from the laws of former statesmen, he the literary world from the laws of former grammarians. They twist the Bible to suit their views; he twists the Greek language to suit his. They sneer at feudal institutions; he sneers at old universities. In all his battles with these disorganizers I have been ready to bid him GoD-speed and 'macte virtute' to any extent. But surely, if authority and precedent have so much weight in other matters, they must be allowed some little in classical criticism. It is a poor rule that won't work both ways. What is sauce for Fourier must be sauce for

Lewis.

With this suggestion I remain, dear KNICK., truly yours, September 7, 1847.

C. A. B.

I'VE several times in vain essay'd to sing

A simple song of Autumn. Other fingers
Have oft and sweetly touch'd the tuneful string,
And waked the pensiveness that life-long lingers
In hearts of men, like some long-hallow'd story.
I've seen the tender flowers grow pale and die,
The dry and wither'd leaves around me lie,
The sun go down in his peculiar glory,

The thrice-expanded moon come slowly up,
And break a passage through the eastern vapors,
The pure, clear stars light up their little tapers

And swing them out, each in a crystal cup,
As if to lure the feet of mortals thither,
The land of love, where hopes nor flowers wither.

And I have had within some partial movings

Of spiritualness; some quickening of the feelings;
Yet careless heed I've given to the reprovings

Of Nature in her many-voiced revealings.

The Autumn is a solemn missioner;

A preacher to the sons of men is she:
And happy he who learns betimes of her
The wholesome truth of his mortality,
And ponders well the fleetness of his days,
And meekly walks in heavenly wisdom's ways.
The fading leaf's an eloquent text to man:

'We all do fade, and wither as a leaf;'

And he who reaches life's extremest span
Exclaims in sadness, Ah! my days are brief!'

Philadelphia, November 13, 1846.

A LAY SERMO N.

18 NOT THIS THE CARPENTER'S SON MATTHEW XIII: 55.

Ar first sight, my friends, you notice nothing strange about our text. It is a simple question; thrown out, apparently for no better or worse purpose than the gratification of an idle curiosity. Very simple; easily understood, easily answered; but withal one of the most remarkable questions ever asked on earth; as we shall see by and by.

One who had long been absent from his own country' had come to revisit the scenes of his childhood. Abroad he had gained a singular reputation. Men knew not what to make of him. He was wise even in boyhood he had puzzled with his logic the Doctors of Divinity in the metropolis of his nation, and ripening years had steadily developed the resources of an intellect gifted with mysterious powers. He was puré: temptation had tried in vain to shake the firmness of his integrity; malice had never been able to cast a doubt upon his honor. He was benevolent: He had healed the sick, he had given sight to the blind, he had caused the dumb to speak, he had instructed the poor. He was brave: enemies, thirsting for his blood, had hung like wolves upon his path, but he had walked in and out among them as cool and as calm as a summer's morning. He was eloquent: he had preached a sermon better than any other ever delivered before or since. But more there were men and women among the villages that bordered on the lake of Gennesaret who declared that they had seen him cast out devils; there were men and women in the highest ranks of the very capital of Galilee, the wealthy city of Capernaum, who stood ready to testify that they had seen this man raise their ruler's 'little daughter' from the dead. And now, preceded by rumors of his wonderful works, having wandered hither and thither for a long time among the mountains, the lakes, the hamlets and the cities of Galilee, this strange young man (for he was still young) had come back to Nazareth to see his mother. He had come, not to make a parade of his eloquence; not to dazzle his former acquaintances by the blaze of his fame; not to exact from his fellow-citizens the tribute of public applause; he had come simply to say a few kind words to his old mother, his brothers and his sisters; to exchange early reminiscences too, it may be, among those whom he had loved to play with when he and they were boys and girls together.

One would think, my friends, that the people of Nazareth, however unostentatious his approach, should have received this person with distinguished honor; that all classes of citizens should have striven among themselves to see who could pay him the most courteous attentions. What did they do? They met him in the gogue; they listened with astonishment to him who spake 'as never

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43

syna

from the laws of former statesmen, he the literary world from the laws of former grammarians. They twist the Bible to suit their views; he twists the Greek language to suit his. They sneer at feudal institutions; he sneers at old universities. In all his battles with these disorganizers I have been ready to bid him GOD-speed and 'macte virtute' to any extent. But surely, if authority and precedent have so much weight in other matters, they must be allowed some little in classical criticism. It is a poor rule that won't work both ways. What is sauce for Fourier must be sauce for

Lewis.

With this suggestion I remain, dear KNICK., truly yours,

September 7, 1847.

C. A. B.

I'VE several times in vain essay'd to sing

A simple song of Autumn. Other fingers
Have oft and sweetly touch'd the tuneful string,
And waked the pensiveness that life-long lingers
In hearts of men, like some long-hallow'd story.
I've seen the tender flowers grow pale and die,
The dry and wither'd leaves around me lie,
The sun go down in his peculiar glory,

The thrice-expanded moon come slowly up,
And break a passage through the eastern vapors,
The pure, clear stars light up their little tapers
And swing them out, each in a crystal cup,

As if to lure the feet of mortals thither,
The land of love, where hopes nor flowers wither.

11.

And I have had within some partial movings

Of spiritualness; some quickening of the feelings;
Yet careless heed I've given to the reprovings

Of Nature in her inany-voiced revealings.

The Autumn is a solemn missioner;
A preacher to the sons of men is she:
And happy he who learns betimes of her
The wholesome truth of his mortality,
And ponders well the fleetness of his days,
And meekly walks in heavenly wisdom's ways.
The fading leaf's an eloquent text to man:
'We all do fade, and wither as a leaf;'

And he who reaches life's extremest span
Exclaims in sadness, Ah! my days are brief!"

Philadelphia, November 13, 1846.

ALAY SERMON.

18 NOT THIS THE CARPENTER'S SON MATTHEW XIII: 55.

AT first sight, my friends, you notice nothing strange about our text. It is a simple question; thrown out, apparently for no better or worse purpose than the gratification of an idle curiosity. Very simple; easily understood, easily answered; but withal one of the most remarkable questions ever asked on earth; as we shall see by and by.

One who had long been absent from his own country' had come to revisit the scenes of his childhood. Abroad he had gained a singular reputation. Men knew not what to make of him. He was wise even in boyhood he had puzzled with his logic the Doctors of Divinity in the metropolis of his nation, and ripening years had steadily developed the resources of an intellect gifted with mysterious powers. He was puré: temptation had tried in vain to shake the firmness of his integrity; malice had never been able to cast a doubt upon his honor. He was benevolent: He had healed the sick, he had given sight to the blind, he had caused the dumb to speak, he had instructed the poor. He was brave: enemies, thirsting for his blood, had hung like wolves upon his path, but he had walked in and out among them as cool and as calm as a summer's morning. He was eloquent: he had preached a sermon better than any other ever delivered before or since. But more there were men and women among the villages that bordered on the lake of Gennesaret who declared that they had seen him cast out devils; there were men and women in the highest ranks of the very capital of Galilee, the wealthy city of Capernaum, who stood ready to testify that they had seen this man raise their ruler's' little daughter' from the dead. And now, preceded by rumors of his wonderful works, having wandered hither and thither for a long time among the mountains, the lakes, the hamlets and the cities of Galilee, this strange young man (for he was still young) had come back to Nazareth to see his mother. He had come, not to make a parade of his eloquence; not to dazzle his former acquaintances by the blaze of his fame; not to exact from his fellow-citizens the tribute of public applause; he had come simply to say a few kind words to his old mother, his brothers and his sisters; to exchange early reminiscences too, it may be, among those whom he had loved to play with when he and they were boys and girls together.

One would think, my friends, that the people of Nazareth, however unostentatious his approach, should have received this person with distinguished honor; that all classes of citizens should have striven among themselves to see who could pay him the most courteous attentions. What did they do? They met him in the synagogue; they listened with astonishment to him who spake 'as never

VOL. XXX.

43

man spake;' and then, looking on the sad face of this brave and beautiful being, the miserable creatures asked, with a sneer:

Is not this the carpenter's son ?'

Why did they not cry Hosanna? Why did they not fall down and worship? Because they were men of mean and vulgar spirits, those Nazarenes; and, like other such of our own day, had a miserable standard to measure character by. The august person before them did not, they thought, move in the right set;' did not belong to the 'good society' of Nazareth.

Is not this the carpenter's son ?'

They considered this question a test of character; and such in fact it was, for it showed what kind of stuff themselves were made of. They could not recognise true greatness in others, because they had not learned to see any thing noble in their own breasts. Give me the guage by which you measure another man, and I will tell you your own dimensions to a barley Your standard will be just as tall as yourself.

corn.

Is not this the carpenter's son?' Ay; but the centurion of Capernaum did not ask that question; neither did Jairus the ruler, nor Nicodemus the doctor of laws, nor Pontius Pilate the governor, nor Joseph of Arimathea, the 'honorable counsellor.' For they were gentlemen; and no gentleman was ever afraid of being contaminated by contact with a pure mind, or ever refused to honor genius and virtue. Nobody but the pitiful Nazarenes asked that question; insects as they were, beneath the awful front of that majestic ONE, trying to look down on HIM! Said I not truly that, under all the circumstances of the case, their inquiry was a remarkable one?

Now, of this text my reverend friend Simpkins would make a 'practical application' somewhat different from that which I intend to offer. He would address first, by way of compliment, the saints, and then the sinners by way of menace. Chiefly would he warn us against pride; holding up as an example thereof the conduct of the Nazarenes. My discourse, less artistical than his, will be levelled at sinners only, leaving others to take care of themselves, and inculcating that pride which the Nazarenes were too mean to understand.

A man, my friends, ought to be proud; not vain, not egotistical, not conceited, not arrogant; but, on the contrary, modest and proud. Man is a valuable animal. He is useful for building rail-roads, for hoeing-corn, for waiting on steam-engines and for charging batteries; also for consuming the products of his own or his neighbor's industry, and for many things beside. As a race, then, he deserves respect. But as an individual, he possesses a value different not only in degree but in kind from that pertaining to iron and steam, cattle and gun-powder. The worth of these last mainly consists in their capability of being appropriated, and made to serve the interests of those who use them; it is extrinsic and relative; it is derived from man, and without him would not exist. But each human being has a value intrinsic and positive; not dependent on society or any thing else; which he would retain though he stood alone upon the earth;