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sentiments, with a philosophic understanding and a devout heart. They were fraught with divine meanings for him. He loved to enrich his meditations with the thoughts that their varied spectacle was always revealing to his search. He endeavored to draw both knowledge and spiritual improvement from those pure sources; the first if he could find the opportunity, and the last by all means. He took science with him when she was willing to come, and placed her on his left hand ; but his religious feelings were his guides always, and led on at the right. His soul was engaged and affected by what he beheld among the minutest and the grandest of the works of his own Creator. And when he perceived any copies and distant imitations of what was done by that heavenly hand in the productions of human skill and genius, when he gazed on the buildings and the monuments that are connected with patriotism or piety, that embody lofty conceptions or display virtuous impulses, he was touched with that also, and glowed with thankfulness to Him, who had given such an ability and such a disposition to his poor brother man. And what he thus saw, you know with what peculiar felicity he could describe. What he thus learned he was always ready in the most finished manner to coinmunicate. His invalid state, which began so long as twenty-three years ago, while he was the youthful minister of another congregation, led him to seek for health in different parts of his own country, on the southern coasts of his mother land which he deeply venerated, and among the islands of a still warmer sea. Wherever he went, he carried the same spirit of observation and sensibility; he brought back new treasures of instruction for himself and others. The ocean by which he sat he made to murmur in many ears beside his own with the praise of God. The cataract, whose mighty falls he contemplated with an emotion that would not let him be silent, he made to sound the same ascription within these very walls; and it was almost as good and elevating to hear his lips tell of it as to listen to the deep hymn itself of those eternal waters. From the tropical skies, under which he dwelt for a few months, and where a languid frame would have seemed to conspire with the summer air to demand repose, his quiet diligence brought home something for his pulpit and something for his scientific friends ; at the same time valuable contributions to Natural History, and lessons of a kind wisdom which none knew better than he how to recommend. I see him also on the seaside of Devonshire, gathering minute specimens from its beach, and worshipping in the humble chapel that looked but like a moss-covered cottage in contrast with the noble church of the establishment that reared its grey tower in the neighborhood. His own expression to an eminent English divine was, that he loved it as • a sacred relic of men's hands embowered in the green of nature;' and I read among his published pieces a sentence respecting it, which is too characteristic of his delicate and generous temper to allow of its omission. I went there while I remained,' he says, and should have done so had I remained till this time. I have no idea of deserting our friends, because they assemble under simple thatch, instead of under groined stone; - though I also think,” he adds, that I should have been cheerfully willing to pay my tithes, for the pleasure of looking at that old church, and walking through that old churchyard.' Pardon me, my hearers, if I appear to have dwelt disproportionately long upon
this part of the tastes and character of the friend we have lost. Could I have alluded to it at all, and said less ? — pp. 10 - 14.
Of the “ feelings, the sensitive nature," and the religious character of Mr. Greenwood, he says what will approve itself to all who knew him.
“Shall I venture to speak, as if under a separate department, of the feelings, the sensitive nature, of your lamented pastor? Certainly no one could, or ought, but with a reserved tongue. Nor should I, but that there seemed much that distinguished him in their character and expression. They united great strength and fervor with an extraordinary tranquillity. They were alive to every touch. They took an eager interest in whatever related to sacred principles or human welfare. They were full of harmonies with the surrounding world. They were quick to kindle or to melt, as anything occurred to rouse a righteous displeasure or to appeal to the softest sympathies. But yet they broke out into no excess, and they sunk down into no weariness. You always found him prudent, measured, calm. A spirit of control seemed to be constantly upon him. It looked out from his thoughtful eyes, and impressed itself npon his whole demeanor. I do not remember him when he was easily moved to mirth, though he had a keen relish for all innocent joy ; nor to anger, though he knew well how to resent and what to resent; nor to tears, though he was tenderly constructed, and made many tears start at the pathos of his affectionate word, while he kept his own below the brim of their fountain. And whence came this spirit of control? I think from a contemplative disposition, that had always made serious estimates of life and of the duties and objects of living; and that had been trained by the various discipline of a delicate if not a suffering frame, to look closely at the transientness of mortal things, and to feel the necessity of a curbed will, and to fix its trust upon the promises of God. He was penetrated with moral and religious persuasions, that were too habitual to be ever uneven, and too profound to show any tuniultuous sign of themselves as they flowed on. He was eminently, though with the most silent modesty, a devout man. Unconsciously and without effort he was so, as if a heavenly responsibilty and hope were the breath of his nostrils. He lived in that undisturbed air. His faith was not a transient visiter. coming and going, visible at intervals, and noisy at the gate ; but it abode in him as a child of the house. It was this that so subdued him under each passing event, and prepared him constantly for every event that was to betide. From hence came the composure which was never indifference, that preserved him so steady under the attacks of an insidious disease, and made the years of his sinking strength and unruffled endeavors so many, and so useful, and so blessed as they
His remarkable purity from the stain of this world must have been evident to all who enjoyed his intercourse. He seemed to stand aloof from every contamination. The thought of sin was a
grief to him. I recollect hearing him, many years ago, discourse upon the beatitude of "the pure in heart," and thinking, as I heard, few were so likely as himself to inherit the blessing that he described, and to “see God.”
In words that live and breathe with truth does Dr. Frothingham describe the “ manners " of Mr. Greenwood.
“ In his manners it was impossible not to mark the most entire plainness and frankness. They were so wanting in all artifice that a stranger might have called them uncourtly. They were so free from sycophancy, as to seem sometimes hard. They were so restrained by the reflective habit of his mind as to appear sometimes cold. But these appearances vanished from him when one became no longer a stranger. There was a certain delicacy in all his sentiments, and a benevolence of heart, that would never suffer him to be harsh or insensible. His was a truly Christian urbanity. He did not profess more than he believed. He did not declare more than he felt. He did not show more than was real. He was not one to prefer a courtesy to a duty; though he observed, as the apostle has enjoined, the duty of being courteous. His look always matched his thought, and his word came straight from his conviction. Sincerity was bound visibly upon his open brow like a written phylactery. He had as little respect for subterfuges as he had occasion for any. Within was no guile. Without was no assumption. His communication was simple, direct, faithful, as his whole character was consistently grave and earnest.
The theology of Mr. Greenwood.
In his opinions, he loved to be settled. He studied that there should be some fixture in them. He was unwilling to be doubtful. He would have been unhappy to waver. He dreaded being carried about on any important subject as the wind prevailed. He sought to be assured. He set out his judgments carefully, and then allowed them to take their root. He was not anxious, like many, to disturb them continually in order to see if they were in a good condition. While he was candid and charitable towards the views of others, he held his own in unshaken honor. He was ready at all times to listen to any new arguments that might be brought against the justness of his belief; but he was not ready to be always putting it to the question as a suspicious thing. This would have been to render his belief no belief, but only a flickering assent or a flimsy conjecture. At least, he thought so. He wanted a foundation, and must have it; and he laid it with pains and circumspection, as that upon which he was to build his safety. The skeptical, and the vascillating, and they who are easily caught by the show of some new thing, might have found fault with him here as too precise, perhaps as too pertinacious. But it was a demand of his nature to know where he stood, and to be able to stand confidently.
As a theologian, he was an independent but humble inquirer. You might infer that he would be so from what has already been indicated as the character of his mind. He was a reverent searcher of the Scriptures; a reverent observer of those works and providences of God which are a part of his word.' Reverence was one of the leading traits of his spirit. He never lost in the office of a teacher the feeling of a disciple. He sought nothing so assiduously as the truth. He prized nothing so highly as the truth. He loved nothing so well as the truth. He was willing to follow it wherever it led. He did not
care to count what it might cost. He was thoroughly persuaded of the inestimable value of the religious views that he had embraced. He recommended them with a solemn ardor. His preference was for the 'old paths.' Novelties in religion had no attraction for him. He venerated the sacred bequests of the generations that have gone before
Though not servile to antiquity, he saw more and more in it as he grew older to win his respect and to meet his sympathies. He rejected nothing with a quicker or a more offended determination than the modern refinements and latitudes, that with a parade of spirituality scoff at ancient forms and outward testimonies, and with the prate of freedom do what they can to break off the yoke of a gospel belief. He was firmly conservative. He shrunk from the skeptical tendencies of the age. He hoped for nothing good, he anticipated only the most disastrous evils, from the pretended religious philosophies of fashionable innovation. His doctrine he connected rigorously with what he found in his Bible; with its historians and prophets and apostles, and above all with the inspired authority of the Saviour himself, who is
the head over all things to the church. From the holy volume, and not from his own conjecture or fancy, he drew the arguments with which he would impress others, and the lessons by which he would educate himself. To the Liturgy of this church, and to the faith which for these so many years has been inculcated within its walls, his attachment constantly increased till the day when every tie that attached him to the earth was severed. But the faith of our friend did not chiefly delight in definitions or dogmas of any kind. He was solicitous rather about its genuine fruits. His was eminently a faith of the affections. It nourished his sensibilities more than it encouraged his speculations. Though he distinguished himself as a controversial writer, taking an active part with those among us who have vindicated the claims of a liberal theology, yet it was from no pride of opinion or fondness for debate, but because he saw that this theology and they who held it were assailed with the bitterest uncharitableness; and because it was dear to him, as he conceived it to be the true interpretation of the mind of Christ,' and the most favorable to the virtue and happiness of mankind. For his own part, he loved to look away beyond all the divisions that keep men's kindness from one another, to repose upon his own peaceful persuasions, to believe with his heart.” · pp. 19-23.
We have given to the reader half of Dr. Frothingham's sermon; our only regret is that we have not room for the whole. It is a discourse as remarkable for the absolute truth of its de. lineations, as for the unequalled art with which they are presented to the mind of the reader.
THE EARLY LITERARY HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.
THE FIRST DISTINCT NOTICES OF CHRISTIANITY BY HEATHEN
The next division of our remarks upon the general subject of the Early History of Christianity, leads us to review sie the explicit statements which are found in the first classical žurches writings where our religion and its disciples are noticed. Tactive on
Two of the most valuable and interesting writers of ancient Fol.lll. Rome, whose works are preserved to us, are Tacitus and the younger Pliny. Their testimony to Christianity is of the highest importance; and neither the most searching scrutiny of Christians, nor the most daring skepticism of unbelievers, has been able to invalidate the proud arguments for our faith which we found upon it. These two authors were most intimate friends, and revised each other's writings before publication. Pliny was born in the year 61 or 62. We do not know the year when Tacitus was born ; but as Pliny, in a letter to him (Lib. vii
. Ep. 20,) says that he, Tacitus, was already flourishing in fame and distinction, while his friend was but a youth, we conclude that Tacitus was some years older than Pliny,that he was born before or about A. D. 50. In the year 78, Tacitus married the daughter of Agricola, the famous Roman Consul and Governor of Britain. Tacitus filled several offices of distinguished honor and trust under various emperors. He wrote an account of Germany, and a Life of Agricola, to3D S. VOL. XVII. NO. II.