He replied, " Dr. Paley was a great man, but I cannot receive, even on his authority, what seems unreasonable, repugnant to common sense. That poor meclianic, whom you see there laying brick, is obliged to work hard every day to support himself and family. Do you intend to say that his means of felicity, so far as external matters are concerned, are equal to those which I possess ? Does 24

not my fortune enable me to taste of a multitude of enjoyments absolutely inaccessible to this workman ? "

I replied, " You may not estimate correctly the connection between mere wealth and inward peace. What do you actually gain by your superior abundance ? Can it purchase for you mental acquisitions — the joys, hopes, treasures of wisdom, knowledge, and piety ? Is there any golden key wherewith one can unlock the gates of paradise ? Can silver buy exemption from weakness, sin, error, pain, disease, bereavement, death, or any other evil ? 0, how little can it add to our real satisfaction ! Juvenal, a heathen poet, says, ' In your prayers do not ask the gods for silver, gold, houses, lands, fame, power, and other gifts of an outward fortune, but rather beseech them to bestow on you the blessings of good sense, a generous heart, moral excellence, a pure and virtuous life.' These constitute the only source of substantial happiness. And the means of enjoying these, like the light and air, are universally diffused.

" I repeat it, that poor operative has essentially the same means of satisfaction which you enjoy. He has the same body, with its wondrous mechanism, and power of action and enjoyment; the same attributes of mind — reason, conscience, love, joy, hope, and immortal aspirations ; the same access to the pleasures which are derived from the pursuits of business, society, books, the intercourse of friendship, and the domestic circle. He has the same sun, air, earth, water, food, nightly repose. He has the

same Bible, the same God, the same Saviour, and the same prospect of final, ever-progressive bliss in the king^dom of heaven.

" Contrasted with these sublime possessions, how utterly insignificant are those accidents which flatter pride and vanity ! That man may, this instant, as he is adjusting that brick, cherish a single thought which, on the score of happiness, is worth more than all your perishable treasures."

Not long after the conversation above narrated, this gentleman, who had become a regular attendant on our preaching, was called to taste the bitter cup of grief. Two of his children died, not far from the same time; then his wife expired, very suddenly. His own health soon failed, and he was numbered witli the dead. In the last conversation which I had with him, he said, " I no longer doubt the reality of a future state of existence. Could I have been so made as to remember and love my wife and children after their decease, if we were destined never* to meet again ? It seems to me impossible. In tliat case, I am deceived, trifled with, and cheated, by the inevitable laws and operations of my own mind. Besides, if there be no future state, human life is not worth having. We exist here only to be broken with toil and years; to be racked with pain ; to be wasted with sickness ; to be desolated witli one surge of sorrow and disappointment after another, till wo sink, to be seen no more on earth. If I thought that this was the last of us, I should be an atheist." He died a firm believer in God, revelation, virtue, and immortality.

Is there a greater delusion among men than the false estimate, which is almost universal, concerning the external advantages of life, as a means of happiness ? Cowper somewhere says, " I have no doubt, if we saw the whole truth, we should behold more of divine love in what is called the evil, than the good, of human existence, and should rather encounter every day the greatest difficulties and sufferings, than to float smoothly and quietly down the current of a being, calm and untroubled, but self-regarding only."

My experiences have taught me another lesson — that, in every instance, persons are happy just in proportion as they are earnest, self-sacrificing, and unwearied in endeavoring to discharge the offices of mercy. Cold, narrow, unsympathizing, self-indulgent people are always miserable. In the epidemic of 1853, a wealthy family of my acquaintance left New Orleans before the sickly season set in, to spend the summer in travelling. They crossed the Atlantic to gaze upon the wonders of the old world — its scenery, its palaces, parks, and galleries of art. It was wise and commendable in them, no doubt, to employ their time and means in this way. I allude to the fact simply for the purpose of illustration.

Near my residence was another family, in moderate circumstances, who never went out of the city during that awful visitation. They spent the summer in the labors of philanthropy, visiting the poor and sick, devoting their days and nights to the relief of destitute and deserted strangers, for several months in siiccession. Now, if these people were

animated by the beautiful sentiments of love, by sympathy, heroism, and the soul-exalting spirit of self-sacrifice,—to say nothing of duty, — were they not happier in performing those noble works of philanthropy than their neighbors, who passed the same time in journeying through foreign lands ? I answer this question affirmatively; for true happiness comes not from the perishable glories of earth, from luxury, the accumulation of wealth, from ease, vanity, or pride, but from conflicts with and triumph over selfish desires, the subjugation of dishonorable appetites and passions, the devotion of our lives, and all our resources, in the service of God and humanity.

Happy is he who feels the nobility of a humble and benevolent spirit. "We read that Jesus Christ lived to deny and sacrifice himself for the salvation of a Avorld. A child knows that " for the joy that was set before him, he endured the agonies of the cross." He tells us that we must follow his example, tread in his footsteps, and daily take up the cross. This is, of course, figurative language. It means that we must be ready at all times to sacrifice our feelings, taste, convenience, and emolument to promote the well-being of those around us. We are bound to goodness by the laws of an everlasting necessity. He who feels not the impulses of Christian love, though in possession of the amplest means, excludes himself even from temporal enjoyment. He can derive no real bliss from heaven above or earth beneath — from nature, business, amusements, art, society, science, or literature. 24*

There is an ordinance appointed by heaven for the government of the planets, sun, moon, and stars. Fire, earth, sea, air, times and seasons, trees and animals, are in harmony with the laws prescribed for them by the Creator. Now, God has so fashioned and attuned our intellectual and moral faculties, that as the thrusting of the hand into a flame of fire awakens acute pain, so a merely self-indulgent life narrows, darkens, and agonizes the soul, and by a law as fixed as that which carries the heavenly bodies through the fields of space.

If, then, we thoroughly understood the soul, and consulted its essential wants, we should be lovers of God and duty more than lovers of self and selfish pleasure. We should realize the impossibility of getting along happily without rejoicing with those that rejoice and weeping with those that weep. We should esteem it of more importance to be actuated by a strong sensibility to the wants and sorrows of our fellow-beings, than to gain wealth, ease, or aggrandizement. If we understood ourselves, we should realize that our own welfare and advancement were indissolubly connected with the interests of our neighbors.

0, there is no bliss for man on earth but that which flows from noble and divine thoughts, a soul alive to God, energetic, spotless, unwearied, zealous in doing good, a heart warmed with the sunshine of a heavenly world, enriched with a godlike, calm, unwavering hope, through Jesus, of that immortal blessedness which awaits the children of God. The man who lives only for himself, and cares not for others, is

always restless and dissatisfied. Preaching, arguments, the impressive appeals of human experience, affect him no more than if he were " a brother to the insensible rock, or sluggish clod, which the rude swain turns with his share, and treads upon."

I have studied the Bible every day for the last forty years. This devotedness to the volume of revealed truth has given to my theological views and preaching those peculiarities which have been so extensively regarded as erroneous and unscriptural. But the particular subjects of my sermons in New Orleans were generally suggested by things which parochial visiting enforced upon my attention. Events, incidents, casual remarks, hints given in some hasty discussion of a supposed fallacy in my customary teachings, or something else which happened in my usual rounds each Monday morning, led me into trains of thought and reasonings which were embodied in my next Sunday's discourse. I have never advocated in the pulpit what is technically called the faith or creed of any particular denomination, but have endeavored to accommodate instructions to those individual cases and exigencies which at the time seemed to demand especial and immediate attention. My daily out-door experiences and sermons on the Sabbath sustained to each other the relation of cause and effect. Hence my preaching had some novelties, and a great many imperfections ; but they were unavoidable, and grew out of circumstances and influences which were above and beyond my control.

CHAPTER XY.

DANGEROUS ILLNESS.— CONVALESCENCE. — JOURNEY TO EUROPE.

The first week of November, 1846, disease, in one of its most painful and incurable forms, made me a prisoner in my chamber for the space of ten weeks. Some years previous to this date, I had suffered at times severely from a morbid state of the liver, one of the most prevalent complaints among those residents of Louisiana who were born in the latitude of snow and ice. An internal abscess was formed, which, fortunately for my preservation, matured and came away (to use a phrase current in the medical profession) spontaneously.

During the whole month of November, my strength gradually but constantly declined, till I was prostrated to infantine weakness. It was a great effort to raise my hand, and respiration was so difficult, I felt as if every breath would be my last. That point of my disease termed the crisis continued two or three days. During this time I was unable to close my eyes, and had abandoned even the hope of recovery. One night I said to Mrs. Clapp, " I am dying." She thought so too. An icy coldness had nearly reached the citadel of life. We were alone. I was in perfect possession of my consciousness. From some cause or other, my mental powers were much more active than when in health. My memory was

SO excited, vigorous, and grasping, that I recalled easily the whole of my life, and could repeat to myself passages in the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin languages without an effort. All the literature that I had acquired came up before me with supernatural freshness and charms. A true record of my thoughts and feelings that memorable night would fill a volume — and a volume infinitely more interesting than any other exercises that I have ever enjoyed.

Strange as the declaration may sound to some, that was probably the happiest night of my life. My soul was filled with delightful imaginations. I fancied that I saw angels playing on their golden harps, in the most exquisite and enrapturing airs. A kind of profound curiosity, mixed with the highest delight, dwelt on my mind. For at that period I was not afraid to die. I kept looking to catch a glimpse of the spirit land, whose scenes I expected every moment would burst upon me, when I should close my eyes on earth and open them upon the light of a day whose sun will never go down. Nothing which I had ever read seemed so sweet to me as the following words of the Psalmist: " Yet am I ever under thy care ; by my right hand thou dost hold me up. Thou wilt guide me with thy counsel, and at last receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but thee, and whom on earth do I love in comparison with thee? Though my flesh and my heart fail, God is the -strength of my heart, and my portion forever." Had my death occurred that night, I should have expired with the lines of Dr. Watts upon my lips : —

" Jesus can make a dying bed, Feel soft as downy pillows are, Whilst on his breast I lean my.head. And breathe my life out sweetly there."

As to the sins or the virtues of my past life, the thought of the former gave me no pain, and that of the latter afforded me no joy, hope, or consolation, with respect to my future destiny. I could think of nothing but the infinite, everlasting, unchangeable mercy of God in Christ. I felt certain that he would go with me through the valley of death, and beyond the dark, dying struggle, introduce me to the inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and unfading. I rejoiced in the thought, that before another rising sun, I should be permitted to lay down the burdens of this " worn being, so full of pain." A feeling not unlike regret accompanied my first impression that I was returning back to mingle again in the trials, duties, and vicissitudes of earth.

About one o'clock in the morning I began to lose my sight, and was for some time almost blind. Now I said, "' This is the last of earth.' Father^ into thy hands I commend my spirit J'^ After the lapse of an hour or two, during which consciousness never forsook me an instant, my vision began to return. The vital powers rallied, the chill of death abated into a genial warmth and gentle perspiration. Before the dawn of day the physicians were in the room, and announced that a favorable change had taken place in my symptoms. Yet, they said, my debility was so extreme, that nothing but the most careful nursing could raise me again. There was

but one person on earth able and Avilling to afford ine the attention which my case required. That was my wife, who scarcely left my bedside for two months. She watched over me day and night, and administered with her own hands the various restoratives prescribed by the physicians. Her extraordinary and unintermitted efforts saved my life. And were I in possession of the whole earth, I could not make adequate returns and acknowledgments for her unparalleled self-sacrifice in my behalf.

I have not mentioned my feelings in the immediate prospect of death as furnishing any evidence of personal piety, or the correctness of my religious-faith at the time. No test of character is more vague, indefinite, and unsatisfactory, than the experiences of a dying hour. I once saw a man, who had led what is called an immoral life, walk down that valley of mystery with a sustained demeanor, with a calm aspect, with a firm step, with expressions of the gentlest sympathy towards surrounding relatives and friends, and with a hope triumphant and transporting. On the contrary, I have seen the timid, pure, conscientious Christian die in despair, though professing to believe in One who has destroyed the power of death, who came to deliver us from its fear, and unfold to a suffering world the bright and exalting hopes of a future, endless, and blessed existence. Why ? Because he had imbibed the erroneous sentiment, that future happiness will be awarded to those only who die in the possession of a peculiar faith. Eternal bliss is bestowed upon the principle of grace irrespective of our character and conduct

this side the grave. The New Testament makes it certain that a disembodied spirit cannot commit sin, nor suffer pain.

The beginning of the year 1847 was blessed with mild, balmy weather, precisely like that which prevails in what is termed the Indian summer. The thermometer for a fortnight ranged, on an average, from sixty to seventy degrees with a clear, bracing atmosphere, and a lovely Italian sky, " which does not seem to bound your thought, scarcely your vision, but carries them away to the serene, ever-opening depths of the illimitable heavens." Every one, who, after suffering severe illness, has, from the extreme of emaciation and weakness, recovered a new existence, has probably been conscious of the same delightful sensations of convalescence which I experienced. When I became strong enough to walk across my room, though in such a state of debility that two minutes' exercise fatigued me so much that I was obliged to sit down and rest, my bosom was filled with calm, placid, and serene sensations, not unlike those which are supposed to be the portion of the perfect and sinless in the land of immortality.

Often during the day my feelings became buoyant, elastic, bounding with thrills of happiness which I do not remember to have experienced before or since. The recollection of the manner in which the world had affected me in former years, its ten thousand hopes, desires, and passions, seemed like a dream. I felt sure that those vanities would never return upon me ; that they had departed forever from my bosom and embrace. But alas! when health returned,

life and earth regained their wonted charms, and feelings and passions revived which I had hoped would never again knock at the door of my heart for admission. But they did knock with a fiendish impatience, and a legion of demons at their back, ready to commence dread havoc upon that beautiful structure, which I fancied sickness and renewed promises of faithfulness to God had reared to be the everlasting dwelling place of my soul. This illustrates the meaning and truthfulness of that portion of Scrij> ture in which the apostle afiirms that God has placed us here, under the dominion of laws which make all men more or less foolish, weak, erring, sinful, and unhappy, in spite of their utmost wisdom, prayerfulness, resolution, and self-denial.

I shall never forget, until memory has lost her seat, the first time I rode out after being shut up in my chamber more than two months. It was on a pleasant morning, about eleven o'clock. Every object had a new aspect and a new coloring. I looked with fresh and admiring views upon the lieavens and earth, the gardens and fields, as if I had never before beheld the beautiful face of nature. I thought of the words of the dying Rousseau. When he apprehended that his final exit drew near, he desired the windows of his apartment to be opened, that h<3 might have the pleasure, as he said, of beholding nature once more. " How lovely she is! " he exclaimed ; " how pure and serene thy countenance !" Were not those feelings natural and becoming a Christian ? Who knows but they sprang from the workings of a heart touched at that solemn crisis by 25

divine grace, and prepared to be ushered into the liiglier scenes, wonders, and glories of a spiritnal existence ? I had a quantity of liappiness that morning more than enough to counterbalance the pains of my whole life.

I think the greatest sin of which we are guilty is ingratitude. Life here, properly viewed, is crowned with glory and honor, with loving kindness and tender mercy. " It is a great and ineffable good. God saw and pronounced that it was good. It is good in the unnumbered sources of happiness around it. It is good in the ten thousand buoyant and happy affections within it. It is good in its connection with infinite goodness, and in its hope of infinite glory hereafter. True, our life is frail in its earthly state, and it is often bowed down with heavy burdens ; but still it endures, and revives, and flourishes ; still it is redeemed from destruction, and crowned with superabounding mercies. Frail, indeed, and yet strong is it in its heavenly nature. Here the immortal is clothed with mortality, and the incorruptible with corruption. It is like an instrument formed for celestial melody, whose materials, like those of an organ, were taken from things that moulder and go back to dust; but lo, the hand of the divine Artificer has been upon it! It is curiously w^rought; it is fearfully and wonderfully made; it is fashioned for every tone of gladness, hope, and triumph. It may be relaxed, but it can be strung again. It may send forth a mournful strain, but it is formed also for the music of heavenly joy. Even its sadness is pleasing and mournful to the soul. Even suffering is hallowed

and dear. Life has that vahie, that even misery cannot destroy it. It neutrahzes grief, and makes it a source of deep and sacred interest. Ah, holy hours of sorrow and suffering ! hours of communion with the great and triumphant Sufferer ! Wlio that has passed through your silent moments of trust, prayer, and resignation, would give you up for all the brightness and beatitude of earth's temporal prosperity ? " * The third Sabbath of January, 1847, though still too feeble to study or preach, I insisted upon being carried to the church, that I might once more sit in the pulpit a few moments only, and look out upon a congregation that I had never expected to meet again on earth. Notice of my intention was inserted in the papers of the previous day — Saturday. The morning was fair, and the house was filled to overflowing. When the carriage was at the door, my friends advanced the strongest motives to dissuade me from fulfilling the appointment. But my family physician overruled their objections, on the ground that it would probably do me good to gratify the intense longing which I had to revisit the sanctuary of God. It was agreed that I should not attempt to speak at all, but sit quietly in the pulpit whilst the choir sang an anthem, accompanied with the organ. I fully intended to keep my promise. My friends helped me up the pulpit stairs. The ascent exhausted me, and I sank into the chair in a fainting condition. I could not see the faces of the hearers. Cordials were applied freely, and in a few moments I felt better. The organ struck up its heavenly tones.

* Dr. Dewey.

Soon I could see the audience distinctly, and recognized many countenances of dear and beloved ones, to whom I had in my mind bidden an eternal adieu. The eifect was overwhelming. I felt as if I had returned from the dead, to afford ocular demonstration that our life will not be lost in the dark, silent tomb.

When the music ceased, prompted by an irresistible impulse, I rose to speak. One of the trustees, who sat in a cliair near me, in a whisper said, " You must not attempt to address the, audience. Pronounce the benediction and retire." But I could not help repeating a few verses of the 103d Psalm: " Bless the Lord, 0 my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name," &c. This excited me so much, I felt such an excess of joy, that I was compelled to relieve my mind by giving it utterance in something-like the following words : —

" My brethren, I have been raised from the borders of the grave by that ever-present Friend who giveth us life, breath, and all things. One night during my late confinement, I expected every moment to breathe my last. My mind was never more calm or composed. What made me so ? An unfaltering faith in God, Jesus, and immortality ; the thought that I belonged to God, not only by creation, an upholding providence, and a solemn accountability, but by a love vast as infinitude — a love that no amount of iniquity on my part could change into coldness, indifference, or hatred—a love that can never, even for a moment, intermit its depth, fervor, strength, tenderness ; can never waA'er or fail; which makes it certain that we cannot be finally and for-

ever lost, because our own glory and happiness are identified with those of the Creator himself. The atoning, reconciling sacrifice made by Cln-ist is simply a clear, unambiguous revelation of God's love for man.

" The moment that a person understands and appreciates the doctrine of the gospel, — that the works of nature, the events of time, and the destinies of a coming eternity, are but the counsels and unfoldings of a perfect, boundless beneficence ; that the Power which called us into existence, and has ordained all the changes of health, sickness, joy, sorrow, prosperity, and gloom, which we experience, is infinite, unchanging, eternal, and almiglity love, — that very instant he becomes an enlightened, rejoicing disciple of the Son of God. As the light of this revelation dawns upon his soul, he exclaims, ' All is good, all is well, all is right, and shall be forever.' His religion is not a cold, barren speculation, but a profound sentiment; a deep, intense, all-subduing, and sanctifying faith ; a faith that every thing which befalls him, from the cradle to the grave, will issue in results great and glorious beyond the reach of thought or imagination. Through the telescope of the Bible, he looks out upon the enrapturing scenes of a future state, rising in all the effulgence^of an ever-progressive glory, beyond the sad ruins of earth and time. Hope in an iniieritance so exalted lifts the mind above all the reverses, sorrows, and convulsions of earth. What can reach or disturb the profound peace awakened by a principle so divine ?

" My friends, when you come to die, if blessed 25*

■with an unimpaired consciousness, how utterly worthless will then appear to you the wealth, fame, and aggrandizement for which so many strive and struggle, weary and wear themselves out, regardless of their higher interests ! Then, too, you will find no satisfaction in the memory of your good deeds — deeds of faith, repentance, devotion, holiness, or charity. Though ever so eminent in Christian attainments, you will feel that you have no more claim, on the score of justice, to the divine mercy than the greatest reprobate that ever died. Your only prayer will be that of the publican, ' God be merciful to me a sinner.' Your only hope, then, will be that it is the free, undeserved, omnipotent purpose of the Father, in spite of your sins and follies, to raise you finally to that higher existence where wisdom, virtue, and holiness will reign unclouded and immeasurable.

" I do not believe that it is in our power to love God at all without a firm, full, and immovable expectation of living forever in a world to come. Suppose that at this very moment, by irresistible arguments, or any other means, each of us should become inspired with a deep, intense, undoubting conviction that we had no souls ; that the Bible, church, pulpit, and philosophy are themselves deluded, and are deluding the world, touching this subject ; that what we call the mind, is destined to pass away with the body, bend before the same resistless law of change, decline, die, and go back to dust; imagine, I mean, that we were compelled to feel, with absolute certainty, that as beast, bird, fish, and insect retire at last from every blade of grass, flower, shrub, tree, plain,

and valley, hill and mountain, from every region of water and air, to exist no more, so we, also, at the expiration of this feverish, transitory life, will be doomed to close our eyes on a glorious universe, and be swallowed up in the dark gulf of eternal forget-fulness. Now, I ask, with such a gloomy, revolting creed, could we possibly cherish the emotions of piety, offer adoration to the Supreme, rehearse even the Lord's prayer with sincerity, present upon the altar of this or any other church the sacrifice of a calm, contented, grateful, and rejoicing heart ? This question requires no answer. We must be able to look away with buoyant hope beyond the grave, before the thought of an almighty Creator can inspire us with wonder and delight — before we can become enamoured of the charms of virtue, cease to indulge and obey the bodily appetites, or exult in the manifestations of infinity, omnipotence, and boundless love displayed in the beautiful, but shadowy, evanescent scenes of the present world. When a person fully believes that a nobler, immortal destiny awaits, not himself, relatives, and friends only, but all the race of Adam, he must of necessity become pious; liis heart is instantly replenished witli holy, divine affections, and goes forth to engage spontaneously in the love, worsliip, and service of the great Father.

" In my late sickness, I was made unspeakably happy by the assurance, resting on the revelation of Jesus, that my heavenly Father can never allow a real hurt or injury to be inflicted upon me here or hereafter ; can never permit me to be hurt or injured by myself or others, (punishment is not hurt, but

healing;) can never allow my intellectual, moral being to be crushed out by the mysterious forces of time, nature, change, sin, or death. All the inhabitants of New Orleans would become Christians today, if they could be made to realize the true character of God — if they could be brought to see the wonders of that higher existence which Jesus has unfolded; an existence where, instead of sin, sickness, broken, bereaved hearts, and bitter tears, will reign unmingled purity, ever-advancing knowledge, and constantly increasing joy in the realms of a life which can never terminate."

I was occupied twenty minutes in delivering the above address. My friends remarked that at the commencement my face was as pallid as that of a corpse ; but as I warmed with the subject, it was flushed with a glow rarely exhibited even in my days of health. Words flowed from me with the ease and freedom of one speaking under the influence of mesmerism. The perspiration flowed in streams. I was carried home and laid upon the bed, where I slept profoundly till the next morning. No alarming consequences followed the effort, as my friends anticipated. On the contrary, I felt much better for it, and went to the church every succeeding Sabbath morning the next two montlis. On the first Sunday in April, 1847, I preached a farewell discourse preparatory to my leaving for Europe. It was the wish of my physicians that I should select a mode of crossing the Atlantic which would protract tlie period of my voyage as long as possible. I therefore embarked in a merchant vessel for Liverpool, which left New Orlean'E~ the beginning of May.

It took lis fifty-five days to make the passage. For one week wo advanced scarcely a mile, being obliged to lie to in order to repair damages received from a tornado. Dr. Dewey, in his Journal of a Tour to Europe, says, " I defy any body, not thoroughly accustomed to the sea, to enjoy its grandeur, after having been rocked into that indescribable state of ennui, disquiet, discomfort, and inertness which the sea often produces. I do not mean seasickness, but a sickness of the sea, which has never, that I know, been described. It is a tremendous ennui, a complete inaptitude to all enjoyment, a total inability to be pleased with any thing. Nothing is agreeable — neither eating, nor drinking, nor walking, nor talking, nor reading, nor writing ; nor even is going to sleep an agreeable process, and waking is perfect misery."

My experience was directly the reverse of this description. Every thing was agreeable to me. I never passed as many happy days in succession on land as I did during my voyage from New Orleans to Liverpool. I will speak of the delightful sensations which I experienced under two heads, to adopt the sermon style — those which came from an external source, and those derived from an infertial origin. I will begin with the external, premising that, like Dr. Dewey, I was never seasick for a moment in my whole life. On the contrary, when at sea I have a more voracious appetite, and a keener gusto for the indulgences of the table, than I ever feel on shore. I could sit all day and gaze with rapture on the great sea, that majestic and lovely emblem of the all-wise,

all-perfect, all-beaiitiful, and eternal One. The mighty deep mirrors his amazing, illimitable perfections. Its wonderful extent, of which we can form no adequate conception, — its unexplored abysses, lower than plummet ever sounded, — are appealed to by inspired writers as the most striking revelations of infinitude and omnipotence which our globe presents. The continual motion and irresistible force of that mass of waters compel us to feel our nothingness — how entirely dependent and insignificant we are. I cannot imagine how it is possible for even an imreflecting person to look on this theatre of a Creator's manifestations without a sublime, thrilling sense of his presence and attributes.

" Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving, boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of eternity — the throne Of the Invisible."

The ocean does not, as some suppose, exhibit always to our view the same unvaried and monotonous scene. Far from it. Its aspects are endlessly diversified. No genius of poet, painter, or scholar can adequately delineate them. I remember one morning, when in the middle of the Atlantic, that, as far as my eye extended, there was an expanse which looked smooth, unruffled, and shining like a surface of polished glass. Not a breath of air disturbed the deep serene. All was still — silent as the tomb. I fancied, almost, that I had entered some new, strange

•world, some boundless solitude of waters, that were incapable of motion. But all at once a cliange came over the scene; from the point where I was sitting on the deck to the utmost verge of the horizon, the surface of the sea began to crisp or quiver ; it was roughened as if fanned " by the invisible wings of elves and fairies on some maritime expedition." This was followed by a slight, delicate, graceful undulation of the waters, of surpassing and ineffable beauty. If we beheld the ocean only in this state, we should not suspect that it was an element made for this dark, stormy planet, " but to kiss and lave with blessedness the beautiful shores of some sunny emerald isle of unfading flowers, eternal spring, and cloudless skies."

But in a few moments, all this loveliness disappeared. I was struck with a sublime, awful sound, like the mighty roar of Niagara. It was the precursor of a storm. Soon the main was lashed into terrific fury. I thought of that magnificent description of a tempest in the first book of Virgil's -.Eneid. On every side, white-crested billows were seen rising up in the shape of pyramids; hills and mountains, alternated by corresponding depressions; eddying, boiling, maddened whirlpools of foam. For some reason or other, the waves all seemed rushing towards the vessel. But this appearance, as the captain informed me, was a mere ocular deception. "When a mountainous mass of waters fell upon the deck of the ship, it trembled in every plank and timber, like a leaf in the wind. Sometimes her course was checked by the crushing weight, so that

for a moment slie would seem to stand still. The force of a downward billow often breaks in pieces the bows of a vessel in an instant, consigning all on board to a watery grave. The wind continued to blow harder and harder through the day.

The night came on, terrible with blackness, thunder and lightning. All nature seemed to be in commotion. My berth was a hammock, suspended in the centre of the main cabin, on which I hardly felt the motion of the vessel. And although to my inexperienced eye our condition was very perilous, I laid myself down, and slept as soundly as I ever did on shore, in my own chamber, in the full quietness and peace of a happy home. Every thing that human power could effect was done to secure our safety. With perfect composure, I was enabled to leave the issue in the hands of God, under whose providence we are just as safe in one situation as another. I thought of the following eloquent passage in the writings of an old divine: " We are all travellers, prosecuting the voyage of time; launched upon an ocean where storms and tempests often prevail; where the elements are agitated, and the waves boisterous ; where clouds frequently gather upon our prospects, dark and fearful, and the winds blow bleak and wild. Thus endangered, nobody can be happy without the firm faith that some arm mightier than that of man or nature holds the helm of affairs, and some wisdom more far-reaching than mortal ken is our guide, guard, and panoply, amid tlie rocks, shoals, and whirlpools that beset our perilous way."

A clear, placid, summer evening at sea is a scene

resplendent with beauty. The last red hues of ex-pmng day are fadmg in the twilight; seated on the deck, you are charmed with the evanescent loveliness of the setting sun, and think, " Even thus transitory is all of earth, which we so much admire." As the heavens seem to be sinking into utter night, a solitary light shines but; it is in the direction of your home ; you think of those relatives and friends whom no distance can remove from your affections; in a few moments, hundreds more make their appearance. Then comes the galaxy, — the milky way, which the ancient poets called the high road or pathway of the gods,— having a boldness and brilliancy never seen on land. With what grandeur does a sight of the firmament strike the imagination, when beheld in a clear night at sea, filled with stars scattered in such infinite numbers, and in such splendid profusion ! The ship runs so smoothly that you are almost unconscious of motion. Ail her sails are filled; and seen at a distance, she resembles " some snow-white, beauteous bird, afloat in the heavens on her airy pinions."

But a change comes over the prospect. The moon unveils her peerless light; the stars hide their diminished heads ; a silvered radiance sparkles over all the waters ; you witness the same phenomenon which Homer described three thousand years ago, at the close of the eighth book of the 'Iliad: —

"At length the moon, refulgent lamp of night, O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light; When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene, A flood of glory bursts from all the skies."

26

As you dwell on the scene, your imagination is overpowered, and you wander in a world of fancy and enchantment; your bosom is filled with those pure, ennobling, and refined sentiments that recognize the infinite — which open to the inward eye glimpses of the calm, bright, unbroken peace of that happier and immortal state of being to which death will introduce us.

One's enjoyment at sea depends materially upon his daily habits. He should arouse himself in the morning at the first peep of dawn. Whilst the decks are being washed, let him attend to his toilet, and with as much care and particularity as when on land ; then let him read his Bible, and say his prayers ; by this time, breakfast will be ready ; when finished, he should walk on deck an hour at least; the rest of the morning may be spent in study, reading, and conversation. These remarks refer to one Avho does not suffer from seasickness. If such a person is miserable at sea, it is because he eats too much, sleeps too much, or gives way to sensations of indolence.

How glorious a morning on the ocean ! " Yonder comes the powerful king of day." At first you see only a small portion of his disk — not more than a hair's breadth above the ocean's bed. Bright rays, like long lines of gold, are sent out over the trembling waters, that seem rejoicing to welcome the new-born day. Soon the whole orb appears, bathed in a flood of light, brilliant in all the orange, azure, and purple glories of the rainbow. Presently light, fleecy clouds collect around the sun. These are constantly changing their tints, from a deep yellow,

then a straw color, then a willow green, and finally perhaps the dark, beautiful gray of autumn. Beneath all this glory, the boundless field of waters reflects, with unspeakable beauty, the splendor of the clouds and sky, leaving the impression that you are in some fairy regions, infinitely removed from the dull realities of earth. The same wonders are often repeated at the close of the day. Is it strange that the poor Indian, when gazing upon the sublimities of the sunset, should realize the presence of the Great Spirit, and cherish the hope of a humble heaven " behind the cloud-topped hill," where he will some day repose under the shade of the tree of life, and bathe in the waters of perennial bliss ? 0 the surpassing freshness and beauty of an early dawn at sea! Its glowing radiance, its crimson splendors, its rich, variegated drapery of clouds, present to the eye the most glorious assemblage of beautiful objects ever beheld.

Nothing to me is more mysterious than the idiosyncrasy of an educated gentleman who is miserable on the ocean, although not seasick. For myself, I should like to make a voyage once a year, if I had the means and time. I can say with Byron,—

"And I have loved thee, Ocean, and mj'joy

Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be

Borne, like thy bubbles, onward ; from a boy

I wantoned with thy breakers ; they to me

Were a delight, and if the freshening sea

Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear."

To me it seems an enviable end to be submerged or lost at sea. All is soon over; there is no trouble

about a sliroud, coffin, funeral, or tomb. " Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste " is a magnificent sepulchre. Who would not like to sleep in it ? Perhaps it may be my own destiny to be buried there. I have no objection, if such be the will of Heaven. I ought to have been a sailor. My natural taste and feelings fit me for such a mode of life ; and a good sailor is quite as useful and respectable a being as a good clergyman. Some may wonder at the taste above expressed.

" Let him who crawls, enamoured of decay, Cling to his couch, and sicken years away, Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head, While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul; Ours with one pang, one bound, escapes control."

Now I will look at a few of those pleasures which a thinking.man may enjoy at sea, derived from internal sources. To illustrate this topic, I will state an item of my own experience. When I crossed the Atlantic, I carried in my pocket a small edition of the New Testament in Greek, with the Polymicrian Lexicon, in the same language. Along with them, I kept by me constantly the Psalms of David, in the Hebrew. They were three little books of the duodecimo size, with paper very thin, and distinctly printed. They occupied such a small compass, and were so handy, that I was never witliout them for a moment. For the last forty years it has been my habit to abjure desultory reading. I never think of perusing a book through in course. I use it just as an advocate does his law books, to find arguments, facts, or beauties, with reference to some particular

subject. Before reaching tlie Balize, I adopted ^the following platform: First, to examine what the New Testament says about Jesus Christ; secondly, what it teaches on the subject of rewards and punishments ; thirdly, the revelations it contains in regard to a future state ; fourthly, I resolved to collect and to compare all the representations in the gospel, as to the nature of true holiness. I determined to devote every morning to these biblical investigations, and every evening to other reading, conversation, and exercise.

During the whole voyage to Liverpool, which occupied nearly eight weeks, I followed faithfully this programme, with the exception of three or four days, when, the vessel being sorely tempest-tossed, there was no opportunity for reading. I will barely state the result of my scriptural researches on the topics which have just been specified. First, it cannot be denied that there is a mystery in Christ's nature, mission, and saving influences, not solved in the New Testament. But there is a mystery in every thing. " Science," says Lord Bacon, " is built upon, and encompassed on every side by, problems which the human mind never has, and never will be able to solve this side the grave. So Christianity may be compared to a monument, lifting its head to heaven upon the very boundaries between the known and unknown. Still, we are taught that Jesus Christ is not, strictly speaking, an infinite being, a being whose nature is coextensive with God's, and covering the whole immeasurable area of the universe, physical and spiritual, created and uncreated. As we are 26*

SO organized that we cannot help feeling that five is less than twenty, so we know that the same being cannot be at once finite and infinite, dependent and almighty, bounded and at the same moment unbounded. The mind of Jesus is a human mind, perfectly immaculate, and endowed with the highest possible gifts and graces." For it pleased the Father that in Him all fulness should dwell — the fulness of the Godhead bodily. Hence he is called our elder brother, which he could not be, unless his intrinsic, inherent, essential nature was precisely the same as ours, sin excepted. In addition, he was sent forth into the world and commissioned by the Father to teach, enlighten, sanctify, and immortalize the children of men.

Secondly. It cannot be proved by the teachings of Christ and his apostles, that punishments dispensed for the bad actions which men do in the present world will continue forever. On the contrary, we are told that death, the last enemy of man, shall be destroyed ; and also that he who is dead has lost even the power of sinning. Consequently the future world is a very different one from this. Where there are no bodies, no earthly appetites or passions, there can be neither sin nor suffering. In the disembodied state individuals will doubtless enjoy a higher or lower degree of happiness in proportion to their previous attainments; but none can be miserable. Yet the consequences of our conduct in time will flow on forever, sin and pain excepted.

Thirdly. The happiness of man in the future state is based by the New Testament writers alto-

gether upon the resurrection from the dead. It affirms repeatedly that all mankind, both just and unjnst, will be brought to enjoy a state of immortality beyond the grave. It affirms also that in the immortal world there will be no death, no sin, no suffering, because all there, being the children of the resurrection, will be the sons of God, and eqnal unto the angels. A person has no more power to fit himself for a happy immortality than he has to create a world. Our only ground of hope as to the future is the promise of Jesus that all mankind, irrespective of their character or conduct here, in a future state will be endued with a nature spiritual and incorruptible.

Fourthly. Paul and his coadjutors represent the hope of a blessed existence after death, as a most efficient principle of sanctification. He who has this hope will no longer " be foolish, deceived, disobedient, serving divers lusts and pleasures, living in envy and malice, hateful, and hating others." No longer will he be irreverent and unthankful towards God. No longer will he prevaricate or falsify, or stain his conscience for profit or pleasure. No longer will he steep his soul in the gross and debasing indulgences of sense. The charms of rectitude, humility, and other moral qualities, that constitute Christian excellence, will so captivate his heart as to render him insensible to the inferior attractions of an outward, worldly life. Holiness, as defined in the gospel, is a deep, intense, supreme, absorbing love of spiritual beauty, self-government, the joy of a benevolent spirit, the smiles of an approving conscience,

the calm, gentle, soul-satisfying affections of hope, gratitude, and trust in God.

I am well aware that there is no originality in these views. But during this voyage they came to my mind with a freshness, power, and plenitude that I had never before experienced. I kept tliem before me morning, noon, and night. By them I was enabled to commune with God and feel the inspiration of his Spirit, as I gazed upon the amazing manifestations of divine majesty in the mighty deep. I felt that Christianity was from God, that mere men were no more competent to originate it than to create the Atlantic Ocean. When I sat on deck in a pleasant night, admiring the diffuse light of the galaxy, that astronomers tell us is composed of the mingled effulgence of innumerable stars, each of which is probably the centre of a system, like our own sun, — when I thought of the immensity of the physical universe, those worlds upon worlds, and systems upon systems, stretching onward and onward to infinitude, and all revolving in the course of inconceivable ages around some common centre, — all these external glories did not appear to me more striking and magnificent than that spiritual world which Jesus has unfolded, and of Avhich the material creation is but a type, symbol, or representation. Nay, the moral character of Jesus struck me as more grand than the outward universe, with all its sensible laws and phenomena. As 1 look upon the Son of God, in that last trying scene, when the storm of a world's scorn and hatred was beating over him, — calm, gentle, forgiving, intrepid, resting solely upon

the eternal trutli of God, — superior to vulgar passions and fear, to pain, peril, and death in its most appalling form, — I am impressed witli a sense of the sublime, in comparison with which, heaven, earth, and sea, and all that is therein, seem poor and insignificant.

Akenside, author of the Pleasures of Imagination, in the following beautiful passage, describes the vast superiority of moral sublimity, when contrasted with that of the natural world: —

" Look, then, abroad through nature to the range Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres, Wheeling unshaken through the void immense; And speak, O man ! does this capacious scene With half that kindling majesty dilate Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate, Amid the crowd of patriots, and his arm Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, When guilt brings down the thunder, called aloud On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel, And bade the father of his country hail! For lo ! the tyrant prostrate on the dust; And Rome again is free."

But who was Brutus, (conceding the purity of his motives,) who was Socrates, or Plato, compared with Jesus? And yet, if Jesus has taught truly, tliere is not a child of Adam who will not become, ultimately, as wise, as immaculate, as great, as divine as he himself was on the day of his crucifixion. The mind of Jesus was essentially a human mind filled with the fulness of God. Nothing loftier, nothing less. He could not be higher without becoming God himself— very God. He came to save

all men. Hence it is certain that tlie lowest and weakest person of our race will make an everlasting advancement in wisdom and goodness. His faculties will go on unfolding and ripening forever ; his acquisitions more extended, his range of thought wider, his perceptions more clear, his character more beautiful ; and thus he will ascend from height to height, from glory to glory, without ever reaching an acme — the final summit of intellectual and moral attainments; for that summit is the infinite Jehovah.

Yes, it was when sailing

•' O'er the glad waters of the dark-blue sea, My thoughts as boundless, and my soul as free,"

that grace was given me to realize, with new, fresh, ecstatic delight, my relation to Jesus Christ, the Author and Finisher of our faith. I used to be continually saying to myself, as I looked out upon this vast creation, " I am indeed a child of its infinite Author — bound to his throne by the indissoluble ties of a common nature ; a child ennobled and redeemed by the mission of Jesus, standing in the centre of this magnificent panorama of worlds, with the glorious certainty that they are all my own inheritance, that I shall live to enjoy them forever. For all things are mine, whether the present world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come ; all are mine, because I am Christ's, and Christ is God's." Such were the thoughts that made those fifty-five days an epoch in my life — an epoch brighter than any of its predecessors. I felt

all the time as if I could see God, as if I were a partaker of his spirit and perfections, and through them was destined to triumph over nature, frailty, change, sin, corruption, and the grave. And even in the worst weather, I laid myself down and slept as sweetly, with a heart as calm, and light, and joyous, as if, like the sea bird, I could weatlier the fierce storm, and float unhurt on the tossing billows.

In the afternoons my reading was more easy, miscellaneous, and discursive, interspersed with the pleasures of social intercourse. Yet there were but two persons on board with whom I held much conversation — the captain and the only passenger except myself. The former was a native of Salem, Massachusetts, a gentleman of extensive reading, who had spent forty-three years of his life at sea, and seen the whole globe. His memory was most retentive, and he had a fund of information and anecdote absolutely inexhaustible. He was a pious man, and had prayers in his state room every morning and evening. A love stronger than death grew up between us during this voyage. He was blessed with the taste of a finished scholar, a knowledge both of books and mankind, which I have rarely met with, and freedom from bigotry more perfect than I ever saw before or since. He died two years ago, and is now beyond tlie praise or censure of mortals.

My fellow-passenger was a resident of New Orleans. Although a most intelligent, agreeable, and worthy gentleman, and most excellent company, he was at that time inclined to be sceptical on

the subject of religion. But when I met him last winter, I found that he had become an ardent, zealous spiritualist, and of course a firm believer in God, inspiration, and immortality. The change was to me the more extraordinary, because he has a mind remarkably cool, clear, and philosophical. I have never known a person less liable to be led astray by sophistries and enthusiasm of any kind. Who dares say that there is nothing true, divine, or beautiful in modern spiritualism ?

CHAPTER XIII.

INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL IN EUROPE. — REFLECTIONS WHICH A SUPERFICIAL VIEW OF THE OLD WORLD AWAKENED IN MY MIND.

I HAD read with deep interest and close attention, for many years, the most celebrated works concerning Europe, published by the tourists and literary men of the United States, before I saw the old world with my own eyes. I carried with me across the Atlantic Dr. Dewey's Journal of a Tour in Europe. From what I knew of this great and good man, I was able to rely on the fidelity of his pen with a full, unlimited confidence. By a universally acknowledged superiority of culture, imagination, and capacity of observing, he was eminently qualified to give a vivid and beautiful description of the various scenes and objects which attracted his notice.

A careful perusal of what he had written, I vainly imagined, would present ideas and pictures to my mental eye essentially resembling those derived from actual observation. Before landing at Liverpool, I thought myself pretty well acquainted with that city and the objects of interest which it contained, because my reading about them had been so minute and thorough. When we were sailing up St. George's Channel, I observed to the captain that I did not expect to be much smitten with the external appearance of any thing which I might see in Wales, 27

England, or Scotland ; for long familiarity with the best descriptions of the various objects which they exhibit would probably make them seem to me like old acquaintances. He replied, smiling at my stupidity, (I suppose,) " You may have acquired from books a rich fund of information concerning the geography, statistics, and history of these regions, but the impressions which the seeing of them makes on the minds of beholders cannot be expressed by words. Words can bear no natural resemblance, like a picture or statue, to the external objects which they signify."

This is a fact of which many writers, as well as readers, do not seem to be aware. One who lias always been deaf cannot enjoy the pleasures of melody and harmony ; the blind cannot be initiated into the charms of color by words. Equally impossible is it for a stranger to acquire, by reading, the ideas and feelings which would be poured into his mind by the sight of any particular scenes of nature or art, such as Mont Blanc, Jungfrau, Lake Geneva, the wonders of Rome, Paris, London, or Edinburgh. A writer, after having been admitted to these striking spectacles, may amuse and entertain the minds of readers by his glowing and eloquent delineations ; but no power of mere words could inspire their souls with one of the thoughts or sentiments wliich the actual beholdhig of them would produce.

To illustrate my meaning, I will give an instance, " On the 24th of September, we had such a sky as I have not before seen in Europe — as I never saw surpassed in America. Nor do I look for any

thing more glorious in Italy. Such splendid transparency, such serenity, such unfathomable depths of ether, such heavens indescribable, seem to me the fit element in which Mont Blanc, fourteen thousand seven hundred and fifty feet above the sea, should appear, to give the fullest and fittest impression. The evening, too, spread the light of a full moon upon the mountains; and here were all objects, — snowy peak, bare, sharp pinnacle, rising, a single cone, from its base three thousand feet; the deep gorge ; the dark fir grove ; the bristling glacier ; the embosomed valley, — every thing of majestic scenery that could make such a night an appropriate close to such a day. Surely no fire from heaven, no altars built with hands, could be needed by him who came to worship here. It was one of those seasons of life when you are silent all the day long, and can scarcely sleep at night, from the burden and pressure of thoughts that can find neither utterance nor repose. The next morning we began our return to Geneva. Perhaps it would not be possible that any contrasts in light and shade should surpass those which were presented in the panorama of mountains that we left behind us. In the distance lay the snowy range of Mont Blanc, beneath the dazzling splendors of the morning, and there was brightness; nearer, and on the left, lay mountains covered with fir, which the morning ray had not touched, and there was darkness; on the right Avere hills, partly cultivated, partly wooded, on which streamed the ricli light of early day, and there was beauty." To me — for I have seen all the objects here men-

tioned — the above description, though as good as words could make it, is ineffably flat, feeble, frigid, and inadequate, it falls so much below the glorious reality. To one iinacquainted with them it can no more convey a true image of the original, than a single brick or stone could represent the accurate symmetry, the beautiful and sublime proportions, of St. Peter's Church at Rome. Whilst in Europe, I made notes enough, as to outward and visible things, to fill a volume or two. "When I reached home, my intention was to have them arranged and publislied. But a single incident changed my resolution. I prepared as good an account as I could make of some of the most interesting objects which I saw in crossing the Alps, accompanied, as it seemed to me, with fit and impressive moralizings. I delivered it from the pulpit, in my own church. Walking home with one of my warmest friends, a plain, uneducated, but sensible and strong-minded mechanic, who had never travelled, I asked him how he liked my discourse. He said, " that it impressed him as something very splendid and well-sounding, but really he could gather no definite instruction from it." I felt that the criticism was just, and followed its suggestions. My descriptions of St. Peter's, St. Paul's, Mont Blanc, Snowdon, Arthur's Seat, Menai Bridge, Ab-botsford, Oxford, Cambridge, Hampton Court, Windsor Castle, Sliakspeare's birthplace, <fec., will never be laid before the public, though in my best judgment they are not vastly inferior to the common run of American literature touching these and similar objects of interest which travellers in Europe so much admire.

I reached London on the last Thursday of June. I had numerous letters of introduction to distinguished persons, and among them, one to a Unitarian clergyman, who, at the time of my arrival, was out of the city. It was left at his residence on Friday morning; in the course of the same day, I received a note from his wife, giving me an urgent invitation to preach for her husband the next Sunday at eleven o'clock A. M. She observed that Mr. T. was not expected home till a late hour on Saturday night, and would be most glad to hear, on his arrival, that a brother, fresh from the United States, had consented to preach for him. Although I had not a single manuscript sermon with me, nor any memoranda adapted to aid memory in the delivery of a discourse, I felt it to be a duty to accept the invitation. My time was divided between company and sight-seeing the whole of Saturday. After dinner, a gentleman of my acquaintance, and formerly of New Orleans, walked with me to see Westminster Abbey. By this time, I began to feel no little anxiety about the engagement I had made for Sunday morning. My mind was, to be sure, not inert, but so excited and absorbed by the objects and novelties on every side, about which I had read and dreamed so often from my childhood, that I could think of nothing else. As we were about entering the Poets' Corner, I remarked to my friend that I had very foolishly promised to speak for a clerical brother to-morrow. " I have no sermon in my pocket or head, and it is impossible, at this late hour, to prepare one suitable to the place, hearers, and occasion." He 27*

replied, " I should think that the inspiration of this memorable spot, these monuments of distinguished statesmen, warriors, scholars, and artists of renown, would suggest to your mind materials enough for a dozen homilies." At this moment, we reached the place where stands the statue of Shakspeare, the arm of which, extended, seems to point the spectator to the following lines : —

•' The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve. And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind."

" Here is a text for you," remarked my friend. The hint struck my mind forcibly, and awakened trains of thought, which in the course of a few hours were moulded into what seemed to me might possibly answer for a sermon, if delivered even with moderate graces of style and elocution. Forgetting the extreme shortness of the nights in that latitude, the morning dawn found me walking my room in deep study. I did not leave it till the bells rang for church. I was conducted to the vestry, where I saw for the first time the gentleman whose pulpit I was to occupy. After a moment's conversation, he inquired, " Have you forgotten your gown ? " "I have none," was the answer. No clergyman of any denomination ever preaches in England without a robe. Several were suspended in a recess of the room, of different sizes. One was selected which I could wear. This difficulty being obviated, my clerical friend asked, " Where is your sermon ? " "I

have brought none with me," was the reply. " Good God," he instantly exclaimed, " are you going before a London audience without a written discourse ? " " Sir," said I, " for the last twenty-five years it has been my duty to preach regularly to a Unitarian congregation in New Orleans, and I have never taken a manuscript, nor even a note, into the pulpit with me. During all this time, I have not written out fully more than two or three sermons ; and were they this moment in my hands, it would be of no avail as to the present emergency. But if you have any misgivings as to my competency, I beg you to allow me to be disrobed, and excused from preaching on this occasion. It would be much more agreeable to me to take a seat among your hearers." This proposition he politely declined, and led my way to the pulpit. I was forty-five minutes in delivering my message. The subject selected was from these words: " Who hath abolished death, and hath brought life and immortality to light through the gospel."

I preached exactly as if I had been addressing my own people at home. The thoughts which were advanced on the subject of immortality had been essentially familiar to my mind for years, and were therefore uttered with more ease and fluency than if they had been read from a manuscript. Most preachers are not aware of the great difference between written and oral language. The latter mode of communicating ideas is vastly more effective than the former. To be sure, in a set, carefully-composed, manuscript sermon, a minister may be more correct

in his expressions, avoid redundancies and repetitions, and use words that are perfectly appropriate. Still, though he may be admired as learned and eloquent, he cannot be so agreeable and persuaeive as. those who in preaching adopt the easy and natural manner of an imaffected speaker.

After the services were finished, my friend was pleased to say that he was delighted with my performances, and that, if it were in his power, he would adopt a similar style of preaching. It was the first time, he added, that his congregation had ever listened to extemporaneous preaching, and " they were interested, raised up, and carried along with you." One gentleman from New Orleans was present, who had often heard me; he said this sermon was one of my happiest efforts. I was, indeed, much excited. I thought of the antecedent generations who had acted their parts in that great metropolis, and were that moment in a higher, nobler, and deathless existence ; and I asked my hearers to look out upon the perspective of that better land, and tell me whether, in their estimation, the evanescent advantages of wealth, rank, and fashion, were the brightest things within our reach ; whether there was not something in our horizon more sublime than the attainments of ease, profit, pleasure, or aggrandizement, which could be enjoyed only for a moment. And, with what seemed to me affecting views of the vanity of human ambition, and the utter worthless-ness of merely mortal possessions, when I summed up, at the conclusion, all that is sublime and tremendous in the prospect of a future destiny, lost in the fath-

omless abysses of an immortal being, and contrasted it with the shadows, the dreams of earth and time, my feelings bore me away, and tears started from the eyes of many persons, whose faces had looked to me previously as cold and immovable as marble statues. My liearers appeared to be deeply stirred, and most of them, as I learned afterwards, were highly cultivated, educated gentlemen — savans, artists, and authors.

Travelling through Europe,! met with many intelligent men, who said they had no faith in Christianity. On conversing more freely with them, I ascertained that it was not the absolute truth tauglit by Jesus which they denied, but only some of tliose numerous follies, which, through a long course of ages, have been assumed, by the benighted and superstitious, as so many doctrines of Christ and his apostles. If the New Testament were properly explained and understood, there would hardly be an unbeliever in it throughout all Christendom.

The next day I was invited to dine, with a select company, at the house of the clergyman whose pulpit I had occupied Sunday morning. I had hardly crossed the threshold of the drawing room before a lady rushed forward and grasped me by the hand, saying, " I do not wonder that you look astonished at what may seem to yoii an act of rudeness ; but I heard you preach in New Orleans some years ago, and am most happy to greet you in my native city." She had hardly finished her address, before another lady came forward and claimed to be an acquaintance on the same ground. Then a gentleman, whom

I had never seen before, called me by name, saying that he was acquainted with scores of my relations who resided in the county of Devonshire, where he was born and lived till he came to London. At this time I was standing on the vestibule of the room, and had not yet had an introduction to the company within. This unceremonious, warm, and friendly treatment, where I had expected to pass as one unknown, moved me even to tears, and I passed through that scene with more freedom, cordiality, and happiness, than I ever before experienced in any social circle to which I had been admitted in the United States. I love the English. I love their manners, character, and society. What an illustrious nation ! One fact astonished me, because it was so contrary to all my preconceived ideas. A learned, well-bred Englishman, blessed with a knowledge both of books and the world, is quite as candid, liberal, and unprejudiced, as any gentleman belonging to the higher and best informed classes of France or the United States.

While travelling through Great Britain, I heard a considerable number of her most celebrated preachers of different denominations. It was my good fortune to have an opportunity to attend worship one Sabbath in the chapel of Cambridge University, that ancient and venerable seat of learning. In the course of tlic day, two sermons were delivered by divines of the highest reputation for piety, learning, and eloquence. A gentleman who accompanied me, a native of England, and a graduate of one of her universities, remarked, at the close of the day, " that in all his life

he had never listened to abler discourses." Supposing his judgment to be correct, I think it no injustice to say that the ordinary style of sermonizing in the United States is not at all inferior to that of the church of England, either as it regards delivery, sound doctrine, literary merit, or the power of making efficient and salutary impressions on the conscience. I admit that my expectations were raised to the highest pitch, and nothing but superior performances could have fully answered their demands.

I will give a sample of the reasoning that characterized the morning's discourse, which was pronounced by a distinguished doctor of divinity, and a man of extensive scientific acquirements. Tliis sermon had two separate heads, or general divisions. The first undertook to specify the cardinal or leading doctrines of the Christian religion. It began with the Trinity. The speaker said that one of the strongest proof texts in support of the supreme, absolute divinity of Jesus was the 27th verse of Luke, 11th chapter: " And it came to pass, as he spake these things, a certain woman of the company lifted up her voice, and said unto him. Blessed is the ivomb that bare thee^ and the paps which thou hast sucked.^^ The gist of his argument ran thus: At the time these words were uttered, it was a settled, universal belief of the Jews, that God was about to appear among them in a human form. This form, of course, must be born of a woman. Under all tlie circumstances of the case, in this instance, the calling Mary " Blessed J ^ &c., was the same precisely as to say,

" All hail, mother of our God." Therefore the Sou of Mary is the second person in the ever-blessed and adorable Trinity. This may be sound logic in Cambridge University; it would not satisfy Trinitarians on this side of the Atlantic.

Next to the trinity of persons in the Godhead, the orator expatiated on the time-hallowed doctrine of original sin. Under this head the audience was regaled with the richest fragrance of Calvinism. He solemnly reminded us that the first sin of Adam and Eve, which blasted the immortal bloom and beauty of an earthly paradise, was the source of all the ills to which man is liable, either here or hereafter. Upon this doctrine, he said, rests the superstructure of revealed religion. Then were quoted the following beautiful lines of Milton : —

" So saying, her rash hand, in evil hour, Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she ate; Earth felt the wound, and Nature, from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe That all was lost."

Without the chimerical creations of Dante and Milton, what would become of that system of theology which accepts the Calvinistic idea of the fall of man ? I was surprised to hear the bishop assert that the physical evils of every description, which now afflict mankind, are the necessary, legitimate consequences of the original transgression in the garden of Eden. He specified sickness, want, pain, the dissolution of the body, inclemency of weather, the fading of flowers, the sufi^ering and death of brutes, earthquakes and volcanoes, the boisterous ocean, the tempestuous

wind, thunder and lightning, all violent, destructive elements, sterility of soil, briers, thorns, and poisonous reptiles, and laid down the doctrine that all these have proceeded from the eating of the forbidden fruit. " If our first parents had not sinned," said he, " earth would have been entirely beautiful — an Elysian scene, free from all imperfections, inhabited by beings pure and deathless as the angels of heaven." Alas ! alas ! that such tempting and deleterious fruit should have been placed within the reach of the first man and woman, whose conduct was to decide for eternity the fates and fortunes of countless millions tlien unborn ! He summed up this topic by saying " that the fall of man was not unforeseen nor unprovided for in the arrangements of Infinite Wisdom ; and that without it Jesus and the glories of his mediation for a ruined world would have had no place in the universe of God."

When giving liis views concerning the Holy Spirit, this doctor of theology, with particular emphasis, cautioned his hearers against the use of reason in interpreting Scripture. " Reason," he told them, " is so dreadfully darkened by the fall, that we cannot be safely guided by its judgments on the subject of religion." What is the use, then, of preaching? What is the use of the Bible itself? Is it not addressed to the reason of mankind — "the divinity that stirs within us"? Scepticism and bigotry are not always distinguished by very distant boundaries, but in many instances seem to sustain to each other the relation of intimate, congenial friends. Both concur in assuring us that we have no natiiral facul-28

ties which qualify us for the successful investigation of religious truth. Both affirm that revelation is the antagonist of reason, and cannot be believed Avithout renouncing the noblest and highest powers which God has bestowed upon us.

Under the second head of his discourse, the position was maintained in the most unqualified terms, that the only true church in the world is the ecclesiastical establishment of Great Britain. He said that God had smiled upon England, and had raised her to her present pinnacle of prosperity, because she adhered so faithfully to the only immaculate, genuine form of Christianity on earth. " The same age," he remarked, " that beholds the downfall of our national church will also witness the obsequies of our secular empire and glory. Our civilization and church are inseparably associated." A powerful argument, indeed, for the annual disbursement of forty millions of dollars from the public treasury, to feed, clothe, and enrich the only true successors of the apostles! I was sorry to hear all other denominations (even the Roman Catholics were not excepted) expressly named only to be denounced and stigmatized as beyond the pale of the Christian church, with nothing to depend upon but what was styled by the orator " the imcovenanted mercies of our heavenly Father.^^ The Unitarians came in for the most vehement and especial vituperation. They were called infidels, who, with ineffable audacity, had assumed the Christian name and paraphernalia.

The above synopsis is a fair representation of the staple thoughts contained in the ablest orthodox ser-

men whicli I heard during my rambles in Europe. The style as to clearness, purity, and precision of language, and the structure of sentences, was faultless ; not needlessly overcharged with technical phrases, nor squeamishly avoiding them when the subject required their introduction. The manner of this eminent prelate was calm, quiet, dignified, and polished, but cold as ice. The true church would be shocked by a sermon, however superior in intrinsic merits, delivered in the ardent, impassioned tones and manner suited to the eloquence of nature. Of the sincerity of this distinguished preacher I did not entertain a doubt; but he exhibited a sample of bigotry which it is painful to think of. He said there was no power under heaven that could authorize a person to become a teacher of Christianity, and an administrator of its sacraments, but the hierarchy of the Episcopal church ; that if a man should appear in England as wise and holy as the Son of God himself, he would have no right to preach, baptize, or administer the communion, unless he were ordained by some bishop belonging to the national establishment. In the English preacliing which I heard, there were two capital defects. First, it was overshadowed and encumbered with the dismal, chilling, unintelligible dogmas of an obsolete, antiquated, scholastic theology. What interest can this active, enlightened generation feel in the metaphysics of St. Augustine and Athanasius, touching tlie mysteries of the Godhead, original sin, the fall of Adam, supernatural conversion, and the unimaginable glories or terrors of the world eternal. It is time that clergymen

should every where abjure the folly of wasting their days and talents in worse than useless efforts to fathom the unsearchable, and reconcile contradictions. What is wanted in Great Britain is a more simple, popular, earnest, practical style of pulpit communications, showing the important relations of the Christian code to the every-day affairs of life — to commerce, trade, government, pauperism, literature, amusements, ancient usages and customs, and all the nameless diversified scenes, pursuits, and interests of mankind this side the grave. In England the Christian minister should have the disinterestedness and moral independence requisite to enable him to set his face resolutely against all those principles and practices which he considers, in his inmost soul, contrary to sound morals and undefiled religion, however popular, prevailing, or fashionable they may happen to be.

Again, the English pulpit is lamentably deficient in fervor and pathos, in all those qualities necessary to arouse and kindle the passions. The sacred desk should every where, like that of England, possess large and various knowledge, correctness of taste, fertility of illustration, a clear and copious flow of words ; but these will be of no avail, unless it deeply sympathize with all those natural forms of beauty, truth, and goodness, which strike, charm, and captivate the great heart of humanity. The business of a preacher is not so much to convince the understanding of his hearers, as to persuade their wills — to communicate to their hearts rapture at the morally beautiful, joy in the true, exultation in the pure

and good — those far-reaching sympathies and sublime sentiments wliich proclaim our origin divine, and our destination immortal.

During the last week of June, 1847, I enjoyed several fine opportunities of listening to the best speakers in the Parliament of Great Britain. I heard Lord Brougham, Sir George Bentinck, Lord John Russell, Lord Morpeth, Mr. Disraeli, Mr. Hume, and many others. I will here record a few paragraphs from a note book containing an account of my daily experiences at that time.

When I first cast my eyes on this far-famed assembly, the personal appearance of its members made a deep and quite agreeable impression. Their mien in general is imposing, and highly expressive of the wisdom and refinement which should adorn the representatives of an ancient, powerful, and splendid nation. English gentlemen present the most perfect model extant, as it regards the proprieties of manner, costume, and external bearing. Horace somewhere remarks, that a man of great intellectual abilities, but of forbidding, uncultivated manners, may be compared to a field possessing a rich soil, yet iintilled, its surface rough with weeds, briers, and thorns. True it is, that a legislator of clownish appearance, slovenly in dress, who mixes the spirting of tobacco juice with the finest sentences which fall from his lips, may be a man of great worth and genuine patriotism.

The most distinguished talents may be concealed beneath his unpolished exterior. But a moderate share of gentility would not only render him more 28*

agreeable to our perceptions, but also make an important addition to his weight and influence in the scale of usefulness. I regret that my countrjancn, when travelling in foreign lands, sometimes act as if they thought it would involve a sacrifice of personal freedom and independence to observe the decorum of time, place, and circumstance, in their intercourse with others. To avoid the least approach to servility on some occasions, they rush into the opposite extreme of rudeness, and gross disregard of conventional rules and customs, which have an imperative claim to our notice, when they do not conflict with the requirements of morality. For reasons which I cannot now examine, the people in the southern parts of our Union are more mild, gentle, refined, and obliging in their manners, not only at home, but abroad, as a general fact, than the inhabitants of the free states, Boston and our other large cities excepted.

The members of Parliament, as far as I could judge, possess the advantage of a finished education. At any rate, those who spoke when I was present appeared to be perfectly acquainted with the business that was going on, never wandered from the main point, and advanced only the most appropriate facts and arguments tending to elucidate the subject upon which they were deliberating. Long-winded, rambling orators are never tolerated in the English legislature. They are put down by concerted noises, such as coughing, stamping with the feet, &c. Hence no one attempts to speak on a subject of which he is ignorant; but only when he is provided with an ample stock of materials, that have been

thoroughly digested and lucidly arranged. Indeed, the condensation of the speakers in Parliament, their close, rigid attention to the business before them, and the beautiful appropriateness of their language were so striking, that on one occasion I listened, with an almost unvaried interest, to a series of speeches on different topics, but mostly of a local cliaracter, which were protracted from seven o'clock P. M. till near two the next morning. And I remarked that in those replies, which must have been strictly extemporaneous, the prominent characteristics were relevance, distinctness, brevity, and wit. Their coruscations of wit were often vivid and irresistible, but always polished and good natured. In a legislator, knowledge is power; and the more copious the fund of his intelligence, the more efficient will be his oratory. When a speaker is full of important, connected facts and arguments touching a given subject, his address may be forcible and persuasive, without the graces of a pleasing voice and elocution. Good sense is the foundation of every species of eloquence, and it cannot be compressed into too small a compass. I have heard a fluent speaker in our Congress, for an hour or two, pouring forth his loose, vague, indistinct, cloudy abstractions, when the most attentive and enlightened listener could gain no clear, definite conceptions from his pompous, frothy declamation. Such a ])henomenon is unknown in the legislature I am speaking of.

In Parliament, as I saw it, there was one characteristic to me alike surprising and inexplicable. I allude to the invariable deficiency of feeling, the ap-

parent apathy which distinguished their greatest orators, even when expatiating on topics fitted to arouse the strongest emotions. I shonld liave inferred from their style of speaking that tlie predominant trait of their minds was stoicism — a cahnness of soul as incapable of pain, pleasure, or passion of any kind, as a block of marble. In both houses of the English legislature there is the finest scope for the most animated species of eloquence; for that ardor of speech, that vehemence and nobleness of sentiment, which can proceed only from a mind enriched by the elements of science and learning and inspired by some great and magnificent theme. One night, almost every word that was uttered related to the passage of a bill that had been introduced primarily to afford relief to the starving poor of Ireland. In the House of Commons the matter underwent a thorough and lengthened discussion. And all the time, to the eye of a spectator, that assembly was still as the Dead Sea. Not a ripple disturbed its glassy, polished surface. Yes, living, breathing men, in the attitude of communicating their ideas on a theme of all others, perhaps, most likely to excite the human mind, were, to appearance, as passionless as those portraits v/hich transmit to us the forms and features of orators that are now no more. I could not but feel the striking difference between the scene before me and the meeting which was held the winter previous in the Commercial Exchange, New Orleans, to devise measures for the relief of suffering Ireland. At that meeting the two most prominent orators were the late Hon. Henry Clay and

S. S. Prentiss, Esq. In the course of their remarks they were so deeply affected as to shed tears, and there was a mutual sympathy between the orators and the audience. We who listened were stirred and carried along with them. Our hearts wept in view of the miseries which they painted. It was enough for us to know that thousands on the other side of the Atlantic, united to us by the ties of a common nature, were perishing for want of food. Prompted by those generous sentiments which make the wants and sorrows of others, however distant, our own, we loaded vessels with the requisite supplies, and sent them relief with all possible despatch. But let me not do injustice to the distinguished men of whom I have been speaking. I most fully believe tliat the apathy to which I have alluded was not real, but only apparent. They cherished in their bosoms the appropriate emotions, but fashion, or something else, forbade the manifestation of them. I was told that they would have exposed themselves to ridicule by speaking in that pathetic, vehement tone which is suited to the American taste. It gives me pleasure to testify that the orators, on the evening before mentioned, with one or two exceptions, admitted the sacred claims of Ireland to English philanthropy. " Ireland," said they, " is not only visited by the judgments of Heaven, (alluding to the famine,) but it is also crushed by the misrule and oppression inflicted by the English government for centuries past. We must help her; we will not allow her to perish." One of the members stated, that during that session of Parliament, (1847,) eight

millions of pounds sterling had been already appropriated to the relief of the neighboring island, and " now this bill," said he, " calls on us to give for the same object nearly another million. I shall vote for it." Neither the American heart, nor the French heart, nor any other human heart, is in reality more noble, more humane, more generous, or philanthropic, than that of those very orators whose imperturbable calmness of countenance and manners might lead a stranger to suppose that they were given over to the insensibility of utter, obdurate, invincible selfishness, and indifference to the misery of their fellow-beings. Indeed, the almost boundless charities of the English to relieve every species of want and suffering among them, demonstrate the vitality of their religious principles, and that they are quite equal, if not superior, to any other nation in recognition of the claims of our common humanity. The opinion prevails in the United States, that piety is at a very low ebb in the church of England. This is an error. That church is not inferior to any other on earth in fulfilling God's command to do good to all men, without distinction ; in toiling and suffering for the cause of human progress ; in diffusing freedom, virtue, and intelligence; in relieving the poor; in succoring the fallen, the orphan, and the widow; in breaking the yoke of the enslaved and down-trodden ; in sending the Bible all over the globe ; and in redeeming our misguided, unhappy race from the countless forms of sin and woe. The church of Oxford, and Rome too, are not below their neighbors in genuine holiness; they comprehend

within their limits millions, who, according to the measure of their knowledge and means, are sincerely striving to be conformed to the will of the common Father of us all, and obey the precepts of his Son. Some seem to think that when an assembly worships with harmonies of splendid music, fumes of incense, ancient liturgies, and a gorgeous ceremonial, it cannot be pure and holy in the sight of God. But they who look below the surface which the church militant presents to a superficial eye, and who are not bewildered by the din and confusion of conflicting sects, creeds, and diversities of forms, know that men who differ ever so much in opinions and rites may nevertheless feel in their hearts as becomes Christians, and gaze with admiration, gratitude, and hope, on the divine and benignant image of that Redeemer who has tasted death for every member of Adam's race.

Some one has said, our minds are steeped in imagery, and where the visible form is not, the impalpable spirit escapes the notice of an ignorant, unreflecting inultitude. Cuvier could trace the sublime unity, the universal type, the central idea, existing in the creative intelligence, which connects as one the mammoth and the snail. So profound Catholic observers can perceive the holy unity that pervades all those of every name and denomination, who " confess with their lips the Lord Jesus, and believe in their hearts that God hath raised him from the dead." As to church organization and forms, to be sure I have my preferences, and indulge them; but I should be chargeable with one of the most debasing

forms of bigotry, if I thought that one denomination was any more acceptable to God than another. Whoever Avorships the Father with sincerity of intention will be blessed, though he kneel before the altar with a mind darkened with vulgar superstitions, unfounded fears, narrow prejudices, and vain imaginings. The different sects in Christendom have no just reason to look upon one another with unfriendliness, antipathy, and discord. " I admire," says Dr. Channing, " the venerable names of Thomas a Kempis, Fenelon, and Cheverus, of the Romish church; I admire the names of Latimer, Hooker, Barrow, Heber, Milton, Newton, John Locke, and Samuel Clark. They breathe a fragrance tlirough the common air ; they lift up the whole race to which they belonged towards the illimitable heavens. With the churches of which they were pillars and chief ornaments I have the warmest sympathies. To confine God's love, or his good spirit, to any sect, party, or particular church, is to sin against the fundamental law of the kingdom of God, to break that living bond with Christ's universal church, which is one of our most important helps to perfection."

When I was in St. Peter's Church, Rome, on a beautiful Sunday morning in July, 1847, the Lord's Prayer, in Latin, was repeated by the priest who was officiating at one of the altars. Nothing which I ever heard uttered in a church affected me more deeply. "Our Father," &c., — that is the Father of all. These words inspired me with the thought that mankind are indeed one, — one in origin, in birth, in life, in love, in suffering, in death, — one,

too, in hope of that inheritance incorruptible, iinde-filed, and unfading, through Christ, reserved in heaven for all the countless millions of woman born. The love of which the cross is the emblem is as un-circumscribed as that of the Lord's prayer. It enables us to look beyond the shadows and sorrows of mortality, to a future existence of endless and ever-progressive glory, in whicii all mankind will eventually participate. " Uniformity of creeds, of discipline, of ritual, and of ceremonies, in such a world as ours ! a world where no two men are not as distinguishable in their mental as in their physical aspect; where all that meets the eye, and all that arrests the ear, has the stamp of boundless and infinite variety ! What are the harmonies of tone, of color, and of form, but the results of contrasts — contrasts held in subordination to one pervading principle, which reconciles, without confounding, the component elements of the music, the painting, or the structure ? Just so in the spiritual works of God : beauty could have no existence without endless diversities." The human constitution is so organized, that honest men, however enlightened, are compelled to form dissimilar views of divine truth as long as they live in the body. Honest men can no more think alike than they can look alike. Truth is God's law, indeed ; but if all will profess to think exactly alike about it, all must be hypocrites, and live a life of habitual falsehood. How cold, dull, deformed, uninteresting, even hateful, would be a community in which there was no difference of opinion on moral and religious themes ! There are no more nor other 29

forms of Christianity among men than are wanted. Their existence demonstrates their necessity. Nor has any particular form a right to arrogate to itself precedence or superiority over their neighbors.

I can enjoy the communion of any church where the Lord's Prayer is understood and sincerely adopted ; where the worshippers are taught to believe that God is not almighty wrath, but an infinite Parent, who introduced them into this world without their consent, and has watched over them in all their past vicissitudes of sickness and health, joy and sorrow, and who will continue to take care of them — be the friend, strength, and portion of their spirits through the serene, unclouded, eternal processions of a heavenly state. I feel at home in any church where I see a banner floating aloft above its dome, on which is inscribed the motto, God our Father, Man OUR Brother, Jesus Christ our Redeemer.

I went into churches of every denomination when travelling in Europe, from the Roman Catholic to the Unitarian, was permitted to commune in all, and felt that the " Holy of Holies " was in each of those communions; that in each were humble, sincere, thankful Christians, bearing faithfully the trials of their lot, forgiving their bitterest enemies, shedding the tear of sympathy at the sight of a neighljor's suffering, toiling with disinterestedness to relieve it, and transported by a hope in Christ triumphant over time, nature, death, and the grave. Religion is flourishing all over Europe, not excepting Germany. Things may appear the reverse to superficial observers. Since Christ expired on the cross, hi« cause has been progressing every hour.

We sojnetimes feel inclined to despondency, when we see scepticism in the pulpit, or the professor's cliair, or in the circulating literature of our times. But we forget that hy these very means the glorious cause of revealed religion is carried forward. Look through the annals and eras of the past, and beliold when the church seemed to human view to be delivered completely into the hands of its enemies, it was only undergoing a transition to a higher and more brilliant state. Wlien Jesus was laid in the tomb, to mortal eye annihilated, then was the most signal triumph of the cross. No events can retard or retrograde the advancement of God's truth. If the Bible is divine, no real adversity can befall the church. The churcli can no more fail, nor bo retarded, than the eternal Cause that breathed it into existence. All storms, all waves that beat upon it, all the wrath and opposition of men, are the instrumentalities which Providence uses to promote its development and prosperity.

I was very anxious not only to see, but to converse with some of the most celebrated scholars and authors of Great Britain. Mr. Bancroft, the historian, who was then our ambassador at the court of St. James, afforded me all the attention and civilities in his power. I was especially desirous to become personally acquainted with Thomas Carlyle. Mr. Bancroft told iue that it would be impossible for me to obtain an introduction to him except at one of his evening levees, because he spent every morning in liis study, and received no visitors until after dinner. " But these levees are always crowded," said he,

" and allow no opportunities for extended conversation." As he had called my countrymen a nation of bores, I concluded to assume the character and impudence which tlie term designates. Mr. Carlyle resided two miles from Morley's Hotel, where I had lodgings. I was told that his breakfast hour was eight o'clock. I found my way to his dwelling one morning, when the clock was striking nine, Avitli letters from distinguished men on both sides of the Atlantic. A lady, with a very intelligent appearance, met me at the door. I said to her, " I have called this morning to see Mr. Carlyle : is he at home ? " She replied, " Mr. Carlyle has just entered his study, and no gentleman can see him this morning. If the Queen of England should now call here and request an interview with him, it would not be granted." I then asked her if she could oblige me by carrying a written message to his study. " With pleasure," said she. I sat down and wrote with a pencil the following words. " Dear sir : No gentleman, but a man, is at your door,— a Unitarian, a Yankee, a democrat, and a radical, all the way from the banks of the Mississij^pi ; a careful reader and great admirer of Mr. Carlyle,— and begs the favor of a short interview, which must be granted nov), or never this side the grave." I sent my letters along with this scrawl. Directly the invitation came : " Walk up, sir ; I shall be happy to see you."

I was received in the most kind and unceremonious manner. The topics on which we conversed were so numerous that I have not room even to mention them. The colloquial style of this gentle-

man is plain, easy, natural, and nnaffected, and bears no resemblance to that of his later writings ; has none of those qualities commonly called transcendental. Our conversation was protracted till afternoon. Though I rose several times to depart, he insisted upon my staying longer so earnestly, that I acceded to his wishes. Much of the time was spent in answering his inquiries concerning the statistics of the United States, the peculiarities of our government, laws, manners, schools, churches, literature, &c. He professed to be much gratified with the information which I gave him in regard to these subjects. He was very particular in his questions about slavery, and the narratives of the terrible sufferings to which African bondmen are habitually subjected in our country. The real facts appertaining to the case, as I stated them, were in direct antagonism to all the representations of anti-slavery writers and orators which he had seen. He w^as rejoiced to hear tliat the slaves in our Southern States were well fed and clothed, not over-worked, and mercifully treated in all respects. I told him that they were quite as w^ell off, both as to their temporal and spiritual interests, as any class of operatives, either in the field or shop, that existed in Great Britain or any part of continental Europe.

He tlien uttered words nearly as follows : " From what you say, — and I cannot doubt the correctness of your statements,— it seems that slavery, as it exists in your republic, is a subject enveloped in the tliick mists of ignorance, prejudice, and misrepresentation. It is indeed true that not more than fifty years ago our 29*

own merchants were employed in transporting native Africans to your shores for sale. It is true that Great Britain originated the system when you were colonies, under her inliuence and jurisdiction. At the same time the ships of New England were devoted to the odious traffic. The Southern States were never engaged in the slave trade. To be sure, they purchased the captives whom we sent to them, because they were exactly fitted by nature for the climate, and because they believed, as every body then did, in the entire rectitude of such exchanges. I understand what you say — that southern planters cannot possibly manumit their slaves immediately without involving them in utter perdition. It is their duty to keep them in bondage for the present, till it please Providence to open a way for their exaltation to a higher state. The blame of African bondage in your land, if blame there be, belongs chiefly to us. We set up the institution among you by the force of laAv, even against your desire and earnest remonstrances. And we are doing all in our power to foster and perpetuate it. We live by slave labor. What feeds our immense cotton manufactories ? Destroy them, and we should be ruined. All those communities that use the cotton, rice, sugar, coffee, &c., produced by slave labor, are just as mucli implicated in the wrong as slaveholders themselves, and just as criminal in the sight of God. In the guilt of slavery, as things are, the whole civilized world participates. How unjust, then, the reproaches and vituperation poured ovit upon you, for a state of things which was forced upon you by an inevitable

providence, and the cancelling of which is out of your power! The principle, I admit, is wrong; ' but let him who is without sin cast the first stone.' It is idle, it is worse than idle, for one to indulge in acrimonious declamation against African slavery in the United States, who is unable to specify any feasible method of abolishing it."

Such was the strain in which this far-seeing, just, and noble man expressed ideas touching slavery, which must appear true and beautiful, I should think, to every candid, impartial, and enlightened mind. And all the anti-slavery men with whom I conversed in England, spoke on the same subject in the accents of a calm, gentle, humane, profound, and considerate philosophy. They are free from that spirit of harshness, invective, and denunciation, which characterize, almost invariably, the effusions of American abolitionists.

We have few literary men, who, in depth, compass, and variety of learning, can be compared with such scholars as Macaulay, Martineau, Beard, Car-lyle, and many others of the same description. In my judgment, Ralph Waldo Emerson has as much acquaintance with literature, and is as great a thinker, as any person in Europe. The Hon. Edward Everett, and Mr. Bancroft, the historian, belong to the same category. Outside of the circle of m}'' acquaintance are scores, perhaps, of educated Americans, who are entitled to be placed upon the same platform with the distinguished men just named. Biit as a general fact, our scholars and professional men are sadly deficient in culture. The

clergymen whom I .saw in England do not confine themselves to the study of theology, but are conversant in every department of learning. They are not so showy as a certain class of ministers in the United States. They have not the same knack of dressing up trite and commonplace thoughts with those ornaments of style which are most fitted to attract the gaze of an ignorant, unreflecting crowd. But they are more solid, lay more stress upon their matter than manner, and prefer the plain, simple, manly, and strong, to the empty, foppish, gaudy, and superficial. American literature is too often diluted, unoriginal, adapted to secure the ephemeral applause of the day, rather than to command lasting and universal admiration.

CHAPTER XIV.

SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS WITH REGARD TO MY INTERVIEW WITH MR. CARLYLE. — ERRONEOUS IMPRESSIONS PREVALENT AMONG THE WISE MEN OP EUROPE CONCERNING THE UNITED STATES. THE ALPS.

The news of Dr. Chalmers's death, the great divine of Scotland, had just been received. Reference was made to the opinion expressed in his Bridgewater Treatise, that all which we call evil is phenomenal only — the necessary means of something in itself good ; or, as R. W. Emerson has expressed it, " Evil is good in the process of formation — good in embryo, in incubation." " Dr. Chalmers," said Mr. Carlyle, "was as good as he was great. His heart was expanded, and in conversation he often uttered sentiments which are directly at variance with the dogmas of the church to which he belonged. I enjoy an extended personal acquaintance with ministers of various denominations in England and Scotland. Neither in nor out of the pulpit have I ever heard one argue in favor of the doctrine of endless evil. I am satisfied that no intelligent clergyman among us embraces it. It is a melancholy fact, that until the present century, a great majority of professedly Christian teachers represented the Almighty Being as decreeing and delighting in human misery. How inexplicable that educated men, closing their eyes against the irresistible evidence of unbounded

goodness and power in the natural world around and within them, should make themselves believe that linal, hojielciis, remediless misery is tlie grand, sublime consummation of the Creator's moral achievements ! The horrid doctrine is not to be fuund in the New Testament. There is no intimation given, in any part of the Scriptures, of a doom so inscrutable, and so repugnant to those inevitable ideas which we all entertain of the divine perfections. It is certain that the Greek word aionios, which is sometimes applied to punishment in the gospel, does not prove its eternity. For throughout Greek literature, sacred and profane, it is often employed to signify a limited duration."

When speaking about the Athanasian creed, he remarked, " The doctrine of three persons in the Godhead had no existence in the primitive church till after the Council of Nice. The question of debate at that meeting did not relate to the equality of the Son with the Father. This idea was not then advocated by any divine in Christendom. It was ■universally admitted that Jesus was inferior to God himself. The subject of discussion in that far-famed assembly amounted to this: Was the Son formed out of the very substance of the supreme Jehovah, or was his spiritual nature essentially the same as that of angels, or that of Adam before he had sinned ? This was a thesis sufficiently subtile and absurd, to be sure, but it was infinitely removed from the Athanasian theory concerning the Godhead."

The last thing published by Dr. Chalmers, but a

few days before his decease, was a letter in wliicli he expressed his opinion, that the Christian religion cannot be permanently prosperons in any conntry, without the support of legislative enactment. " Conversing on this subject," he said, "it was remarked by an intelligent American whom he had met in London, that more persons, in proportion, resort to some place for religions worship every Sabbath, in our republic, than in any other civilized land on the face of the globe. A little band of pioneers go into the wilderness to subdue it—to spread around them green pastures, cultivated fields, blooming gardens and orchards, with all the charms and luxuries that follow in their train. They build their cabins, and begin to fell the trees. Almost at the same instant the log school house and church spring into existence." He subjoined these words: " It would, no doubt, be best that church and state should every where be completely divorced. Men in all grades and conditions of life, barbarous and civilized, have their gods to whom they flee for help in their hours of weakness, peril, or suffering. If unacquainted with the God of the Bible, they will carve out an idol, an image of brass, marble, or some other substance, and repair to its altar for protection. Some repose their confidence in the sun, the moon, or stars ; in beast, bird, tree, reptile, or insect. Thus, through every land, from every temple and altar, from every bleeding victim, and from every prayer, a voice proclaims that every man, however vague or erring his notions of spiritual truth may be, must betake himself to some real or imaginary divinity in

scenes of weakness, change, sorrow, disease, and death. Worship, then, is enforced upon the children of men by inevitable laws.

" It is the dictate of our nature. The principles of of piety are deeply founded in the human mind. It is no less essential to us than to possess the attributes of speech and reason. The most sceptical and misanthropic person must trust in something superior to himself; and that object of trust is to him divine. The influences best calculated to refine and moralize mankind are education, domestic training, parental example, literature, the customs and fashions of society, and the Sabbath, with all its beautiful, hallowed ceremonies. Mere arbitrary law is an odious thing in the sight of all the world. The mass of any people will therefore look with suspicion and dislike upon a church which is identified with the civil government. The voluntary system is vastly preferable to any of those that recognize the rectitude and expediency of coercion in matters of faith. It is just as absurd to vote that men shall be religious at all, or in any particular way, as to vote that they shall be initiated into the science of fluxions, mathematics, or natural philosophy."

Mr. Carlyle, speaking of modern poetry, said that, " although Wordsworth was not so popular, so generally read and admired as many of his contemporaries, yet he ascended to the highest grounds ever occupied by poetic genius. In his writings are sounded some of the noblest strains of poetry recorded in ancient or modern literature. No author is more original, happy, and delicate in the use of metaphors

and comparisons." Several instances were quoted, one of which seemed to me so transcendently noble, that I will give it a place here. Wordsworth describes the tendency of human life to beautify man's nature in the following lines ; —

" As the ample moon, In the deep stillness of a summer even Rising behind a thick and lofty grove, Burns, like an unconsuming fire of light. In the green trees ; and kindling on all sides Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil Into a substance glorious as her own ; Yea, with her own incorporate, by power Capacious and serene, —like power abides In man's celestial spirit; Virtue thus Sets forth and magnifies herself; thus feeds A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire, From the encumbrances of mortal life. From even disappointment — nay, from giiilt; And sometimes, so relenting Justice wills, From palpable oppressions of despair."

The philosophy contained in these words came from the Bible, It is the great, immutable truth often expatiated upon by the sacred writers, that all events are made to subserve the march of knowledge and happiness ; that by all which happens through the years, ages, centuries, and cycles of time, that by all the ordinances, appointments, fates, vicissitudes, sins, and sufferings of our eartlily allotments, only great, everlasting, and beneficent results are accomplished.

" Respecting man, whatever wrong we call May, must be right, as relative to all."

Or, to use the ideas of Emerson, in his profound work, " Representative Men,^' " That pure maligni-30

ty can exist, is the extreme proposition of unbelief. It is not to be entertained by a rational agent; it is atheism ; it is the last profanation.

' Goodness and being in the gods are one; He who imputes ill to them makes them none.'

To what a painful perversion has that theology arrived which admits no conversion for evil men hereafter! But the influence of the Holy Spirit is never relaxed; the power of the sun will convert carrion itself into grass and flowers ; and man, though now in dungeons, or jails, or on gibbets, is in a state of preparation for all the beauty and bliss of which he is capable. Atheism is not so dreadful as that vindictive theology which peoples an Inferno with devils utterly depraved and incorrigible. Every thing is superficial, and perishes, but love and truth only. The largest is always the truest sentiment. Every man can exclaim,—

' Immortality o'ersweeps All pains, all tears, all sins, all fears, And peals like the eternal thunders of the deep Into my ears this truth — Thou liv'st forever.' "

The most painful sight which I saw in England was the great inequalities which mark the different classes of society. The established church is proverbially rich. Wealth in itself should never be regarded as an evil, cither as it respects individuals or communities. The ministers of religion cannot be too opulent, provided they make a beneficent use of their means. In this instance the evil arises from a

most unngliteous distribution of the funds appropriated for the support of religion. Tlie bishops have priAcely incomes. The inferior clergy, who do all the preaching and parochial labor, are in the main very poor, and sometimes straitened for tlie necessaries of life. If the annual disbursements of the English government on behalf of Christianity were divided equally among its ministers, each man would receive only about five hundred dollars a year, which is not larger than the average salary paid to clergymen in the United States. It appears liard that the dissenters should be compelled to contribute towards the maintenance of the establishment, besides supporting their own institutions. It seems to be tlie most flagrant injustice and iniquity that six or seven thousand persons — the younger sons of noblemen —-should receive their livings from the church funds, who never perform clerical duties. They hold their stations as benefices, or sinecures. Besides, they are often openly, desperately depraved and dissolute.

Here I would remark that tlie opinion most prevalent in this country concerning the character of the English bisliops is altogether erroneous. When will men learn to do justice to their fellow-beings ? Although these prelates have large revenues, and are surrounded witli a temporal splendor, whicli, in the eyes of a plain democrat from this western world, may appear utterly irreconcilable with the character of a gospel minister, as described by Paul in his Epistles to Timotliy and Titus, yet for the most part they are humble, self-denying, noble men, worthy to be considered as the successors of the apostles. To be sure,

some melancholy exceptions might be mentioned; but bad men arc found in every hierarchy under heaven. I admire and honor the English church, that duMing the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and that portion of the nineteenth already elapsed, has stood forth like an impregnable fortress against the assaults of infidelity, a spiritual promontory, on which the storms and waves of opposition have expended their fury in vain. Ever since we ceased to be colonies, some dissenters among us have cherished the most bitter and unfounded prejudices against Episcopacy. No church in this republic is more useful or glorious. It is a haven of repose, whither the calm, intelligent, and refined of all the dissenting denominations may repair, and find a refuge, after having been tossed, perhaps for years, on the boisterous sea of theological strife. Not a minister of this denomination has ever been known to pervert the gospel by making his pulpit the arena of political huckstering, forgetting the fundamental precepts of Christ — the merciful designs and charitable spirit of his mission—to deal out falsehoods, bitterness, and vituperation, instead of the gospel, to subserve the vilest purposes of unscrupulous ambition and depravity.

The American traveller in England, I have boforo said, is continually pained with those disparities of condition and marked contrasts which arise from an aristocracy established by law from entailed estates and hereditary titles to honor and power. The whole west end of London shows like a city of the gods ; St. Giles, Wapping, and otlier sections are filled with squalor and the extrcmest wretchedness,

■whose inhabitants seem more like devils than human beings. In these districts, I was told that children grow up not only crushed and blighted by destitution, but taught to believe that lying, theft, licentiousness, and kindred vices are right and honorable. Are they to blame, then, if they put on terrific attributes, bid defiance to morality, or even imbrue their hands in blood ? They know no better. They are not to blame, but the society is which tolerates such a state of pauperism and ignorance. In London there are thirty thousand persons, perhaps, or more, who live in all the luxuries and magnificence which their imagination can devise, and there are quite as many who know not when they ri^e in the morning where they shall lay their heads at night.

When in Liverpool, I went one morning to visit an extensive park, more than twenty miles in circumference. In it were lawns smoothly shaven, avenues of majestic trees, and gardens presenting every variety of vegetable beauty. It was a perfect paradise. The stately mansion of its owner, through long ranges of splendid apartments, is filled with the works of art and the creations of luxury, with paintings and statues, with silken couches, gorgeous furniture, and costly libraries, exhibiting a scene of magnificence hardly surpassed by the grandeurs represented in the pages of Arabian romance. Througlu out England, travelling in any direction, every few miles you come across these magnificent domains belonging to the aristocracy. Indeed, they own nearly all the land in Great Britain. Consequently the surface of England presents scenes of splendor, 30*

which makes tlie stranger feel as if he were journeying through some fairy land.

In England, about thirty-two thousand persons out of a population of thirty-two millions, possess aristocratic wealth and honors. Eight or ten millions own the entire property of Great Britain, both real and personal. The remaining twenty-four millions are paupers, doomed to severe, unintcrmit-ted, crushing toil through life, in order to obtain a bare subsistence. From infancy their food is of the poorest kind, and insufficient in quantity. Millions of them feel the pain of unsatisfied hunger perhaps every moment during their waking hours. They are half clothed ; ^jnd cold, wet weather is to them a scene of constant suffering. They cannot read or write, and are cut off from the endearments, joys, and blessings of domestic life. Their domicile is a hedge or a hovel. In mind they are inert, stupid, and mean beyond any specimens of humanity that have fallen under my observation elsewhere, either in the old or new world, either white or black. Strolling one day along the banks of the Avon, I accosted a peasant who was engaged in haying. Among other questions, I asked him the name of the stream on whose bank we stood. He replied that he did not know. On further inquirj, I found that ho was born in that neighborhood, and had been a laborer in those fields for more tlian forty years. When sickness, age, infirmity, and decrepitude overtake tliem, they are conducted to the poorhouse, and breathe their last with no one to shed the tear of sympathy. They are followed by others who run the same round of wretchedness and almost brutal desr-

radation. So it has been for a long series of ages — from time immemorial. This description is applicable to eight or ten millions of persons.

Now, such a state of things, as all admit, — such a depression of the many to exalt the few, —is the result of feudal aristocracy, the transmission of hereditary honor, entailed estates, &c., factitious distinctions, created and upheld by the theory of the English government. " If any one can doubt about the essential injustice of this system, let him go back in his thoughts to the origin of society. Let me ask him to suppose that he, with a thousand other persons, all standing upon terms of equality, were about to reconstruct society, or to establish a colony on some distant shore. Suppose this company assembled, at the commencement of their enterprise, to form a civil constitution ; at this meeting, they all stand upon the same level. Now, imagine ten of these colonists to propose that they should be made earls or lords ; that they should be made an hereditary branch of the legislature, with a negative upon the wishes and interests of all the rest; and that, in order to secure their permanent respectability, they should be permitted to hold their estates in entail — a proposition very pleasant and palatable to the ten, doubtless ; but could the rest of the company listen to it ? I put it to the veriest tory in the world, whether, as one of that company, he would listen to it; I put it to him to say, whether he would consent that lots should be cast to determine on whom the mantle of nobility should fall." *

* Dr. Dewey.

Attending a dinner party at the residence of a wealthy banker of London, I had a good deal of conversation with a very learned man, who was a graduate of Cambridge University, but had never travelled the distance of one hundred miles from the metropolis. To him England was of course the cynosure of nations, a perfect model as to civil government, laws, literature, manners, church, and all else that belong to civilized life. He was saturated with knowledge of books and theories, and so purely-English in his tastes and prepossessions, that his conversation was rich, lively, and entertaining. His prejudices against republican forms of government were so strong, that I did not venture to utter a syllable by way of their defence or explanation. He said " it was a Utopian dream that any nation could enjoy permanent order and prosperity without a throne, an established church, and a privileged, hereditary class of nobles. The people are the base of the social superstructure ; the lords, temporal and spiritual, are the pillars which support this edifice, the columns and Corinthian capitals l)y which it is adorned.

" Where are the republics of former times ? Where is Athens of old, the birthplace of democracy, the spot first consecrated to freedom, where the arts and graces danced around man in his cradle, bound his head with laurel wreaths, built for him cities, temples, theatres, statues, and tombs, and irradiated the pages of literature with the light of genius ? A monarchy, an establislmient, and an aristocracy like ours would have made Greece eternal. But now she is a mere vision, existing only in the fanciful

schemes of ]iolitical dreamers, and flashing upon the pages of history —

' Like the rainbow's lovely form, Evanishing amid the storm.'

Your republic has lasted a little more than half a century, because you have a widely-extended territory and a sparse population. But when you shall liave as many inhabitants on a square mile as England contains, what will prevent the ignorant, vulgar, reckless, unprincipled, and impoverished rabble from laying violent hands on the possessions of their neighbors, and subverting the sacred rights of property ? Indeed, upon the principle of universal suffrage, they can appropriate to themselves the estates and chattels of the wealthy witliout open violence. It may be done under the aegis of your laws and constitution. The majority, if it pleases, every five years, will be able to enforce an agrarian division of property by the ballot-box; and where property is insecure, civilization will soon die out."

It is almost impossible for an untravelled Englishman to realize that property is nowhere perfectly safe but under a government like ours, which enables the poorest man, if healthy, to become a landlioldcr, to live in his own house, and to possess in fee simple whatever is essential to his subsistence and comfort. The great body of the people here — nine out of ten — have a spirit of contentment and independence, because in possession of a reasonable competence. When I hear men talk about the danger of their

rising, in fnry and madness, to destroy that very tenure, that very security, upon which their own possessions rest, their words seem to me dreamy and chimerical. It supposes that will happen which the laws of human nature render impossible; that men may enter into a conspiracy to sweep into the pit of ruin themselves, their wives, their children, their houses, their lands, and all that is dear to them on earth. To pass an agrarian law in such a country as this, would be striking a blow that must so certainly and instantly react upon its authors, that no civilized and reading people, no people capable of even the foresight of a child, could possibly be guilty of such folly; it would be an act so plainly and perfectly suicidal. Besides, if we turn over the histories of the past, we shall find invariably that the rich, oligarchical few, and not the poor plebeians, have been the assailants of the rights of property. If any one will take the trouble to examine the annals of former ages, he will see that mobs, conspiracies, and insurrections have always originated in the mutual dissensions and persecutions of the loftiest and most privileged classes of society. The mass of the people are always sound, and if allowed to take their own way, unseduced and unterrified, would seldom choose the wrong path ; and when led into error, they would soon find it out, and promptly and cheerfully retrace their steps. The state of things with us, touching this topic, is happily described in the following lines: —

" Self-love in each becomes the cause

Of what restrains him — government and laws. For what one likes, if others like as well, What serves one will, when many wills rebel ?

How shall he keep what, sleeping or awake, A weaker may surprise, a stronger take ? His safety must liis liberty restrain ; All join to guard what each desires to gain. Forced into order thus by self-defence, The worst learn justice and benevolence; Self-love forsook the path it first pursued, And found the private in the public good."

Our conversation next turned upon the bill before Parliament for the establishment of free schools — to extend to all children born into the kingdom the knowledge of reading, writing, and numbers. He said, " To me it is plain that the common people ought not to be educated. Popular education is one of the delusions which, in my day, have taken possession of the public mind. Lord Brougham has exerted his utmost abilities and eloquence to give it currency. He talks about raising the body of the people to intelligence, self-respect, and self-dependence. They know enough already to fulfil aright their missions in life ; more knowledge would tend to destroy their habits of subordination and submission to their superiors ; it would render them rebellious to lawful authority, and discontented Avith the condition which Providence has allotted them." Referring to Cousin's Report to the French Government on the Prussian School System of Education, for authority, he added, " It contains this extraordinary and astounding statement, viz., that in the best educated departments, the greatest amovnt of crime has been found to exist. This is a matter of statistics. Cousin says, that in France, education, where it has been tried, has made the common people worse. The knowledge of reading and writing, com-

municated to the lower orders, would qualify tliem to run more successfully the career of crime. He who writes a good hand can easily become an adept forger or counterfeiter ; he who is skilful in arithmetic may carry on those stupendous schemes of fraud which would be forever beyond his reach, were he ignorant of numbers, A reading people, who through the newspapers form an acquaintance with those measures of government, or conduct of individuals whom they dislike, may easily be inspired with ambition, envy, discontent, and unhappincss, and by these means be urged on to excesses, vice, and extravagance; to treason, rebellion, mobs, tumults, and massacres."

Such sentiments are almost universally expressed by the aristocrats of England. I heard them advanced by a bishop in the House of Lords; but in justice I must add, that he expressed the opinion that it would do to teach all children to read, if they could be taught by ministers of the established church, who would subject them to a wholesome spiritual influence, and train them up to religion by the facile and insensible degrees of a pious and virtuous education. He asserted that the doctrine which considers intelligence in itself favorable to virtue an " utter folly," a most " dangerous mistake." Even in the United States, I have often heard gentlemen urge arguments against the cause of popular education; yet these men, at the same time, were employing teachers, books, travel, and every other means, to make their own children wise and learned. There is no gulf into which we are

liable to fall but the dark gulf of popular ignorance. Into it the nation will inevitably defcend, unless it be closed up in time. " No single sacrifice, like the fabled sacrifice of the Roman Curtius, can avert the danger. A representative government represents the character of the people. And that goveriunent which represents prevailing ignorance, degradation, brutality, and passion, has its fate as certainly scaled, as if, from the cloud that envelops the future, a hand came forth, and wrote upon its mountain walls the doom of utter perdition."

But the majority in this land are not a blind, ignorant, reckless, unprincipled rabble. The blessings of a free press, free schools, a free church, and universal suffrage, pour upon the minds of our people the effulgence of knowledge and refinement. As returning spring covers the earth with verdure and beauty, so these divine primciples shed upon the moral landscape the light and loveliness of order, peace, and intelligence. The fundamental error of all our moral, religious, and political systems is the hateful doctrine that men are naturally depraved — incapable of goodness and self-government. This error pervades the very spirit of civilized society, all its maxims and institutions, and the general tone of education. How much of all literature has been prostituted to the unholy work of traducing and de-preciath)g human nature — the noblest creation of infinite love with which we are acquainted! Tlie popular and prevailing idea, that sin is an essential, inherent part of man, is so wide spread, radical, comprehensive, fearful, and fatal in its bearings, as to ol

overshadow almost with despair the moral prospects of an enslaved and benighted world.

That portion of the English who possess cultivated minds, wealth, and all its advantages, are to me less than nothing, and vanity, compared with the millions of wretched, impoverished beings there, that for a long series of ages have been the unpitied victims of injustice and oppression. Yes, my sympathies are with that rabble — as I often heard them called — whose rights and interests are crushed down to earth by the banded tyrannies of church and state. And with sorrow I asked wise men the reason of all tliis. The only answer was, " They must be kept in this depressed condition to prevent them from rising to carry on a war of extermination against property — against the government, the throne, the church, and the nobility. It is necessary to our preservation that they should be excluded from the higher advantages of literature, art, science, freedom, and civilization."

' This undervaluing of human nature, this blindness to its original worth and capabilities, is a leading defect in the preaching and measures of many clergymen in the United States. The pulpit here is often exceedingly troubled with apprehensions lest the mass of the people, through ignorance and depravity, shou]d imperil and subvert their civil rights and prosperity. They show a great want of confidence in the good sense and rectitude of their fellow-beings. Hence hundreds of ministers in the Northern States have been engaged, the past summer, in preaching politics. They tell their hearers that they

must look to tliem for guidance and information in all these things, as well as in matters appertaining to the salvation of their souls. Though the people are trained to investigate political affairs for themselves ; though books and newspapers abound which treat of these subjects, and are in the hands of every one; and although they are ably and constantly discussed every week day, in legislatures, mass meetings, the family, the shop, the field, the store, the rail car, and the steamboat, yet these clergymen think it necessary, for the enlightenment of the people, to address them from the pulpit on the slavery question, and other topics, which should be left to the exclusive management of statesmen and professed politicians.

As a class, the laity are much better informed on these subjects, and more competent to their discussion than ministers. Besides, by this practice the church is entirely desecrated. People go there on the Sabbath to have their thoughts lifted up towards God, heaven, and the life immortal. And what do they hear ? A mere political harangue, bitter denunciations of a large class of their fellow-citizens, and inflammatory appeals calculated to inspire them with hatred, prejudices, and all the worst passions of which our nature is capable. Such ministers do more to destroy respect for Christianity than all the infidel writings and preaching in the world. If these ministers are right, then professors should be appointed in all our theological seminaries, to initiate the pupils into the elements of political science. I thank God that the people of the United States are

capable of managing their own affairs, and that if every clergyman in the Union were this day to breathe his last, laymen in sufficient numbers, and well qualified, would immediately step forward to fill their places.

I went through England, Scotland, "Wales, and Ireland, and examined the most interesting objects which they present to the notice of travellers. A description of my experiences would fill volumes. I had read the history of those lands from a child. England was endeared to me as the birtliplace of my ancestors, as adorned with all the embellishments which art, science, learning, and religion can bestow. I hardly saw a town, city, castle, river, lake, a hill covered with shrubbery and heather, a plain, valley, or mountain, which did not awaken in my mind long trains of historical associations. So that the glories of my fatherland for centuries past, as I moved along, rose and stood before me, with all the vividness of real life — a panorama of the grand, beautiful, good, and picturesque of former ages. Every step of my way was on classic ground. For instance, at Holyrood Palace, near Edinburgh, I saw the bedroom and dressing room of Queen Mary, and the ai)artment in which Rizzio was murdered before her face by Darnlcy, Ruthven, and others. I lingered on that spot for hours. For a time I was a spiritualist. I beheld and conversed with the beautiful^ accomplished, but unfortunate Mary. Perhaps, were it not for her beauty and sufferings, her name would not have been embalmed in the memory of everlasting ages. With Mary, thoughts of the per-

sons and scenes that determined her extraordinary-fates and fortunes, the events of the age in which slie lived, the distinguished men and women wlio were her contemporaries, rushed into my soul with the fulness and rapidity of a torrent. Overborne, carried away with the images and emotions inspired by the place, I staid there till it was nearly dark, anfl then went to my room to write notes and pass a sleepless night. This I did more than half the time whilst I was in Europe.

The next day, taking leave of the Scotch metropolis, I went round through the Highlands to Glasgow. I saw the beautiful windings of the Forth, the Grampian Hills, the wild, magnificent Trossachs, Ben Nevis, and Ben Venue, the haunted waters of Loch Katrine, and the bold, majestic shores of Loch Lcmond. Fron; Glasgow I directed my course to Belfast, Ireland, and the Giant's Causeway. I had previously become acquainted with the scenery of Wales and the northern counties of England, Cumberland and Westmoreland, which present a most indescribable assemblage of sublime and beautiful objects : lofty craggy mountains, precipitous cliffs, looking down upon the sweetest valleys; small, secluded, verdant farms, in the highest state of cultivation ; crystal lakes of the most romantic forms — sparkling gems in the landscape ; streams of pure, living, transparent water; trees and flowers of the most elegant hues and shapes ; animals grazing ; gardens ; cottages with their sheltering bowers ; and other things innumerable, whose expressiveness, delicacy of coloring, gracefulness of figure, and boldness of 31*

outliite, can be understood by those only who have sc^n them with their own eyes.

But I must confess that the scenery of Switzerland, the Alps, and Italy far surpasses the noblest exhibitions of nature in British landscapes. It is on a larger scale, and has peculiar features of grandeur and beauty, which adorn no other part of the world that I have seen. What is there in Great Britain, which her poets have sung so much about, comparable with Lake Como and its enchanting shores ? I entered Switzerland from the southern or Italian side, through one of the beautiful valleys of Piedmont, which commences near Lake Maggiore, about dark. There was no passenger in the diligence but myself. The sky was clouded and lowering. In a few moments it began to rain violently, accompanied with vivid flashes of lightning and tremendous peals of thunder. This was the only thunder storm which I witnessed in Europe. By the help of the lightning I could see the towering mountains on each side of me. By the echoes from the surrounding summits the claps of thunder were intensified, and made awfully grand. I felt and enjoyed the truth of the lines from Byron : —

" The sky is changed ! and such a chang;e ! 0 night ! And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But exery mountain now hath found a tongue ; And Jura answers through her misty shroud Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! "

111 the midst of wind, rain, night, clouds, lightning, and thunder, wc stopped at a small hotel to change horses. Here I was joined by two English gentlemen, who were on their way to Geneva. They proved to be quite intelligent, agreeable companions, and in the space of ten minutes the most cordial and friendly relations were established between us. I had been alone not more than two hours before they entered the diligence. At the beginning of the valley above named, a Scotchman, wlio accompanied me all the way from Milan, was stopped by the police, in consequence of some alleged informality in his passport. Being pressed with want of time, I was compelled, with much regret, to part with him. This short period was the only occasion in which I was left absolutely solitary during the whole of my wanderings on the continent of Europe.

The morning came " with breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom," glowing with life, radiance, and beauty. After breakfast we crossed the bridge of Crevola, and began to ascend what is called the Simplon road, which was constructed by the Emperor Napoleon, and is generally called Bonaparte's road. The highest part of this road is six or eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. It is forty or fifty miles in length, and passes on the extreme declivity of ridges, over awful gulfs, that seem to be thousands of feet deep, and roaring torrents, and through tremendous precipices, which, as you approach them, appear like perpendicular barriers of impassable rock, reaching to the heavens. Yet over these ravines, gorges, and cascades, and down tre-