But this extraordinary man, in the mighty reach of his mind, overlooked, perhaps, the errors, which a minuter investigation of the created things on this earth might have taught him. What, then, shall be said of the great Mr. Boyle,-who looked into the organic structure of all matter, even to the inanimate substances which the foot treads upon ?—Such a man may be supposed to have been equally qualified with Mr. Paine, to look up through Nature to Nature's God! Yet the result of all his contemplations was the most confirmed and devout belief in all which the other holds in contempt, as despicable and drivelling superstition.

But this error might, perhaps, arise from a want of due attention to the foundations of human judgment, and the structure of that understanding which God has given us for the investigation of truth.—Let that question be answered by Mr. Locke, who, to the highest pitch of devotion and adoration, was a Christian! -Mr. Locke, whose office it was to detect the errors of thinking, by going up to the very fountain of thought; and to direct into the proper tract of reasoning, the devious mind of man, by showing him its whole process, from the first perceptions of sense, to the last conclusions of ratiocination :-putting a rein upon false opinion, by practical rules for the conduct of human judgment.

But these men, it may be said, were only deep thinkers, and lived in their closets, unaccustomed to the traffic of the world, and to the laws which prac tically regulate mankind.-Gentlemen! in the place

where we now sit to administer the justice of this great country, the never-to-be-forgotten Sir Matthew Hale presided ;-whose faith in Christianity is an exalted commentary upon its truth and reason, and whose life was a glorious example of its fruits :-whose justice, drawn from the pure fountain of the Christian dispensation, will be, in all ages, a subject of the highest reverence and admiration.

But it is said by the author, that the Christian fable is but the tale of the more ancient superstitions of the world, and may be easily detected by a proper understanding of the mythologies of the Heathens.-Did Milton understand those mythologies?-was he less versed than Mr. Paine in the superstitions of the world? No, they were the subject of his immortal song; and though shut out from all recurrence to them, he poured them forth from the stores of a memory rich with all that man ever knew, and laid them in their order as the illustration of real and exalted faith ;-the unquestionable source of that fervid genius which has cast a kind of shade upon all the other works of man.

He pass'd the bounds of flaming space,
Where angels tremble while they gaze—
He saw-till blasted with excess of light,
He closed his eyes in endless night!

But it was the light of the body only, that was extinguished; "the celestial light shone inward, and enabled him to justify the ways of God to man.”. The result of his thinking was, nevertheless, not quite the same as that of the author before us. The mys

terious incarnation of our blessed Saviour, (which this work blasphemes, in words so wholly unfit for the mouth of a Christian, and the ears of a court of justice, that I dare not, and will not give them utterance,) Milton made the grand conclusion of his Paradise Lost, the rest from his finished labors, and the ultimate hope, expectation, and glory of the world.

A virgin is his mother, but his sire,

The power of the Most High ;--he shall ascend

The throne hereditary, and bound his reign

With earth's wide bounds, his glory with the heavens !

Thus you find all that is great, or wise, or splendid, or illustrious, amongst created beings-all the minds gifted beyond ordinary nature, if not inspired by its universal Author, for the advancement and dignity of the world, though divided by distant ages, and by clashing opinions, yet joining, as it were, in one sublime chorus, to celebrate the truths of Christianity, and laying upon its holy altars the never-fading offerings of their immortal wisdom.

AWAKE, Æolian lyre, awake,

And give to rapture all thy trembling strings!
From Helicon's harmonious springs,

A thousand rills their mazy progress take;
The laughing flowers that round them blow
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich stream of music winds along,
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,

Through verdant vales and Ceres' golden reign:

Now rushing down the steep amain,

Headlong, impetuous see it pour;

The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar!

Oh! sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,

Enchanting shell! the sullen cares

And frantic passions hear thy soft control. On Thracia's hills the lord of war

Has curb'd the fury of his car,

And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command:
Perching on the scepter'd hand

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber, lie
The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye.

Thee the voice, the dance obey,

Temper'd to thy warbled lay;
O'er Idalia's velvet green

The rosy-crowned loves are seen
On Cytherea's day,

With antic sports and blue-ey'd pleasures
Frisking light in frolic measures:
Now pursuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops they meet;
To brisk notes, in cadence beating,

Glance their many-twinkling feet.

Slow, melting strains their Queen's approach declare; Where'er she turns the graces homage pay,

With arts sublime, that float upon the air;

In gliding state she wins her easy way:

O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom, move

The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love.

II.

Man's feeble race what ills await,

Labor, and Penury, the racks of Pain,

Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train,

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate!

The fond complaint, my song, disprove,

And justify the laws of Jove.

Say, has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muse?

Night, and all her sickly dews,

Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,

He gives to range the dreary sky:

Till down the eastern cliffs afar,

Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war.