harvest of death gathered in at Waterloo, the closing scene of the bloodiest drama ever enacted on earth, awakened groans and lamentations for their slain throughout the noblest families on earth. There is, indeed, more relief in this view of the subject to the character of the mighty man who stood without fear as the instrument of the great King of Eternity, to roll the tempest of war seemingly where he chose ; in this view there is a deeper import to eacli daring project than the mere impulses of ambition might have imparted ; the agent, all unconscious as he may have been, was honored and protected by his mission ; — and the Lord of Hosts, with unseen, but pow- 153 crful influences, girded the ' soldier of destiny' for the necessary but cruel work of destruction. The details of Napoleon's eventful life have been so often embodied for the public eye we cannot hope to awaken a deep interest in presenting once again an outline of his fearful path ; but we may be excused by indulgent readers in giving a very general sketch of the grand epochs of his history, making brevity atone for the deficiency of anecdote and circumstantial description. The ' soldier of destiny' was born in the island oi Corsica, and derived his being from an ancient Neapolitan family, although of decayed circumstances and waning honors. Early discovering an inclination for the game of war. Napoleon Buonaparte received a military educa- tion in the schools of Brienne and Paris, and, with the commission of a Lieutenant, first saw active service in Corsica in the year 1693. Soon after, through the influence of a Parisian friend, he was promoted to the command of the Artillery department at the siege of Toulon. Here he was received coldly by the inflated commander of the French army, and, after being told that he had no need of his services, was reluctantly admitted to a share of the comrnancjant's honors. The event proved that the whole of the honors fell to the share of Napoleon. His masterly arrangements, his triumph over obstacles, and the unrelenting coolness with which he swept the streets of Toulon with the storm of his iron hail, scarcely harder than his heart was even then, showed the world that the elements of his mind were fitted to the tempest, and that he was destined for 13* 154 future distinction. As a reward for his good conduct at Toulon he was promoted at Nice to the station of chief of Battalion. But on the 28th of July, 1794, he was arrested and deprived of his command in consequence of the fall of Robespierre, with whose party it appears he was erroneously classed, as his intimacy was only with a young brother of the Robespierre family, and not with the gory revolutionary leader. This event threw Napo- leon into a temporary obscurity. He retired to Marseilles and lived with a part of his father's family. In 1775 he came to Paris in search of employment, and was reduced to various extremities of want while he unsuccessfully wooed the goddess of fortune. At length, the horrible scenes of intestine violence, acted over day after day in Paris, brought his services into requisition; he was recommended to the Convention as one who would not hesitate about trifles in carrying their decrees into effect by force of arras. He achieved their bidding in his peculiarly decisive manner — and, in spite of his extreme youth, acceded to the command of the aimy of the Interior. It was at this period of his life that he was united in marriage with the accomplished and ever faithful Josephine de Beauharnois. The command of the army of Italy was his next post of honor which he emblazoned with the splendors of success. He was triumphant -in the battles of Monte Notte — Millessimo— Mondovi — and dictated his own terms of peace to Sardinia. This inroad into Italy roused Austria to resist his conquests, and wrest, if possible, that goodly territory from French domination. But in this desperate game the accom- 155 plished Wurmser found more than his equal, and army after army were annihilated by the resisdess movements of the young general of the Republican army. The batdes of Lodi and Wagram were among the splendid achievements of Napoleon's military skill at this period. On his return to France he received every honor which national enthusiasm could ascribe to him. He was invested with the oversight of the immense preparations decreed for the invasion of England ; and while the eyes of the world were turned towards the English channel in expectation of this event, suddenly the French fleet is seen disembarking Napoleon and the army of Egypt on the banks of the Nile. The destruction of the French fleet by Nelson, and Bounaparte's flight from his army at a time when even his military skill was insufficient to gain ihem the mastery of Egypt, stamp this enterprise as an unfortunate one for the French arms, though splendid in its conception, and rich in scientific results. Alone, in a frail vessel, hunted by the war-ships of England, the future conqueror of the world coursed the waters of the Mediterranean. Protected only by that destination of Providence to which we alluded in the commencement of this article, he sets his foot in safely on the soil of beautiful France which showed her green fields and vine covered hills baptized in the bloody w^aters of faction and anarchy. The sun-burnt warrior of Egypt clears widi the bayonet the corrupted halls of revolutionary legislation ; he is elected chief Consul of the provisional consulate ; — next first Consul for life ; next, Emperor of France — King 156 of Italy. In each of these offices he was ahke the king, and gained nothing by his titles. We have reached a page in his life which we cannot read without sorrow — it is the divorce of Josephine. This act of selfish cruelty shows beyond redemption how power had frozen his heart to affection, and how ambition had reduced the stern arbiter of nations to the low standard of those legiti- mate kinglings whose birth only gives them claims to the sceptres which they propagate with their species. How much more noble if Napoleon had not servilely imhated the example of those miserable beings into whose sacred inclosure of rights divine he had broken like a destroying angel ! His marriage with the Archduchess Maria Louisa of Austria succeeded. Before this all had been like an ascension towards a peerless height — it was the summit. At this moment Russia alon'e of continental Europe presented a formidable barrier to Napoleon's project of universal domination and seemed to bound the horizon of his ambition within a compass too narrow for his haughty spirit. Every nerve and energy of France and her imperial chief were put to the task to humble Russia. The enterprize was one of gloomy magnificence- — a tornado of destruction — the accumulated force of pro- vinces and kingdoms thrown by the projectile momentum of military despotism upon the north of Europe to lay waste all that opposed or to roll back in ruin, if repelled, upon the fields where it was gathered up. Napoleon was one who hazarded his all on this single game. Winter with its savage bowlings — fire in its most terrible 157 exhibition on earth, and patriotism beyond the power of gold to tempt from duty, wrought deliverance for the czar and ruin to the invader. The retreat from Russia fills an awful page in history, compared with which the accounts of the most bloody battles are as idle romances. Weakened and rendered desperately powerless by this tremendous recoil of destruction upon the destroyer's head, nothing remained for Napoleon as the allied forces of three kingdoms were traversing France and investing Paris, but abdication and exile. With a demeanor which bespoke him unconquered by adversity, Napoleon departed to Elba, only to pause a moment preparatory to his last, his closing struggle. His departure from the island — his enthusiastic reception by the armies and people of France — the retreat of tlie Bourbons from a throne on which they had scarcely been seated — the Hundred Days of Napoleon's renovated power, — and his exertions to regain the balance of empire in the battle of Waterloo, pass before the mind with the rapidity of the closing scenes in the development of a thrilling tragedy. After his defeat at Waterloo, Napoleon made an unsuc- cessful appeal to the chambers assembled at Paris to put once more the strength of the nation in his hands that he might retrieve his fortunes. Lafayette was one of the committee who bore to this warrior monarch the refusal of the chambers, and the indications that France no longer acknowledged his authority. This intelligence was received without emotion. A throne gained or lost could not move the proud repose of a spirit like Napoleon's. 158 We pass rapidly over succeeding events, and visit the *• terror of world' on the lone rock at St. Helena. Here, he appears to have borne his reverse and downfall with a philosophy which did not fail4itm until sickness subdued his spirit. He received distinguished strangers who sometimes made the pilgrimage of the southern ocean to witness worldly grandeur in eclipse, wiih affability and ser ^nlty. Byron has thus sung his admiration of perhaps a soul kindred to his own, unbending under the wreck of every earthly hope : — Well thy soul iiaLli brooked the turning tide. With that untaught, innate philosophy, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. Wiien the whole host of hatred stood hard by, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled With a sedate and all enduring eye; When fortune fled her spoiled and favorite child, He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him piled. Captain Basil Hall, one of these visiters, describes Napoleon's appearance as noble and prepossessing in the extreme. This was the last year of his life and at a time when common report in Europe represented him as pining away in sickness. But as his end approached he felt and expressed that he was no longer the Napoleon of other years. His sister Pauline sent him a physician and two priests of the Roman church from Italy. He died on the 5th of May, 1821 — the day after a tremen- dous storm of rain and wind on the island which had not ceased at the moment when the conqueror of a world was engaged in his last delirious struggle with a mightier conqueror than himself. 159 GENKRAL RICHARD MONTGOMERY. The American revolution developed characters of such sterling merit that the grave and the forgetfulncss of death should not be permitted to conceal them from a posterity \>.iich have the most substantial reasons for remembering ancestral virtue with emotions of gratitude. The calm equanimity of peace would never have called into view the stern, yet magnanimous qualities ci the patriot soldier ; — war only, as horrible and dreadful as it is, has power to reveal the energy of the brave in full glory. The field, therefore, in every age when taken in the sacred cause of human right, and in the spirit of freedom, has been the pathway to an enviable distinc- tion — and many a warrior whose duty has led him to an untimely grave has gathered a fresher and more enduring garland of reputation than a long life of civic virtue and labor might have gained him. Yet, it cannot be denied that a fictitious and seductive splendor has been associated with deeds of chivalrous daring irrespective of the prin- ciples which may have prompted to action. But Richard Montgomery was a man whose whole soul was put into his action, after a full and warm-hearted persuasion that what he purposed was morally right — and, on the whole, conducive to the largest amount of beneficence. Happy for young America in her cloudy morning and in the fierce struggle for national existence that her cause presented so much of the aspect of suffering and oppressed innocence as to attract to her tearful standard a spirit so brave and generous as was Mont- gomery's ! 160 Born in Ireland, and blessed with the lofty and patriotic education of the most favored class, he entered the army at an early age and learned the art of war under the accomplished generals of those times. He was sent to America some years before the commencement of the revolution in the capacity of a captain of the British Grenadiers; but, in 1772, three years before the war, he quitted the service of his king, and became a beloved citizen of a nation that was then pluming its wings for an eagle flight. Shall it be said that love, the gentlest yet strongest of passions, rather than the impulses of repub- licanism, swayed him in this crisis of his life ? Be it so . it was an honor even to Montgomery to love the beautiful and sweetly accomplished being to whom he surrendered his noble heart and received one in return tenderly sensible to his manly graces and devoted to his welfare. He married the daughter of Judge Livingston of the state of New- York — and thus, as a member of one of our most respectable and patriotic families, he became a favorite son of America, too soon, alas, to write the certificate of his citizenship in his own blood ! The successful attempt of Colonels Arnold and Allen on the British post at Ticonderoga indicated the future plan of procedure in relation to the Canadas. It was determined to put down all English authority throughout the continent. The brave Montgomery and Schuyler were appointed to this service, and Colonel Waterbury's regiment of the Connecticut line and two regiments of New-York militia were reviewed in the city of New- York and destined for the northern campaign. One corps of 161 this small army was commanded by the late veteran Col. Marinus Willet. The entire force consisted of about three thousand men. On the arrival of the troops at Albany, the sole com- mand devolved on Montgomery, as Schuyler was detained in an important Indian negotiation. The army reached Ticonderoga August 21, 1775 — were overtaken by General Schuyler at the Isle La Motte, who assumed his allotted share in the command and made a successful landing at Isle aux Noix. From this post every onward step in their progress was doomed to be a contested one. St Johns, a fortified post in the British Canadas, was the first spot where Montgomery began to redeem his farewell pledge to his amiable and affectionate wife. The last words she heard him utter were — you shall never blush for your Montgomery. A column of one thousand men was detached in boats from the Isle aux Noix, and, landing opposite St. Johns, marched to storm the formidable redoubts. They were received with a destructive cannonade from the fort, and encountered a numerous body of Indians in ambush. Finding their enterprize nearly hopeles-, instead of attempting to storm the fortress they threw up a breast- work as if to commence a long drawn system of reduction, and immediately retreated to the Isle aux INoix. Such was the state of General Schuyler's heakh that he was compelled to leave the army, and once more the entire command of this important expedition reverted to Mont- gomery. On the 17th September the American force left the island and opened a battery against St. Johns — 14 162 but, being nearly destitute of ammunition, there was little prospect of an effectual attack until Montgomery made a masterly movement of a part of his force upon forti Chambly, six miles distant from St. Johns, which henj captured and found six tons of powder among the spoilsi' of conquest. With this important acquisition he pressed, his advances upon St. Johns so successfully as to haveu effected its surrender on the 12th of November — by] which five hundred regular troops and one hundred( Canadians became prisoners of war, and thirty-ninec pieces of cannon, seven mortars, two howitzers, and( eight hundred small arms fell into the hands of thee intrepid captors. In a few days after this, Montgomery was the conn- queror of the city of Montreal, at which place he madee prisoners of General Prescott and about one or twoc hundred soldiers. Governor Carleton barely escapedt the fate of Prescott ; he was indeed for a few moments.; in the same house with a number of American soldiers- and escaped only by the air of unconcern and noncha- lance with which he walked out of the house attendedc by the housekeeper. He was conveyed down the St. Lawrence in a boat propelled with muffled oars as fan as the Three Rivers, from whence he hurried to Quebec and hastily put that important fortress, then the last hope of the British, into something like an attitude of defence. After taking possession of eleven vessels which were moored at the wharves and leaving a small garrison to keep possession of the city, Montgomery urged his way; down the river with the design of investing Quebec. 163 While these events had been transpu'ing, Washington, from his camp at Cambridge near Boston, detached Col. Arnold with eleven hundred men to penetrate the British territories in the vicinity of Quebec through the immense wilderness of what is now the State of Maine. Encoun- tering hunger, sickness, and extreme fatigue, this little army emerged from the howling wilderness eight hundred strong, and showed themselves to their astonished foes from Point Levi opposite Quebec. Such was the con- sternation excited by their sudden appearance that had they found immediate conveyance across the river, Que- bec must have fallen ; but the time necessarily spent in assembling canoes gave Carleton, who had just then escaped from the hands of Montgomery, time to arrange his defences and call in the aid of the neighboring Cana- dians. When Arnold crossed the St. Lawrence and formed in battle array upon the celebrated plains of Abraham, he found the enemy so well prepared for his ireception that an attack was deemed unwise ; he sent a .summons for the town to surrender and repeated it — but received no answer excepting the contemptuous one of firing upon his messenger. After displaying himself for a few days in this position he encamped at Point aux Trembles about twenty miles below Quebec to await the arrival of Montgomery. The junction of the two divisions took place on the first of December. Montgomery, with his native decision, immediately appeared before Quebec to earn the laurels or the grave which Wolfe had earned on that same rocky field. In a few days he opened a battery within seven 164 hundred yards of the citadel walls, but made no impres- sion on account of the lightness of his artillery ; yet the cannonade which he constantly kept up served to mask his real designs which were to attempt an escalade. On the night of December 3 1st, the last night of the year 1775, Montgomery ordered Majors Brown and Living- ston to make each a feigned attack upon the upper town, while Arnold and himself made two real ones on the ; opposite sides of the lower town. Montgomery attacked on the side of the town washed by the St. Lawrence and Col. Arnold with about four hundred men on the ( side washed by the river St. Charles. Montgomery's column wound their way close under the dark rocks of) Cape Diamond, obstructed at every step by huge blocks of ice ; but at length having reached the palisades andi gateway of the fortification it was cut through and Mont-: gomery entered the enclosure of the guard or block-: house at the head of his division. The guard house had < been deserted by the soldiers on the first noise of thei assailants, but a straggler returning by chance took up a match and fired a piece of artillery loaded whh grape, which swept the gateway just as Montgomery entered. He and his aids were numbered with the dead. Through an unaccountable neglect of duty the surviving senior officer ordered a retreat. Arnold's troops on the other side of the town forced an entrance, took a battery, and the next morning with- stood the whole force of the British garrison for three hours before they surrendered themselves as prisoners of war. 165 The following particulars are detailed in an affidavit of Mr. James Thompson, an aged inhabitant of Quebec, made at the time the remains of General Montgomery were removed to New- York for reinterment, according to an act of Congress authorizing the erection of a monu- ment to his memory : — ' I James Thompson, of the city of Quebec, do testify and declare, that I served in the capacity of an Assistant Engineer, during the seige of the city, by the American forces under the command of the late General Montgomery. In an attack made by the tioops under his immediate command, in the night of the 31st Decem- ber, 1775, on a Britsh post at the southermost extremity of the city, near Pres de Ville, the General received a mortal wound, and wnth him were killed his two Aides- de-Camp, McPherson and Cheeseman, who were found on the morning of the 1st January, 1776, almost covered over with snow. Mrs. Prentice, who kept a hotel at Quebec, and with whom General Montgomery had previously boarded, was brought to view the body after it was placed in the Guard Room, and which she recog- nized, by a particular mark which he had on the side of his head, to be the General's. The body was then conveyed to a house immediately opposite to the Presi- dent's residence, who provided a genteel coffin, which was lined inside with flannel, and outside of it with black cloth. In the night of the 4th January, it was conveyed by me from Gobert's house, and was interred six feet in front of the gate, within a wall that surrounded a powder magazine near the ramparts bounding on Louis Gate. 14* 166 The funeral service was performed at the grave, by the Chaplain of the garrison. His two Aides-de-camp were buried in their clothes, without any coffins, and no person was buried within twenty-five yards of the General. The coffin of the late General Montgomery, taken up on the morning of the 16th of the present month of June, 1818, is the identical coffin deposited by me on the day of his burial, and the present coffin contains the remains of the late General. Subsequent to the finding of Gene- ral Montgomery'^ body, I wore his sword, being lighter than ray own, and on going to the Seminary, where the American officers were lodged, they recognized the sword, which affected them so much that numbers of them wept, in consequence of which, I have never worn the sword since.' Thus passed from life the generous and lofty minded Richard Montgomery. His virtues were eulogized by some eloquent members of the English Parliament and drew forth an expression from the tyrannical prime minister, which breathes so much of the agony of malice, that no eulogium could be more eloquent in his praise — * curse on his virtues ; they have undone his country /' 'Yes, yes, I go,' he whispered soft, 'In fi'eedom's cause my sword to wield, Columbia's banner waves aloft And glory calls me to the field.' Then foremost on the foe he prest While war's rude tempest wildly roar'd Till gushing from the hero's breast, The purple tide in torrents poured. 167 He fell, and oh, what fancies stole Through memory's vista bright and warm, Till one loved image o'er his soul Came like an angel in the storm. But loudly swelled the bugle's blast, His hand instinctive grasped the steel ; Again it swelled — but all was past, The warrior's breast had ceased to feel. AURORA BOREALIS. Chill morning of the north ! how wildly premature The gorgeous flashings of thy beams Have stained with blood the pale colure, — Pouring through heaven volcanic streams, That whirl in eddying currents round the pole As fiery coursers circle round their goal. Roll up the steeps of night thy bannered sheets of red, With chariots kindhng as they run, And battle columns deep and dread — Tlien, southward, moving near the sun. With rocket flame and signal beating high, Charge up the zenith of the tropic sky. But when o'er Africa thy crimson eagles pause, Let volumed thunders sternly peal, Pleading humanity's sweet cause. Till nations all her wrongs shall feel j And let thy bloody signs in heaven remain Till Ethiopia walk the earth again. For God can hear her bitter wailing rise no more Burdening the ear of weeping heaven. And seas must wash her clotted shore Whence all her kingly sons were driven, To toil in chains till dying struggles paid The body's ransom where its dust was laid. 168 TliE ECLIPSE. Roll on, inconstant moon, while millions gaze ! Thine hour of potency and pride hath come, When thy pale orb, with shallow oceans hemmed, With puny mountains strown, throws basely back On the Fire Giant's flaming brow a frown Cold as the chill penumbra of the tomb. So the ungrateful heart forgets a friend, And turns its leaden, dull opaque to dim The smiles of goodness like the sunhght thrown But to wake vipers from their frosty bed— And, as a sun made brighter by eclipse, The face of friendship, beaming through the fogs "Which a vile traitor's breath has blown abroad, Shines godlike from the blue empyrean down Upon the clay where reptiles generate and rot. Fchrvciry 12, 1831. THE YEAR MDCCCXXX. Years pass — eternity remains unchanged — That clime where mortal eye hath never rangeci. Where spirit armies drawn from death's domains Look down in triumph on red battle plains: No more to change or dust they bow the knee. The high-born dwellers in eternity ! But earth rolls on through liquid seas of light. Still dark with crime, and still with virtue bright One day a king is on his crimson throne — The next he wanders in disguise alone : One day a good man mourns with want bestt — The next he wears a starry coronet. 169 A fearful year Iiath pastM A trumpet voice hath blown, With wirldwind breath, a blast That shakes each despot throne ; And traitor kings now bend the knee Before the chiefs of liberty. Oh, wilder yet may blow that trumpet tone, And louder yet may bleeding victimsgroan — For kings will grasp their crumbUng thrones in death, And yield their rights divine with parting breath ; Red o'er the Rhine the star of war may rise And shed its baleful light on Europe's skies j The Cossack on his hungry war horse turns His fierce, broad eye, where thirst for conquest burns. And bids his stormy drum for battle roll To nerve for deeds of death his iron soul ; And France, great France ! hath crushed her lilies down And planted spear heads round the people's throne — She bids her eagles scour the frontier clouds , Where haste lier youthful chivalry in crowds, And once again may glorious Lafayette Tread battle fields with life's red current wet. Away from war and hate. With olive branches crown'd. At plenty's door we wait. And strew our garlands round. Long may our country underneath the tree That l)ears the guardian flag of liberty, Be earth's asylum where distress shall find, A generous nation to misfortune kind. 170 ADDRESS. Delivered April 30, 1828, at the Laying of the Corner Stone of M. E, Church, in J^orth Bennet-street, Boston. The corner stone of our holy religion is Jesus Christ. All spiritual temples that rise to the glory of God, stand on this foundation. — For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Yet how sweetly did the circumstances of the dear Redeemer's death prefigure the laying of the corner stones of the earthly temples ! Weary, bleeding and faint, the Lamb of God toiled up the steeps of Calvary. The earth was broken as we now have broken this earth, and the cross, a corner stone, was planted, that all succeeding temples might recognise this foundation, and glory in their origin. It is a solemn transaction to lay the corner stone of a religious edifice — solemn, because celestial eyes are turned downwards during the solemnities — because He, who seeth from the beginning to the end, is noting every circumstance, and quite as dear to the bosom of Almighty Love, is the humble, feeble commencement, as the proud, triumphant conclusion. Yes, dear friends to the cause of Christ, in this labor of love — this offering of gratitude? you have the consolation to reflect that your Heavenly Father has already marked the outline of your rising temple — that he has already seen the top-stone laid with joy — that he knoweth the ' sum of good to man,' which shall accrue from this enterprise, arid how the joys of heaven shall be increased by the everlasting consequences that are to flow from the erection of this temple. As we lay this stone, there is no need that we ttll the 171 world what are the peculiar and distinguishing doctrines of the Methodist Episcopal Church. They have lon."^ been before the world — they have overcome the hosts of critical and theological opposition — they have com- mended themselves to the consciences of men, because the great founder of Methodism, laid down as one of his fundamental principles, what indeed should be engraven on every Methodist heart to the latest period of time, — that he cordially gave his fellowship to all that was good in every denomination of christians, departing only from their errors. And it is given us after the lapse of half a century, to contemplate the moral grandeur of Wesley's life and precepts. To reform the reformation after it had grown cold, after its living principles had become entombed in the ashes of a wordly establishment, was Wesley's high, apostolic purpose. How he succeeded, let the voices of three hundred thousand members of the English Wesleyan Church and the four hundred thousand of America answer. Yea, let the brightening prospects of the church generally — hi the voice of a thousand revivals— let the mighty rushing sound of the Holy Spirit answer. While we proclaim no creed ; let us with holy grati- tude thank God, our Father, for the previous volume of his holy word, which we receive without disputation, taking God our Father at his word, which we intcipret from the common received version, according to the obvious meaning of the language. Let us thank God that this most precious word contains sincere promises 172 of free pardon to all mankind who shall come on the simple terms of faith in Christ and repentance for sin — that this pardon, and the blessed assurance of it, are not long delayed from the penitent, sorrowing spirit, which is broken for sin. Let us thank God, our Father, that the prophecies of his most holy word, that they may be accomplished, demand the revivals of the present age, and even a far more abundant outpouring of the Holy Spirit — an effusion before which all that has passed shall be as drops before a sweeping shower. Let us thank God our Father in heaven that the example of sudden con- versions and extensive revivals of religion, recorded in the most holy volume of inspiration, fully warrant the genuineness and establish the validity of the present awakenings that prevail in such a glorious manner in our communion. I And now while our eyes shall rest on these material walls as they rise in proportion and beauty — while we gaze upon that which the tooth of time shall gnaw away, and the envious winds and storms shall strew on the earth from whence it was taken, — God sees the spiritual building which shall be the peculiar glory of this second temple. This corner stone, which we this day place in its bed, where it shall rest for ages, is but a type of thai precious ' head of the corner,' which is found in the spiritual edifice. How firm and how eternal is the glorious ' house not made with hands' which the eye of faith contemplates, as intimately connected with these walls that have begun to rear themselves around us ! 173 It Is indeed located on earth ; but the edifice rises above the cloud}' atmosphere of time and catches the sunshine of immortality, close under the arch of the empyrean, where the last vapors of the universe redden with the blushings of an Eden morning. On its broad walls, higher up than the mountains of earth, and above the stormy regions of the clouds, is inscribed in glorious letters — Salvation ; the gates are praise, and angel cohorts float on snow white chariots round its light encircled battlements. But on this undertaking — on the erection of these material walls, we implore the benediction of heaven. To Him in whose name we set up our Ebenezer, we commit the undertaking and the precious lives of our brethren and fellow citizens engaged in these labors for Christ. To this temple, we, our children and our children's children shall come on the days of Sabbath gladness. Souls here shall be born for glory. Here too shall we come in our days of sorrow, when to the earth we commit our babes, our wives, our parents, our dearly beloved friends ; and in our sighing and sorrowing, we shall drink of the consolations which shall ever flow around this holy place. In the name of the Father and the Son and of the Holy Ghost, we lay this corner stone, and commit to Israel's God the keeping of our souls, of the inscription which we here deposit, and of the high destinies of our beloved Church and country. 15 174 SPRING. The season of ethereal mildness — when the wide, deep heavens purify themselves and shake out the contractions and wrinkles of winter ! It has come to us as in times past, unchanged ! God has not forgotten to be gracious and faithful. And the earth, obedient to the heavenly signs above, arrays her late cold bosom with green— and has placed that green only as a dark back- ground to her more beauteous embroidery of flowers which ere long shall intermingle with and surmount the parent tint ; and white and red and orange and green and violet shall be found in the fragrant coverings of the meadows and the hills. The birds know the season of love and of song. They are out in the earliest blush of the morning. Their songs now sound with, and shape, all nature's melody to an anthem of harmony, varied and measured with more than mortal skill. It is the many-tongued song of creation which I hear rising up to the great Creator. Receive this bursting volume of praise, oh thou magnificent Creator and Preserver, from the green earth thou hast borne safely through the tossing winter clouds, like a strong ship brought from the stormy cape into the spicy Indian ocean! Man, whose capacious heart and searching intellect can take in and comprehend this universal song of rejoic- ino", should not be a frozen statue amidst the adoring works of God. Let every heart be warm and overflow- ing with praise. — For no living creature in the air, in the fields, in the forest or the floods, has half the cause of thanksgiving that human beings have. All nature 175 seems to smile for man, and pours out into his hand the fullness of her vernal offerings. The fields are green and lovely to his eye—the grass blooms afresh over the graves of his ancestors — the summer harvests, the fruits of autumn are before him — the blessings of friendship are around him — and still, after this earthly scene hath shifted, another scene incomparably more grand and beautiful spreads out and stretches interminably before him. It is the Spring of a blessed immortality. The time hastens when religion shall fill the earth with a heavenly influence more bland and balmy than that of Spring. War, like the storms of winter, shall be no more. The tales of hoary wrong and error shall be rehearsed at the fireside as things that have been — not as those then in existence. Death shall come calmly then, and have no sting. The sweet earth shall then invite Jesus to his second coming—and the Savior shall hear the voice. LONELINESS. ' I bebeld, and lo, there was no man, and all the birds of the heavens were fled.' A SENTENCE like the above, found in the writings of a pagan poet, would have raised its author to the pinnacle of fame. The prophet had contemplated the great wickedness of God's ancient people under a weight of mercy and blessings ; he had viewed it in every atti- 176 tude ; the awful turpitude of these untold transgressions unfolded more and more ; a voice of affliction from Dan burdened the winds, and another great cry went up from Mount Ephraim. The prophet was pained at his heart ; the clangor of a trumpet rang through his soul ; the alarm of iron war fastened upon his senses J the mountain weight of a nation's sin settled down upon the care-worn seer. In a moment the scenery of vision changes, and inspiration draws a picture of desolation which mocks the eagle efforts of genius. No man can read the four short vei-ses that describe this desolation without feeling a chilly horror creeping over him, as if light and life and being were going out with the last rays of the departing sun. The prophet says : — * I beheld the earth, and lo, it was without form and void ; and the heavens, and they had no light. — I beheld the mountains, and lo, they trembled, and all the hills moved lightly. I beheld, and lo there was no man and all the birds of heaven were fled. I beheld, and the fruitful place was a wilderness, and all the cities thereof were broken down at the presence of the Lord, and by his fierce anger.' This cannot be said to be a beautiful passage ; for its awful import destroys the light of beauty. It cannot be said to be sublime ; for the emotions awakejied by the sublime are pleasurable after the first intensi^of their excitement has passed by. Read this passaged thousand times and the bleak image of desolation will rise cheerlessly to the mind each time. What are we to think of such passages that cast such enduring frowns on sin from age to age — in language too that awakens feelings not to be classed with ordinary sensations ? Is not sin branded with eternal infamy by inspiration 1 Let those, who consider individual or national sins as small matters, pause over this passage, bringing clearly before the mind's eye each image of desolation — then let them ask, what hath put out the fires of heaven — what hath quenched the stars — what hath removed the mountains — what hath erased vitality from the voiceless earth — what hath rolled the wilderness again over the place of cities and the fruitful vales 1 Sin — sin — would be the melancholy response to break the unearthly silence. AFRICAN MISSION. Part of 071 address delivered before the Young Men^s Missionary Society in John street Church, on the evening of April 22, 1831 . i RISE with the most heartfelt concurrence in your noble design of sending a missionary to the colony of Liberia on the coast of Africa. Through this propi- tious opening you will reach the heart of that benighted continent. Your object is clothed with the magnificence of benevolence, and accords with the promise of God to Ethiopia in the latter days. The descendant of Africa not an anonymous being — the child of accident. We 15* 178 see him laboring in the scorched fields of the slave holder, the inheritor of a labor that profiteth him nothing — and this lean inheritance of misery is, he well knows, all the earthly good that hard-hearted task masters design for him and his children. We see his face darker than the pale demon of avarice by whom, at the whip's end, he is driven to his ceaseless, profitless toil : — but no one marks this man of grief as one on whom the sun has looked in his wrath and scorched him into an abject inferiority to human kind. Rather, when we see him? we think of a far-off land — a vast continent which hangs in the opposite balance to our own stupendous America, We feel, when we see the slave in free America^ as if we beheld a branch of ancient empire torn from its parent stock withering under another sky. Oh, how I tremble for America, when I think of the sin of slavery, piled mountain high against her in the chancery of heaven ! Fearfully anticipating and yet deprecating the judgments which so terrible a national sin calls down upon the fairest portion of earth, I cannot but feel a thrill of horror as I repeat the eloquent lan- guage of one who alluded to the punishment of a certain nation for the less cruel and inconsistent sin of Infidelity. Says he, * the tale made every ear, which heard it, tingle, and every heart chill with horror. It was in the language of Ossian, the song of death. It was like the reign of the plague in a populous city. Knell tolled upon knell ; hearse followed hearse ; and coffin rumbled after coffin, without a mourner to shed a tear upon the corpse or a solitary attendant to mark the place of the grave. 179 So terrible and thus fertile are national punishments. They come like the great thunder blasts, with roar and flame and sudden power. We deserve them. Should heaven this evening require the wasted generations of Africa at our hands, what should we answer. Spare, Lord, and make not our boasted liberties like the early dew ; mete not to us with the measure we have given and are giving to others. But, yet, heaven be praised ! there are some streak - ings of light amid this blackness. It may be that repent- ance may be granted to America, and liberty and religion be granted to Africa. It may be the plan of that wonder-working Providence, ever able, out of evil to educe good, to make humble, repentant America carry back the men and the women and the babes she has stolen, and with them send back immortality and the mountain nymph of freedom. But, oh my brethren and friends, will it not be a scene of unparalleled sublimity when one vast continent heaves in its unutterable emotions of benevolence and pour its full bosom of love upon a heretofore blasted coast ! The sight is like creation — it is making a continent anew, and building up amidst the ruins of centuries a fourth part of the round earth. It is godlike to create — to make fertility breathe over the waste — to make the dull organs of death distend with the breath of rosy health. It is godlike to wipe away the tears of suffering — to pour oil and wine into the furrows made by the cruel vt^hips. How grand then will be the prospects when great America shall disenthral a sister continent — and pay up, I J 80 in the sight of God and man, a debt of untold suffering and blood ! Friends of man ! the work is begun — and the heavens, where the mighty storms, the price of Africa's ruin, sleep, brighten a little as if the thunder-bolts of wrath would be laid aside and never be permitted to do the cruel work of destiny. The work is begun — not like planting a battery on our sea beat shore, and throwing now and then a rocket across the Atlantic to illuminate dark Africa — but the battery is built on African soil, and, already, the beacon light of salvation flashes up her river of golden sands, and reflects from her mountains of emerald. A pattern of our American republic has been planted on the continent of Africa — and along with it the glorious institutions of our ever-blessed religion. I have not time, nor is there need, to go into the full details of colonization facts and history. Monrovia now lifts up its spires to catch the early sunbeams, and on them lingers the parting light when the chariot of day has rolled on to the land of happy Amei'ica. The mode of Liberian government — the relation of the colony to this country — have aflbrded themes of proud exultation to our patriot statesmen. In this colony so signally favored of God and now ex- erting so propitious an influence over the destinies humanity in two continents you have purposed, young gentlemen of the Missionary Society, to station your missionary. Moved by the Holy Spirit and an unquench- able zeal for Africa you send your messenger out under the shadow of the banner of your country and give him 181 the broad commission to live and die for Africa, He goes, — and finds hundreds of hearts like his own engaged in the same ennobling cause — and he has power to point the inquiring natives not only to the Savior of sinners, but to the churches and a rising republic, where liberty dwells, and the soul of man expands to the growth of immortality. The colony will be a shelter to him and to as- many as the Lord shall give him in a strange land. There are most affecting views connected with this noble design of yours, young gentlemen. It would almost break the heart to contemplate them. What think you will be the joy of a slave family who long have toiled on a soil rendered doubly barren by the curse which ever attends slavery — what will be their joy when they hear a voice sweet as angel-lyres and strong as the deep roar of mountain vdnds speaking to them from Africa, saying, return home, ye eociled, but now re- deemed of the Lord ? What think you will be the joy of America and the shout of heaven, when the last surly slave-owner shall smile like a human being upon his fel- low clay, and shall say to them over whose bodies he had fastened chains that death alone might break — say to them, go to your own land in peace, and take this, the hire of your sad labors here, with you ? What a plea- sure would it be thus to lose a million and a half of our numerical population ! Hasten the time, oh thou God of mercy. Another view I will take from the mountain of faith. One hundred years hence what a scene will the two sister continents present ! Slave holder and slave there 182 will be none. All gone to their last reckoning or free. One standing then on the highest American summit might cry — we are free ; praise the Lord ! Africa, with the shout of millions from her thousand hills, would say. Amen — and then ' Ethiopia would stretch out her hands to God.' Another view, young gentlemen, is this : Heaven, the world of spirits, is startlingly near to us. Thin is the veil which separates us from the dead. Bright spirits, long since departed, may be in the midst of this audience. It may be that here stands the immortal part of Samuel J. Mills, the illustrious pioneer of African colonization, it may be, young gentlemen, that here stands the spotless and beloved Summerfield — your first president. Your great and noble design this night will add even to his heavenly joys. You committed him to the dust ; you builded his monument ; you cherish his memory in your hearts ; but only by devising and executing great things do you emulate his glorious example. Is he here, the sainted one, to glow with your fervors to-night and rejoiccfover your good devised ] The souls of unnum- bered millions who now rest in glory, could their voices be heard in these low vales of time, would give a shout of acclamation like the seven-voiced thunders of the Apocalypse. Great deeds — actions of high emprise — the lofty designs of humanity — the drying of sorrow's tear — the rending of the dungeon fetters of the soul,—' are all known and are illustrious in heaven. There stands high up the sacred court the record of your deed this evening — and there too may our unworthy names be written. 183 WELLINGTON. Arthur Wellington was descended from the Wellesley family in Ireland. The ancient family name was Colley or Cowley. Arthur was born at Dargan near Dublin, May 1, 1769. After a liberal education at Eton, he went to Algiers in France, and obtained his military education under the auspices of the celebrated Pignerol. While at the military academy he received an ensign's commission and went into the service of his country in December 1687. At the age of twenty -three he was a captain in the 18th regiment of Light Dragoons, and in the year 1793 was made a major of the 33d regiment. He was promoted to the office of lieutenant colonel during the same year. His first service was under his illustrious countryman, the earl of Moira, in the invasion of Holland. He next departed for India with his brother the earl of Mornington who had received the appointment of Governor-General of the British Oriental Empire, and arrived at the mouth of the Ganges, May 17, 1798. Tn the tremendous conflict with Tippoo Sultaun, Colonel Wellesley sustained an arduous and conspicuous station in which he made full proof of undaunted courage and military skill. He was at the seige, the storming, and the surrender of Seringapatam. Immediately after this event he was appointed Major General and had the sole command of the army in the long drawn contest with the numerous, confederated Rajahs, whom he at length humbled and bound by treaties of submission and amity. He was elected Knight of the order of Bath and returned to England in 1805. 184 He was returned to Parliament and took his seat as a member, and in 1806 married the Hon. Miss Elizabeth Pakenham, daughter of the late Lord Longford. He accompanied Lord Cathcart in the Danish expedition and was at the head of a division at the storming of Copen- hagen. He returned and was in his place in the house of Commons in February 1808. General Sir Arthur Wellesley now entered upon a battle field worthy of his consummate abilities — he was destined against the victorious French legions on the plains of Portugal and Spain. Articles of an unpropitious convention suspended the hostilities which had raged for a time with various successes, and General jWellesley, on his arrival in England, passed the ordeal of a Court of Inquiry ; but the articles of the convention being rejected by the king, Wellesley went to his legislative duties in Parliament and the peninsular war was prosecuted under other auspices. At length, after the death of several distinguished commanders, Sir Arthur superseded Sir John Craddock and entered again upon that splendid arena of battle which has given him the well earned title of the greatest captain of the age. After a series of successes at the passage of the Douro, at the recapture of Oporto and the battle of Talavero, he was elevated to the peerage as Viscount Wellington in the year 1809. In 1810 he was still opposed to the French on Spanish soil, and his arduous services ended with the invasion of France, the capture of Bordeaux, and the occupation of Paris by the allied sovereigns. After Napoleon's return from Elba, Lord Wellington met him and finished his days of empire on Waterloo. 185 THE CHRISTIAN'S ENCOURAGEMENTS. BeholJ, I s( nd an angi'l btfare thee, to keep ihee in the way, and to bring the e into the place which I have prepared.— £.Todus xxiii. 20. No Christian can expect to reach heaven without op- position and difficulty. 'In the world ye shall have tribulation,' is the prophetic warning Jesus gave his disciples on the eve of their separation. It was neces- sary to prepare their minds for the great tribulations they were called to endure. In the primitive ages of the Christian church, the sufferings of God's people were frequent and unparalleled. Although the hand of per- secution has long since been paralyzed, and the followers of Christ are not called to suffer the spoiling of their goods, or the burning of their bodies, the divine decree, that all who live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution, is not repealed. For notwithstanding the fair face the world shows towards Christianity, and the many good and wholesome laws that rear up a wall of brass around it, the heart of man is unchanged, and his carnal dispo- sition is the same as it was in the hottest times, when per- secution raged, and the tribulations of the righteous were neither few nor small. This world is a wilderness still, and to the Christian who has escaped from the city of destruction, and turned his face Zionward, it is truly for- midable. He hears the frantic ravings of the coming storm on the outspread wings of the tempest. He sees the bleak mountains throwing their giant shadows athwart the path he must tread— the interminable sands, stretch- ing away, and lost in the distance, dim his weary eve— 16 ^ " 186 while hordes of implacable enemies harass and wound him, as he presses onward towards the Jordan of deliver- ance and hope. He is, therefore, fearfully apprehensivey that he will one day make shipwreck of faith, and prove a recreant from the grace of Christ. But when he be- comes acquainted with the supports and consolations of the gospel, and finds that God is not unmindful of his people, and has always opened a door for their relief — that the way to heaven, though difficult and dangerous, is rendered easy, and even pleasant, by the kindness of our Heavenly Father, his mind is relieved, and a sweet peace takes possession of his soul. The Christian thus supported and enlightened by the Spirit of God, is calm amidst the storm. In the midst of strife, and when the battling elements rage around him, and threaten destruction to his hopes, he hears the voice of his de- liverer above the storm, saying unto him, ' Go forward — fear not, for I am with thee ; be not dismayed, for I am thy God. 1 will strengthen thee , yea, I will help thee 5 yea, I will uphold thee by the right hand of my right- • When dai'kness intercepts the skies, J And sorrow's waves around me roll, And high the storms of trouble rise. And half o'erwhelm my sinking soul ; My soul a sudden calm shall feel, And hear a whispei-, *' Peace, be still !" ' The Christian has a faithful guide. — The children of Israel were not left to tread the mazes of the wilderness alone, and without a guide. God not only raised up i 187 Moses and Aaron to go before them, and to encourage them in the devious paths through which they were called to pass, but he also provided a cohmin of smoke by day and a pillar of fire by night, to conduct them in safety in their hazardous journey to the promised Canaan. Nor is he less solicitous to provide for the Christian's journey to the heavenly Canaan. The blessed Jesus has undertaken to guide the poor pilgrim through the valley of miseries ; and for that purpose, he has already travelled the road, and made himself acquainted with all its difficulties, and windings, its sorrows and tribulations, that he may be the better able to minister to the neces- sities of his suffering people, and conduct them in safety to the port of endless bliss. The Holy Spirit's influence j the light of the sacred word, and the presence of the angel of the covenant, conspire to render the Christian's path plain, to secure his feet from stumbling, and to keep his face turned towards Mount Zion, the city of the iiving God. Thus guided, he marches foi-ward without fear, knowing tliat all his ways are ordered for the best — believing in hope against hope, and resolved, through difficulty and danger, darkness, bereavement, and death, to persevere to the end ; knowing that those only who en- dure to the end, shall be saved. He has a strong guard. — In a dangerous road, a guide is necessary ; but is not always sufficient. But the Christian has both a guide and a protector. 'The Lord God,' says the Psalmist, * is a sun and shield.' * He is both a guard and a light. The Lord fought all Israel's battles. The Lord is a man of war : The Lord 188 is his name. Pharaoh's chariots and his host hath he cast into the sea. Thy right hand, oh Lord, is become glorious in power : Thy right hand, oh Lord, hath dashed in pieces the enemy ! Thou, in thy mercy, hast led forth the people which thou hast redeemed : Thou hast guided them in thy strength to thy holy habitation. He was their Captain — and vain is the arm of might, the councils of the wise, or the rush of armed legions, without his assistance and support. The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. It is the Lord who giveth the victory. He alone can subdue our foes, and overcome the obstacles in the Christian's course. When he with- holds his aid, and leaves us to ourselves, the feeblest worm is capable of destroying us, the most insignificant circumstance may work our ruin. But they who put their trust in the Lord, shall never be confounded. They shall be like Mount Zion, that cannot be moved. When the king of Assyria encompassed the Lord's prophet in Dathan, with horses and chariots, and a great host, his servant said unto him, Alas, my master ! how shall we do? And he answered, fear nothing; for they that be with us, are more than they that be with them. And Elisha prayed, and said, Lord, I pray thee open his eyes, that he may see. And the Lord opened the eyes of the young man : and he saw, and behold the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire, round about Elisha. The Christian's guard are numerous and mighty. They encamp around the faithful like a wall of fire. The forms of the heavenly ones, unseen indeed by mortal eyes, crowd the region of atmosphere where we dwell. Their 189 presence is a safe protection from dangers seen and un- seen. They watcli their charge continually, and never slumber nor sleep. No change of circumstances, poverty, or pain, weal, or wo, makes any change in their regards, nor lessens the deep interest and anxious solicitude they always manifest for the heirs of glory, in screening them from harm, covering their heads in every severe conflict with their spiritual foes, and preserving them alive when death and hell stalk abroad, trampling upon the haughty ones of the earth. The chivahy of heaven is the Chris- tian's guard ! He is supported by the arm of Jehovah. Though all the powers of darkness should be leagued against him, he need fear no ill — for greater is he that is for us, than all that is against us. * What enemy can compete with the Almighty ? or measure strength with the arm that supports a universe of worlds? What re- sistless tide, but he can, in a moment, roll back ! What mountain billows, but he can stay ! Can he not hush the wild uproar of contending elements, smooth the ruffled brow of the blackening heavens ; arrest the forked lightnings in their destructive course, and change blus- tering winds into Zephyrs, soft as the balmy airs of Eden ! — All things are subservient to his will, and minis- ter to his pleasure. And can he not engage them all in the Christian's service, to ensure his happiness and safety, and to conduce to his present and everlasting good ! ' What though a thousand hosts engage, A thousand worlds my soul to shake, I have a shield, shall quell their rage, And drive the alien armies back.' 16* 190 He has rich and abundant supplies. — Israel had nigh fainted in the wilderness for lack of bread ; his soul was thirsty; but he cried unto the Lord iu his trouble, and he delivered him out of his distresses, and he heard his voice. Sweet water streamed from the smitten rock, and manna dropped down fresh from the propitious skies. That rock prefigured Christ. His body was stricken, his bosom cleft, and from thence flowed the living waters that make glad the city of our God. His body is bread indeed, and his blood is drink indeed. The Lord has provided a rich and generous feast for his children. The table is large, and extends all over the earth. There is no spot on the footstool, it matters not how barren, or dreary, rocky, or uncultivated, but what is visited by the rich dews of heavenly grace, or from whose soil, does not spring up celestial fruit, pleasant to the taste, and refreshing to the soul. For the Christian's accommoda- tion, the Lord has opened up springs in the desert, and crowned the unfruitful places of the earth with the flowers of paradise, and sweetened the very air we breath with the spicy gales of Calvary. All along the King's high- way, cast up for the ransomed of the Lord, are the arbors and shady and beautiful groves, his hands have planted and adorned, to comfort and refresh the weary pilgrim in his toilsome journey to the desired haven. He is constantly supplied with every thing necessary and useful to satisfy his wants. Shining ones attend his footsteps — extensive prospects, ever-varying, reaching far up above the realm of clouds, glowing with the touches of a divine pencil — ravishing sounds of melody 191 and song, with liopes immortal, tiiat know no bound — and the recompense of reward, that no eye hath seen, nor ear hath heard, and which hath not entered into the heart of man to conceive, — all these, v.'ith more than tongue can utter, or language describe, are intended for his benefit and use, to animate, encourage, and strengthen him, till he hears the trumpet of victory, exchanges the mortal coil for the wardrobe of the skies, and mingles with the church triumphant on the banks of deliverance. He is not travelling an unknown road. — When the Israelites fled from the face of Pharaoh and his armed host, they were treading an unknown path. No monu- ments arose to their view — no voices came upon the winds to tell them that others had trodden the same way encountered the same difficuhies, triumphed over similar obstacles, and that they might push on without falter- ing, having the noblest examples to stimulate them to deeds of glory and suffering. No encouragements like these, were adduced to sustain the minds of the affrighted multitude, who stood trembling between the sea of difficulty and the pursuing army. But the Chris- tian sets his foot upon the proud wave, feeling assured that myriads have passed over in safety. He enter? the wilderness unmoved ; confident, that he who conducted all that had gone before, securely and triumphantly, un- maimed and untouched to the purchased possession, is able to save to the uttermost all them who humbly rely upon his promises, and commit their souls to his faithful keeping. Thanks be to God ! the Christian is not like one who beats the air. He is not trying an experiment. 1 192 He has the glorious example of the bravest and the best to encourage him — kings and princes, warriors and statesmen, philosophers and poets, who have entered the same course, tracked the same rough and thorny paths, have been willing to submit themselves to the same guide, borne patiendy the same reproaches, endured the same tribulations, and experienced the same joys, con- solations and supports, and are now quietly reposing under the shadow of the Almighty's throne. 'They all are robed in spotless white, And conquering palms they bear.' — When the Christian beholds these clouds of wit- nesses — when he hears the dying testimony of these illus- trious persons — and reads engraven on their histories, and the monuments of their valor and faithfulness, the great fights they endured, the deep waters through which they passed, the bitter cups they were forced to drain, and the cruel mockings and scourgings to which they submitted with patient resignation and holy joy ; manifesting their integrity, unsubdued, and without wa- vering, even in the hottest fires and in the dreadful hour of martyrdom, clapping their scourged and bloody hands with shouts of holy triumph^- — his very soul within him burns and pants to emulate the integrity, the patience and Christian fortitude, for which these heroic spirits were so nobly distinguished. He is not a solitary traveller. — He is accompanied by multitudes from almost every country under heaven. They have neither decreased in dignity, nor in number. 193 Their achievnients, it is true, do not seem to make so much noise in the world, as did those of the fathers in the days of the church's purity and glory. But they are still conquerors through Him who hath loved us, and are nobly contending for the faith once dehvered to the sain's, with the w^orld, the flesh, and the devil. The enemies of Christianity do not now assume so formidable an array as they did in the days of the apostles and their immediate successors, when the iron hand of the law, and the united suffrages of a great people, were its sworn foes ; but they are equally formidable in another point of.light, and more insidious and wily, and require, perhaps, more skill and judgment to encounter them with any hopes of success. When the faggots are heaped, the fires burning, and men's lives are in danger ; extra- ordinary gifts, deep religious feeling, with brave contempt of death are elicited, not often seen when the church is permitted to worship without fear, under her own vine and fig-tree. There are, however, instances of piety, zeal, and self-devotion to the cause of the Redeemer, among Christians at the present time, in fine keeping with the giants of Trajan's and Julian's days. These are the companions of the Christian, whose sentiments are elevated and whose conversation is in heaven. They are not of this world ; for they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly : wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God ; for he hath prepared for them a city, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. They are bending their steps to the country for which he is bound, are partakers of the same like precious 194 faith, and contend manfully with him in the ranks of the redeemed army, for the glorious reward of which he hopes to be a partaker on the morning of the resurrec- tion. What splendid motives to induce the Christian to be faithful unto death ! He is one of that great, united, and universal host, which is going forward to certain victory, achieving deeds of high renown, planting their footsteps above the stars, and writing their names, in characters of living light, over the gates of the celestial city. This subject, thus presented, suggests many encourag- ing reflections. The serious-minded, who are yet num- bered among the unregenerate, often are depressed and kept mourning in their desolate and barren state of mind by not applying to themselves the rich and varied en- couragements which naturally and graciously flow from the blessed system of our holy religion. This class, and it is composed of vast numbers, fear that, after having commenced the gospel race, they shall fail by the way. They are faithless in respect to divine aid. They see much around them of a discouraging nature ; see many reputed Christians whose glimmering lights scarcely scatter the thick darkness of the wilderness; and hear many a doleful song from that country which should, and most certainly would be, to the living, spiritual Christian, '■ the land of Beulah.' the very suburbs of heaven. So in former times, the Israelites were discouraged by the difficulties of the wilderness way that spread out before them ; they murmured for the flesh-pots of Egypt, although at the immense price of national bondage, rather 195 than follow that glorious pillar of fire and cloud, which was leading them with a sure and steady progress to the lovely valleys of Canaan. The serious mind should ever remember that God is not afar off. He hideth not him- self in darkness. Creation is even now full of the sym- bols of his presence, as palpable and as strongly indicated to the man of faith, as the pillar that stretcheth itself from earth to the skies, alternately in the van and the rear of the chosen tribes. Would not thousands, who now linger behind, while the church is marching onward, arise at once, if they could only have the assurance that their steps should not faulter in the heavenly pathway ? Will it encourage this class to tell them that a humble yet determined resolution to serve the God of Jacob through weakness and in strength, will be answered by a blessing from Jehovah ? Will it animate one of these desponding minds to learn that so far as we trust or rely upon God, just so far additional resolution, comfort, light, encouragement, and a good assurance is bountifully be- stowed, through Jesus Christ, by the same beneficent hand that pours out the light of day upon all lands, and sprinkles the reviving dews, and opens the treasures of the clouds upon the parched plains — that same Almighty One, who is perpetually giving, without measure and without price, even to the ungrateful and the unthankful ? All this — yea, more, may be told to this class of heshat- ing mourners on the unerring authority of the King of kings and Lord of lords. It is precious to the downcast soul to learn that the promises of peace and mercy may be applied to its own case — its own particular wants. 196 Christians may reap a new and ever increasing harvest of blessed assurance from the word and the mighty spirit of the text. Yes, Christian, thine every step is ever attended by an angel — the angel of the covenant — unseen he may be to the natural eye — but he certainly is near thee, if thou standest on holy ground. His love passeth the friendship of earth. His steps are with thine when thou passeth through the chilling waters of the sea of death. Why, oh Christian, dost thou not put on an unfailing courage, and shout with a song of triumph as loud as the thunder of the great deep, when it cries to heaven from its lowest caverns. Strong is thy defence ! Thine attendant is one whose eye is dreadful to thine enemies ; but full, overflowing with tender compassions for thee ! The wide spread ^Sacramental host of the church gathers all its confidence and its full assurance of victory from this unsealed and unfathomable fountain of endless consolation. Let us for one brief moment look at the attitude of the church. Now, perhaps, in tears, in dust, trodden down by the oppressor and stained with her own blood ; to-morrow, she shines like some glorious one, and the kings of the earth tremble before the holy splendors of her countenance. To-day, following with mournful step a brother in Jesus to the lonely tomb ; to-morrow, with a loud song proclaiming that all is well with him v^^ho is in the dust ; all is well this side of death, and all is triumphant beyond ! To-day, a seemingly feeble band, against which, proud words of scorn are levelled ; to- 197 morrow, a host with banners streaming under the whole heaven, with more than mortal music burdening every breeze — with crowns and plumes, and the intense gleams of immortal panoply, kindling on every cloud, and illu- minating every mountain and valley. Well might the seer, who, for gold, sought out a curse for Jacob, say : How goodly are thy tents, oh Jacob, and thy tabernacles, oh Israel ! . This was a prospective view — only lifting up a little the curtain which hung over the future prospects of the church. The same thought is amplified, if not adorned, by Pollock, the pious poet, who sung his soul to sleep with such strains as these : — •How fair the daughter of Jerusalem, then ! How gloriously from Zion's hill she looked ! Cloth'd with the sun ; and in her train the moon ; And on her head a coronet of stars ; And girding round her waist, with heavenly grace, The bow of mercy bright ; and in her hand Immanuel's cross — her sceptre and her hope.' But these views, rich as they are with unspeakable blessings, are taken from the earth. The church now is seen going farther on to the very place which God has prepared for her. Change and vicissitude and death invaded the territories of Jacob below ; but he has a place now prepared for him ; a kingdom not to be mea- sured by human meters, not invaded by earthly woes, or battle, or change. Countless angels are throwing open the gates to this region, as immeasurably wide as it is beautiful, beyond the power of language to paint ; and 17 IDS trumpets and harps pouring forth the volumes of song such as earth never heard, summon the redeemed to their last, joyful resting place. Death is now no more. Sin is shut out forever. Hea- ven burns with its accumulated bliss. It has now reaped the great harvest of the earth. It now, to its other songs, hath added the greater one of redeeming love. And now beyond this point, it is not permitted to pene- trate farther. Here this blessed interdiction begins — eye hath not seen — ear hath not heard — heart hath not conceived. All beyond is glory unsufferably bright. BIBLICAL SUBLIMITY. It is now a sort of standing acknowledgment in the mouths of thoughtless thousands that the sacred writings abound with sentences of matchless sublimity. But ask these amateurs of the sublime, in what passages they find the thrilling emotion which takes hold of the heart and binds the frame in subdued wonder, they only repeat what the rhetoricians have carved out for them ; they say — ' God came from Teman and the Holy One from Mount Paran !' But however sublime may be these often quoted texts, there are yet deeper fountains of emotion, bottomless as the ocean of wisdom, which first gave birth to passion, and then rolled up the element on which it may feed for ever. 199 It is not our design to analyze the emotion of sublimity ; ihe philosophers and rhetoricians have done this long centuries since. Neither shall we draw our vision of sublimity from the stupendous drama of the apocalypse, in which heaven, earth, with its far off ages, and hell with its unfathomed horrors, appear and are withdrawn like the shifting scenes of a mysterious but terribly graphic development alike important to men, demons, and heavenly ones. Neither shall we travel over the field so fully and faithfully explored by Lowth, by Michaelis and other critics on Hebrew poetry. It has been remarked by a philologist that the Hebrew language above all others is well adapted to express energetic action. It has been called an abyss of verbs and verbal derivatives. Strong and discriminating and powerful, the Hebrew phrase never slumbers over the idea it would express. It bor- rows its illustrations from nature, and therefore the biblical stud ent must study nature to know what inspira- tion means. It flashes its undimmed blaze upon a subject before hidden or dark or complicated, and does more in a word than philosophy could have done forages. Without reference then to criticism or philosophical inquiry, we will indulge ourselves over a few passages of inspiration as th^ pervading spirit of the * book of books' would teach us. There was a time when the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth. The clouds had never gathered upon the mountain brow ; never had the solemn thunder called out from cloud to cloud the growling summons of sJie storm ; never had the red hghtning fringed the bo- 200 som of the black tempest with rapid and hissing furnace fires, untamed and, savage and unsparing, the very bolts of vengeance launched red hot upon the watery atmos- phere with the lion growl of power. — What was the action of the Almighty mind in this season of drought when there was not a man to till the ground ? Simply and subhmely this :— There went up a mist from the earth, and watered the whole face of the ground. The first white vapor that ever exhaled from shore and fountain and flood was seen creeping along the serpentine brooks, gathering density and shape in its progress, disclosing its heaviest columns where Pison and Gihon and Hiddekel and Euphrates rolled their waters to far separated regions. This mist hung like a bridal curtain awhile over the earth, then went up and was dissolved in show- ers, and Eden bloomed afresh beneath the first tears of the affectionate heavens. Man had perished on account of infidelity and crime beneath a deluge of waters. The whole race with the exception of a single family was extinct. This family was afloat with the frail planks of gopher-wood between them and the hungry waves, which entombed humanity and the rich memorials of ancient art and grandeur. One hundred and fifty days had this melancholy remnant of mankind heard the pattering of tremendous rains and the beating of such surges as never might have raved except on a shoreless ocean. Hope was dying within them. What now was the action of the Eternal mind ? And God remembered JVoah * -^ ■'^ * and God made a wind to pass over the earth and the waters assuaged. 201 Not a single swelling epithet is here used or needed* Memory is described as the act of the infinite God — and then at his command the wind begins to roar through the confused mass of clouds and waves. Vapor and gloom no longer rule the atmosphere. The broken up deep sinks down beneath the breath of heaven, and at last hides its awful billows in the lowest caverns of the earth. Then to hush the fears of the terrified beings who had survived the death of a world, with what a sublimity of beauty, did God upon the first dark cloud that rolled over the summit of Arrarat plant his many-colored rain- bow? / do set my how in the cloud, and it shall he for a token. A death bed was spread in Egypt and a venerable man laid him down to die ; It was Jacob. He called to his sons, and said, Gather yourselves together that I may tell you what shall hefall you in the last days. One by one the fathers of the tribes advanced and heard the oracular words that destined them and theirs throughout futurity. Joseph approaches. His blessing is a sentence that casts eveiy heathen oracle into midnight shadows. A fruitful hough hy a well, whose hranches run over the wall * * shot at hy the archers * * a garland of blessings coming down from heaven above, coming up from the deep which lieth under, twined with love and fruitfulness' and reaching unto the utmost hound of the everlasting hills, on the head of Joseph, and on the crown of the head of him that was separate from his hrethren. The Red Sea was running on in a sort of mournful cadence, dirge-like and echoing and wasteful. It swept 17* 202 over a burled king and the chivalry of an empire. But on its farthest shore there was joy. A song of redemp- tion was raised by Moses and the warrior thousands of Israel. The first loud stanzas rolled like thunder, or the sound of many waters, I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously : the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea. Then every image of sublimity and wonder was gathered up from the face of the sea — from the blast of the strong winds — from the ocean frozen into a wall of defence, then melted into a torrent of de- struction — from the terror of the event on the dukes of Edom and the inhabitants of Palestine. The song of a nation dies away like a solemn echo upon the shore. — But hark ! the silver sound of timbrels strikes the ear, and a thousand daughters of Israel dance with graceful gestures on the sand, while with one sweet gush of har- mony the response to the loud song of the warrior host rings along the ranks of loveliness — And Miram answer- ed them, sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed glo- riously ; the horse and the rider hath he thrown into the sea. Sinai was there — a terrible mountain on which Jeho- vah stood. Before its awful pyramid of flame and cloud stood the chosen tribes, brought thither, by God himself, borne as on eaglets wings. On the third day a thick cloud, like an impenetrable crown of darkness, capped the mountain ; the thunder shook the rocks, and the light- nings blazed fearfully around ; the sound of an unearthly trumpet swelled louder and louder, until heart and flesh and the inmost soul of man trembled under the strange and 1 203 searching roar. One man alone whose lofty forehead reflected back tlie quenchless flames ascends the moun- tain. The arms of the everlasting blackness inclose him round. The law was given. The mountain still was dreadful ; the glory on its summit was like devouring fire. Here is a sublimity which earth cannot imitate — monarchy cannot ape- — nor the time defying colors of genius and poetry paint. It is worthy of God. Moses, the man of God, and the leader of Israel through forty years of sojourn in the shadow of a wilder- ness, came to the age of one hundred and twenty years with unwasted strength of body and undimmed lustre or eye. His last song is like that of a bird of Paradise, o a heavenly swan, whose dying strains breathe the soul of melody into the dutl organs of death. He closes his song by a blessing upon each of the tribes — and the reader is surprised at the similarity of Joseph^s blessing to that uttered by Jacob four hundred years before. To him, through Ephraim and Mannasseh, are again as- signed the precious things of the heavens — the dew, and the deep, couching beneath — the sunny fruits, and the precious things lighted by the moon — the chief things of the ancient mountains, the precious things of the lasting hills. An untold glory still circles the head of him who was separated from his brethren. Horns of power are bequeathed him with which he is strangely to push the nations even to the world's end. Moses went to his God from Nebo — but never shall the grandeur of his charac- ter or of his poetry fade from the memory of man while time lasts or eternity treasures up the records of virtue. 204 1 What misty form comes up from the frosty bed of death, roused up in a monarch's evil day by a voice more potent than the incantations of witchcraft ? It is Samuel. Pale and stiffened, v^^ith the drapery of the grave around him, his rayless eyes are fastened on a crown devoted to ruin. The tongue that ever uttered the truth in life speaks it solemnly in death. Why hast thou disquieted me to bring me up from the grave's re- pose ? ^ * * tomorrow shalt thou and thy sons be with me ! Where ? Saul, thy kingly form must trail the dust, and thy proud head lie low on Gilboa's mountain, when another sun shall look out again upon Palestine ; and a better than thou shall pensively sing — how are the mighty fallen ! The long, dreamless sleep of" the grave is grandly pictured by Job — or rather penciled with a sublimity of comparison which dries up the waters of the sea, and then points away to the departing heavens as the period of this dreary slumber — the end- of death's dominion over humanity. As the waters fail from the sea, and the flood decayeth and drieth up ; so man lieth down and resteth not : till the heavens be no more they shall not awake, nor be raised out of their sleep. In what composition of human authorship can there be found numbers as sweetly flowing or images as purely pastoral as those of David's : — The Lord is my Shepherd, I sfiall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures : He leadeth me beside the still waters. But the task we have imposed upon ourselves of se- lecting specimens of biblical sublimity is a boundless one. The heart of the reader must gather, from the same sources whence we have drawn the few examples we have recorded, the full and inexhaustible materials for an emotion which shall expand its powers forever, and make it capacious of happiness. The book of Isaiah is an epic poem of unparalleled beauty, strength, and sub- limity. If inspiration furnishes its awful subjects and lends the sound of its everlasting thunders, and the black- ness of its eternal storms, genius furnishes the electric flash and illuminates the demonstrations of Omnipotent power ; genius chastens the imagination that is glowing under the excitement of prophecy, and seeks the wide world over, and travels amidst the morning stars to find every image of natuial grandeur with which to clothe the words and express the doings of God. STONY POINT The scenery of the Hudson river bears nature's grand- est imprint. The hand that framed an universe of worlds has thrown together along the banks of this noble stream a wild assemblage of rocks and mountains. The Palis- ades, as thev are called, commence on the western side 206 of the Hudson, just above the Weehawk or Weehawken, and extend about twelve miles up the river. They are bold, abrupt demonstrations of omnipotence, moulded by Him whose power is not bounded by time or circum- stance. The cannon of a thousand armies might roar out their ineffectual vengeance against this natural battery, which frowns over the broad bright stream at an eleva- tion of from sixty to one hundred and fifty feet, and the parapet would laugh in scorn at the power of battle. After the Palisades terminate, a country of hills and vales succeeds; the former rounded up like loaves of sugar, and the latter indented like dimples on the cheek of beauty. Occasionally, however, nature has projected into the stream one of her bold fronts — a miniature for- mation of those ' hills of fear' which cast their sombre shadows across the pass of the highlands. One of these projections is Stony Point. It stands out in bold relief from the rural scenery just below, and challenges the attention of the passenger who has been relieved from the sublimity of the basal'ic rocks of Palisades only to pre- pare him for a wilder development of nature's cran- iology. But the impressions which crowd into the spectator's mind in this region are not all derived from river, mountain, or valley, — tradition and history lend a melancholy glory to this revolutionary ground. On the right or eastern bank stretches away the celebrated * neu- tral ground' throughout the entire extent of Westchester county, where regulars, cow-boys, Virginia horse, and continentals, whigs and tories, appeared and disappeared 207 like the actors of a wild and bloody tragedy. On the left, Stony Point is allied to associations of military achievments and unfLiding'renovvn— while faither up, the memory of Arnold's treason, Andre's capture and un- timely although merited fate twines around the memorable rocks of West Point. Stony Point is about forty miles abov^ New- York, and ten or fourteen below West Point. It is a rounded, gravelly hill, of small extent, jutting into the stream, and connected with the main land by a low morass which is partially overflowed with the tide waters. It was fortified in the revolutionary war, and occupied by a small force, might have been considered as a remote outpost to the strong fortress of West Point. It was captured by the British in the year 1779, and strongly repaired and garrisoned by more than six hundred soldiers commanded by the brave Lieut. Col. Johnson. A few days before the sixteenth of July, in the same year, a tall, commanding personage, mounted on a strong charger, was seen on the eminences above Stony Point. He had a glass in his hand, and appeared to study the character of the defences with an intensity of interest. Johnson, who was returning the gaze of the horseman with his spy-glass, turned to one of his staff and remarked that the apparition on the hill portended no good. Ru- mors were afloat in the entrenchments that the same tall figure had been seen across the river on the highest opposite eminence the day before, like a horseman painted against the sky. A cow-boy said that this figure was the apparition of Washington, and that it never was seen excepting just before a battle or a thunder storm. But while these idle rumors floated around the atmos- phere of the camp, the real Washington, from observa- tions made with his own eyes, was concerting a soldier-like plan for its surprise. On the night of the sixteenth of July, by the twinkling light of the stars that broke over and through the clouds, two columns of soldiers might have been seen under the brow of the eminence in the rear of the fort. They were stem men — the silent, thoughtful men of New-England. The eagle-eyed Wayne was at their head, and his heart was like that of the lion. The regiments of Febiger and Meigs, with the youthful Major Hull's detachment formed the right column ; Buder's regiment, with two companies under Major Murphey, formed the left. The van of the right was formed of one hundred and fifty volunteers at whose head stood the brave Fluery ; one hundred volun- teers under Stewart composed the van on the left. And still further advanced, the noblest post of all, stood two ' forlorn hopes' of twenty men each — one commanded by Lieut. Gibbins and the other by Lieut. Knox. Wayne stepped from man to man through the van-guards — saw them take their flints from their pieces and fix the death- bayonet. At twenty minutes past eleven, the two columns moved to the bloody work before them, one going to the left and the other to the right to make their attack on opposite sides. The inhabitants on the eastern side of the river first 209 heard a sharp crashing as the forlorn hope on either side broke in the double row of abattis ; the muskets of the sentinels flashed suddenly amidst the darkness, and in a moment the fortress vomited out flame and thunder as if a volcano had been ignited, and was tossing its lava up- wards. The cry of battle not to be mistaken, shrill, wild and fearful, broke upon the dull ear of night. But all was in vain for the fortress. Under the showers of grape, and full in the red eye of battle, the two gloomy, still, un- wavering columns moved on, and the two vanguards met in the centre of the works. The British made an instant surrender to avoid the extermination which awaited the deploy of the columns upon the intrenchments. Sixty three British soldiers lay dead at their guns ; five hun- dred and forty-three were made prisoners, and the spoils were two standards, two flags, fifteen pieces of ordnance, and other materials of war. Of the sons of New England, ninety-eight were killed or wounded. Of Lieut. Gibbin's forlorn hope, seventeen were no more. Of Lieut. Knox'rf about the same number were slain. These spots, where the life-blood of the free has been poured out hke w^ater, and where the traces of the revo- lutionary ditch and mound still remain, are altars sacred to the high recollections of freedom. Green be the turf over these departed patriots. The bold bluff of Stony Point is classic ground. Hither in future time shall the poet and the sentimentalist come to pay their tribute of affection and honor where ' our fatherss knelt In prayer and battle for a world.' 18 210 THE FAITHFUL SAYING- Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.— 1 Tim. i, 15. I Christ Jesus came into the world. — From that hour, when the promise of a Savior broke the fearful gloom that had spread its dark curtains over paradise, down to the auspicious moment when celestial choirs poured upon the ears of wondering shepherds the new and ravishing song of deliverance and peace, the world had been gra- dually preparing for his appearance. The children of men, those more especially to whom appertained the covenant and promise, were taught to expect some great personage, clothed with divine authority and unlimited power. At length, in the fulness of time, after a variety of strange phenomena, operating alike on the heathen and Jewish world, presenting signal omens, portentous and overwhelming, the star of the promised Prince ush- ered in his glorious reign, and Christ was worshipped by the Eastern magi, while yet an infant, under the signifi- cant tide of King of the Jews. The coming of the Messiah had been described by saint and seer, patriarch and king, with the pomp of oratory, and the eloquence of song. The circumstance and stateliness of kingly dominion and magnificent display, portrayed in the Jewish writings, tended to give importance and grandeur to his expected appearance and reign. But notwithstanding the picture was highly colored, the outline vast and im- posing, it was^not to be understood literally. The glory and the beauty, the magnitude and the display, were to be spiritually discerned ; and therefore, none but spiritual 211 minds could comprehend the connexion between the low- liness of the Redeemer's person and appearance, and the lofty annunciations of the prophet's harp. The Jews were wholly absorbed in the letter, and they were thus unpre- pared or unwilling to pierce the veil of flesh, and poverty of circumstance, which flung a cloud over the ascending Sun. The prophet sang in vain, ' Rejoice greatly, oh daughter of Zion ! shout, oh daughter of Jerusalem ; behold, thy King cometh unto thee !' The Jews believed the record, but they rejoiced not in the coming of Christ. The daughters of Jerusalem shouted not at the birth of their King. But though they gave no welcome to their long expected one, dazzling squadrons from the high em- pyrean, were not unmindful of the great event. If man sang no glad song, tuned no golden lyre, multitudes of the heavenly host hymned his praise, and celebrated his birth in lofty strains of angelic music. 'In heaven, the rapturous song began. And sweet, seraphic fire Through all the shining regions ran, And strung, and tuned the lyre.' * And though no light flashed from the earth, ' to bid the brightest and best of the morning' welcome to our sin- stained soil, a new and brilliant star glittered in the dome of heaven, the precursor of his glorious reign. He was the brightness of his Father's glory, and the express image of his person ; yet, Hear, oh heaven ! and be astonished, oh earth !' he became man ! He was in the form of God, and counted it not robbery to be equal 212 with God ; yet, he descended from his royal throne, clothed himself with the dust of his footstool, and became bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh ! In the ignoble garb of a servant of servants, he entered the sinful and troubled abodes of mortality, to be our partner in suffer- ing and sorrow, that he might be deeply imbued with the finest sensitive feelings of poor human nature. * Touch'd with a sympathy within, He knows our feeble frame ; He knows what sore temptations mean, For he hath felt the same.' He came to his own, and his own received him not. He was despised and rejected by the very beings, for whose salvation and happiness he had left the glory he had with the Father before the world was, and from whom he had a right to expect the most profound rever- ence, and demonstrations of the highest joy. No sooner was it noised abroad that the Christ was born in Beth- lehem, according to the prophets, than Herod was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. Abase and bloody order was issued by the pusillanimous monarch, who felt conscious of the insecurity of his throne, and trembled, lest the new born Prince was destined to wrench the sceptre from his impious grasp. Nor did their ma- licious and blood-thirsty designs against his person, his character, and ministry, abate, till the insulting, barba- rous, and tragic scenes of the garden, the judgment hall, the pillar, and the cross, consummated their diabolical purposes. 213 Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. — Man is guilty, weighed down under the curse of a law he has wilfully and wickedly broken. Having thus ruined himself, he is unable to meet the perfect obedi- ence required by the divine statute, and has thus sunk into deep and irremediable condemnation, exposed to wrath and punish nient, without any dawning of hope, or any intercessions of mercy. In this sense, men are sinners — all men. There is no exception ; for in Adam all die. All have sinned and come short of the glory of God. The whole world lieth in wickedness. There is none that doeth righteousness, no, not one. Man is unholy. Unholiness is guilt. The unholy and sinful dispositions of the human heart, are exhibited in the pages of man's history, with more or less enormity ; but they have invariably the same crimson type from Adam down to the present hour. This truth is established in every stage of his brief existence, in every country, and through all orders and grades of society. The whole family of man, being thus tainted with this great moral pollution, are thus separated from all friendly intercourse or communion with the pure Being against whom they have rebelled ,and whose government and laws they have slighted and trampled under foot. This separation from God deepens the pit into which tliey are plunged, ren- dering their case hopeless in this life, exposing them to the thunderbolts of the next, and to the eternal horrors of a terrible and irrevocable perdition. * How sad our state by nature is ! Our sin how deep its stains!' 18* 214 To save man from his sins and to shield him from the impending ruin that thundered on his path, the Lord Jesus came into the world. ' He shall save his people from their sins,' is the signification of his name. His own words confirm this truth, ' the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which is lost.' 'I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.' This benevolent and godlike purpose engaged his attention during the whole course of his ministry and life, nor did his sufferings, or the cruellies he endured, even in their extreme and bitterest agonies, absorb this great leading feature of his character. The manner in which he accomplished this great de- sign, and prepared the way for the sinner's recovery, salvation, and happiness, is in perfect accordance with the claims of justice and the criminality of the offender. Man is guilty before God, condemned, and awaiting the sentence of death, unable to yield a perfect obedience to the divine precept ; without hope, having no plen, and totally ruined and undone. In this trying juncture, Christ offers himself as his substitute, places himself at the bar of justice, receives the blow intended for the criminal, obeys the law in all its minutliK and extent, satisfying its most rigorous demands, and making it pos- sible for the guilty and condemned wretch to be released from the bondage of sin, restored to the Divine favor and image; at the same time, guarding every infringement upon the justice of the lawgiver, so that God can now be just, and the justifier of all them who sincerely repent and unfeignedly believe in his Son Jesus Christ, the 215 slain Lamb, who is the propitiation for our sins, and not ours only, but for the sins of the whole world. There is no remission of sins without the shedding of blood. * To man, the bleeding cross has promised all : The bleeding cross has swora eternal grace,' See the consummation of the promise given to Adam in the hour of his depression, and in the night of his guilt, in the sufferings and death of Jesus ! Behold the foot of the promised seed bruising the head of the great ser- pent, and from the bloody brow of Calvary triumphing over principalities and powers, and making a show of them openly, strewing their honors in the dust, and withering the strength of the mighty and the renowned ! Behold the Son of the eternal God, clothed in the robes of his priesthood, dyed with the blood of the grape, alone and single-handed, treading the wine press of the wrath of God ! See him coming out of Bozrah, travelling in the greatness of his strength, crushing down the walls of our prison house, entering the lists with all our enemies, disarming death of its terrors, the grave of its boasted triumphs, bursting the barriers of the tomb, and binding:, with the golden chain of his atonement, earth to heaven, man to God ; lifting the everlasting gates, and pointing far, far away, up into the highest heavens, to the man- sions of everlasting blessedness and peace, prepared for the faithful from the foundation of the world. Who is the King of glory, who ? The Lord that all our foes o'ercame, The world, and sin, and hell o'erthrew; And Jesus is the conqueror's name. 216 The terms of salvation, are few and simple, and ac cord well with the plan of redemption and the character of the atonement made by Jesus Christ. Repentance towards God and faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, are the conditions prescribed in the gospel. Our repentance should be deep, sincere, and lasting; our faith of the operation of the Spirit, for faith is the gift of God. It should be fixed singly on God, through Jesus Christ, the great Mediator between God and man, without any re- liance upon ourselves, or our own righteousness ; for by the deeds of the law no man can be justified in the sight of God. He must therefore turn away from Sinai, and from self, from every part of heaven, from all hope and every plea, but, God be merciful to me a sinner. ' None but Jesus Can do helpless sinners good !' Come to God, pleading the merits of a Savior — ' Five bleeding wounds he bears, Received on Calvary ; They pour effectual prayers, They strongly speak for me. Forgive him, oh, forgive, they cry, Nor let that ransom'd sinner die !' And mark the success of the appeal — ' The Father hears him pray. His dear anointed One ; He cannot turn away The presence of his Son ; His spirit answers to the blood, And tells me I am born of God. 21*7 The salvation alluded to is not circumscribed in its operations. It does not merely imply the entire acquittal of the condemned sinner. It changes as well as justifies; working a moral reformation in the dispositions of the heart, in the conversation, and the life. It is a salvation from all sin, from the least and last remains of the carnal nature. The Bible teaches this encouraging doctrine, using the language of authority, and plainly saying, that without holiness of heart, we shall never see God. The man who believes with a heart unto righteousness, to him is the reward, not of debt, and this reward is the indwell- ing Spirit witnessing with his, not only that he is born again, but that he is also sanctified, set apart for God's use, to be a vessel of honor in the spiritual church of the Lord ; the very thoughts of his heart being cleansed by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, so that he now perfectly loves God, and worthily magnifies his holy name. Are we justified ? Can we set to our seal, that God for Christ's sake has pardoned our sins? If we can rejoice in the divine favor, and know in whom we have believed, let us go forward, bearing precious seed, full of faith in the promises, and relying implicitly on the assurance of God's word, and we shall feel a spiritual enlargement of soul. We shall be saved with an entire salvation from all sin, and rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory. The designs of Christ's coming into the world will be answered in all their evangelical bear- ings. We shall no longer go mourning all our days, limiting the Almighty by our lack of faith, want of de- cision of character, and sinful backwardness. All the 218 Christian graces shall distinguish our onward course, irradiating our onward path, and giving out a beautiful epitome of true religion, in the conformity of our lives to the precepts of the gospel. We may go farther onward and still find, as we pro- gress, that immortal blessings spring up in consequence of Christ's coming, beyond the precincts of time. Christ came in to our world, that we might go into a better world. Christians have no expectation of reaping all the benefits of Christ's coming, in this world; here they expect to taste of his salvation ; in heaven it will be all their food. Here they expect, indeed, to love much, as much has been forgiven them — here they expect to pray much, as they have many wants — here they expect to praise much, as they have eternal cause for songs and thanksgiving — here they expect to be perfect, as their Father in heaven is perfect; and here, beneath nature's sun, they do expect the sun of heavenly joy will grow broader and more brilliant, as the sands of their earthly hours decline, until its rounded and palpable disk shall seem to absorb every other prospect ; but in heaven they expect not only an immeasurable flood of glory — they expect also, ever expanding capacities of mind, soul and spirit, to take in and enjoy this augmenting tide of holy delight. In conclusion, we pause a moment over the magnitude of the event, described in the words of the text, — Christ came into the world. The advent must ever rank high- er in the gradations of earthly occurrences than any other. As the closing of the Jewish dispensation and 219 ihe opening of the Christian era, it hears an imposing attitude ; as the accomplishment of promises which had cheered the inhabitants of the earlier world — as a most magnificent display of heavenly mercy and condescen- sion ; as a death blow to the otherwise unbroken tyranny of sin and destruction ; as the last sure refuge of huma- nity, under its load of woes and sufferings, and as fur- nishing the only ark of salvation that shall be able to bear up against the earth's second deluge, — that of fire, — the advent has an importance which calls for admira- tion, and demands the loudest songs of adoring angels and redeemed men. Christ came into the world, and every ancient type and shadow submerged in the full tide of glory that rolled before him at his coming. Christ came into the world, and, for the first and only time, the far wandering music of the sweet heavens struck on mortal ears. Christ came into the world, and the star of his empire arose in lovely radience over Bethlehem. He came and the demons of despair, with clenched hands, and blood-shot eyes, spread out their dragon wings, to return to their native hell. He came, and the realms of darkness were involved in heavier clouds, and gave out more terrific groans, as the last hopes of the thunder-blasted monarch below were quenched forever in the streams that flowed down the rocky steeps of Cal- vary. He came, and Sinai thundered terribly and hopelessly no more — the Lionof Judah and the voice of the broken mandate, became silent to those wlio sprinkled themselves with the blood of this sacrifice — and the trumpet tongued song of unnumbered millions in heaven smote on prophetic ears like the sound of many waters. 220 How precious is Christ to every one who has received him, and knows experimentally the value of his redeem- ing love ! In vain have the flowery epithets of the magni- loquent East exhausted their perfumes on the Savior's name and perfections ; his beauties are yet unspoken — undescribed. Every Christian, whether he possess the oriental order of character, or the hyperborean frigidity, knows how weak and imbecile are the loftiest powers of language to describe the chiefest among ten thousand — the one altogether lovely. Sun of the morning — the Day Spring from on high — the Beauty of holiness — An- gel of the covenant — slain Lamb of God — Priest — Pro- phet — King — accept our poor attempts to honor thee in that world, whose crown of thorns, whose rugged wood, whose inhospitable soil were stained with thy blood, freely poured for the salvation of its guilty inhabitants. EXTRACTS From an address delivered March l^th, 1832- before the Young Men^s Temperance Society of the cittj of J^eio-York . The strength of Rum ! Give me only the pale water which nature brews down in the bright chrystal alembics of her cloud-crested mountains ! Give me, when I would aseail, with strained nerves and the arduous outlay of bones and sinews, some mound of opposition, reared full and impassable in my path — ^give me only that pure flow 221 which followed the stroke of the prophet's rod — give me that gush, cool and clear, that bubhled up before Hagar and fainting Ishmael — give me only that fluid which trickles down the bright sides of our own American mountains — gathers into rills in the woody uplands — then rolls into broad, beautiful, transparent rivers — spreads into lakes, the looking-glasses to reflect all that is dark, or soft, or bright, or deep, in the unfathonied firmament above — give me these chrystal streams, these cool, fever-allaying waves, in health or sickness, when the thirst of the last fatal pang shall assail my vitals — give me these waters, nntortured and free, until that moment when I shall drink the waters of eternal life ! * ■je •J5- ^ ^ * * I would not hold my respected audience to the maxim of Napoleon — that nothing is done while any thing remains to do. But I must be plain in my statements and pay due deference to the majesty of truth, when 1 say that, perhaps, the benefits of the temperance refor- mation have been less felt in this great city and its environs than in most parts of the United States. The reasons why this is the case are obvious : — the incessant roar and din of business ; the diverse and far gathered materials of its population ; the numerous thousands of that population, constituting an unwieldly mass through which no common impulse is able to run and by which, acting in concert, no common cause in morals can be carried in a brief space of time. New-York sits down in her queenly pride, on her island throne, Avith her broad rivers on either side, and the Atlantic wave before 19 222 her. Commerce, from the farthest Ind — from the earth^s remotest mart, wings her eagle flight, and pauses only when she settles down on the heaving wave of the Hudson. Genius holds its high courts of rivalry in the professional halls of this modern Tyre. The high minded and noble spirited youth from the distant interior throng, hither to compete with the best talent of every land in the noble rivalry of fortune and honorable fame. In hot haste and burning speed the rapid wheels of enterprise roll here night and day — and the day is turned into night, and the night into day, by the votaries of pleasure and by them who tarry long at the wine. No wonder that a single voice cannot be heard by more than two hundred thousand souls of every name and language under heaven. No wonder that amidst all the noble and philanthropic enterprises of this great city, that of arresting the march of Intemperance, has been neglec- ted. Almost every corner of your streets is a testimony against Temperance — a sign for the enemy. To these depots of ruin the miserable thousands go daily and nightly and bear away the drink of demons that cannot even cool the tongue, in bottles, cups and utensils of every name and size and shape. These drizzling streams make up the rills, the rivers of drunkenness, that flood and drown nearly twenty thousand of your inhabitants. Is it possible that there are twenty thousand drunkards in the city of New-York ? What an army of wretched- ness would answer to the roll call of the morning dram, the noontide bitters, or the evening sling ! Array them 223 in the broadest square of your city. See them come, tottering" with years, and the heavier weight of Intemper- ance. They are of both sexes, and of every age. But they have a common bond of union. The same, or a liquor having a common property, is the drink of all — it is drank enormously, as if an ocean might be drained to the bottom ; and yet the quenchless thirst rages on incessantly, and the universal cry is — / will seek it yet again. This is the misery in the aggregate. This is *he sum tota). But blasphemy and murder and name- less wrongs are in the details. The bloated form — the hollow eye — the uncertain step — the palsied limb — the fetid breath, all belong to this horror of horrors. Pro- bably the individuals of my respected audience may each one go from these sacred courts to their private dwell- ings, where comfort smiles — where the home of virtue and religion is ; and there nothing but images of peace and beauty shall meet your eyes. But ah, bestow one thought on those thuosands of miserable rooms and tenements in this city where vice shelters the heads of her forlorn votaries. Oh how bitter the winds of mis- fortune whistle around the dwellings of the drunkard ! — How his poor partner of life — perhaps, too, a partner in the bowl — fades away, and becomes brutish under the curse ! * ^ * :jt * * * Young gentlemen, I will not harrow your feelings, nor will I wound the sensibilities of my audience by un- covering to view the scenes of wretchedness that may be unveiled in this city. But to you, young men, I mus 224 appeal, for the apostle's reason, hecaiise ye are strong.--^ Is it in your souls to entail lasting wo on the female ! — No, you cannot do it. Will you famely stand by and see a brutal husband gorge himself with that liquor which makes a hell of his home, and rolls the fiery flood of ruin over the beauty, the constancy, the affection of his once happy bosom friend 1 No, young gentlemen, you will dash the cup of wretchedness from his lips — you will point the finger of your bitter rebuke towards the wretch- ed homicide who sells him the wine of wrath, and measures out his wife's tears to him by the pint, the quart, the gallon. Ah, how bitterly will you reproach the wretch who sells nakedness by the jugfuU to poor, needy, innocent, hungry children ! How severely and heavily will your curses light upon the seething, hissing distillery, the smoke of whose tormenting by fire, goes up like a cloud over all our land — even yet goes up like a cloud ! May the ruinous lightnings blast, I had almost prayed, these brews of strong drink — may christians stand as far from them as Lot stood from Sodom in its evil day ! May the heavenly time come when the pure shall be separated from the vile — when the moat, with- out any drawbridge, save that of repentance, shall be as wide between the rum-making, the rum-selling, and the rum-drinking christian, and the christian of the Lord Jesus, I had almost said, as the gulf between Abraham and Dives. But oh, what hope now mounts up in my bosom. I have before me the generous spirits of the present and the rising generation. I see those whose hands shall wield 225 the inoral power ot* the coming half century. You shall stand where drunken millions fell, and speak with a re- surrection voice that every world which holds in its boundary an intelligent mind shall hear. I call you not, with the voice of Hannibal, to scale the Alps ; I call you not, like Napoleon^ to dig your chilling way through the ice and snows of St. Bernard. But I call you, generous warriors in the sacred cause of philanthropy, I call 3-0U to a nobler deed. I call upon you to lay out your young, unwasted strength in combatting more than the mountain passes of the natural world — more than to bridge the Atlantic— or uncap the cloudy Andes. I ask your war-shout, long, and loudj and tremendous against a moral fortress, the work of dark and damned centuries — the strong-hold hell. Shout, long and terri- ble, the war-cry of your hearts. Let hell hear^ — and mutter In groans that the victory is lost— that heaven and virtue have overcome* Shout like those who, shoulder to shoulder, charged at Bunker's height— like those who scaled the ramparts of Yorktown. There ?s deliverance in your cry of union. Touch not — taste not — handle not— be your motto now and forever. Reject the poison from your medicine— and go— if you go the way of all the earth—go into eternity sober, and see your Judge with every faculty of the blight soul he has given you, unimpaired and fresh. Let the ageddrunk-* ard see your sunny eyes, and sprightly frames, bidding detiance to the ills his spirit-soaked flesh is heir to ; let him never see a young man of New- York following in his path to ruin. 19^ 226 I would have you all, as one, enact in your hearts the oath which Hamilcar administered to the youthful Han- nibal on the ehrines of Carthoge : Swear this nighty, eternal hatred — not against the Romans — but against a power that has laid more than Carthage or Rome in ruins. Swear perpetual enmity against the glass — the sparkling liquor — tlie intoxicating potation. I should have no excuse for my earnestness, young gentlemen, at this time, but in the solemn fact that many strong men have fallen victims to the habits which we all condemn this evening. Many a youth, lovely and fresh as you are, has been stretched on an inglorious drunkard's bier. Many a star of genius has shot from its orbit, and sunk in the murky shades of eternal night.. 1 tremble while I speak. The dizzy flood has some- times entered the sanctuary of God — has made its whirlpool in the altar — has invaded the sacred desk — and hushed the voice that could plead, like an angel's,, the cause of God and man. PRIMITIVE CHRIST[ANITY. ' Peace on earth, good will to man.' ChHslmas,. 1830. It is said that just before the battle of the pyramids. Napoleon subKmely remarked to his soldiers — ' Forty centuries are looking down upon you this^ day from the tops of the pyramids.' On the amVersary of the advent morning, with the song of the advent awgels on our 2:2"7 longues, it is lor us to say to each other as christian soL diers — Eighteen centuries are looking down upon us from the top of Calvary. ^^e not only have the ancient records, and the early examples of Christianity, but we have before us, spread like a map, its course and current for eighteen hundred years. To the durability of the christian virtues, time, which wears away the solid marble, has lent the sanc- tion of its power. Imperial Rome, whose capacious em- pire on the morning that Jesus was born embraced the wide world, has crumbled before the remorseless tooth of the hungry years : — Ancient Rome is now but dust — }'et Christianity lives — lives forever in our souls to the glory of the Lord Jesus Christ. It is not by a splendid eulogium on the spirit which breathes out from the words of the text that we shall wor_ thily celebrate this day. I purpose a wider range — a holier theme. I shall scarcely pause to point towards the troubled continent of Europe, where tyranny, like some si- nuous monster, has so firmly bound the nations in it snaky folds that their disenthralment can be effected only by a dreadful disruption, a sea of blood. Turning away from Paris, whence (he cloud of battle has just roll- ed up, I shall scarcely direct your eyes to Belgium bleeding at every pore — the streets of her Brussels swept with the red artillery of war — and her smoking Antwerp a ruinous pile that testifies to heaven against kingly rapine and murder. However important the present era in the dispensation of Providence may be, there is to us, indi- vidually and collectively, a consideration of more impor* ^28 laiice than anything in the movements of empires. 'Xhd question to us this morning is, What is Christianits" ? — • What is the spirit of that great era which was introduced by angelic strains, breathed gloriously, by celestial har- pers, along the lighted up midnight sky, to the words of solemn joy-^Glory to God in the Highest ! Peace on earth, good will to men ? The words of our text are not so much descriptive of the first principles of Christianity as of its effects in pro- moting the glory cf God and the happinees of man* Here we should make a critical distinction : the result is one thing, and the long train of principles or causes leading to that result may be very different. Yea, we have Christ's own declaration that his coming to our earth on his grand mission of love would arm mankind in bloody struggles against each other, would disunite families, and create us foes in our own households-— not on account, indeedj of any defect in the gospel of heavenly peace, but the deadly opposition is roused by its keen reproofs of sin, its purity, and its stern ques^ tionings into the motives and deep purposes of the human heart. Be ours the pleasant task this advent morning of learning from the sacred scriptures what was the religion of the early christians — what those, who had seen the Lord Jesus, face to face^ considered the distinguishing traits of christian character 5 — 'and then a second task, pleasant or unpleasant, according to the tenor of our lives, will remain for us in comparing our own Christia- nity with that of the earliest period of the new dispensa- 220 tlon. May the Lord smile upon us and grant his bless- ing as we recal the thoughts, repeat the words and ex- amine the lives of the primitive disciples, who had the privilege of seeing our blessed Jesus in his earthly es- tate. More blessed than they shall we be, who, not hav^ing seen his mortal form, yet believe on him to the saving of our souls ! From the multiform manifestations of christian char- racter and disposition, I shall only select five general points of view, each one sustained by the word of God, and casting light around the evidences of primitive discipleship. THEIR DISPOSITIONS OF HEART TOWARDS GOD AND CHRIST. There was a time in the religious experience of the ancient Christians, when they were under deep impressions of their sinfulness and danger. The glorious change from darkness to light, was, with them, no illu- sion ; it was a cbange in the heart and in the will, pro- ducing an affectionate reliance on Christ for salvation. Towards God it produced a holy fear and the elevating affections of love, hope, joy, and thankfulness. Every one of these particulars of ancient christian disposition are fully established by the following passages of scripture : — Now when they heard this, they were pricked in the heart, and said unto Peter and the rest of the apostles, men and brethren, what shall we do? Saul, trembling with astonishment, said. Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ? — The jailer called for a light, and sprang in, and came trembling and fell down before Paul and 230 Silas, and brought ihem out, and said, sirs, what must I do to be saved ? — Know ye not that the unright- eous shall not inherit the kingdom of God ? Be not deceived ; neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor effemi- nate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God. And such were some of you ; but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the spirit of our God. — Even when we were dead in trespasses and sins hath he quickened us together with Christ, and hath raised us up together, and made us sit in heavenly places in Christ Jesus. — We give thanks to God and the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, praying always for you since we heard of your faith and of the love which ye have to all the saints. — Remembering without ceasing your work of faith and labor of love, and patience of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. We are bound to thank God always for you, brethren, as it is meet, because that your faith groweth exceedingly, and the charity of everyone of you. — Then had the churches rest — walking in the fear of the Lord, and in the comfort of the Holy Ghost, were multiplied — and Hope maketh not ashamed ; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts. — Therefore, being jus- tified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. — And not only so, but we also joy in God. — Praising God, and having favor with all the people. The numerous emphatic expressions in the foregoing 231 citations speak with an angel's voice of the affections of heart which the ancient disciples cherished towards their Creator and Redeemer. THEIR ATTENTION TO THE ORDINANCES. The great gospel itself they received with joy and reverence — they w^ere baptized — they often read the Holy Scriptures — they commemorated the dying of their ascended Lord at the sacramental table — they were often found on their knees in social prayer, in se- cret prayer ; in the delightful employment of public wor- ship they were found late at night and early in the morning — and, unlike those of any other religion under heaven, they prayed for their enemies. I establish every one of those traits of ancient dis- cipleship by a second appeal to the early writings of the church : — Then they that gladly received his word were baptized — and the same day there were added to them about three thousand souls. — Crispes, the chief ruler of the Synagogue, believed on the Lord with all his house ; and many of the Corinthians hearing, believed and were baptized. — These were more noble than those in Thes- salonica, in that they received the word with all gladness of mind, and searched the scriptures daily whether these things were so. When ye received the word of God which ye heard of us, ye received it not as the word of men. — Continuing daily in the temple, with one accord, and breaking bread from house to house, did eat their meat with gladness and singleness of heart. Peter 232 went up upon the house top to pray, about the sixth hour. At midnight, Paul and Silas prayed and sang praises unto God, and the prisoners heard them. — And upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came toge- ther to break bread, Paul preached unto them, ready to depart on the morrow, and continued his speech until midnight. Stephen cried with a loud voice, lay not this sin to their charge. THEIR TEMPER AND CONDUCT IN SOCIETY. The leading particulars of their temper and conduct towards others may be classed under the general heads of great esteem, care and love for their ministers, and an abundant reciprocity in return ; unbounded affection to all the brethren ; charity and kindness to those in want ; unanimity of heart in promoting the temporal and spiritual good of those around them ; diligence in spread- ing the glorious news of salvation from the upper waters of the Nile to the lonely Island of Britain, — united with a wide separation of interests from the wicked. For proofs 1 again appeal to the unerring word : — My temptation which was in my flesh, ye despised not, nor rejected ; but received me as an angel of God, even as Christ Jesus. Peter was kept in prison, but prayer was made without ceasing of the Church for him. Oh, ye Corintliians, our mouth is open unto you ; our heart is enlarged. But as touching brotherly love ye need not that I write unto you, for ye yourselves are taught of God to love one another. Then the disciples, every 233 man according to his ability, determined to send relief unto the brethren which dwelt in Judea. The multitude of them that believed were of one heart and of one soul ; neither said any of them that aught of the things which he possessed was his own, but they had all things in common ; neither was there any among them that lacked. But I have written unto you not to keep company, if any man that is called a brother be a fornicator, or covetous, or an idolater, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extor- tioner. THEIR PERSONAL VIRTUES. Their deportment was sober ; they were humble in view of their own sinfulness ; they were patient and even joyful under afflictions ; they were willing to die ; they were full of happiness in the prospect of eternity. The following passages are only a few of those that describe the sterling virtues of the ancient saints-; — wherein they think it strange that ye run not with them to the same excess of riot. Unto me who am the least of all saints is this grace given that I should preach among the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ. Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the chief. So that we ourselves glory in you in the churches of God, for your patience and faith in all your persecutions and tribulations that ye endure — For ye had compassion on me in my bonds, and took joyfully the spoiling of your goods, knowing in yourselves that ye .have in heaven a better and an enduring substance. But we gloiy in tribulation also, knowing that tribulation work- 20 234 eth patience. For 1 am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart and be with Christ ; which is far betteir. Oh, death, where is thy sting ? Oh grave where is thy victory ? THEIR SUFFERINGS FOR CHRISt's SAKE. Their sufferings have no parallel in the annals of human misery — The founders of no other doctrine encount- ered persecution like theirs. Reviled and hunted from kingdom to kingdom, they wandered amidst the moun- tains of Judea, Greece or Italy, clothed in the skins of beasts that were more merciful to them than their savage persecutors. — Violent dealhs were the early rewards of all the apostles. It was in those murderous times an act of great self-denial to profess the name of Christ before men. Yes, the primitive christians suffered. Hear the rela- tion which a few of them gave of their trials : — When they had called the apostles and beaten them, they commanded that they should not speak in the name of Jesus. Cast one out of the city and stoned him. They stoned Ste-^ phen, calling upon God and saying, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. — At that time there was a great persecution against the church, and they were all scattered abroad throughout the regions of Judea and Samaria. Herod killed James the brother of John, with the sword. The Jews stirred up the devout and honorable woman and the chief men of the city, and raised persecution against Paul and Barnabas, and expelled them out of their coasts. When they had laid many stripes upon Paul and Sijas, they cast them into prison. These numerous elucidations of ancient chrislianclijar? 236 acter cannot but give us the form and body of Christianity. This was religion. This was the church arrayed for the battle. This was the glorious bride which angels wel- comed to the New Jerusalem. This was the heavenly spirit of Jesus, embodied in the hearts of his faithful, con- fiding followers. This was the sunlike form before which the moral glooms that hung over the whole world, like a black eternity, were to roll away, and admit immortal splendor from above. This was the perfect form of spiritual beauty, rising like a vision of heaven upon a world of sin. It was the new creation which filled satan with astonishment and dismay. He saw the Lion of ihe tribe of Judah wrench unharmed the death arrow of hell- ish malice from his opened side, and with tremendous power unclasp the sealed book which held beneath its adamantine lock the fates of earth's hitherto hopeless millions. He saw, and fell like lightning from heaven. Hell echoed back to the far earth his yell of despair. The sun hid his face. The crazy rocks and mountains shuddered with the spasms of an internal earthquake. The dead, untimely, opened their glazing eyes upon a scene they could not comprehend, nor take into the ray- less sockets of those windows of the soul long darkened by death. My dear hearers ! is this religion yours? Have you the witness in your bosoms that you stand on the foun- dation of the apostles and first christians? Have you, like them, felt your sinfulness and danger without Christ in a world that was passing away from you like an arrow shot out into thin air ? Have you, like them, fled to him, 236 as Peter on the troubled sea, saying, save, Lord, or we perish ? Did a light break out in the heavens above you in the moment of your extremity ? Did the tempest of your soul assuage — the loud billows of divine wrath hush up their roarings before the rebuke of Him whom winds and waves and worlds obey ? Did the calm morning of heavenly peace shine into your hearts with a sweet powerj before which the thick darkness of your souls fled away ?- And when your joys flowed like a wide and deep river, was Christ your theme and your all ? Did you find him precious to your souls as the loved light of your own ex- istence ? Did you believe him able to guide you , Hke a strong angel , through the vicissitudes of time , through sickness and pain and the chilling darkness of the grave to your final home , where the shadowy , lean , and shapeless form of death shall never enter ? Did you , who one? despised the terrors of the Lord , begin to have a holy fear creep through your frames atremembrance of the Ineffable One — love and hope mount up in your bosoms in view of the perfections of Eternal Benevolence ? Did you rejoice in God more than in the abundance of wealth , or did you find yourselves at peace with the great monarch of eter- nity, or did a song of thankfulness break from your fervent lips when the honor of God was precious to redeemed thousands ? Have you observed the ordinances of Christ's gra- cious appointment ? Have you met your beloved Lord at the table which he has spread until the world shall end on which to lay out the memorials of his dying love ? Have you delighted to read the scriptures as if they 237 were bequests from an earthly relative, conveying more than tlie wealth of the Indias to you and yours forever ? Ha\ e you, like your ascended and now glorified Savior, spent the night in secret prayer, wrestling in inexpressible desires with Him who never slumbers on the high watch tower of universal rule? Have you, like your Savior, prayed fervently for those whose deep, causeless malice would take away your lives ? Have you loved, esteem- ed, and prayed for those whom the Holy Spii'it hath placed over you in the ministry of reconciliation ? Have you taken upon you the full burden of their wants? Have you stepped forward to defend them when assailed by malicious tongues ? Have you from the impulses of christian love to your brethren relieved them when in ./-ant — covered their faults with the mantle of charity— .^ut up your ears against defamatory reports respecting he conduct or principles of those of whom the world is not worthy ? Have you, when assembled in congregation to promote religious efforts acted with one mind — the unity of one with the strength of thousands ? Have your hearts and ears been open to the calls of the heathen world, who are absolutely starving by millions for the crumbs of spiritual knowledge which are thrown away in christian lands ? Have you said in your hearts of the wicked who are in worldly prosperity, come not, oh my soul, into their tabernacle, and to them let not mine honor be united ? Have you been sober in your deportment as though all the eyes of immoilality were looking out from every cloud and star upon you, and the never sleeping eye of the Watchman of Israel ? Have you been humble 236 like those who have entailed woe and disobedience upoEi themselves and owe all they have to mercy^ unspeakable mercy ? When afflictions gathered around you, over- shadowing all your worldly prospects, have you been patient under the heavy hand of bereavement, and blessed the Lord who took far away, into the darkness of the grave, your beloved friend ? When fever and sick- ness left their imperious messages for your own selves, and summoned you in seeming haste to leave the scenes of time, were you willing to go alone the dreary journey from whence no traveller returns ; or when eternity was apparently near, were you filled with joy that your sure reward was so nigh — your crown of everlasting life so close to your mortal brows ? Have you gladly seen your worldly expectations fade for Christ's sake ? Have you, without a wish to follow them, seen your gay and plea- sure loving friends, take another path from that in which you chose to walk — and have you joyfully borne re- proach, calumny and angry words on account of your faithfulness to the cause of the Redeemer ? If the sincere answer to all these questions is in the affirmative, you are indeed christians ; you have a Christ- mas blessing which worlds sold to purchase could not buy, nor hell, roused up to fury, destroy. Contemplating this subject a threefold figure of un- paralleled grandeur rises on the mind. It is a view of Time and Eternity and Religion. Time hath a swift motion like one in haste to be gone. It had a begining and must soon end. Detached portions of it are passing away hke the torn clouds before a driving hurricane. Since 239 the last anniversary of this blessed day, a year has gone to join * the years beyond the flood ;' and the whole ex- tent of time, through thousands of years, is but the length of a fragment broken off from eternity. Eternity ! oh, who shall describe it? Who hath returned from its echo- less shores to tell its secrets ! One writer remarks that when the hour shall be inquired by those who are suffering the eternal penalty for despising the blood of a Savior, the only answer will be that of a solemn voice, pro- nouncing along the bosom of their darkness the indes- cribable answer — eternity, eternity, eternity ! Connected both with time and eternity, Religion throws her radiance over two worlds. Alas, alas, there is one world where she never comes ; there is one world un- visited by Hope's bright star. Religion stands on the banks of the swift rolling river which sweeps empires and thrones and cities and men to their final, changeless destinations. In a world where universal ' glory to God in the High- est' shall be the universal anthem, it will not be a cause of grief to us that, departing from the usual strain of chris- tian triumph and gratulation on this occasion, we have walked up towards Calvary, from whence the stream of salvation, destined to roll through and overflow the na- tions who rise under the gospel dispensation, gushes out as from an unclosed fountain. We saw mists and fogs and.clouds and storms lour around the river of life — yet it borrowed no gloom or sadness — neither did it roll one turbid wave to soil the lowly, but lovely flowers that delighted to linger on its peaceful ban^is. If the at(n|os- 240 phere now around us be brighter — if the stream of sal- vation be broader — if the bow of the eternal promises, one end resting on earth and the other planted on one of the sapphire stones of the New Jerusalem, be painted with livelier colors on the dark, retreating vapors of the storm —if signs in the heavens and commotions among the na- tions give token of a second advent, when Christ shall de- scend in a chariot of cloud, as he went up on the ascen- sion morning from Olivet — if eighteen centuries looking down upon us from the top of Calvary, and the unborn centuries looking up to us for the body and fashioning of times to come, — confer any importance and honor and glory to the high station and dignity with which Heav*en has invested the present generation, — to God be all the praise — to us the boundless joy, IRgJeVB