are guilty of uncleanness; therefore the heathen are culpable in the sight of God:" and so with regard to every other sin.

But, sir, is this just reasoning? Shall we make these rules of scripture, by which Christians will be judged, the standard of deciding the character and fate of millions of our fellow-creatures, who have no knowledge of the scriptures? I think not; and therefore, although the heathen are guilty of idolatry, and uncleanness, and a variety of other atrocities, yet they cannot be so culpable in the sight of God as those are who commit those or similar sins in a Christian country. I do not say that the heathen are blameless before God; on the contrary, I believe them to be guilty; but their guilt must arise from some other circumstance, than their doing those things which the scriptures condemn. The apostle tells us (Rom. ii. 14, 15,) that "those who have not the law, are a law unto themselves; which shew the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the mean while accusing, or else excusing, one another."

Now it appears to me, sir, that the guilt of the heathen arises from their acting in opposition to the dictates of their consciences; which, according to the sense of the apostle, will (karŋYoрovvTwv) accuse, or speak against them, when they do wrong; and from this inward accusation they must know when they do wrong, and (aπoAoyovμevov) apologize for, or defend them when they do right, and from this pleasing testimony they must know when they do right. Hence we may conclude, that the heathen are capable of distinguishing between good and evil; although, at the same time, their evidence cannot be so direct and explicit as it would have been, had they been furnished with a written law; and this circumstance, as it lessens their obligation, so it diminishes their guilt.

I admit, then, that the heathen are guilty, so far as they act in opposition to those means which they possess, for enabling them to perform those duties which God may require at their hands. I shall now inquire how far it is proper to consider their

That the heathen cannot be saved exactly in the same way in which those may be saved who are in the possession of the gospel, namely, through faith in Christ, is readily granted; for how can they believe in him of whom they have not heard? But, that it is possible for them to be saved through the merit of Christ, in some way unknown to us, may be safely admitted; for, to suppose that a person cannot be saved through the atonement of the Redeemer, without some knowledge of him, and some faith in him, would be to exclude all infants from the possibility of salvation, and to people the regions of the damned with children of a span long. Let it be remembered, sir, that if the heathen do not, because they cannot, believe in Christ,-on the other hand, they do not, because they cannot, reject him, until he has been preached among them.

But there is another question, sir, connected with this part of my subject. Is their present state of darkness and ignorance to be attributed to them as a crime? To this it may be answered, that, as it respects the first race of heathens, they were doubtless left in a state of darkness and unbelief as a punishment for their inveterate disobedience to God. This, I think, is distinctly stated by the apostle, in the following words :"Because that when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful, but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened: professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, and changed the glory of the incorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things; wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness," &c. From the above statement it is pretty evident that, in the first instance, they involved themselves in darkness and misery. But this is not the case with the present race of heathens; they are involuntarily placed in their present circumstances, and to suppose their condition to be such, as to render their salvation impossible,

would be to bring the doctrine of reprobation upon us with a vengeance ; for it would be no more just in God

to damn the heathen for the sins of their forefathers, than to damn numbers of the human race for the sin of our first parents.

But while I contend for the possibility of the salvation of the heathen independently of the gospel, at the same time I admit that it is doubtful; and, allowing that some of them will be ultimately saved, yet their happiness in a future state cannot be expected to be so great as it would have been, had they been saved according to the plan of the gospel. All, however, that I contend for, is, that God can never place multitudes of his creatures in circumstances which render the performance of certain duties absolutely impracticable, and then exclude them from his presence, and punish them eternally, for not doing what he knew before they were born they could not do; and I can no more consistently with my creed doom the heathen to inevitable destruction, than I can consign little children and idiots to the flames of an unquenchable fire. But at the same time, sir, I do not wish to be understood, as believing that all the heathen must necessarily be saved; my belief is, that the heathen may be saved on certain conditions, differing from those required of such as are in possession of the gospel, and accommodated to the capacities and circumstances of the persons to whom they are proposed. (To be continued.)

POETRY.

22.

TO TIME,

ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE YEAR 1824.

As pass'd eighteen hundred and twenty and four.

Say, does thy dominion extend over all?

Ab, no! there is ONE over thee who has pow'r :

Thou'rt only a vassal; thou surely shalt fall, Like lost eighteen hundred and twenty and four.

Eternity's God is thy Maker and King, Which thee He will finally cause to devour; Then, all things terrestr'al t' an end He will bring,

As fell eighteen hundred and twenty and four.

But man has a soul that can we'er cease to think;

In happiness rise, or in misery sink: Eternity's depths it must live to explore;

Unlike eighteen hundred and twenty and

four.

Obscura.)

Which so late bedeck'd the ground; 'Mid the groves and shady bowers, Mate is ev'ry soothing sound.

See the ling'ring, drowsy morning,
With a sorrowing look appears;
Sable clouds her brows adorning,
And her eyes suffus'd with tears.
As the joyless day advances,

Sicken'd with the mournful scene; Lo! the sun, with sidelong glances, Scarcely darts a ray between.

Smiles forsake the dimpled feature,
Gloomy thoughts our mirth annoy;
Where is now a living creature
Lifts the sparkling eye of joy?

While the day is spent in sadness,
Void of ev'ry rich delight;
Little cause remains for gladness,
Through the long and dreary night.
Gathering vapours, fast increasing,
Drive along the darken'd air;
While the tempest's rage, unceasing,
Fills our bosoms with despair!
Strack with awe, such scenes beholding,
Still, O Lord! we would resign;
Brighter prospects are unfolding
In thy providence divine.
Seasons thus in course returning,
Swiftly rolling years away;
Soon will asher in the morning,
Rising in a glorious day!
What a pleasing expectation,

When the storms of time shall cease, To enjoy a new creation,

In a world of rest and peace! Near Kingsbridge, Dec. 1824.

T. JARVIS.

THE MARINER'S GRAVE.

(Founded on a recent occurrence.)

THE night had been stormy, the morning had brought

A loud roaring and boisterous wave;
Each eye was most anxiously turn'd to a spot
That had oft been a mariner's grave.

A vessel in imminent danger was there,
Oh! she could not the tempest out-brave;
Her flag of distress way'd aloft in the air,
And beneath was the mariner's grave.

More fierce were the breakers, more heavy the surge,

Death appear'd in the foam-brighten'd wave; Aloud in the rigging the funeral dirge

Was yell'd o'er the mariner's grave.

Yet a glad ray of light at that moment begun
To illumine the darken'd concave;
Tho' all round was dreary, the new-risen sun
Shone serene on the mariner's grave.

It seem'd for a season our wishes to crown,-
This impression to fancy it gave,
That in the fair sunshine th Eternal look'd
down,

That he smil'd on the mariner's grave.

But ah, soon we saw all those fond hopes were past,

For beneath the encircling wave The ball quickly sunk-then the yards, and each mast

They were hid in the mariner's grave. Our boatmen no sooner the shipwreck espied, Than they basten'd the dying to save; And voices on shore, to encourage them, cried, Go, and fear not the mariner's grave." "Go, husbands, and fathers, and brethren, go, Go, and give the assistance they crave; For many a blessing shall wait here for you, Who ne'er dreaded the mariner's grave."

The Goodwin-sands.

A HYMN.

BY JOHN Gorton.

AUTHOR of this fair world, of that bright sun,
And the pale lamp that sheds her silvery beams
By night; and moulder of her retinue,
That are so countless, do so glittering shine:
How shall I dare t'attempt to sing Thee, when
The sweetest minstrel in all heav'n must fail
In chanting thy perfections! in the blaze
Of thy majestic presence, seraphs themselves
Their sight must veil; so awfully sublime
Thy glories are! a million suns, with all
Their numberless dependants, could they be

seen

By man at once, how they would overwhelm him!

Yet these are trivial, nay, contemptible,
Compar'd with Thee. The Ancient of days art
Thou,

Of ages indeterminate; of empires
As numerous as the sands that girt the sea,
Sole governor; the inexhausted Parent
Of countless myriads of both men and angels,
Of gods and mortals: inexhausted truly,
For were all nature to become at once
Extirpated; were there no suns to burn,
No planets to revolve, no light, no being,
Yet would'st thou still exist; would'st still
be happy;

And from Thyself, prolific could'st create Fresh systems and fresh suns; new men, new angels;

Thy hand omnipotent, artist divine! Would not be straiten'd then; thy infinite wisdom

Not circumscrib'd. Thou, only Thou art worthy

Of homage, and of praise. Thou art the spring,
To thee the mountain owes its altitude,
First cause, true origin of every thing;
The field its verdure, the sweet flower its tint,
The tree its foliage, and the purling rill
Its melody. Thou art the stay, support,
Of nature and her laws. Wert thou to hide
Thy face awhile, to draw thy care away,
Soon would creation into ruin fall;
Soon would her pillars fail, and her fine order
Be hurl'd into disorder; swift destruction

Both then would prove the same) would claim the whole.

Had I a muse of fire, that could ascend
The brightest heaven of rare invention,
Then with what spirit might I strike my lyre
To strains exalted, periods not unworthy
Of such a monarch's fame; but 'twill not be;
For can such excellence e'er be portray'd
By a mere mortal's hand? Vain, vain indeed
Th' attempt must prove, and worse than hope-
less too;

Yet tho' my strongest pow'rs may fail to paint
Him,

Still will I praise him with my utmost fervour, And I will call on nature to unite

In the delightful theme :--and first, O sun! Thou flaming emblem of his love and prowess, First let me call on thee; when thou dost

come

Forth from thy chambers with fresh strength attir'd,

In thy new lustre tell the gladsome morn Who fram'd thy sphere, and when thou dost decline,

Then in thy silvery mantle let the moon
Attest the same to ev'ry listening star.
Ye gems of night, rang'd with such harmony,
Shew to the earth, and thousand worlds besides,
From whence ye did your origin derive;
Reflect, reflect ye every one his praise
Each to the other. Ocean, when thou roll'st
In all thy might, exhibit then his fiat;
And when his breath thy angry waves uncurls,
Calmly magnificent, still spread his praise.
Ye floods and streams, that to the latter run
In mix'd embraces, join your ancient father
In worship. Let the highest hills and moun-
tains,

That rear their lofty heads up to the skies,
Exalt their founder. Forests spreading wide
(An amplitude of giant-sons containing)
Unfold his glory. First of living creatures,
Let man, for whom the rest were mainly form'd,
Be chiefest in adoring: next to him
Then the most sagacious, and thus descending,
Till every being life inspires, or motion,
Or sense, is in the general song combin'd.
Ye hills, ye rivulets, plains, and woods, and
dales,

And bounteous fields, and teeming trees, and flowers

Emitting fragrance; let your diff'rent odours, By gentle zephyrs wafted, soar to Him,

Mingled with melody from unnumber'd sources. Thou glorious Parent of all things existing, Inspire my soul with pure celestial ardour, And draw my mind from every frivolous subject,

To centre, gracious Sire, alone on Thee.

THE MANIAC.

YES, once I saw him; every happiness
Was his, this changing world can give :-
Bless'd with a wife, in form as angels fair,
And kind, and good, as ever mortal was;
And children springing up, his hope, his joy;
An independence too, and talents rare,
And virtues added such as heaven approves ;
Nothing was wanting to complete his bliss.

changed!

I saw him in a maniac's dreary cell!
Reason had left her throne: his mind was now
A sad, sad blank! He knew me not,

But with a wild and frantic cry, he said,

'My children! ah, my children"!—The great deep

Contain'd them;-and their mother lay
Buried beneath the valley's verdant clods :-
Her children lost, of happiness on earth
Sunk in an early grave: and there he was,
She ne'er knew more; but pined and sunk,
The wreck of man! of reason reft, doom'd
Never more perhaps to know his friends,
Or feel his loss!-I turn'd aside and wept,
And said, "Oh God! of all the ills of life,
May I ne'er know the loss of reason's powers!
Oh bear him from this world, and may he join
Pity this maniac!-in thine own good time
The spirits of the just, and those he loved!"

SAY, what is Heaven?-A place of pure delight,

Of perfect joy, of harmony, of peace;
Where angels tune their harps, and never cease
The universal chorus: clothed in light,
They fly thro' ether in unbounded space,
And wait with outstretch'd wing before the
throne

Of the Almighty, Great, Eternal, ONE.
There sorrow never finds a resting-place,
Nor yet the ills that mortals feel below;
Nor death is there :-the stream of time shall
flow,

And injure none, and none shall know decay;
No night is there, but one unclouded day
Shall shed its lustre, when this mighty world,
And sun, and stars, are into ruin burl'd.
Park-place.

L.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF INTELLECT.
AH! little sweet inventive boy,
Though pleased now with gilded toy,
Thy intellect shall stretch;
When thou in rosy years shalt mount,
And pleasure upon pleasure count,
If parents now but watch-
Thy early steps, and ardent strive
In mem'ry's view to keep alive

The well-spoke laws of beav'n;
The end of which is promis'd bliss,
For those the Maker styleth his,
And bids his gospel leav'n.
Perhaps in sable night thou'lt pore
The pages of old classic lore,

And from them knowledge draw;
Learn all that sages darkly taught,
How states were ruled, how heroes fought,
And all their stores of law.

On splendid treasures seize at school,
While many a dull insipid fool

On couch of ease shall rest,
And scoff at those who pass their time
In learning's literary clime,

Whilst he with ease is blest.

DESPAIR.

MOMENTS on moments still and still succeed, And with new points to make the wretched bleed;

Tedious they creep, yet bear my life away,
In sighs the night, in fruitless hopes the day:
So the poor wanderer on a desert coast
Forlornly travels, every helpmate lost.

The sun awhile his trembling footsteps guides,
And bears him further from the swelling tides,
Till sadden darkness hides the face of day,
And livid fires amidst the horrors play;
Aghast he stands, nor knows what path to take,
For none, alas! came there a path to make.
The thunders roar, he flies some cell to find,
Nor dares to think on all he's left behind;
Descending rains a mighty deluge pour,
And raging winds a forest's pride deflow'r:
The cedars fall, the humbler tenants bend,
While well-known rocks the savage race
defend.

In vain he tries to keep his tott'ring feet,
Vainly he presses on, or makes retreat;
Before, behind, on either side be turns,
Here torrents fall, and there dire lightning
burns:

One moment more, for all he loves he sighs,
The bolt descends-and he despairing dies.
Woolwich, Kent.

A SOLILOQUY.

ELIZA.

wave,

Fierce as the storm which, howling, rends
the oak,

Deep as the ghastly op'ning of the grave,
Bold as the lion from his fetters broke,

Loud as the thunder 'midst the vaulted skies,
Quick as the lightning darting thro' the soul,
Tempestuous as the flood in rapid rise,

Bitter as e'er the base empoison'd bowl: Such are the feelings of the tortur'd heart, Wrung by the vile pretender to admire, Who fairly seeming, acts the traitor's part, And damps the torch of friendship's holy fire. Woolwich, Kent. ELIZA.

THE talent of this author is great, and of a peculiar kind, consisting as much in what he conceals, as in what he discloses to the reader. Some of his tales break off abruptly, leaving the reader to form the conclusion for himself, thus conferring upon them a greater interest than they would have, were they fully narrated. We sat down to the perusal of these volumes, expecting a high treat, and were certainly not disappointed; for, though inferior in some respects to his former productions, and though the subjects of many chapters have been often repeated in other works, yet by the manner of handling them, they are made to possess all the charms of novelty, joined to a style which Addison himself would not have been ashamed to

own.