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or possible, from the vivid centre to the desert margin of its sphere, excluded from neither air, nor earth, nor sea, nor souls, but clad with them as a vestment, and gathering up their laws within his being, is a sublimer, and, therefore, a truer mode of thought, than the conception of a remote and retired mechanician inspecting from without the engine of creation, to see how it performs."-Page 19.

The passage which follows appears to us unrivalled for the beauty and elevation of the ideas. It is as pictorial as the finest poetry. It is poetry in sentiment, though the words are prose. There is imagination here, but it is the chasteness of a religious imagination, that is equally allied to faith and to reason. In the whole compass of our sermon reading, we remember nothing at once so fine, so lofty, so original, and so true to fact, that, as we read it, we recognize that it ought to have occurred to us before. In the power of bestowing freshness and interest upon the myriad times repeated themes of religion, we know not in the compass of English literature any thing superior to the volume before us.

"As if in acknowledgement of the mystery of God, as if with an instinctive feeling that his being is the meetingplace of light and shade, and that, in approaching him, we must stand on the confines between the seen and the unseen, all nations and all faiths of cultivated men have chosen the twilight hour, morning and evening, for their devotion; and so it has happened that all around the earth, on the bordering circle between the darkness and the day, a zone of worshippers has been ever spread looking forth for the Almighty tenant of space, one-half towards the east, brilliant with the dawn, the other into the hemisphere of night, descending on the west. The veil of shadow as it shifts has glanced upon adoring souls, and, at its touch, cast down a fresh multitude to kneel, and as they have gazed into opposite regions for their God, they have virtually owned his presence, besetting them behind and before. Our planet thus instinct with devout life, girded with intent and perceptive souls, covered over as with a divine retina by the purer conscience of humanity, is like a living eye, watching on every side the immensity of Deity in which it floats, and grateful for the rays that relieve its native gloom. We sometimes complain of the conditions of our being as unfavourable to the discernment and love of God; we speak of him us veiled from us by our senses, and of the world as the outer region of exile from which

he is peculiarly hid. In imagining what is holy and divine, we take flight to other worlds, and conceive that there the film must fall away, and all adorable realities burst upon the sight. Alas! what reason have we to think any other station in the universe more sanctifying than our own? There is none, so far as we can tell, under the more immediate touch of God; none, whence sublimer deeps are open to adoration; none murmuring with the whisper of more thrilling affections, or ennobled as the theatre of more glorious duties. The dimness we deplore no travelling would cure; the most perfect of observatories will not serve the blind; we carry our darkness with us, and instead of wandering to fresh scenes, and blaming our planetary atmosphere, and flying over creation for a purer air, it behoves us in simple faith to sit by our own wayside, and cry Lord, that we may receive our sight.' The Psalmist found no fault with this world as setting God beyond his reach, but having the full eye of his affections opened in perpetual vigil, he rather was haunted by the Omniscient more awfully than he could well bear, and would fain have found some shade, though it were in darkness or the grave, from a presence so piercing, and a light so clear. Those to whom the earth is not consecrated will find their heaven profane."Page 24-26.

The third sermon is entitled, "Great Principles and Small Duties," and is to show "that a soul occupied with great ideas best performs small duties; that the divinest views of life penetrate most clearly into the meanest emergencies." The principle is illustrated by reference to the life of Christ. It was the peculiarity of his greatness that it penetrated without stooping to the humblest wants. It receives illustration in intellectual culture, the ripest knowledge being best qualified to instruct the most complete ignorance. In the trivial services of social life and of domestic happiness, in the small vexations of every-day life, in self-government, in the benevolent services rendered to others-in all these great principles may be put forth.

"Who has not observed how wonderfully the mere insect cares that are ever on the wing in the noonday heat of life, have power to sting and annoy even the giant minds around which they sport, and to provoke them into the most unseemly war? The finest sense, the profoundest knowledge, the most unquestionable taste, often prove an

unequal match for insignificant irritations, and a man whose philosophy subdues nature, and whose force of thought and purpose gives him ascendency over men, may keep in his own temper an unvanquished enemy at home. Nor is this found only in cases of great self-ignorance or impaired vigour in the moral sense. Even where the evil is self-confessed, and felt as a perpetual shame, where the conscience sets up against it an honest and firm resistance, it is quite possible that very little progress may be made, and very little quietness attained. This is one of the many forms of Duty which mere moral conviction, however clear and strong, will fail to realize. You may be persuaded that it is wrong to be provoked; you may repeat to yourself that it is useless; you may command your lips to silence, and breathe no angry word, yet withal the perturbation is not gone but only dumb, the conquest is not made, but the defeat concealed." "We must go in contemplation out of life, ere we can see how its troubles subside, and are lost like evanescent waves in the deeps of eternity, and the immensity of God. A mind that can make this migration from the scene by which it is surrounded, is removed from all vain strife of will, and gains its tranquillity without an effort; feels no difficulty in being gentle and serene, but rather wonders that it could ever be tempted from its pure repose. How welcome would it often be to many a child of anxiety and toil to be suddenly transferred from the heat and din of the city, the restlessness and worry of the mart, to the midnight garden, or the mountain top? And like refreshment does a high faith with its infinite prospects ever open to the heart, afford to the worn and weary; no laborious travels are needed for the devout mind, for it carries within it Alpine heights and starlit skies, which it may reach with a moment's thought, and feel at once the loneliness of nature, and the magnificence of God."—P. 42-44.

(To be continued.)

A Discourse by Chandler Robbins. Boston, United States, Munroe & Co.

THIS truly admirable, impressive, affecting, and spirit-stirring discourse was "preached before the Second Church and Society in Boston, in commemoration of the life and character of their former minister, Rev. Henry Ware jun. D.D., on Sunday, October 1. 1843," by their present minister Mr Robbins. We deem it a privilege to

have had the opportunity of perusing it. It is a fitting tribute to the virtues and untiring labours of one of the excellent of the earth. For years have we looked to the pure-minded, energetic, Christian minister, whose efforts for human good it delineates, as one of the brightest lights of the western world. We question much whether to his unceasing and multifarious endeavours in behalf of Christian truth and righteousness, our denomination in America is not more indebted for its vitality and strength, than to any other of the gifted individuals who have given themselves to the same holy and benevolent cause. Assured we are that no one can have perused his various publications, and pondered on their truths, and imbibed the spirit which they invariably breathe, without becoming both wiser and better, more truly and practically a disciple of Christ, more devotedly a lover and a labourer for the promotion of the best interests of society. Hallowed, elevating, inspiring, was the influence he exerted wherever he sojourned. The remembrance of hours and days passed in his companionship, could never be effaced from the mind and heart of any one who had been happy enough to enjoy the privilege. Mr Robbins's discourse is founded on Rev. xiv. 13, and after a few most beautiful and appropriate introductory remarks, proceeds as follows:

"Henry Ware jun. was born in Hingham, Mass. on the 21st of April, 1794. His infancy enjoyed the nurture and the hallowing influences of a christian pastor's home. His first lessons were the gentle precepts of the gospel. The instructions of wisdom-commended to him by those parental lips, from which they have continued, even unto this day, to distill as the dew upon the characters of the young -found a ready access to his heart. The first love of his childhood was that sacred business of his Father in heaven, in which the strength of his prime was spent, and to which his latest affections clung. The most intimate companions of his early days can recollect no period of his life, when the office of the Christian ministry was not his ruling desire and aim. He seemed to regard himself, like some Prophet of old, to have been consecrated from his birth to the service of the Temple. This sacred purpose stamped the character of his boyhood and youth. His feelings and actions were to a remarkable degree consistent with it. His lips refrained from impure and irreverent speech. His

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taste revolted at every shape of iniquity. He washed his hands in innocency. He entered not in unholy paths, but turned from them and passed away.

"This pure boyhood, this unspotted youth, what a fit and beautiful foundation for a holy priesthood! Through such a path, he ascended at length into the hill of the Lord and stood in His holy place. Through such stages of early preparation, my friends, the unseen hand of Providence led him along until his feet rested at your own altar, and his unstained hands were appointed to break to you the holy bread. How favoured the Church that had the best prayers and choicest labours of such a minister! How happy the minister who could look back upon such a blameless life!"

After tracing his progress through the schools of his native town, his being placed under the care of the Rev. Dr Allyn of Duxbury, his removal to Cambridge, when his father Dr Ware was appointed Hollis professor at Harvard College, the instructions of Judge Ware, his uncle, which he enjoyed, his subsequent graduation at the University, his examination and approbation as a preacher, and his admission as Minister of the Second Church of Boston in 1817, and the cheering, salutary, happy effects which followed on his ministry, the discourse continues :

"But his influence was not confined to the pulpit. It may even be a question whether it was so deeply felt through his public ministrations as in his pastoral intercourse. He esteemed both these means of usefulness as of equal claims upon the minister, and alike essential to his success. He used them both conjointly with eminent fidelity and skill, turning each to the other's account, and bringing both together to bear upon individual character. In my intercourse with the families that were under his charge, my impression is, that I have found more frequent and emphatic testimony to his excellence as a pastor, than as a preacher. Where the definite recollection of his sermons has faded, the exact words that he has uttered in the sick chamber, or to the mourner's ear, have been indelibly engraven on grateful memories."

But the intercourse of the fireside, and the instructions of the Sabbath, were not the only instrumentality, by which Mr Ware edified his flock. His affectionate and ever laborious zeal sought out still other channels of religious influence. Of these, none was more valued by himself, or by his people, and none more efficacious, than a meeting for Christian improvement and exposition of the

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