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right, the privilege of dismissing ourselves out of existence, when we are tired with its conditions."

Had I fabricated this language for infidelity, with the purpose of stamping greater detestation upon its audacity, I had rather bear the blame of having overcharged the character, than to be able, as I now am, to point out a recent publication, which openly avows this shameless doctrine. But as I do not wish to help any anonymous blasphemer into notice, let the toleration of the times be his shelter, and their contempt his answer! In the mean time I will take leave to oppose to it a short passage from a tract, lately translated into English, entitled "Philosophical and Critical Inquiries concerning Christianity," by Mr. Bonnet, of Geneva; a work well deserving an attentive perusal :

"Here I invite that reader, who can elevate his mind to the contemplation of the ways of Providence, to meditate with me on the admirable methods of divine wisdom in the establishment of Christianity; a religion, the universality of which was to comprehend all ages, all places, nations, ranks, and situations in life; a religion, which made no distinction between the crowned head and that of the lowest subject; formed to disengage the heart from terrestrial things, to ennoble, to refine, to sublime the thoughts and affections of man; to render him conscious of the dignity of his nature, the importance of his end, to carry his hopes even to eternity, and thus associate him with superior intelligences; a religion, which gave every thing to the spirit and nothing to the flesh; which called its disciples to the greatest sacrifices, because men, who are taught to fear God alone, can undergo the severest trials; a religion, in short, to conclude my weak conceptions on so sublime a subject, which was the perfection or com

pletion of natural law, the science of the truly wise, the refuge of the humble, the consolation of the wretched; so majestic in its simplicity, so sublime in its doctrine, so great in its object, so astonishing in its effects. I have endeavoured," says this excellent author, in his conclusion, " to explore the inmost recesses of my heart, and having discovered no secret motive there, which should induce me to reject a religion so well calculated to supply the defects of my reason, to comfort me under affliction, and to advance the perfection of my nature, I receive this religion as the greatest blessing Heaven, in its goodness, could confer upon mankind; and I should still receive it with gratitude, were I to consider it only as the very best and most perfect system of practical philosophy."- BONNET.

That man, hurried away by the impetuosity of his passions, is capable of strange and monstrous irregularities, I am not to learn; even vanity, and the mean ambition of being eccentric, may draw out very wild expressions from him in his unguarded hours; but that any creature should be deliberately blasphemous, and reason himself, if I may so express it, into irrationality, surpasses my conception, and is a species of desperation for which I have no name.

If the voice of universal nature, the experience of all ages, the light of reason, and the immediate evidence of my senses, cannot awaken me to a dependence upon my God, a reverence for his religion, and an humble opinion of myself, what a lost creature am I!

Where can we meet a more touching description of God's omnipresence and providence than in the 139th Psalm? And how can I better conclude this paper, than by the following humble attempt at a translation of that most beautiful address to the Creator of mankind:

PSALM CXXXIX.

1 O Lord, who by thy mighty power,
Hast search'd me out in every part,
Thou know'st each thought at every hour
Or e'er it rises to my heart.

2 In whatsoever path I stray,
Where'er I make my bed at night,
No maze can so conceal my way,
But I stand open to thy sight.

3 Nor can my tongue pronounce a word,
How secretly soe'er 'twere said,
But in thine ear it shall be heard,
And by thy judgment shall be weigh'd.

4 In every particle I see

The fashion of thy plastic hand: 5 Knowledge too excellent for me, Me, wretched man, to understand.

6 Whither, ah! whither then can I From thine all present spirit go?

7 To Heav'n? 'tis there thou'rt thron'd on high, To Hell? 'tis there thou rul'st below.

8 Lend me, O Morning, lend me wings!
On the first beam of op'ning day
To the last wave, that ocean flings
On the world's shore, I'll flit away.

9 Ah fool! if there I meant to hide,
For thou, my God, shalt reach me there,
Ev'n there thy hand shall be my guide,
Thy right hand hold me in its care.

10 Again, if calling out for night,

I bid it shroud me from thine eyes,
Thy presence makes a burst of light,
And darkness to the centre hies.

11 Nay, darkness cannot intervene
Betwixt the universe and Thee;

Light or no light, there's nought I ween,
God self-illumin'd cannot see.

12 Thine is each atom of my frame;
Thy fingers strung my inmost reins,
E'en in the womb, or e'er I came
To life, and caus'd a mother's pains.

13 Oh! what a fearful work is man!
A wonder of creative art!

My God, how marvellous thy plan!
'Tis character'd upon my heart.

14 My very bones, tho' deep conceal'd
And buried in this living clay,
Are to thy searching sight reveal'd
As clear as in the face of day.

15 That eye, which thro' creation darts, My substance, yet imperfect, scann'd, And in thy books my embryo parts Were written and their uses plann'd.

16 Ere Time to shape and fashion drew
These ductile members one by one,
Into man's image ere they grew,
Thy great prospective work was done.

17 O God! how gracious, how divine,
How dear thy counsels to my soul!
Myriads to myriads could I join,
They'd fail to number up the whole.

18 I might as well go tell the sand,
And count it over grain by grain:
No; in thy presence let me stand,
And walking with my God remain.

19 Wilt thou not, Lord, avenge the good? Shall not blasphemers be destroy'd? Depart from me, ye men of blood, Hence murderers, and my sight avoid!

20 Loud are their hostile voices heard To take thy sacred name in vain: 21 Am I not griev'd? Doth not each word Wring my afflicted heart with pain?

Doth not my zealous soul return
Hatred for hatred to thy foes?
22 Yea, Lord! I feel my bosom burn,

As tho' against my peace they rose.

23 Try me, dread Power! and search my heart;

Lay all its movements in thy view;

Explore it to its inmost part,
Nor spare it, if 'tis found untrue.

24 If devious from thy paths I stray,
And wickedness be found with me,
Oh! lead me back the better way
To everlasting life and Thee.

NUMBER LXI.

THE deistical writers, who would fain persuade us that the world was in possession of as pure a system of morality before the introduction of Christianity as since, affect to make a great display of the virtues of many eminent heathens, particularly of the philosophers, Socrates, Plato, and some others.

When they set up these characters as examples of perfection, which human nature, with the aids of revelation, either has not attained to, or not exceeded, they put us upon an invidious task which no man would voluntarily engage in, and challenge us to discuss a question, which, if thoroughly agitated, cannot fail to strip the illustrious dead of more than half the honours which the voice of ages has agreed to give them.

It is, therefore, to be wished that they had held

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