dotes serve to illustrate my meaning, and show how exceedingly important it is that our associations be carefully and judiciously controlled from the first. And we cannot but see that a book like the one before us, though exceedingly well written for adults, is not a proper book to be put into the hands of very young children.

Very many of our juvenile books partake more or less of this same character; an improper and undue stress is laid upon the conversation during sickness, the fortitude and submission the little sufferer exhibited during his trial, and the calmness with which he gave up his soul to God. Religion is designed to make mankind— children as well as adults-happy. And would we allure children to this great subject, we must so present it that they may see it to be a thing calculated to give them pleasure; make them happy. Let us then present them with the lives of good children—and let them see that religion produces a happy life. If we must detail to them the death of such a child to complete its history, let it be done carefully and briefly. For if we dwell too long on the subject—if sensations of pain are called up, and the child unfortunately associates those ideas of pain with the religious sentiment or feelings of the sufferer, there is no good done, but much hurt. We had better have done nothing. But when the child sees the hero of a little book happy in his conduct and happy in his religious affections and principles, he is made happy, and he immediately associates pleasurable ideas with those principles. How desirable it is that those who understand the human heart in general, and undertake to write for the rising generation, should give this subject proper consideration. Its bearing upon human happiness is obvious.

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG WIFE.

WHY are those green clods broken?--The tall grass,
Which in its ripeness wooed the mower's hand,

And the wild rose, whose young buds scarcely bloomed,-
Why are their roots uptorn?-Go ask of him
Who in his lonely chamber weeps so long

At morning's dawn and twilight's pensive hour,
Whose freshly planted hopes could scarcely boast
Less brief duration than yon flower of grass.
-Yet Memory hath her stores whereon to feed,
Though Joy's bright harvest fail,— as clings the bee
To the sweet calyx of some fallen flower.
-The tender smile of fond, confiding love,
Its self-devotion,-its delight to seek
Another's good,-its thousand winning arts
To soothe the hour of weariness and pain,-
Such images may stir the source of tears,
Making remembrance, grief:-but that meek faith,
Which, all distrustful of its holiest deeds,

So strongly clasped a Saviour's feet, when Death
Rang the rent heart-strings like a broken harp,—
The hope which shed its seraph benison
On all who wept around,-the smile that left

A heavenly lustre on the pallid clay,

These are the gems which Memory lends the soul,
Priceless and pure, to light its pilgrim way

To deathless union with the parted bride.

H.

We are permitted to insert the following from a Manuscript containing the thoughts of an eminently good man, lately deceased, and would add a word in tribute to their revered author. He was for many years deprived of sight. This dread calamity withdrew him from the sphere of active engagements, but did not prevent the most earnest employment of every remaining faculty. His was consequently a most truly useful life, even when it had become apparently an inactive one. His benevolent affections seemed rather quickened than impaired by his personal trials. That gentle spirit which breathes through these pages was uniformly diffused over his whole character. His piety was such as led him not merely to be submissive, tranquil, and resigned, but to make his burden always as light as he could to those who must bear it with him, to be happy and make others so, to seek and promote improvement, to do as much and to enjoy as much as was possible in the sphere, to which God had confined him. And it is not often that more abundant or richer fruits, of moral, or intellectual worth, are produced under the most genial culture, than those which crowned with their beauty and glory the clouded days of this righteous man.

'What think ye of Christ?' is a question which may with propriety be asked of any acquainted with Christianity, and which, indeed, they ought to ask themselves; and every intelligent Christian, it is presumed, will readily answer, He is the Son of God and was the Son of Man. Or in other words, that he was a human being, and yet, in some high and distinguished sense, the Son of God.

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Thus far all will agree. Thus far Trinitarians and Unitarians are willing to adopt the same language, although they may differ in the ideas they affix to the terms here made use of. While the latter are allowed by the former to be right, in representing Christ as really human, they charge them with denying that he was more than man. This charge will, I apprehend, be considered unjust by all classes of Unitarians. With regard to those, who believe in the preexistence of the Saviour in the character of a superhuman and highly exalted, though created being, there can be no question. As to those, who believe in the proper humanity of Christ, I can see no reason why they should deny that he was more than man, and therefore, presume they do not.

Without entering into the controversy between these two classes of Unitarians, neither of whom appear to think it necessary, or important, that any controversy should be kept up, I will take the liberty of personating one of the latter class. And in this character, taking the scriptures for my guide, I will endeavor to show that the man Christ Jesus, is, and ought to be, considered as more than man, or as highly exalted above all other men. That such efficacy in effecting the redemption, reformation, and salvation of mankind may, and ought to be, ascribed to him, as cannot with propriety be ascribed to any other of the human race; and, consequently, that such honors are due to him, as cannot consistently be paid to any other being, except the One God, Father of all. It must be evident to every attentive reader of the scriptures, that the Messiah, or Christ, is therein represented as a very distinguished personage, that he is frequently spoken of in terms, that are not used in speaking of men in general, or even of the

greatest or wisest that have appeared either before, or since his day; and that attributes are often ascribed to him, which seem to belong more properly to God, than to man. At the annunciation of his birth by the angels, he is called the 'Saviour,' and 'Christ the Lord.' He is called the Son of God,' and 'his only begotten Son.' 'The brightness of his glory and the express image of his person.' It is said of him that he knew which of his disciples should betray him, and he told Peter that he would thrice deny him before the next morning. It is also asserted of him, that he knew what was in man. And he said himself, 'All power is given me in heaven and earth.’ "The Father judgeth no man, but has committed all judgment unto the Son.' I only add here, that it is said of Christ, that in him was no sin. These are but a very few specimens of the almost innumerable passages, in which the superiority of Christ to mankind in general, not only in power, but in wisdom and goodness, or moral excellence, is either asserted, or plainly implied. From such lofty expressions, (and loftier still might be added) which are freely made use of in the scriptures concerning Christ, different Christians have drawn different conclusions relative to the nature, rank, and character of him, who, as all allow, is styled both Son of God, and Son of Man. Many have inferred, nay, it has been the prevailing creed for the greater part of the Christian era, that Christ is truly God, as well as man, equal to, and one with, that only living and true God, whom he calls his Father. Without attempting to bring forward all the powerful objections which might be urged against such a conclusion as this, I shall content myself with making the following remarks.

In the first place, I observe that the scriptures uniform