' l>^ •'i > [\ / / / t / \ ^. -'--i^ V^'-^ >W-' ^-^ ^^'^ I i ^PR 10 ^931 A BX 9869 . C4 A32 1882 i Channing, William Ellery, 1780-1842. The life of Will iam Ellery Channing, D.D THE LIFE OF WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING, D.D. Cfje Centenarg iHemortal litiition. BY HIS NEPHEW, WILLIAM HENRY CHANNING. BOSTON: AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 1882. Copyriyht, 1880, By the Amekican Unitarian Association. Untv'ERSity Press: John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. INTRODUCTION. A Life op Channing, in one volume, appears among the memorials of his hundredth birthday, with the hope of mak- ing this great-souled and free-thoughted, this largely-loving and loftily-aspiring prophet of humanity more widely known by fellow-Christians of all communions, and by the people, not of our Republic only, but of every nation throughout Christendom and the world. For his compeers, friends, and followers are gratefully con- fident, that among the illustrious lives which have shed truth, love, and quickening influence through the nineteenth century none will be found more bright with promise of a reconciled human race than that of William Ellery Channing. Truly he was the morning-star of a better day for man made one around our globe, by universal equity and brotherly-kindness, by integral culture and refinement, by heroic works of beneficence and beauty, and above all by living communion with the Living God, the Father, Sov- ereign, and Friend of His whole family on earth and in heaven, united in spirit with His Beloved Son, and growing in His image, to perfection. w. H. c. PREFACE. This work is an autobiography, in so far as the materials at my command have enabled me to give it that character, and consists of extracts from private papers, sermons, and letters, with such remarks only interwoven as seemed needed for purposes of illustration. Its plan is very simple. After a somewhat full and minute notice of Channing's early years, which will be found to present many interesting facts, and which no one hereafter could so well supply, the selections from his manuscripts have been arranged according to the twofold order of subject and of time. This method was chosen as the one best fitted to convey an adequate impression of the steadiness with which he held all objects of thought before his mind, until his views became consistent and com- plete ; and the growth of his opinions is in this way made clear, as well as the result of his progress. A thorough reader will consider any loss of vivacity in the narrative more than compensated for by the knowledge thus gained of the mental and moral processes of an earnest seeker after truth and right. It was the original design to present a finished portrait of William Ellery Changing, regarded as a man, a minister of religion, a philosopher, a reformer, and a statesman, — to point out his place among the leading persons of the age, — and, by exhibiting his relations to various parties, to sketch his life and times. Extensive preparations were made accord- vi PREFACE. ingly. But experiment at length satisfied me that it was far more difficult than had been supposed to shun the dishonesty of making my honored relative the exponent of my prejudices, without sinking into a tone of non-committal yet more at vari- ance with his character and with the truth. The biographer has therefore preferred silence to partiality or tameness, has limited himself to brief hints and descriptions, has stated for Channing such opinions only as there could be no risk of mis- apprehending or misrepresenting, and, in a word, has left him to be his own interpreter. W. H. C. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PART FIRST. Chapter I. — PARENTAGE AND BIKTH. Birth Wm. Ellery and Ann Remington . John Channing and Mary Chaloner Page . 1 . 1 . 4 William Channing Lucy Ellery Page . 4 Chapter II. — BOYHOOD. Childhood 10 Schoolmistress 11 Mr. Rogers 11 Intellectual traits 12 Home education 12 Political influences 13 Religious influences 14 Character 16 New London 19 Death of his father 19 Rev. Henrj' Channing 21 Revival . " 21 Chapter III. — COLLEGE LIFE. General influences 22 Appearance and character .... 24 Washington Allston 24 Literary societies 27 Infidelity 30 New birth 32 Favorite studies 33 Politics 34 Choice of profession 38 College friendships 40 Chapter IV.— RICHMOND. David Meade Randolph 43 Letter to his mother 43 Society 44 Slavery 45 Politics 47 School 52 Poverty 53 Studies 55 Musing 58 Enthusiasm 59 Perfect society 63 Preparation for the ministry .... 69 Self-consecration 74 Return 76 Chapter V. — STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. Domestic character 77 Self-discipline 77 Rev. Dr. Hopkins 80 Regent at Harvard University ... 84 Theological studies 86 Habits as a student 88 Doctrinal opinions 91 First sermon 92 Invitation to settle 93 Ordination 96 VUl CONTENTS. PART SECOND. Chapter I. — EARLY MINISTRY. Page Seriousness 98 Private papers 103 Removal of his family to Boston . . 110 Disinterestedness Ill 111 health 115 Power as a preacher IIG Character as a pastor 120 Page Friends, Rev. Dr. Kirkland, Rev. J. S. Buckminster, Rev. S. C. Thacher . 122 Correspondence 125 Charities 129 Political sermons 134 Manners 136 The good minister 137 Chapter II. — SPIRITUAL GROWTH. Moral and mental unity 141 The key-note 142 Section I. — Religion 143 Section II. — Human Nature . . . 154 Section III. — Christ and Christian- ity 161 Section IV. — Society 171 Chapter III— THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. Holiness, Truth, Humanity .... 181 Letters to friends 182 Freedom of inquiry 191 Letter to Rev. Samuel C. Thacher . . 194 Remarks on Rev. Dr. Worcester's let- ter 205 Confirreffationalism Remarks on Rev. Dr. Worcester's sec- ond letter 212 Christian union 215 Christian liberty 216 Berrv-street conference 218 223 Chapter IV. — SPIRITUAL GROWTH. Section III. — Christ and Christian- Distaste for Controversy 225 Section I. — Religion 225 Section H. — Human Nature . . . 238 ity . . . Section IV. 250 ■Society 257 Chapter V. — MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. Free inquiry 268 Treatment of opponents 271 Arianism 274 German writers 275 Wordsworth 275 Fall of Bonaparte 277 War with l^nglaiid 280 Peace movements 282 The Seniinole war 287 Privateering 288 Missions ' 288 Bible Society 281) Theological school 291 Harvard University 293 Benevolence 295 Vestry 296 Growing celebrity 299 Private papers 300 Invitation to New York 312 Family relations 313 Death of his brother 314 Heath of his sister 317 His marriage 319 Children. ' 323 Baptism 326 His sickness 327 CONTENTS. IX Chapter VI. -EUROPEAN JOURNEY, Page Journey in New Hampshire and Ver- mont 329 Parting words 333 Ocean 333 The Lakes 337 Wordsworth 341 Page Coleridge 343 Switzerland 344 Reflections on society 345 Care for his children 348 Death of his youngest son 350 Return . / 354 PART THIRD. Chapter I.— THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. Devotedness to his duties 357 Views of the ministry 361 Theological students 380 Dr. Channing as a preacher .... 383 Continued debility 389 Settlement of a colleague 392 Relations to Federal Street Society . 393 Views of pastoral duties 402 His function 404 Dr. Channing as an author .... 405 His literary character 408 Miscellanies 411 Literary correspondence 413 Chapter II. — RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. Plan of a work on Man 417 His position of thought 419 Self-reliance 423 Longing for light 425 " I am little of a Unitarian " ... 427 Principles of moral, religious, and po- litical science 436 Correspondence on religion and philos- ophy 440 Chapter IIL — SOCIAL REFORMS. Character as a reformer 456 Spirit of reform 457 \ Society and Christianity 459 Practical applications of the principle of love 464 Non-resistance ..•.".... 466 Treatment of criminals 470 \ Intemperance 474 ^Relations between poor and rich . . 477 Ministry at Large 479 4 Congregation of working-men . . . 481 The laboring classes 483 J Seamen 487 Education 488 Freedom of speech, — the Kneeland pe- tition 504 Hollis Street pulpit, — Rev. John Pier- pout 507 , Power of combined capital .... 508 "^ Relations of industry and property . . 510 -^ Creed as a social reformer 515 Bright prophecies 515 ^ Chapter IV. — THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. Early impressions 520 Residence in Santa Cruz 521 Address on returning 524 The eventful year of 1831 .... 525 Relations to the Abolitionists . . . 527 The struggle 532 Mobs 533 Book on Slavery 537 Meeting of the New England Antislav- ery Convention 540 Persecution of Birney 543 Right of petition 543 The religious side of antislavery . . 544 The Texas plot "... 547 CONTENTS. Page The Union 551 Murder of Lovejoy 551 Fancuil Hall meeting 552 Letter to the Abolitionists .... 564 Page Antislavery and the Federal Street Society " 570 Final view of Dr. Channing's relations to the antislavery movement . . . 571 Chapter V. — POLITICS. Religion and politics 574 Youth and manhood of the political re- former 574 Patriotism 574 Faith in free institutions 575 Native Americanism 577 The political lesson taught by mobs . 579 Strength of free governments . . . 579 Universal suffrage 580 Republican institutions 582 Existing parties 584 Reign of commerce 585 Repudiation and speculation .... 587 Claims of the United States to respect . 590 Politics in Great Britain 594 The Liberal partj' in Europe .... 600 " Three Days " in Paris 600 Poland and Russia 601 Germany 602 Relations of the Old World and the New World 604 " Always young for liberty " . . .604 Chapter VI. — FRIENDS. Friendship with Mr. Jonathan Phillips, Rev. Dr. Tuckerman, and Charles FoUen G07 Other friends 609 Regard for women 609 Miscellaneous correspondence . 609-633 Chapter VIL — HOME LIFE. Affectionateness 634 Rhode Island 634 Chronic debility 635 Action and inaction 638 Religion of meditation 642 Devoutness 645 Love of nature 649 Youtlifulness of spirit 650 Relations to his children 654 Interest in the young 658 Hospitality 659 Conversational power 661 A day at Oakland 663 Sunday 666 Return to Boston 666 Relations to his mother 666 Her death and character 667 Relations to his family 669 Reserve 670 Self-distrust 671 Dislike of fault-finding 672 Self-command 674 Forbearance under injuries .... 675 Liberality 676 Relations to society 677 Boston 680 A day in Boston 681 Habits of study and ^vriting .... 681 Journeys 686 Summer at Lenox 689 Bennington 694 Last days 695 Funeral 698 Monument 700 NOTES 701' INDEX 703 MEMOIR. PART FIRST. Chapter I.— PARENTAGE AND BIRTH. 1780. ON the 7th of April, 1780, William Ellery Channing, the third child of William Channing and Lucy Ellery, was born in Newport, Rhode Island, U. S. A. His grandparents, upon the father's and the mother's side alike, were persons of more than common energy, both in character and intelligence. William Elleiy, liis mother's father, was a man of singular hearti- ness, honest}-, good sense, and simplicit}'. " Graduated at Harvard College in 1747, he entered upon business as a merchant in his native town, Newport, which then offered every encouragement to an enterprising man, and was full of attractions to one of his social temper-. He married, earl}' in life, Ann, the daughter of Judge Remington, of Cambridge, Massachusetts, an excellent woman, prudent, affable, and hospitable, ever watchful over her children, and careful that her husband should find no place so agreeable to him as his home. " Mr. Eller}^, though urging the young to keep to a single busi- ness, to love it, and find distinction in it, and though inclined in his own habits to stead}', systematic application, was obliged to give up merchandise in the time of embarrassing revenue acts and non-importation agreements, when there was little or nothing for him to do but to join heart and hand, as he did, with the ' Sons of Liberty,' and in 1770 began the practice of the law. He was, as he says in a letter, a ' stanch friend to political liberty, and that liberty with which the Gospel has made us free.' And his sense of the worth of freedom could be the more relied on, as it did not spring from eager sympathy with the sudden excitements 1 2 PARENTAGE AND BIRTH. of the da}', but from principles which his experience and reflection had prudentl}- developed and confirmed. It was a deep-seated passion and a moral preference. To forward political liberty was, in his view, to follow every individual to his own heart and home with a blessing. According to his own strong language, he placed his obligations to uphold libert}' as high as those which bound him to his wife and children. He had thus far held no political or judi- cial office ; but he was known to the people for his firmness, judg- ment, and devotion to the public cause ; had shown himself a public-hearted man in the first struggles against encroachments upon the rights of the colonies ; had been upon important com- mittees, whose business was to procure the repeal of oppressive revenue acts ; was acquainted with the active spirits who were preparing themselves and the people for a separation from the mother country ; and had inspired a general confidence in his fit- ness for a high civil trust, let the aspect of afl!airs be ever so per- plexing. Thus approved, he was chosen as delegate of Rhode Island in the memorable Congress of 1776, and with his venerable colleague, Stephen Hopkins, set his name to the Declaration of Independence. " Mr. Ellery was in Congress from 1776 to 1786, with the excep- tion of the 3'ears 1780 and 1782; and while there had universal confidence for his prudent, straightforward, practical view of afl'airs, and for his consistent, independent, decided conduct. Besides the respect which his abilities and character thus obtained, his social spirit and powers of conversation, his wit, pleasantr3% and good- humored satire, which could enliven a party of friends at their lodgings, or sweep away the fallacies and whims of members in a debate, brought him into delightful intimacy with leading men. ' ' His character bore the marks of habitual self-inspection and self- resistance. Humility was the virtue which he seemed to prize as the most comprehensive and productive. His effort was to bring every tliouglit and desire into subjection before God, and to find security and motive in a fixed sense of his deficiencies and liis obli- gations. This constant study of humility was his light and strength. It cleared and simplified the purpose of human life. It gave him more and more the connnand of his faculties, and the exercise of his affections, and the power of devoting himself to duty. It showed him on what false principles men are commonly pronounced great, and how monstrous are arrogance and oppression in a mortal. But this moral warfare never threw an air of constraint or austerity upon his intercourse with others. It seemed as if his spirits were kept elastic by his constant guard over them. His very kindness WILLIAM ELLERY. 3 and gentleness had none of the inertness of mere good temper, but were animated b}- an active, cherished principle of love, wliich dis- criminated its objects and was all alive for the happiness of another. "In the pursuit of truth, he seemed more anxious for the cer- tainty than tlie amount and variety of results. lie was not fond of indulging in conjectures, that he might fill the void where he had in vain looked for satisfying truth ; nor was he unhappy because of the uncertainties which cannot be cleared up in an imperfect state of being. His feelings and wishes, and ever^' extraneous or acci- dental circumstance, were as if they did not exist, in his sober- minded inquiry. Or rather, the ver}- influences that are most apt to mislead did but sound the alarm to him to be single-hearted, and made his power of discerning the keener. He had the plainest com- mon-sense, and the most prudent judgment in common affairs ; and not so much from having lived long in the world, as from his right temper of mind, and his habit of going far into the reason of things. This honest}' or fairness of mind was his great distinction, and an explanation of his character. It was a proof of his moral and in- tellectual vigor. It was a religious principle. It ran through all his studies and experience, restraining him from injustice, and com- pelling him to condemn injustice ; opening the way through ancient errors of whatever kind, and for the admission of light from what- ever quarter ; and making it absoluteh' impossible that he should be a partisan or idolater in anj-thing. " His kindness and warmth of affection were especialh' manifest in his intercourse with the young. A plain man, in years, living in retirement, and obtruding his opinions upon no one, lie drew them to hin) as if he were their dependence ; and they felt that they owed to him, not only some of their best-remembered seasons of pleasure, but in no small degree the direction and coloring of their thoughts. When he saw anything to blame, he spoke plainl}^ and earnestly, and suffered no weakness of affection to conceal or impair the force of what he thought it his duty to say. If thej' neglected his admonitions and disappointed his expectations, his regret was unmingled with selfishness, and his affection unabated. They might need it the more." ^ After leaving Congress, Mr. Ellery was for many years collector of the customs in Newport, where he lived to the age of ninet}'- three, beloved b}- a large circle of relatives and friends, and affec- tionately honored by his fellow-citizens. He was remarkable, to 1 Life of William Ellery. By Edward Tyrrel Channiug. Sparks's American Biograpliy, Vol. VI., 1st Series. 4 PARENTAGE AND BIRTH. the vciy close of liis long life, for youthfulness of feeling, bi-ight- ness of mind, and read}- interest in nature, people, literature, events. This sketcli of the grandfather will be found to illustrate in no unimportant degree both the character and intellect of his distin- guished grandson ; for William but recorded his own experience, when, after he had reached mature life, he wrote to Mr. Eller\' : " You have hardly a grandchild who cannot trace back some of his sentiments and principles to your instructive and condescending conversation." John Channing, William's grandfather on the paternal side, was a respectable, and, till towards the close of life, a prosperous merchant of Newport. He was son of John Channing, of Dorset- shire, PLngland, — the first of the name who came to America, — and of Mary Antram, who arrived in Boston in 1712, and were soon after married. The wife of John Channing, Jr. was Mary Chaloner (the widow of Dr. James Robinson, physician), who was long remembered in Newport for her energy of character and dignity of manner. She was a high-spirited and ardent, yet religious and conscientious woman, and remarkable for activit}' and method. William Channing, their second son, was born in Newport, June 11, 1751, and educated at Nassau Hall, Princeton College, New Jersey, where he graduated in 1769. He read law with Oliver Arnold, at Providence; in 1771, began the practice of his pro- fession at Newport; in 1773, married Lucj' Ellery, the daughter of William Ellery; in 1777, became attorney-general of his native State, and upon the adoption of the Federal Constitution, without an}' solicitation on his part, was appointed to the office of district attorney for the district of Rhode Island. Hon. Asher Robbins, late member of the Senate of the United States from Rhode Island, writes of him thus : — " Mr. Channing was very well read in the law, especially in the forms of pleading ; law cases were his favorite reading, even for amusement. He had a large library, and one ver}' well selected. '^Ile interested himself much in State politics, and his office was the central point of rendezvous, where the leading men con- gregated for their consultations. " He was ver}' poi)ular in the State, was attorney-general and district attorney at the same time, and held both offices at the time of his death. "His manner of speaking at the bar was rapid, vehement, and impressive ; never studied, nor exactly methodical in his pleadings ; "WILLIAM CHANNING. 5 but he always came well prepared as to matter and authority. He had an extensive practice, attended all the courts regularly, and was considered, for several years before his death, as the leading counsel of the State. " In person, he was of the middle stature, well made, erect, and of an open countenance ; he was lively and pleasant in his con- versation, and much disposed to social intercourse ; he was hos- pitable and kind-hearted. His agreeable manner was one great source of his general popularity. " His temper was remarkably good, as were his manners, mild, liberal, generous ; his habits were also correct, temperate, indus- trious, mindful and observant of all the duties and proprieties of life." In addition, his father-in-law, Mr. P:ilery, says of him: — "He repeatedly served as a deputy for his native town; and such was his regard for its interests, that he did not decline that service, until, by the extensiveness of his practice, and the in- crease of his famdy, he was compelled to give to them his whole attention. "He early became the head of a family. He married in the twenty-third 3ear of his age, and performed the offices and char- ities of a husband and father with strict, constant, and tender attention, and was beloved and respected. " The law of kindness and benevolence was in his heart and on his tongue. The persons employed by him as domestics, and in other services, he treated >vith great humanity, and rewarded with a liberal punctuality-. He was an obedient and respectful son, and a most affectionate brother and friend. To the poor he was com- passionate. The needy never went away from his house empty. His table and his purse were always open to their wants, and his mmiificence was ever accompanied with a sweetness in the manner, winch doubled the obligations of gratitude. "His religious sentiments were liberil. He was particularly attached to the Congregational denomination of Christians, but he treated all good men of all denominations with kindness and respect. He generously contributed to the support of Chi-istian worship in the society to which he belonged, and countenanced and encouraged it by a constant and reverential attendance, and the ministers of religion experienced his hospitahty. " His political sentiments were displayed in a warm attachment to the rights of mankind, chastened by a love of peace and order. "His countenance and deportment expressed the amiableness 6 PARENTAGE AND BIRTH. and benevolence of his disposition, and his morals corresponded with his manners. He was temperate and honest; he was cour- teous and respectful. As he keenly felt the distresses of mankind, so was he as strongly disposed to relieve their sutfcrings. He looked down with such pity on the poor and afflicted as encouraged them to look up to him for succor as to a brother." These reminiscences of the father are confirmed and completed bv the following beautiful notice, written in 1841, by his son William : ^ — " Boston, December 18, 1841. " My recollections of my father are imperfect, as he died when I was thirteen years of age, and I had been sent from home before that event. But the many testimonies which I have received to his eminence as a lawyer, as well as to his private virtues, make me desirous that there should be some memorial of him. •' My father retained much attachment to Princeton College, where he was educated, so that he thought of sending me there. He was the classmate and friend of Samuel 8, Smith, afterwards distinguished as a theologian, and as the president of that institu- tion, "in the last part of his collegiate days he enjoyed the instruc- tions of the celebrated Dr. Witherspoon. " His early marriage and the rapid increase of his family obliged him to confine himself rigidly to liis profession. He was too busy to give much time to general reading, or even to his fannly. Still. I have distinct impressions of his excellence in his social relations. He was the dolicrht of the circle in which he moved. His mother, brothers, and sisters leaned on him as on no other. I well remem- ber the benignitv of his countenance and voice. At the same time he was a strict disciplinarian at home, and, according to the mis- taken notions of tliat time, kept me at too great a distance from him. In trutlu the prevalent notions of education were mucli more imperfect than in our day. " I often went into courts, but was too young to understand my father's merits in the profession ; yet I had always heard ot him as standing at its head. Mv brother says that Judge Dawes used to speak of his style and manner as ' mellifluous ; ' but at times he was veliement, for I well recollect that I left the court-house in fear, at hearing him indignantly reply to what seemed to him un- worthy language in the opposite counsel. " liis parents were religious, and the impressions made on his young mind were never lost. He was the main pillar of the 1 Memoirs of the Ilhode Island Bar. By Wilkins Updike, Esq. WILLIAM CHANNING. 7 religious society to which he belonged. The house of worship had suffered much from the occupation of Newport b}' the British army, so as to be unfit for use ; and I recollect few things in my child- hood more distinctly than his zeal in restoring it to its destination, and in settling a minister. I cannot doubt that his religious char- acter received important aid from the ministry- and friendship of Dr. Stiles, who was as eminent for piety as learning, and under whose teachings he grew up. He had a deep, I may say peculiar, abhor- rence of the vice of profaneness ; and such was his influence, that his large famil}' of sons escaped this taint to a remarkable degree, though brought up in the midst of it. 1 recollect, with gratitude, the strong impression which he made on m}- own mind. I owed it to him, that, though living in the atmosphere of this vice, no pro- fane word ever passed my lips. " On one subject I think of his state of mind with sorrow. His father, like most respectable merchants of that place, possessed slaves imported from Africa. They were the domestics of the family ; and my father had no sensibilit}- to the evil. I rememl^er, however, with pleasure, the affectionate relation which subsisted between him and the Africans (most of them aged) who continued to live with my grandfather. These were liberated after the Kevo- lution ; but nothing could remove them from their okl home, where they rather ruled than served. One of the females used to speak of herself as the daughter of an African prince ; and she certainly had much of the bearing of royalty. The dignity of her aspect and manner bespoke an uncommon woman. She was called Duchess, probabl}^ on account of the rank she had held in her own country'. I knew her onl}- after she was free, and had an establish- ment of her own. Now and then she invited all the children of the various families with which she was connected to a party, and we were Uberally feasted imder her hospitable roof. My father won the hearts of all his domestics. One of the sincerest mourners, at his death, was an excellent woman who had long lived with us, and whom he honored for her piet^-. " I recollect, distinctly, the great interest he took in the political questions which agitated the country-. Though but eight or nine 3'ears of age, I was present when the Rhode Island Convention adopted the Federal Constitution ; and the enthusiasm of that moment I can never forget. My father entered with his whole heart into that unbounded exultation. He was one of the most devoted members of the Federal part}-. At the beginning of the French Revolution he shai-ed in the universal hope and jo}- which it inspired ; but I well recollect the sadness with which he talked to 8 PARENTAGE AND BIRTH. ,us, one Sunda}' afternoon, of the execution of Louis the Sixteenth ; and from that moment his hopes died. "You speak of the testimon}' borne to him by the late Elisha R. Potter, P2sq. M}' ftitlier was among the first to discover the abil- ities of that remarkable man, and I remember the kindness with which he used to receive him. His spirit was, in truth, the kindest. He was ever read}' to see and appreciate superior talents, and to attach himself to worth. His friendship seemed to me singularly strong for a man so immersed in business. Anions his friends were George Champlin, Esq., a politician of singular capacity, and who was said to have ruled tlie State for years without forfeiting his integritj' ; Dr. Isaac Senter, a physician of extensive practice, who was thought to unite with great exi)erience a rare genius in his profession, and whose commanding figure rises before me, at the distance of forty- five 3'ears, as a specimen of manl}- beaut}- worthy the chisel of a Grecian sculptor ; and the Rev. Dr. Hitchcock, of Providence, a man of great sweetness of temper, and who deserves the grateful remembrance of that city for his zealous efforts in the cause of public education. My father took a great pleasure in the society of ministers, and always welcomed them to his hospitable dwelling. "■ I remember his tastes with pleasure. He had two gardens, one of them quite large, and as he sought to have everything which he cultivated of the best kind, our table, otherwise simple, was, in this respect, luxurious. He was not satisfied with what con- tented his neighbors, but introduced new varieties of vegetables into the town. He also took great interest in sacred music. On Sunday evening, the choir of the congregation, which included most of the younger members, and other amateurs, met in his office for practice in singing. The apartment, somewhat spacious, was filled ; and the animation of the meeting, to which his zeal contrib- uted not a little, made the occasion one of my weekly pleasures. " As far as I can trust my recollections of my lather's person, it must have been very prepossessing ; but to me his api)earance, at the time, was more venerable than beautiful. His head was bald, and his cocked hat, and the other parts of his dress, which, accord- ing to the fashions of the day, differed much from the costume of the 3-oung, made liim seem from the first an old man. " He prospered in life, but Avithout being able to leave a compe- tence to his large family. His labors were great, but 1 havo no recollection of seeing liim depressed. I should place him among the happy. He was taken away in the midst of usefulness and hope. The disease of wliich he died was not understood. I re- LUCY ELLERY. 9 member that he used to complain of feelings which we now should consider as dyspepsia ; but that disease was little thought of then, and the name never heard. "These are ver^- scanty reminiscences ; but as I hardly saw my father after reaching m}- twelfth year, and as nearly fifty years have passed since that time, it is not to be wondered at that I can recall no more of his calm, uniform life. The career of a profes- sional man, occupied with the support of a large family, otters no great events. "I little thought, when I began, of writing so much; but the pleasure which all men take in the virtues of parents has led me on insensibly. " My father died before I could requite him for his toils for my support and his interest in my moral well-being ; and I feel as if, in this present instance, I was discharging some part, though a very small one, of my great debt. I owed him much, and it is not my smallest obligation that his character enables me to join att"ec- tionate esteem and reverence with my instinctive gratitude. " Very truly yours, W. E. Channing." Lucy Eller}', William's mother, resembled her father in energy, judgment, practical skill, and integrity. But she added to these traits a tenderness of sensibility and a deep enthusiasm, which threw a charm of romance over her conduct and conversation. She was small in person, but erect in bearing and elastic in movement ; and strongly marked features, with a singularly bright and pene- trating eye, gave her an air of self-reliance and command. Her manner was generally benignant, often tenderly affectionate, and marked b^-' the dignified courtesj- of the old school ; but if pi^e ten- sion and fraud, in any of their manifold disguises, crossed her path, she became chillingly reserved and blunt to the verge of severit}'. Her feelings were quick, her humor was lively, and so did she clothe sagacious thoughts in quaint dialect, that she was as enter- taining a companion as she was a wise counsellor. The whole tone of her mind and temper was original ; blending, in a rare union, shrewdness and sympath}', caution and fresh impulse, devoted gen- erosit}' and strict conscience, stern straightforwardness and cordial love. In a word, there was a rough nobleness in her ways, which irresistibly won affection and respect, and made her influence pow- erful for good on all within her sphere. The following sketch, by her son William, ma}' best introduce her. "The most remarkable trait in my mother's character Avas the rectitude and simplicity of her mind. Perhaps I have never known 10 BOYHOOD. liET. 1-14. her equal in this respect. She was true in thought, word, and hfe. She had the firmness to see the truth, to speak it, to act upon it. She was direct in judgment and conversation, and in my long inter- course with her I cannot recall one word or action betra3ing the slightest insincerit}'. She had keen insight uito character. She was not to be imposed upon by others, and, what is rarer, she prac- tised no imposition on her own mind. She saw things, persons, events, as they were, and spoke of them by their right names. Her partialities did not blind her, even to her children. Her love was without illusion. She recognized unerringly, and with delight, fairness, honesty, genuine uprightness, and shrunk as by instinct from everything specious, the factitious in character, and plausible manners." Born of parents thus rich in natural gifts, and well trained, Wil- liam mlierited a physical organization at once delicate and vigorous, and tendencies of heart and mind in wliicli tiie virtues of both Avere most happily balanced. He is remembered as having been an in- fant of rare loveUness, and was from the first an idol. Such pro- phetic affection tends naturally to bring the fulfilment of its hopes ; and certainly, in the present instance, the expectant trust of the mother was an exhaustless incentive to the son. She lived for more than fifty years after his birth, and their relation throughout this long, and for the most part unbroken, period of intercourse was as beautiful as it was rich in mutual blessing. Chapter II. —BOYHOOD. ^T. 1-14. 1780-1794. The earliest description given of WiUiam is from an aged rela- tive, who says: "I remember him as a boy three or four years old, with brilliant eyes, glowing cheeks, and light-brown hair falling in curls upon his shoulders, dressed in a green velvet jacket, with ruffled collar and white under-clotlies, standing by his mother's side on the seat of the pew, and looking round upon the con- gregation. I tliought him the most splendid child I ever saw." Allowance must of course be made, in our estimate of such a sketch, for any reflected brightness which success in after life may have thrown ui)on the memory. But all testimony confirms this impres- sion of the beaming beauty of AVilliam's childhood ; and to those 1780-1794.] SCHOOL DAYS. H who have associations only with the wasted form, thin features, and sunken eyes of the preacher, whose spirit seemed alwut to cast aside the body, this picture of the blooming bo} will not be witliout the charm, at least, of contrast. Owing to his mother's poor state of health, the children were earl}' placed at school, and William was sent when yet so young that he was often carried in the arms of a colored man. One of his first recollections was of being taken to the school-room one morn- ing after the good mistress had died. The stillness which prevailed in place of the usual bustle, the slow steps, the luished voices, and the sight of the dead body, left a feeling of awe so strong that he vividly recalled the scene in the very last year of hi.s life. As he grew older, William was advanced to the boarding and day school of Mr. Rogers, which was considered the best in the town, and indeed had so high a reputation, that boys from a distance, es- pecially from the South, were sent to his charge. It was the habit of that time to use flogging as the common penalty, and no master would then have responded, as all good ones must now do, to the words of Vogel, — " When we teachers become fulty competent to our work, the necessity of, corporeal punishment will cease alto- gether." ^ This is mentioned, because it is certain tljat what he then experienced outraged his sensitive honor, and served to arouse the feeling of indignation against any form of violence used towards children, which grew so strong in him in later years. He would often tell an anecdote of a little boy in school trying to shield with his arms a larger one, whom the master was a1)out to whip. The contrast of the great heart with the small physi- cal power, the noble position of the young remonstrant against tyranny, produced an indelible impression upon his childish im- agination, and made the severity of the teacher and the quarrelling of the children detestable and hideous. He had through life an utter contempt and horror for every arbitrary- inrtiction of bodily pain ; and once, when conversing with a person who advocated the use of the lash in the arm}', navy, and prisons, broke forth with, "What! strike a man/" with such a thrilling tone, that it com- pletely' overwhelmed his hearer, and awakened in him an entirely new sense of the dignity of a human being. In connection with this degradation of boys by whipping, he sometimes remarked that his first feeling of the sacredness of wo- man was called out b}* observing that the delicate hands of the girls at school were never marked b}- the ferule. But, indeed, this 1 Hon. H. Mann's Seventh Report, as Secretary of the Massachusetts Board of Education. 12 BOYHOOD. [^T. 1-14. earl}' sentiment of reverence for women was probably owing to his lively sensibility to female loveliness. For once, while gazing on his daughter, as she danced pla3fully round him, he said, with a tone of deep tenderness: "She brings so to mind the days when her mother, then a gay little girl, used with her com[)anions to creep from the school-room unnoticed b}' the master, and I, looking out of the window, would watch her as she skipped down the street, and with boastful gesture mocked the boys who could not follow. She seemed, with her hair floating on her shoulders, as she lightly moved, so very beautiful. I have a clearer notion of the bliss of a seraph in heaven now than I had then, of the joyous spirit which buoyed up that form." As a pupil, it is said that William was patient and diligent, but not remarkable for quickness of perception. He rather examined oarefuUj'^ the subject offered to his attention, listening to his teacher, till satisfied that he thoroughly vuiderstood his meaning, than comprehended it at once by rapid insight. Considerate- ness, reflection, thoroughness, rather than brilliancy, originality, or force, seem to have been his mental manifestations at school. But so much depends upon the skill of the teacher, upon pen- etration to detect, and readiness of s3-mpathy to foster, the peculiar genius of a child, that but small reliance can be placed upon such indications as he then gave of his intellectual biases. All that is actually known is, that he gained the respect of his in- structors, held a high rank among his fellows, and awakened the wai-m hopes of his friends ; for, in a letter written towards the close of his school days, his father, using the stately style of ex- pressing affection then common, says to him: "We expect much from our son William, and flatter ourselves that we shall not be disappointed." Of the more important education which William received from the influences of home and of society, he has himself given a graphic, though slight sketch, in the letter descriptive of his father. But it may be well to dwell on these influences for a moment, as they did much to give direction to his moral energies. Ills father's dignified reserve towards his children has been noticed with regret b}- the son ; but still the pervading sweetness of his manner must have captivated them, and won their confidence, for, by universal report, his presence was like a sunbeam, — so did clieerfulness, screnit}^ good-humor, pleasantr}', kind regard for others' rights and feelings, and assiduity to i)lease, surround him with an atmosphere of love. And though little under the direct influence of his father's character, William's principles were yet 1780-1794,] SOCIAL INFLUENCES. 13 permanentl}' fashioned b}- his example. From him, and from liis grandfather, and their conversations on public questions, at the critical period when our nation was settling into order after the upheaval of the Revolution, and when Europe was shaken from end to end by the first waves of the grand social earthquake, he doubt- less derived that spirit of patriotism and interest in political move- ments by which he was afterwards characterized. His father, as a leading lawyer, and an earnest supporter of the Federal party, necessarily received at his house various eminent men who visited Newport. Washington dined there when on his Nortliern tour ; and it can be readily understood how much a boy's enthusiasm, alread}' fervent from hearing him alwa3's spoken of in terms of honor, was heightened by thus seeing the Father of the Nation face to face. Jay, too, and otlier men remarkable for political, professional, and literary talent, were there, waking by their presence generous ambition. And by Dr. Stiles, once pastor in Newport, and afterwards President of Yale College, William was so moved, that late in life he used in relation to him this strong language: "To the influence of this distinguished man in the circle in which I was brought up, I may owe in part the indigna- tion which I feel towards every invasion of human rights. In my earliest years I regarded no human being with equal reverence. I have his form before me at this moment almost as distinctly as if I had seen him yesterday, so strong is the impression made on a child through the moral affections." ^ While thus in an atmosphere of freedom, tempered b}- respect for order, the traits were developed which made him in manliood a patriot and philanthropist ; yet deeper influences were unfolding William's spiritual aflfections. He seems from the first to have shown a bent towards the pursuit that occupied his mature years, and early earned the title of " Little Minister." When yet very small, he was wont to arrange a room with seats and desk, and to summon the family, with blows upon the warming-pan by way of a bell, to a religious meeting, where he preached with much serious- ness and energy. At other times, he would assemble his play- mates for a similar purpose upon the steps of the door. This development of religious sensibilit}' may have been owing in a measure to the influence of an aunt of his father's, who was an invalid, and a woman of much piet}'' and sweetness, to whose room the nephews and nieces went on a Sunda}- afternoon to read in the Bible or some good book, repeat h3'mns, and join in a simple 1 Discourse at the Dedication of the Unitarian Congregational Church, New- port, 1836, AVorks, Vol. IV. p. 341. One Volume Edition, p. 423. 14 BOYHOOD. [JEt. 1-14. prayer. At home, too, his mother was accustomed to call the children together in the best parlor, which was open onl}' once a week, or on great occasions, and to read witli them from the Scrip- tures. He was influenced, too, not a little b}- a respected confi- dential servant, Rachel De Gilder, a woman of masculine energy, kind, though firm, and of strong religious principle, who exerted a sway over the children second only to their mother's, and to whom "William felt a gratitude so warm that he befriended her through a long life. Rachel was a Baptist, converted and instructed 1)y Mv. Kdd}', of Newport, who was afterward known to have been a Unitarian. Her views were uncommonl}" cheerful ; and it would be hiteresting to learn how far suggestive words, dropped by her in conversation, became germs in the boy's receptive heart, which ripened into the theology of his manhood. Man}- elevating influences, indeed, were around him, to which he has thus borne grateful testimon}' : — " I can well remember how the name of Dr. Stiles was cherished among his parishioners, after 3'ears of separation. His visit to this place was to many a festival. When little more than a child, I was l)resent at some of his private meetings with the more religious part of his former congregation, and I recollect how I was moved by the tears and expressive looks with which his affectionate exhor- tations were received. In his faith, he was what was called a mod- erate Cah inist ; but his heart was of no sect. He carried into his religion the spirit of lil)erty, which then stirred the whole country. Intolerance, church tyranny, in all its forms, he abhorred. He respected the right of private judgment, where others would have thought themselves authorized to restrain it. A young man, to whom he had been as a fatlier, one day communicated to him doubts concerning the Trinity. He expressed his sorrow, but mildly, and with undiminished affection, told him to go to the Scrip- tures, and to seek his faith there and only there. His friendships were confined to no parties. He desired to heal the wounds of the divided church of Christ, not by a common creed, but by the spirit of love. He wished to break every yoke, civil and ecclesias- tical." Of Dr. Hopkins, also, whom he used to hear preach, as well as often to meet at his father's table, he has left recollections full of affectionate respect. It was from him that he first gained his con- victions of the iniquity of slavery ; for this was a subject on which Dr. Hopkins, without heeding the strong prejudices and passions enlisted on the side of wrong, bore faithful testimonj* from the press 1780-1794.] FATHER THURSTON. 15 and the pulpit, while at the same time he labored for the education of the colored people with energy and success. "My recollections of Dr. Hopkins," he writes, "go back to my earliest years. As the Second Congregational Church was closed in my childhood, in consequence of Dr. Stiles's removal to New Haven, m}- father was accustomed to attend on the ministry of Dr. Hopkins. Perhaps he was tlie first minister 1 heard, but I heard him with no profit. His manner, which was singularly unattractive, could not win a child's attention ; and the circumstances attending the ser- vice were repulsive. The church had been much injured by the British during their occupation of the town, and the congregation were too poor to repair it. It had a desolate look, and in winter the rattling of the windows made an impression which time has not worn out. It was literally ' as cold as a barn,' and some of the most painful sensations of ni}- childhood were experienced in that comfortless building. As I grew up, I was accustomed to attend worship in our own church, where Dr. Patten was settled, so that for years I knew little of Dr. Hopkins. My first impressions were not very favorable. I think it probable that his strong reprobation of the slave-trade excited ill-will in the place, and I can distinctly recollect that the prevalence of terror in his preaching was a very common subject of remark, and gave rise to ludicrous stories among the boys." ^ It was at this period, too, that he received lessons, never to be forgotten, on the virtue of temperance, from a Baptist minister, called Father Thurston. This worthy man gave striking evidence of his zeal for reforming the vice of drunkenness, at a time when all classes of society there, as elsewhere, were debased by it, and when the citizens of Newport were largely engaged in the manufac- ture and traffic in ardent spirits. He was very poor, and eked out a scanty support, in addition to a small ministerial salary, by work- ing during the week as a cooper. But though hogsheads and barrels were the articles most in demand for the West India trade, the old gentleman would make nothing but pails. A significant anecdote illustrating the religious impressions made upon his mind in childhood is thus related by himself. His father, with the view of giving him a drive, took AVilliam in his chaise one day, as he was going to hear a famous preacher in the neighborhood. Impressed with the notion that he might learn glad tidings from the unseen world, he listened attentivel}' to the sermon. With glowing rhetoric, the lost state of man was described, his abandonment to 1 Works, Vol. IV. p. 341. One Volume Edition, p. 423. 16 BOYHOOD. [^T. 1-14. evil, helplessness, dependence upon sovereign gi-ace, and the need of earnest pra^'er as the condition of receiving divine aid. In the view of the speaker, a curse seemed to rest upon the earth, and darkness and horror to veil the face of nature. William, for his part, sup- posed that henceforth those who believed would abandon all other things to seek this salvation, and that amusement and earthly busi- ness would no longer occupy a moment. The service over, they went out of the church, and his father, in answer to the remark of some person, said, with a decisive tone: "Sound doctrine. Sir." "It is all true then," was the boy's inward reflection. A hcav}' weight fell on his heart. He wanted to speak to his father ; he expected his father would speak to him in relation to this tremen- dous crisis of things. They entered the chaise and drove along, but, absorbed in awful thoughts, he could not raise his voice. At length thej' reached home ; but instead of calhng the family together, and telling them of the appalling intelligence which the preacher had given, his father quietl}' read a newspaper. All things went on as usual. At first, he was surprised ; but not being given to talking, he asked no explanations. Soon, however, the question rose, — "Could what he had heard be true? No! his latlier did not be- lieve it ; people did not believe it ! It was not true ! " He felt that he had been trifled with ; that the preacher had deceived him ; and from that time he became inclined to distrust everything ora- torical, and to measure exactly the meaning of words ; he had received a profound lesson on the worth of sincerity. External aids were useful, however, in unfolding William's re- ligious nature, only because this was so rich in high, generous, conscientious feeling. He was remarkable, from the first, for purity and self-command, and for an air of dignity, which abashed the frivolousness of rude companions, and guarded him from the famil- iarities of less delicate spirits. And it was well that conscience was thus earl}' quickened, and that this mantle of modesty was wrapped about him ; for, to use his own words, there was then " a corruption of morals among those of my own age, which made boy- hood a critical and perilous season." In disposition, William was for the most part grave and reflective. He was fond of lonely rambles on the beach ; liked to go apart into some l)cautiful scene, with no other i)laymatc than his kite, which he delighted in flying; indulged in reverie and contemplation, and according to his own statement owed the tone of his character more to the influences of solitary thought than of companionship. Indeed, he often said that he understood the happiness of childhood rather from observation than experience, that his early life was sad. 1780-1794.] COURAGE. 17 that conscious want of virtue and knowledge then depressed him, that friendship seemed tame and cold, that life looked desolate, and that ever^^ year had been brighter to him than the last. Among his playmates he seems to have been alwa3-s noted for a certain greatness of character. The}' called him " Peacemaker" and " Little King Pepin." He is described as having been small and delicate, yet muscular and active, with a very erect person, quick movement, a countenance that, while sedate, was cheerful, and a singularly sweet smile, which he never lost through life. When with companions, he was exuberant in spirits, overflowing with energy, ready to join heartily in all amusements, but never boisterous. He was much beloved b}' the children of the school and neighborhood, though even then acting as an exhorter ; for he used to rebuke among them all profaneness or obscenit}' ; but this was done with a gentle tone, that manifested rather sorrow than anger, and was well received. His character was thus earlj- marked by mingled strength and sweetness, though b}- some accounts it would appear that he was by no means free from irritabilit}-. He loved power, too ; and such was his sway, among even the quarrel- some, that when his voice was heard, persuading them to order, he was readil}' obeyed. Sufficient fire, however, was latent under liis mildness to give him energy. On one occasion he flogged a bo}' larger than himself, who had imposed, as he thought, upon one weaker. And on another, when the pupils of Mr. Rogers's school had collected in expectation of an attack from the boj's of a diflferent part of the town, William urged them to go and meet the others and settle the matter at once ; he disapproved of dela}' and mere talking. He was a remarkable wrestler also, excelled in pitching the quoit, liked adventui'ous sports, was fond of climbing to the masthead of vessels at the wharf, and once, when sliding rapidl}' down a sta}', narrowly escaped being dashed on deck, the swift descent tearing the skin from his hands. Through life, indeed, he had unflinching physical as well as moral courage, and seemed unconscious of fear. He was officer, too, it seems, in a company of boys that marched to salute Count Rochambeau when he was on a visit at Newport, upon which occasion the young commander made an address, and marshalled his troop, with a spirit that won much admiration. If these trifling mementos indicate a generous and high-spirited character, there are others which illustrate his thoughtfulness and disinterestedness. Among them, one ma}' be worth noting, be- cause it proves that he had instinctively adopted in earl}' j'ears the rule which strictlj' governed his manhood, of " letting not his left 2 18 BOYHOOD. [^T. 1-14. hand know what his right hand did." A man sick and in distress begged one da}^ at the door. William observed him, but was silent, and gave nothing at the time. When the beggar had gone, how- ever, he was seen to follow him out, and to put into his hand some pieces of money, which must have been all that he had. It is remembered, too, that he used to visit a friendless and desolate old man in the neighborhood, carrying with him such comforts as he could command ; and interest generally' in the poor, deference for the aged, and considerate regard for the feelings and rights of domestics in the family, gained for him the warm affection due to the liberal and loving. A gentle and kind disposition manifested itself also in his treat- ment of animals, as, in a letter written soon after leaving college, he thus himself declares : — " Thanks that I can sa}' I have never killed a bird. I would not crush the meanest insect which crawls upon the ground. They have the same right to life that I have, the^- received it from the same Father, and 1 will not mar the works of God b}' wanton cruelty. "I can remember an incident in m}' childhood, which has given a turn to my whole life and character. I found a nest of birds in m}- father's field, which held four young ones. The}' had no down when I first discovered them. They opened their little mouths as if they ■vyere hungry, and I gave them some crumbs which were in m}- pocket. Every day I returned to feed them. As soon as school was done, I would run home for some bread, and sit by the nest to see them eat, for an hour at a time. The}' were now feathered, and almost ready to fly. When I came one morning, I found them a,lL cut up into quarters. The grass round the nest was red with blood. Their little limbs were raw and bloody. The mother was on a tree, and the father on the wall, mourning for their young. I cried, myself, for I was a child. I thought, too, that the i)arents looked on me as the author of their miseries, and this made me still more unhappy. I wanted to undeceive them. I wanted to sym- pathize with and comfort them. When I left the field, they followed me with their eyes and with mournful reproaches. I was too young and too sincere in my grief to make any apostrophes. But I can never forget my feelings. The impression will never be worn away, nor can I ever cease to abhor every species of inhumanit}' towards inferior animals." This sketch of William's boyhood cannot be more fitly closed than with the following letter from his friend in j'outh, and friend till dieath, our poet-painter, Washington AUston. 1780-1794.] DEATH OF HIS FATHER, 19 " I know not that I could better describe him than as an open, brave, and generous borj. The characters of boys are, I beheve, ahiiost always truly estimated by their companions, — at least mor- ally, though perhaps seldom intellectually ; and these are generally assigned to the several classes of the open or the cunning, the gen- erous or the mean, the brave or the cowardly. And I well remem- ber, though he was several months my junior (a matter of some importance among children) , that I always looked up to him even in boyhood with respect ; nor can I recall a single circumstance that ever weakened that feeling. In our games, he was never known to take any undue advantage, but would give way at once, where there was the least doubt on the point at issue. And though he was but scantily provided with pocket-money his little chance supplies seemed, in the school-boy phrase, alwa3^s to ' burn in his pocket' ; he could neither keep it there, nor ever expend it wholly on himself. On one occasion, when quite a little boy, he had a present from a relative of a dollar. Such an excess of wealth was never before in his possession ; and I can now bring before me the very expression of glee with which he came among us, to disencum- ber himself of the load. This is the only incident that I can now recall, and this must have been full fifty j-ears ago. He had the same large heart when a boy, that animated him to the last. His intellectual endowments are known to the Avorld ; but only his early companions, who have survived him, can bear witness to the rare uniformity of his moral worth ; man and b'oy, he was, in their true sense, high-minded and noble-hearted." At the age of twelve, William was sent to New London, to pre- pare for college, under the care of his uncle, the Rev. Henry Chan- ning. And it was while he was residing there, that, on the 21st of September, 1793, his father died. He was sent for to come home ; and an aged friend of the family still describes the deep and general sympathy called out by the appearance of the funeral procession, when Francis, the eldest son, then in college, and William, now a boy of thirteen years, with their widowed mother and the younger children, followed the coffin of their beloved and universally hon- ored parent through the streets of Newport. This death made a momentous change in the condition of the family, and threw a heavy load of responsibility on the elder sons ; for the father, though most industrious in his profession, and en- gaged in large business, had been thus far able to lay up but a small property ; and the mother, thougli wise and energetic, found her- self oppressed with a weight of care in the charge of nine children. 20 BOYHOOD. [^T. 1-14. It is easy to see that the effect of such a loss upon a boy full of sensibility, conscientious and resolute, like WiUiam, must have been to stimulate him to the exercise of every power, and to the most rapid preparation for a time when he might maintain himself and assist his famil}'. From easy independence and cheering worldly prospects, he and his had suddenly become poor ; and at the earliest moment it was necessary that he should free his mother from the burden of his support. More than that, the head of the house was taken ; and he and his elder brother must now become their mother's advisers, and guardians of those younger. The character of independent energy, and thoughtful oversight for every member of his family, thus early awakened, grew stronger through life. Doubtless, however, a shade of premature seriousness was given to his temper. The effect of this bereavement is shown by an extract from a letter of his grandfather EUery, who says : — "Your letters have afforded me great delight, for they have all discovered that affectionate regard for 30ur mother, your bi-others and sisters, and your other relatives, which naturally flows from a feeling and ingenuous mind, and indicates an amiable disposition." His brother, too, writes : — " The goodness of heart which j-ou possess will, I doubt not, ever keep 3'ou desirous of liberating our mother from her cares. Pass witii her all the moments you can steal from healthful recrea- tions and necessary studies, and let the kind attentions of filial affection be a return for the unrequitable tenderness which we, her beloved children, have received. Your brothers and sisters esteem you for your friendly disposition. Yes, William, you are happy in possessing the good-will of all." At New London he remained a year and more ; and his uncle, writing to him soon after he entered college, thus describes the impression which his character and conduct had left : — " It gave me sensible pleasure to find 3'ou, my dear nephew, retaining the same animated sonsibilit}- which rendered you cai)able of receiving and communicating happiness, and secured you cordial welcome while resident in my family. Your aunt loves you, ten- derly, and often expresses her feelings while recounting your affec- tionate respect and attention. Never did you excite one painful emotion in our breasts, but always with ^-ou our hearts were made glad. We never can forget such a nephew, or, rather, such a son." That he was earnest and successful in his studies also appears by 1780-1794.] REVIVAL. 21 the following extract from another letter of his uncle, who was his instructor : — " Without flattery, I can onl}- sa}^ that your progress was more the result of ^our assiduit}' than of my attention. " I am pleased with your observations upon the expectations of 3-our friends, and your determination to endeavor to realize them. We know that your situation and your genius justify us in forming the most flattering ideas of the future eminence of our nephew. . . . Permit me to indulge the hope that j'ou will continue to possess and cherish that modesty and deference to superiors which has hitherto been a distinguishing trait in your character." These were strong words of praise to draw from one singularly exacting of courteous respect, and who, though kind in heart, was severely precise in manners. To this uncle he owed much in every way, and especially- for the tone given to his religious feelings. Mr. Henry Ciianning had then been settled for many years in New London ; and amid the gloomy Calvinism of Connecticut had pre- served a spirit free and bright, cheerful in hope, and utterly intol- erant of bigotr3'. New Loudon was in the midst of one of the " Revivals," which then were quite generally oversweeping New England. And Mr. Ciianning, though of the more liberal bod^-, sympathized so far in the excitement, tliat a new spiritual interest was awakened in his own society ; and the mind of William received such deep and lasting impressions, that he dated back to that period the commencement of a decidedly religious life. His feelings towards New London were, in consequence of this era in his in- ward experience, always strong ; and we find a college classmate writing to him thus on the occasion of his revisiting it: "I hope that tlie poor pilgrim has ere this trod on the consecrated ground of Palestine. New London you view with a partial eye, as the place where 30U acquired those habits of virtue and morality which have always influenced your conduct. Pleasant it must be to re- trace these scenes of former times." From New London, William went to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where he entered Harvard College, as P^reshman, in 1794, being then in his fifteenth year. And thus closed a boyhood that, in its ekMuents and results, in the blending of generous impulses and fine powers with high principle and pure habits, gave promise of greatness which the future was amply to redeem. 22 COLLEGE LIFE. [^t. 14-18. Chapter III. — COLLEGE LIFE. JEt. 14-18. 1794-1798. In tracing the growth of WiUiam's mind and character during the important period of college life, it is of interest to understand the influences which surrounded him ; and of these a brief sketch is presented in the following extracts from a letter of his classmate and friend, Judge Story.^ ' ' You express a desire ' to obtain some general views of the cir- cumstances under which the students lived.' I believe that this can be best done b}- giving you a brief sketch of the state of the college, and the relation which the students had with the existing college government. Things are so much changed since, that it is soihe- what difficult to realise all the influences which then surrounded them " In respect to academical intercourse, the students had literally none that was not purel}' official, except with each other. The different classes were almost strangers to each other ; and cold re- serve generallj- prevailed between them. The system of ' fagging' (as it was called) was just then dying out, and I believe that ni}' own class was the first that was not compelled to perform this drudgery at the command of the Senior class, in the most humble services. The students had no connection whatsoever with the inhabitants of Cambridge by private social visits. There was none between the families of the president and professors of the college and the students. The regime of the old school in manners and habits then i)revailed. The president and pi'ofessors were never approached except in the most formal way, and npon official occa- sions ; and in the college yard (if I remember rightly) no student was permitted to be with his hat on, if one of the professors was there I must do all our instructors, the professors as well as the tutors, the justice to say, that their instructions were very valua- ble to us, and that they all took a deep and earnest interest in our ad- vancement. For myself, I must own that at this distant day I enter- tain the liveliest gratitude to them for the aid given by them to me in awakening and guiding my love of letters. But private social access to them did not belong to the habits of the times, and a free and easy intercourse witli them, which would now not be considered unbecoming, would at that time have Jjeen thought somewhat obtru- 1 Letter to W. F. Clianning. 1794-1798.] RECITATIONS. 23 sive on one side, and, on the other, would have exposed the student to the imputation of being what in technical language was called a ' fisherman,' — a rank and noxious character in college annals. ' ' These suggestions may at once put you in possession of the intra-mcenial influences of college life. In general, the students were then moral, devoted to their studies, and ambitious of dis- tinction. There would be then, as now, an occasional outbreak ; but I am not aware that either immoralit}' or dissipation or habitual indolence was more in fashion than in succeeding times. There will alwa3's be a little sprinkling of these among students of an ardent and reckless character. In one particular a sahitar}' change in the habits of life has taken place. There is universally far more tem[)erance now than then, in the use of wine and spirituous liquors. But the instances of excess were rare, and were always frowned upon by classmates " One circumstance is brought to my thoughts, on which I would for a moment dwell, because I am quite sure that it gave a power- ful impulse to 3'oung Channing's ambition. At that period, all the scholars of the class attended together in the recitation-room at the same time, and of course recited their lessons in the presence of each other. The average number in the classes did not gen- erally vary in any important degree from the numl)ers now in college, — at least not to a degree which would even now make the assemblage of the whole class in the same room inconvenient or burdensome. This general assemblage of the whole class in the same room at the same time had, in my judgment, the most bene- ficial influence. In the first place, it enabled the whole class clearly and accuratel}" to ascertain the relative scholarship and attainments of each scholar ; and thus one great source of jealous3',.the sus- picion of partiality on the part of the college facult}', was either extinguished or greatly mitigated, and I do not hesitate to say that the relative rank then assigned to the various members of the class by their own classmates was generally' correct, impartial, and satis- factor}'. In the next place, a generous spirit of emulation pervaded the whole class. We were proud of our best scholars, and awarded them just praise with a liberal courtes}' ; and those wlio were thus distinguished were stimulated by high motives to deserve and to secure this approbation. No man, I am persuaded, felt more, or appreciated more justly-, than your father, this truly valuable incen- tive to exertion. He had then, as in his after life, a lofty ambition for excellence ; and he sought reputation by aims as pure and moral as they were enlightened. I must confess that I have never ceased to regret that the old system, the advantages of which I 24 COLLEGE LIFE. [^t. 14-18. have thus briefl}' alhuled to, has ever been departed from in tlie college arrangements. If this were the proper time or place I would state many reasons win* I hold this opinion, and which, at least in m}' own judgment, make the change more than a doubtful innovation." It was amid these influences and opportunities that William's genius and faculties were to Ije matured. He was now in his fifteenth year, vigorous in health, elastic in spirits, in temper, as we have seen, enthusiastic yet self-governed, with powers active and well disciplined ; and thus in every way fitted to enter upon this critical era of life. AU who then remember him speak with especial pleasure of his animated expression, of his buoyant yet dignified manner, and of his general appearance of overflowing life. Washington Allstou writes : — "Though small in stature, his person at that time was rather muscular than slender ; I should think it was even athletic, from the manner in which he prolonged the contests with heavier antag- onists in the wrestling-matches that were then common among tlie students. And for animal spirits he was no less remarkable than for his intellectual enthusiasm, amounting occasionall}' to unre- strained hilarity-, but never passing the bounds of propriety. I well rememljer his laugh, which could not have been heartier with- out being obstreperous." This laughter is said to have been not rarely called out by this very friend, who, possessed of the most radiant humor, penetration, and sweetness, charming from his courtesy of manner and noble- ness of feeling, endowed with an imagination that threw a lustre round every theme he touched, was then, as through life, a centre of attraction to all who could appreciate rare genius, eloquence, and refinement almost feminine in delicac}'. Allston's room was on the way from the house where William lived to the college ; and there he used to stop for friendly chat, while going to or coming from the lecture-room. One da}- he had a lesson to be accom- panied with original designs in mensuration, and Allston, who was already skilful in the use of his pencil, proposed to give him an illustration. It consisted of pyramids of figures heaped upon one another's shoulders in various attitudes, each of which was a slightly caricatured portrait of the professors and tutors. This William ofl^ered at recitation ; and the drawing was so spirited, and the jest in itself so harmless, that the instructor could not but join heartily with the class in the merriment it excited. This slight anecdote is mentioned, because it indicates a latent vein of humor, 1794-1798.J SCHOLARSHIP. 25 which, though hidden in after years under a manner habitually serious, did yet occasionally emit scintillations. The Rev. Dr. Pierce, who was his tutor, adds the following description of William as a student : — "I have a distinct recollection of him, as, at that time, a fine- looking, healthy, muscular young man. But what I best remember was his excellence as a scholar. My department was the Latin language ; and never shall I forget, while memory lasts, with what promptitude and elegance he rendered into P^nglish the passages from the classics which he was called to recite. I also heard his class in history. He was alwa3's in his place, and I invariably gave him the highest mark for good recitations. The government of the Universit}' were, I believe, unanimous in assigning him the first rank among his classmates. This, in a class containing such men as Judge Story, William AVilliams, Artemas Sawyer, Joseph P^merson, Dr. Tuckerman, &c., was no small honor." The classmate, from whom has been already quoted the sketch of the influences which surrounded the students, thus beautifully com- pletes his friend's portrait as he was in college : — " I became a member," writes Judge Stor^', " of the same class in January, 1795, and was then first introduced to him. He resided during the whole of his collegiate course with his uncle, whose house was at some distance from the colleges ; and partly- from this fact, and parti}' from his reserved, although bland deportment, he did not associate much with his classmates generally, at tlie same time that he drew about him a circle of choice and select friends from the moBt distinguished of his class, with whom he indulged in the most frank social intercourse, and b}' whom he was greatl}' beloved and respected. So blameless was his life, so conciliator}' his manners, and so unobtrusive his conduct, that he enjoyed the rare felicity of being universally esteemed b}' all his classmates, even by those to whom he was least known, except in the lecture- room as a fellow-student. The little strifes and jealousies and rivalries of college life, in those days, scarcely reached him ; and his own rank in scholarship was, from the beginning to the conclu- sion of his academical career, admitted to be of the highest order. I do not believe tliat he had a single personal enemy during that whole period, and I am sure that he never deserved to have any ; and his early rei)utation, as it budded, and blossomed, and bore its fruits, was cherished by all his class as common proper!}'. We were proud of his distinctions, and gratified when he was praised. We all then prophesied his future eminence, in whatever profession 26 COLLEGE LIFE. [^t. 14-18. he should make his choice. Speaking for myself, I can trul^- say that the qualities of mind and character which then were unfolded to my own view were precisely the same which in after life gave him such celebrit}'. "Perhaps in no single study was he superior to all his class- mates. In the classical studies of that da}- he was among the first, if not the first ; in Latin more accomplished than in Greek His principal love was for historical and literary studies ; for English literature in its widest extent, and for those comprehensive gener- alizations upon human life, institutions, and interests, which his enthusiasm for the advancement of his race and his purit}" of heart led him to cherish and cultivate with profound attachment. I remember well with what a kindling zeal he spoke on all such sub- jects ; and one might almost then see playing about him the gentle graces and the rai)t devotion of a Fenelon. "In one particular he far excelled all his classmates, and I mention it because it is precisely that which in after life constituted the basis of his fame, — I mean his power of varied and sustained written composition. It was racy, flowing, full, glowing with life, chaste in ornament, vigorous in structure, and beautiful in finish. It abounded with eloquence of expression, — the spontaneous effusion of a quick genius and a cultivated taste, — and was as persuasive as it was imposing. All of us — by which I mean his academical contemporaries — listened to his discourses at the liter- ary exhibitions, and at Commencement, with admiration and delight. If I might venture to rely on the impressions of those days, which yet fasten on my memory as truths unaffected by youthful excite- ment, I should be tempted to say that we all listened to him on these occasions with the most devoted attention ; and that tlie mel- lifluous tones of his voice fell on our ears with somewhat of the power which Milton has attributed to Adam when the angel ended, so ' that we awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear.' I need scarcely add, that at the public exhibitions of his class he received the first and highest part ; and on receiving his degree at Commencement, took also the first and highest oration, with the approval of all his class that he was the worthiest of it, and that he was truly princeps inter pares. Honors thus early Avon and con- ceded are not without their value or their use as prognostics of an auspicious and brilliant day." It will please the generous to know, that, while Judge Story thus 1794-1798.] LITERARY SOCIETIES. 27 SO cloail}- bore testimony to his friend's pre-eminence as a scholar, Dr. Channing was equally decided in assigning the first place of honor to his distinguished classmate. He often said, "Judge Story was entitled to the first part ; but he chose a poem, and the oration fell to me." It may be encouraging to students, also, to learn that young Channing did not gain the charm of style referred to without efibi-t. He said that his first attempts were most awkward, and that he accustomed himself to compose mentally while walkino- to and from the college. He also studied elocution and rhetoi'ic as an art, with the aid of Longinus, Harris, Watts, and Sheridan. He met friends, too, in private, to read and criticise each other's writings. Above all, he zealously took a part in the various lit- erary societies, of his connection with which the Hon. D. A. White of Salem, who, though in the class before Channing, 3'et knew him well, has communicated the following detailed account. " His connection with these societies could not fail to have an important influence in his education, — scarcely less, perhaps, taken in all its bearings, than the established course of college studies. The literary exercises and the social communion which these so- cieties afforded were hapi)ily suited to the development of his fine powers and ardent sympathies, his free and independent spirit, his social, friendly, and benevolent heart. You will therefore be interested, 1 think, to know something of them. "The first literary society in which we met as members was the Speaking Club, since called the Institute of 1770, the principal object of whicli was mutual improvement in elocution and oratoiy. The society 'consisted of members from the two middle classes, twelve to fifteen from each, chosen near the close of the Freshman year, and retiring at the close of the Junior year, with a valedictory address from one of the members previously appointed for the purpose. I find ' Channing' first mentioned among those chosen from his class. Young as he was, he was also elected their pres- ident. To show the impression which at that early period he made upon me, and I doubt not equally upon others, I may observe, which I now distinctly remember, tliat, in delivering the valedictory address in I)ohalf of the members from my class, as my eye rested on him, I felt a respect for his taste and judgment, for his authority in criticism, which no other auditor inspired. I might apply the same remark to another occasion afterwards, in a different societ}', when I stood in a similar relation to him. The authority which he thus early acquired among us arose not more from his general rep- 28 COLLEGE LIFE. \JEt. H-18. Illation as a scholar and critic, tlian from the active part which he took in all our meetings, and the sound judgment and earnest eloquence which often distinguished his remarks. His whole de- portment and conversation among his associates tended to the same result. With his natural ardor and enthusiasm were united so much dignit}- and sweetness of manner and disposition, that it was impossible to be acquainted with him, however transiently, without feeling for him a sincere respect and esteem. '' The practice of the Speaking Club, at their meetings, which were held in the evening at some retired room in the town of Cam])ridge, was, for a portion of the members to declaim in rota- tion, while each declaimer, after his performance, stood aside to receive the remarks which an}' of his brethren might think proper to offer. All apparent faults of the speaker, which he might correct, or which others should avoid, were freely pointed out and commented upon, yet alwa^^s in a spirit of candor and kindness. Sometimes different ^iews would be taken by various members, oiving rise to interesting discussions. Thus these meetings became schools of mutual improvement in extemporaneous s[)eaking, as well as correct elocution. No one could be better qualified to be both teacher and learner in such schools than young Channing. Full of life and energy, and actuated alike by an ardent love of knowledge and b}- social benevolence, his noble powers of thought and feehng were never suffered to sleep when any intellectual or moral good was attainable for himself or others. "But improvement in pnblic speaking was not the only, nor indeed the chief, advantage derived from being a member of this society. The general influence upon an ingenuous young man, arising from a liberal intercourse with so many of the most intel- ligent and virtuous scholars of various classes, engaged in a course of interesting exercises for their common benefit, could scarcely be too highly appreciated. His interest in the proper objects of education would be increased, and his motives and views elevated above all unworthy pursuits, while he enjoyed the l)cst means of knowing the real character of his most respectable classmates, and wisely forming those friendships which naturally spring from col- lege intimacies, and which, when wisely formed, become blessings through life. " Nearly at the same time that Mr. Channing left the Speaking Club, he was chosen into the society of the Phi Beta Kappa, and continued to enjoy, during his Senior year, the advantages of an intimate literary intercourse with the distinguished scholars of his own class. You are too well ac(|uaintcd with the character of this 1794-1798.] RELIGIOUS INFLUENCES. 29 society, which has always been a public one, to make it necessary for me to say anything more about it than to give a general idea of the literary exercises and discussions wlucli engaged tlie atten- tion of its resident members at their regular meetings, during the last 3'ear at college. The object of these meetings was improve- ment in English composition, the art of reasoning, and the practice of speaking ; and the principal exercises were dissertations and forensic arguments, previously written, and read at the meetings, witli occasional debates and colloquial discussions. "There was another society', of a similar intellectual character, into which Clianning was elected, called the Adelphi, instituted in 1785, designed for religious improvement, but consisting princi- pally of those membei's of the Senior class who expected to study theology as a profession. Their meetings were liekl on Sunday evenings, and their exercises, which were of a devotional and religious character, were chiefly dissertations, or discourses, and discussions on topics connected with theology and the clerical profession.^ " The Hasty-Pudding Club, composed of members of the Junior class, was formed more exclusively for social enjoyment and rec- reation. It originated with my class in 1795, at the beginning of our Junior year, numbering about twent}' associates. Being trans- mitted to the next class, as they commenced Juniors, it became a permanent institution. I well remember the animating presence of Clianning among those to whom we committed the society on the delivery of the first anniversary address " I cannot, therefore, easily imagine a more eligible situation for 3'oung Clianning than the one he enjoyed while a student in Har- vard College, — considering, too, his peculiar advantage of living in the family of his uncle, the late Chief Justice Dana, where the want of refined domestic societ}', the principal defect of an academic residence, was so entirely supplied to him. Most faithfully did he improve the various privileges he enjoyed, making, undoubtedl}', more rapid progress in good learning and intellectual accomplish- ments than any of his fellow-students, or than he himself ever made in any other equal portion of his life." TIius far a view has been offered of the general influences, only, wliich helped to form young Channing's mind. But far more fruit- ful germs were planted in him by the religious and social excite- ments of the time, which were scattering, as by the hands of the ^ Clianning delivered before this society a discourse, wliich was so much liked that he was strongly urged by his fellows to print it. 30 COLLEGE LIFE. [Mr. 14-18. tempest, the seecLs of new views of man, societ}', and human life. He has fortunately left the following mementos of the power which this stirring period exerted upon himself : — " College was never in a worse state than when I entered it. Society' was passing through a most critical stage. The French Revohition had diseased the imagination and unsettled the under- standing of men everywhere. The old foundations of social order, loyalt}', tradition, habit, reverence for antiquit}', were everywhere shaken, if not subverted. The authority of the past was gone. The old forms were outgrown, and new ones had not taken their place. The tone of books and conversation was presumptuous and daring. The tendency of all classes was to sce[)ticism. At such a moment, the difficulties of education were necessarily multiplied. The work required men of comprehensive and original minds, able to adapt themselves to the new state of the world. It is not to be wondered at, that the government and teachers of the college, most of them of mature years, and belonging to the old school, should understand little of the wants of the times. The system of govern- ment and instruction went on very much as it had done for years before, and the result was a state of great insubordination, and the almost total absence of the respect due to individuals of so much worth. The state of morals among the students was any- thing but good ; but poverty, a dread of del)t, well-chosen friends, the pleasures of intellectual improvement, regard to my surviving parent, and an almost instinctive shrinking from gross vice, to which natural timidity and religious principle contributed not a little, i)roved effectual safeguards. I look back on the innocence of my early life with no self-complacency, and with no disi)osi- tion to exalt myself above those who yielded to temptation, and among whom I doubt not were much nobler characters than my own. But I do recollect it with great satisfiiction, and with fer- vent gratitude to Divine Providence. Had the bounds of purity once been broken, I know not that I should ever have returned to virtue." Judge "White bears a similar testimon}'. He writes : — "To give yon some idea of the lively interest taken in these subjects by him and the students generally at that time. I will cop3' a passage respecting it from my journal : — ' "When 1 entered college, the French Revolution had broken up the foundations of religion and morals, as well as government, and contiiuied to rage for some years with its utmost fury, spreading its disastrous influ- ence throughout the civilized world, and pouring upon our country' 1794-1798.1 PREVALENT SCEPTICISM. 31 a flood of infidel and licentious principles. Our colleges could not escape the contagion of these principles ; and I have no doubt that to these, and the pernicious books embodying thera, much of the disorderly conduct, and most of the infidel and irreligious spirit, which prevailed at tliat period among the students at Cambridge, may justly be attributed. The patrons and governors of the college made efforts to counteract the effect of these fatal principles by exhortation, and preaching, and prayer, as well as by the publica- tion and distribution of good books and pamphlets. " 'Watson's Apology for the Bible, in answer to Paine's Age of Reason, was published or furnished for the students at college, by the Corporation, in 1796, and every one of them was presented with a copy. 8o deeply and so generally had the French mania seized upon the popular mind in this country, and so susceptible of its fiery influence were the ardent spirits of young men, all alive to freedom of thought, of action, and indulgence, that reason, argument, and persuasion had for a time no power against it. Its own horrible manifestation of itself at length gave them power to overcome it, and scholars as well as people were roused from their delusion, and brought to look back upon it with shame and amaze- ment.' " It was the native tone of young Channing's spirit, however, which made these movements of the age instructive to him. Judge Story most justly adds : — " From what has been alread}^ stated, j-ou will readil}' be enabled to comprehend the general influences, the genius of the place, which surrounded your father during his college life. If I were to venture, however, upon giving an opinion upon such a subject, necessarily conjectural, I should say that there were few or none, of an external character, either powerful or active. What he then was, was mainly owing to the impulses of his own mind and heart, — warm, elevated, ambitious of distinction, pure, and energetic. His associations were with the best scholars of his class. His friendships were mainly confined to them. He neither loved nor courted the idle or the indifferent ; and with the vicious he had no communion of pursuit or feeling. He then loved popularity, but it was the popularity (as has been well said on another occasion) that follows, and is not sought after. It is that which is won by the pursuit of noble ends by noble means. But I cannot help thinking that external influences were not those which mainly con- tributed to fix the character of his life. The influences which seem to me to have regulated his pursuits, his taste, his feelings, and 32 COLLEGE LIFE. [JEr. 14-18. his principles were chiefly from within, — the workings of genius upon large materials, a deep and wakeful sensibility-, an ardent love of truth and moral purit}', a conscience quickened and chastened by an earnest sense of religious obligation, and a spirit elevated by a warm interest in the human race." And this leads to what was his most vital experience in college. The more his character and mind matured, the more earnestl}' did he devote himself to aspirations after moral greatness. He read with delight the Stoics, and was profoundly moved by the stern purity which they inculcated. But the two authors who most served to guide his thoughts at this period were Hutcheson and Ferguson. It was while reading, one da}', in the former, some of the various passages in which he asserts man's cai)acit3' for disinterested affection, and considers virtue as the sacrifice of private interests and the bearing of private evils for the public good^or as self-devotion to absolute, universal good, that there suddenly burst upon his mind that view of the dignity of human nature which was ever after to "uphold and cherish" him, and thenceforth to be "the fountain light of all his da}-, tlie master light of all his seeing." He was, at the time, walking as he read, beneath a clump of willows 3-et standing in the meadow a little to the north of Judge Dana's. This was his favorite retreat for study, being then quite undisturbed and private, and offering a most serene and cheerful prospect across green meadows and the glisten- ing river to the Brookline hills. The place and the hour were always sacred in his memory, and he frequently referred to them with grateful awe. It seemed to him that he then passed through a new spiritual birth, and entered upon the day of eternal peace and jo}-. The glory of the Divine disinterestedness, the privilege of existing in a universe of progressive order and beauty, the pos- sibilities of spiritual destiny, the sublimity of devotedness to the will of Infinite Love, penetrated his soul ; and he was so borne away in rapturous visions, that, to quote his own words, as spoken to a friend in later j-ears, " I longed to die, and felt as if heaven alone could give room for the exercise of such emotions ; but when I found I must live, I cast about to do something worthv of these great thoughts ; and my entlmsiasm at that age, being tlien but fifteen, turning strongl}- to the female sex, I considered that they were the powers which ruled the world, and that, if they would bestow their favor on the right cause only, and never be diverted by caprice, all would be fitly arranged, and triumph was sure. Animated with this view, which unfolded itself with great rapidity 1794-1798.] HUTCHESON AND FERGUSON. 33 and in man}' bearings, I sat down and wrote to this lad}*," — lay- ing his hand upon his wife's arm, who was listening liy his side, — " but I never got courage to send the letter, and have it 3'et." This holy hour was but the first wind-flower ol" the spring, how- ever, the opening of a long series of experiences by which he was to be led up to perfect consecration. It is a significant fact, that in this time of exaltation, when the young moral kniglit-errant took his vow of fidelit}' and was girt with the sword of love, his heart should have instinctivel}' sought the concert in action of woman. This faith in her power of disinterested virtue, so early felt, grew alwa3-s stronger ; and if disa})pointment in the characters and deeds of men made him ever falter for a moment in his gener- ous aims, he found his hope and heroism renewed by woman's purity and earnestness. As Hutcheson was the medium of awakening within him the consciousness of an exhaustless tendency in the human soul to moral perfection, so Fei-guson on Civil Society was the means of concentrating his energies upon the thought of social progress. Years afterwards, his rememl)rance of the enthusiasm in the cause of humanity, first called out in him li}' this book, was so strong, that he recommended it in terms Avhich would certainl}' be thought by most readers greatly to exaggerate its merits. But it is instruc- tive thus to learn the agency whence the mind and will of a man who in after life made himself so widely felt received tiieir peculiar direction. In his Junior year he had alread}' become a moral and social reformer. In the letter describing his classmate's position as a student, Judge Story aays he had but little relish for mathematics and meta- physics. This was, however, a misconception, and is contradicted by his own explicit statements. Indeed, his taste was prematurely developed for philosophical investigation. His very earliest at- tempt at sustained composition was an essay on Electricit}', and his love of natural science was alwajs strong. He delighted, too, in geometiy, and felt so rare a pleasure in the perfection of its dem- onstrations, that he took the fifth book of Euclid with him as an entertainment during one vacation. In relation to this point, his classmate, W. Williams, writes : — " The Sophomore j-ear gave us Euclid to measure our strength. Manj- halted at the ^ pons asinornm.' But Channing could go over clear at the first trial, as could some twelve or fifteen of us. This fact is stated to show that he had a mind able to comprehend the abstrusities of mathematics, though to my apprehension he excelled 3 34 COLLEGE LIFE. [JEt. 14-18. more decidedly in the Latin and Greek classics, and had a stronger inclination to polite literature." But it was man's spiritual nature and relations which chiefly at- tracted his attention. He carcfuU}' studied, at this time, Locke, Berkeley, Rcid, Hume, Priestley', and especially Price. And while reading JoufTroy, in 1840, he said to a friend: ''I have found here a fact which interests me personally very much. Jouflroy says that Dr. Price's Dissertations were translated into German at the time of their first appearance, and produced a much greater impres- sion there than they did in England ; and he thinks the}- were the first movers of the German mind in the transcendental direction. Now, I read Price when I was in college. Piice saved me from Locke's Philosophy. He gave me the doctrine of ideas, and during my life I have written the words Love, Right, &c., with a capital. That book probably moulded my philosophy into the form it has alwa3's retained." One other intellectual influence, which took strong hold of him, deserves, too, special notice. This was the newl,y revived interest in Shakespeare. The young men at Harvard were just then i)as- sionatcly given up to the study of the great dramatist ; and Chan- ning's taste was so much moulded by the impression of his genius, that through life he was delighted by few intellectual treats so highly as by recitations from England's first poet. The political questions of the day, however, were the most quick- ening excitement to a spirit so philanthropic and hopeful, and through his whole college course Chauning was a fervent politician. As has before been said, one of his most favorite studies was his- tory, and among his manuscripts of this period is a long, minute, and carefully prepared essay on the English Revolution. In public and private, in friendly conversation, debating societies, themes, and college parts, he took every occasion to manifest his sym- pathy with the social agitations of the age. But the most def- inite evidence of his political zeal may be found in the two following incidents, the first of which is thus narrated by Judge 8tory : — " There was one circumstance of a public and political character, which was felt with no small intensity among us near the close of our collegiate life. I allude to the i)olitiial controversies between our national government and that of France, which then agitated the whole country, and ultimately led to that sort of quasi war and non-intercourse which the public history of the times has fully ex- plained. The party then known by the name of Federalists pos- 1794-1798.J INTEREST IN TOLITICS. 35 sessed a very large portion of the wealth, the talents, and the influence of the country. President Adams was then at the head of tlie national administration; a majority of Congress supported a I his leading measures ; and in New England his popularitN" was almost unbounded, and sustained by a weiirht of opinion and of numbers which is without example in our country. The opposition to Ins administration here was comparatively small, although in the Southern States it was formidable. Party spirit ran exceedinalv high, and, indeed, with almost irrepressible furv. Badges of lo\-- alty to our own government and of hatred to France were every- where worn in New England, and the cockade was a sio-nal of patriotic devotion to ' Adams and libertj-.' ° "It was impossible that the academical walls could escape the common contagion. The students became exceedingly interested in the grave questions then before the country. They were nearly all united, heart and hand, in favor of the national administration, and warmly espoused the cause of their country. In our Senior year (1798), your father, who was among the most wann and de- cided in his political opinions, procured a meeting to be had of tlie students, with the sanction of the College government, for the pur- pose of expressing their opinions on the then existing crisis of our public affairs. The meeting was held. He made a very eloquent and powerful speech, and was seconded with great zeal and ear- nestness by myself and others. The result was, that a committee was appointed to draw up an address to President Adams, of which your lather was the chairman. The address, with the exception of a single passage, afterwards added, was written by himself; it was reported to the students, and was by them accepted by acclamation. It was sent to President Adams, who made a written reply in a very commendatory style ; and both the address and the answer were published in the newspapers of the day, and received general applause." In the Boston Centinel of May 19, 1798, it is found thus re- ported : — "Harvard University. " The committee of the students of Harvard, mentioned in the last Centinel, offered the following address, which was immediately signed by one hundred and seventy students.^ ^ The College contained at that time about 173 students, according to the number of graduates in the Triennial Catalogue for 1798, 1799, 1800, and 1801. 36 COLLEGE LIFE. [-^t. 14-18. "ADDRESS TO ITTS EXCELLENCY JOHN ADAMS, PRESIDENT OF THE ITXITED STATES. ** Sir, — "We flatter ourselves you will not be displeased at hearing that the walls of your native seminary are now inhabited bv youth possessing sentiments congenial witli \-our own. A\^e do not i)re- tend to great political sagacity' ; we wish only to convince mankind that we inherit the intrepid spirit of our ancestors, and disdain sub- mission to the will of a rapacious, lawless, and imperious nation. Though removed from active life, we have watched with anxiety the interests of our country. We liave seen a nation in Europe grasping at universal conquest, trampling on the laws of God and nations, s^'stematizing rapine and plunder, destroying foreign gov- ernments by the strength of her arms or the pestilence of her em- braces, and scattering principles which subvert social order, raise the storms of domestic faction, and perpetuate the horrors of revo- lution. We have seen this same nation violating our neutral riglits, spurning our pacific proposals, her piratical citizens sweeping our ships from the seas, and venal presses under her control pouring out torrents of abuse on men who have grown gray in our service. We have seen her ministers in tliis country insulting our govern- ment by a daring, unprecedented, and contemptuous appeal to the people, and her agents at home offering conditions which slaves whose necks have grown to the yoke would reject with indignation. We have seen this. Sir, and our youthful blood has boiled within us. When, in opposition to such conduct, we contem[)late tlie measures of our own government, we cannot but admire and ven- erate the unsullied integrity, the decisive prudence, and dignified firmness wliicli liave uniformly characterized your administration. Impressed witli these sentiments, we now solemnly oM'er the un- wasted ardor and unimpaired energies of our youth to the service of our country-. Our lives are our only property* ; and we were not the sons of those who sealed our liberties with their Itlood, if we would not defend with these lives that soil which now affords a peaceful grave to the mouldering bones of our forefixthers." The other incident referred to at once illustrates the state of feel- ing in those times, and gives proof that the unconquerable love of free thought and speech, which characterized Channing's man- hood, was strong in youth. At the graduation of his class, the highest honor, that is, the closing oration at Commencement, was assigned to him. Tlie sub- ject was "The Present Age." But a condition was added, that all 1794-1798.] ORATION. 37 political discussion should be excluded. The reason for this re- striction was, that the students of the previous j-ear had given great offence to the Democratic part}- by the severity of their remarks. And as the college faculty were on the Federal side, candor seemed to demand that Commencement day should not be imbittered by political jealousies. Thej' therefore prohibited the introduction of part}' questions. The class, however, were highly incensed at what they thought an intolerable infringement of their rights ; and one of them wrote to Channing in the following fiery strain : — " I could join you, my friend, in offering an unfeigned tear to the manes of those joys which are forever fled ; but indignation has dried up the source from which that tear must flow. The govern- ment of college have completed the climax of their despotism. They have obtained an arret, which from its features I could swear is the offspring of the French Directory. Although they pretend to be firm friends to American libert}- and independence, their em- bargo on politics, which has subjected you to so many inconveniences, is strong proof to me that they are Jacobins, or at best pretended patriots, who have not courage to defend the rights of their countrj'. " William, should you. be deprived of a degree for not performing at Commencement, every friend of liberty' must consider it as a glorious sacrifice on the altar of your country." The " inconveniences " referred to arose from the fact that Chan- ning, so soon as he learned the restrictions, formall}' declined to receive his part. The President at first accepted his resignation, thinking it improbable that a young man would be willing to give up the honors of the day, and even to endanger his degree, for such a trifle. But after a fortnight, flnding him resolute, the govern- ment sent for him, insisted upon his performing his part, and made such concessions, that his brother, in writing to him, said: "I think 3'ou have gained a most complete triumi)h. The government have certainly treated 3-ou with a most flattering courtes}^ ; how could you expect them to j'ield more ? " His grandfather, uncles, mother, all joined, too, in urging him to rest contented with the concessions alreadv made, declaring that "such advice would be approved in the ver}^ acadeni}^ of honor ; that even the pride of a knight-errant would not be wounded b}- the course ; that he had struggled long enough for glory, and that 3'ielding in this manner was rather a triumph than a defeat." Thus constrained b}' the en- treaties of all who loved him, he finall}' agreed to comply with the terms which the government had granted to his firmness, and went to Newport to pass the vacation and write his oration. The expla- 38 COLLEGE LIFE. [^t. 14-18. nations and assurances of the President permitted him to exjiress himself freely ; and though he softened and shortened what other- wise he would have said, he did not sacrifice conscience or self- respect. Throughout, it was a bold and earnest discussion of the exciting topics suggested by the French Revolution. In delivering it, he spoke with much dignitj' and decision ; and rising, toward the close, to an impassioned burst of feeling, he said, with great energy, and a look directed to the faculty, which showed how earnestly he was inclined to protest against any restraint upon free speech : "But that I am forbid, I could a talc unfold, which would har- row up your souls." As the circumstances thus referred to were generally known, this sally was received with unbounded applause ; and when he left the stage, some time elapsed before the cheering ceased. "Many years," writes the distinguished classmate so often quoted, "have passed since then, but the impression left on my mind of the brilliancy, vividness, and eloquence of that oration is 3'et fresh." With this characteristic act, at which, in later years, he was much amused for its excess of enthusiasm, Mr. Channing closed his col- lege career in the summer of 1798. Mr. Channing was now to select a profession. He had been a hard student, "not a mere seeker of a diploma," as his uncle Henry approv- ingly wrote, " but a real worker," and had gained universal respect for his rare powers and attainments ; his memory had been stored by extensive reading, and his judgment enlarged by constant corre- spondence Avith his sound-headed and sound-hearted grandfather EUery ; he had joined cordially in social pleasures, though with strict regard to temperance, — it being remembered that Story and he invariably declined the use of wine, even at convivial entertain- ments,— and he had won the love of his associates by generous sentiments, cheerfulness, and unassuming courtesy ; though so 3'oung, he had already taken decided ground as the advocate of high principles in religion, morals, and politics ; he was all alive to his responsibilities, especially to his family in their poor estate ; and now in what way could he best em[)loy his energies and gifts? He did not hesitate as to his true calling. In his Junior year, indeed, he had written to Allston, " I have no inclination for either divin- ity, law, or physic" ; and still later he had so seriously thought of becoming a physician, that his grandfather wrote to him at length in relation to the duties and oi)portunities of that profession, and sent to him lists of the medical books which he should read. Even at the time when he graduated, most of his classmates su[)posed that he would choose the law, as the occupation best fitted to give 1794-1798.] CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 39 free field for the exercise of liis powers of eloquence, and urged him to take that course ; but to all such appeals to his ambition he v-/ answered, "I think there is a wider sphere for usefulness and honor in the ministr}'." The path of duty marked out for him by higher wisdom was plain. " In m}- Senior 3^ear," he writes, " the prevalence of infidelity, imported from France, led me to inquire into the evidences of Christianitj^, and then I found for what I was made. Mj' heart embraced its great objects with an interest which has been mcreasing to this hour." He was the same man then that he manifested himself to be in mature life. As his classmate, the Hon. Richard Sullivan, bears witness, " there was in him the same clear and quick apprehension of truth, and the tendenc}' to look higher than to human authority, the same warm interest in the good and beautiful, the same temperate earnestness and independence in maintaining opinions, the same perfect purity, simplicity, and orderly course of life. He seemed destined by Providence to influ- ence largely the character of the times in which he lived." He returned, unmediately on leaving Cambridge, to his mother's house in Newport, there to arrange his future plans ; and the follow- ing letters will show at once the temper of his college life, and the feelings with which he adopted his profession. The first is one written many years later to a young friend, whom he hoped his own experience might aid. " At 3'our age I was poor, dependent, hardly able to buy clothes, biit the great idea of improvement had seized upon me. I wanted to make the most of myself. I was not satisfied with knowing things superficially or by halves, but tried to get some comprehen- sive views of what I studied. I had an enrf, and, for a boy, a high end in view. I did not think of fitting myself for this or that par- ticular pursuit, but for any to which events might call me. I now see that, had I had wiser direction, I might have done more ; but I did something. The idea of carrying myself forward did a great deal for me. ... I never had an anxious thought about my lot m life. When I was poor, ill, and compelled to work with little strength, I left the future to itself. I was not buoyed up by any hopes of promotion. I wanted retirement, obscurity. My after distinction has indeed been forced on me. . . . " You are in danger of reading too fast. In studying history, I sometimes made an abstract fi-om recollection, sometimes thought over what I had read. . . . Walk out in the pleasant, still au- tumnal days. Such days did a great deal for my mind and heart, when I was in Cambridge. . . . 40 COLLEGE LIFE. [^t. 14-18. "I want 3-011 to find immediate pleasure in the acquisition of knowledge, in the works of genius and art, in poetry, in beauty everywhere, and in vigorous action of the intellect. In youth it is not a good sign to inciuire peri)etually, What good will this or that study do ? Our kind Creator then allures us to the useful, by join- ing an immediate satisfaction to studies or pursuits which refine or elevate us. . . . "Supi)ose a boy to choose to be a blacksmith, and to prepare himself for his bushiess by exercising his arm perpetually, to the neglect of his other limbs and muscles, would he become another Vulcan ? Would he not do more for himself by invigorating his whole system, and getting general health? You can easily apply this to the mind. What you want is to give tone, freedom, life, to all your faculties, to get a disposable strength of intellect, a i)ower to use in whatever course you may })ursue. A professional educa- tion, or one designed to fit you for a particular profession, would make but half a man of 3-ou. You are not to grow up merely for a particular occupation, but to perform all the duties of a man, to mix in society, to converse with intelligent men of all pursuits, to meet emergencies, to be prepared for new and unexpected situations. A general, liberal, generous education is what you need. Every study into which you throw your soul, in which you gain truth and ex- ercise your faculties, is a preparation for your future course. I have found a good in everything I have learned. By degrees ^our destiny will open before you. You will learn what you are good for, what you are made for. I can sa}^ nothing more definite, and tliis is definite enough and full of animation. Do jour duty, and you cannot fail to fit yourself for an honorable work." The next is from his classmate, Arthur Maj-nard Walter, who died too earl}- for his rare genius to be full}- known and prized. It illustrates in an agreeable way the warmth of Mr. Channing's col- lege friendships. " I have just taken your letter from the office with all the fervor of a brother. I paid for it twenty-five cents, and would have paid twent.y-five guineas, had I had them. It is full of the enthusiasm that I always admired in you, and occasioned all those indescriba- ble sensations which arise froui seeing opened to us the heart of a friend. I cannot agree to the i)resent moral system of things, li' we are to form connections at fourteen which are to be broken at eighteen, — connections which involve the best feelings of the soul, and which may affect in a great measure the future happiness or future misery of our lives, — we had better be without feeling, and 1794-1798.] COLLEGE FRIENDSHIP. 41 live in a state of solitude. I have enjoyed no nights equal to those, when 3'ou used to call at my window, and I blew out the candle, and we went over to Shaw's. What nights those were ! And the da3'S, too, you well know. Our classic ground, Channing, I dare say, is overrun with weeds and with grass. The careless passer-l)}' never thinks that every inch of ground was consecrated to attection, and every rock on which we sat, and every rail on which we leaned, had a value such as vulgar souls can never know. This is a theme on which I could dwell long." The closeness of the bond which united these young friends is thus also testified to by Mr. Channing : — " Newport, October, 1798. "My dear Shaw, — I can clearly discover from 's last letter, that you doubt the sincerit}- and continuance of my friend- ship. Have you lived four 3-ears with me, and do 30U know so little of me as to think that time or any new attachment can tear from me the memor}- of ' jo3-s that are past ' ? They are intwined with the threads of my existence ; and it is onl}- by rending these asunder, that you can destroy the melancholy' recollection of our mutual happiness. I still remember 3'our social fire, — how we collected round it, — shortened the long winter nights 113^ nuts, cigars, and social converse, and strengthened the ties of our friend- ship. I was then supremel3' happ3\ I can still remember our walks b3' moonlight, — how we strolled over the Common, or took the solitar3' road to the Judge's. We leaned on each other's arms for support ; we grew warm in friendl3' argument ; the jarrings which sometimes prevailed among us onl3' sweetened the concord and harmon3' which succeeded. O William ! the memory of those da3'S will be ever fresh within me. It has drawn many tears down my cheek. I am sensil)le that my happ3' days have passed, and I can onl3' weep for them. My walks now are solitary ; no friendly voice to cheer me ; no congenial soul to make a partner of m3' joy^ or sorrow. I am, indeed, in the midst of m3- family, with the best of mothers, brothers, and sisters. But alas! 1 have no friend. " There is a beach about a mile from the town. I never saw elsewhere such magnificence, grandeur, and sublimity as the wild scener3' of nature here presents. The towering and cragg3' rocks, the roar of the waves, the foam with which they dash on the shore, their irregular succession, and the boundless ocean before, all con- tribute to inspire one with awe and delight. Here I go once a day. (Sometimes I comi)ai-e my fortune to the billows before me. I ex- tend m3' arms towards them, I run to meet them, and wish myself V 42 RICHMOND. [^T. 18-20. buried beneath their waters. Sometimes m}' whole soul ascends to the God of nature, and in such a temple I cannot but be devout. Thus I am either borne to heaven on ' rapture's wing of fire,' or else I am plunged into the depths of despair. How different from m^^ situation at college ! There I had friends to fl}' to, when the world looked gloomy, and forgot my miseries in the cu'clc of my equals. Here I brood over melanchol}'. "I am now on the point of changing my mode of life. New prospects have dawned upon me. A field has opened for exertion. I mean to rouse all ni}' energies, shake off this lassitude of soul, and lose my sorrows in business. God alone knows what success will attend me. I mean to do m}' duty^ and I feel careless about the event. I love misfortunes when they spring from a resolute adherence to virtuous conduct. I trust that ray burdens will be no heavier than I can bear, and I shall be cheered when I think that the struggles which I make are the struggles of honest industry. " I suppose 3'ou know the profession which I mean to follow. Yes, Shaw, I shall be a minister, a shepherd of the flock of Jesus, a reformer of a vicious, and an instructor of an ignorant world. I look forward to a better country, and, while I am journeying toward it myself, I vvish to lead others the same way. I know that 30U revere religion ; and I wish that in your political career you would sometimes look be3'ond the strife, crimes, and intrigues of nations, to the harmony and blessedness of the Christian society in another state. We shall take different courses in life, but we shall meet in the grave. AVe shall bow before the same tribunal, and, 1 trust, shall rejoice forever in the same heaven, and join in the same cele- bration of Almighty love. You will think I have grown quite min- isterial, but, believe me, I cherished the same sentiments in college as I do now. In my view, religion is but another name for happi- ness, and I am most cheerful when I am most rehgious." Chapteu IV. — RICHMOND. Mt. 18-20. 1798-1800. Mr. Ciiannino was now in his nineteenth 3-ear ; and feeling that his friends had done all for him tliat was in their power, and yet more, that the whole of his mother's small income was needed for the family, he determined to secure some means of maintenance 1798-1800.J LETTER TO HIS MOTHER. 43 while pursuing his professional studies. His state of mind he thus discloses to his uncle : " I am happy to hear that 3'ou approve of the step I have taken. It has always been a favorite wish of m}' heart to support myself. Bitter is the bread of dependence. All I had a riglit to expect from my friends was an education. This I have obtained, and I trust that Heaven will smile on ni}- ex- ertions." He was most happ}', therefore, to receive an invitation from David Meade Randolph, Esq., of Richmond, Virginia, who was then on a visit at Newport, and was struck with the 3'oung man's intelligence, refinement, and liberal spirit, to reside in his family, as tutor; and in October of 1798, he left Newport for the South. How much his family mourned this necessary separation appears by the following extract from a letter of his brotlier Francis, then residing as a lawyer at Newport: "William has gone, and most of my joys have gone with him. You know not the worth of this ' amiable and almost divine fellow,' as one of his classmates calls him. Where shall I find his equal? In vain do I search the whole round of my acquaintance. So pure a mind, united with so noble a spirit, and such exquisite feelings, I nowhere discern." To his mother, especially, his departure was a source of the deepest sorrow. And to this overflowing affection he thus touchingly alludes in the first letter after his arrival : — " RiCHiMOND, November, 1798. " My DEAR Mother, — A favorable opportunity has just offered, by which I can write to all my friends without subjecting them to the expense of postage. I begin witli you. To you I owe the higliest obligations. Tiie anxiety and tenderness which you dis- covered at m^' departure from Newport will never be forgotten. I wish that my friends were not so deeply interested in my welfare. . It makes both them and me unhappy. Every misfortune I expe- rience is aggravated by thinking on the pain which it will occasion tliem. I often wish that I had been thrown loose on the wide ocean of hfe, witliout one eye to watch with friendly care my various successes, or shed a tear over my follies and miseries. When I was dasliing over the billows, on my passage, I felt no fear for my- self; but I was distressed when I remembered that I had left a mother behind me who was trembling witli anxiety lest her son might be buried in the merciless waves. I understand fi'om P'rancis's letter, that you had many high winds after I left you ; and did not every gale come to me loaded with tlie sighs of a mother ? I mention this because I wish you not to make j-ourself 44 RICHMOND. [JEt. 18-20. unhappy by 3'our concern for me. I know that I am far from home, where nothing but j'our good wishes can reach me. I am far from your social fireside. I am neither a sharer in 30ur joys, nor the object of your fond attentions. But still the same sun shines upon us, the same providence is extended to both of us, and the same God who protects and blesses 3'ou will watch over me, and mete me out a portion of happiness. Our distance from each other can- not remove either of us from our common Parent. It is this truth which consoles me in my absence from home, and I wish that it might banish from your bosom those corroding fears for m}' safety which, added to the load of your domestic cares, must make life wearisome to you. I feel ever}^ day more and more attached to my new abode. I am treated with every attention which hospitality can bestow. M3' duties are neither numerous nor irksome, and I can find time enougli for study. I am resolved to prosecute divinity. My highest hopes of happiness are beyond the grave, and 1 cannot do more good to mankind than b}' teaching them also to lay up treasures where neitlier moth nor rust can corrupt them. My dear mother, though I have so lately- left you, I begin already to antici- pate the moment when I shall see 3'ou again. Time has swifter wings than the eagle. Months and years will fly awa}*, — and with what rapture shall I press 3'ou all to my bosom ! Ho[)e is the anchor of the soul. I lean upon it perpetualh'. I paint more blissful scenes in prospect than I have ever 3-et experienced ; and should they prove as baseless as the fabric of a vision, I can still boast of the happiness which the3' give in antici[)ation, I dare not ask, but I should like to receive, a few lines from you. " Your affectionate son." In Mr. Randolph's familv Mr. Channing resided as an honored guest, and found there a circle of warm friends. Mr. Randolph was at this time the Marshal of the United States for Virginia, and his house was frequented b3' the most eminent citizens of Richmond and of the State, first among whom to be mentioned with honor was the late Chief Justice Marshall, Avho was then in the full vigor of his manhood, and conunanded universal respect for his upright- ness, wisdom, and dignit3' of presence. How much a young man of Mr. Channing's energy appreciated opportunities so rare, for enlarging his experience and acquaintance with mankind, can be readily understood. lie visited freely in Richmond, availed him- self of the liospitalities offered by the neighboring gentry, and on various occasions passed periods of leisure at plantations, besides travelling with the Randol[)hs in the summer season. Virginia 1798-1800.] SLAVERY. 45 was at this time still in her prosperit}-, and scarcely- beginning to reap the penalt}- which slavery at length brought, in blasted fields, deserted mansions, ruined estates, and scattered f:\nnlies ; and INIr. Channing felt deeply the charm of the cordial and elegant courtesy which everywhere greeted him. With more enthusiasm certainl^^ than discrimination, he wrote to his brother : — " I believe I have before told you that the manners of the Vir- ginians are more free than ours. There is one circumstance which particularly pleases me. The men do not forget the friendship and feelings of their youth. They call each other by their Christian names. They address each other and converse together with the same familiarity and frankness which they used to do when thej- were boys. How different from our Northern manners ! There avarice and ceremony at the age of twenty graft the coldness and unfeelingness of age on the disinterested ardor of youth." And again, to Mr. Shaw, he saj's : — " I believe I have praised the Virginians before, in mj' letters, for their hospitality. I blush for my own people, when I compare the selfish prudence of a Yankee with the generous confidence of a Virginian. Here I find great vices, but greater virtues than I left behind me. There is one single trait which attaches me to the people I live with, more than all the virtues of New England. They love money less than we do. The}' are more disinterested. Their patriotism is not tied to their purse-strings. Could I onl}^ take from the Virginians their sensuality and their slaves, I should think them the greatest people in the world. As it is, Shaw, with a few great virtues, they have innumerable vices." But pleasing social relations did not deaden his conscience, as in the case of others they have too often done, to the iniquity and miseries of slavery. He saw the institution, it is true, under its most lenient form ; for the Randolphs were as humane as it is possible to be in relations so intrinsically unjust, and sought to reconcile their slaves to their situation, and to gain their attach- ment, by gentleness and kind attentions. Indeed, to judge from passages in Mrs. Randolph's letters to Mr. Channing after his return from Virginia, she was, and perhaps her husband also, dis- gusted with the whole S3'stem ; for she writes, in relation to the threatened insurrection in Richmond, " Such is our boasted land of freedom," — Mr. Randolph adding, " This is a small tornado of hbert}-." In a later letter she thus still more strongly expresses 46 RICHMOND. [Mt. 18-20. herself: "I feel a great desire to quit tlie land of slaver}' alto- gether." It is ver}' probable, then, that in the famil}' where he resided the evils of this lowest form of societ}' were full}' exposed and discussed.-^ " I heard it freeh' spoken of with abhorrence," he sa3'S. And wherever he went, language of similar hostilitA' maj well have reached him ; for the words of Washington and of Jefferson were sounding in the ears of their fellow-citizens, and men had not then become insensible to the absurd and In-pocritical position in which the United States were presented to the world, — as a nation professing freedom and practising oppression, asserting equalit}' and enforcing castes, declaring itself in advance of the whole civilized world by a recognition of inalienable human rights, and 3'et perpetuating the worn-out usages of barbarism. Not then, either, had speculators discovered how to postpone the destructive effects of slave cultivation, b^' breeding children, like cattle, for the Southwest market, and replenishing exhausted coffers b}- the profits of the " vigintial crop." Virginia had alread}', to be sure, voted for the abolition of the foreign slave-trade, with the economi- cal prospect of becoming the American Guinea-coast, and monopo- lizing the gains of merchandise in men. But the stimulants to this accursed traffic, offered by the acquisition of Louisiana and Florida, by the rapid growth of the cotton-trade, and the invention of the cotton-gin, were not then felt. And Mr. Channing probably received, therefore, from intelligent slaveholders confessions of their dissatisfaction with this system of concentrated inliumanity. He came, also, personall}" in contact with its workings, by some- times assuming the duty of distributing the weekl^^ rations, b}' visiting in the slave-huts, and conversing with the domestics in the household ; and he was once left b}' Mr. and Mrs. Randolph, during a short absence, in entire charge of these beings made helpless by constraint and dependence. The result of this experi- ence was, that he received an indelible impression of the wretched- ness which such wrongs must everywhere and forever bring alike on slave and master. The following letter fully expresses the state of his feelings : — "There is one object here which always depresses me. It is slavery. This alone would prevent me from ever settling in Vir- ginia. Language cannot express ni}' detestation of it. Master and slave ! Nature never made such a distinction, or established such a relation. Man, when forced to substitute the will of another for his own, ceases to be a moral agent; his title to the name of 1 Works, Vol. II. p. 231. One Volume Edition, p. 770. 1798-1800.] THE FRENCH REPUBLIC. 47 man is extinguished, he becomes a mere machine in the hands of his oppressor. No empire is so valuable as the empire of one's v self. No right is so inseparable from humanity, and so necessary- to the improvement of our species, as the right of exerting the powers which nature has given us in the pursuit of any and of every good which we can obtain without doing injury to others. Should you desire it, I will give you some idea of the situation and character of the negroes in Virginia. It is a subject so degrading to humanity that I cannot dwell on it with pleasure. I should be obliged to show you every vice, heightened by every meanness and added to every misery. The influence of slavery on the whites is almost as fatal as on the blacks themselves." The strong Federal predilections which Mr. Channing brought with him from the North, and the earnest discussions which he found prevailing in Virginia, gave a deepened interest to his inter- course with leading men, and doubtless exerted an influence to call his powers into their fullest action. In Newport, and at col- lege, he had been accustomed to hear only one side of the impor- tant questions, which then stirred the country, presented ; but now he found himself confronted with Democrats, and was forced to meet their arguments face to face. To a friend he writes : — "I am very desirous to see the debates in Congress. I find this advantage from being in Virginia, that I must adopt no opinion on the measures of government without having grounds for it." This was the period, it will be remembered, when the Federalists were still dreading the influence of French Jacobinism, and when the Democrats saw in their opponents the tools of English intrigue, when the black cockade and the tricolor were worn as badges by the respective parties, and when the most bitter suspicion and calumny everywhere prevailed. It was well for a high-spirited and honorable young man to be brought thus into close contact with persons of an opposite creed from that in which he had been reared. It disarmed his prejudices, enlarged his views of public afl'airs, substituted candor for bigotry, and taught him to consult reason more than his passions. Indeed, so far did he learn to be just in stating the arguments of his adversaries, that his brother writes to him reproachfully, as if he had become a '' traitor." But his liberality was only the first development of that many-sidedness and cautious judgment which were so characteristic of his manhood. He was still a devoted Federalist, as appears from the following letters to his friend Shaw, which are of value at once as an ilhistra- tion of the temper of the times, and as a proof of his mental energy. 48 RICHMOND. [JEt. 18-20. " M}' political opinions have vaiied a little since I saw yon ; but it would be unfair to charge them to the Jacobinic atmosphere of Virginia. I trust that I am guided b}' sober reflection. I view the world as a wide field of action, designed by its Franier to per- fect the human character. Political institutions are valuable only as they imi)rove and morally elevate human nature. Wealth and power are subordinate considerations, and are far from consti- tuting the real greatness of a state. I blush for mankind, when I see interest the only tie which binds them to their country ; when I see the social compact improved for no purpose but the accumu- lation of riches, and the prosperity of a nation decided by the successful avarice of its members. I wish to see patriotism ex- alted into a moral principle^ not a branch of avarice. I wish to see governments established and administered with the view of enlight- ening the mind and dignifying the heart. " I have premised these observations, that you may be prepared for some remarks in the following pages which might otherwise sur- prise 3^ou. You wish to know what I think of France. I think her cause desperate indeed. The Republic has not many months to live. Enthusiasm and numbers have hitherto crowned her with success, but enthusiasm and numbers have failed her. ' Her soldiers no longer burn with the ardor of freemen, and their ranks are thinned by the sword.' Her citizens are discontented ; her conquered prov- inces are rising in arms against her ; and government finds no resources but in fleecing to the last farthing the miserable sulijects whom former rapacity had reduced to poveil}'. The Republic is split into i)arties, and her naval defeats have leagued all Europe against her. This I collect from newspapers. Now I cannot con- ceive how a government, founded on corruption, unsupported by the attachment of its subjects, unable to pay its armies, shaken by internal convulsions, surrounded by rebellious allies, and attacked, as France soon must be, by the united forces of Europe, can maintain its ground, and withstand such formidable and con- solidated opposition. If my information is correct, I cannot but think that the great nation is in a more critical situation than ever ; and this idea has led me to suppose, in spite of the Sec- retary's report, that she was sincere in her pacific professions to Mr. Gerry. " Do not misunderstand me, Shaw, I do not say that France has given up her views on this countr}- ; I do not say that she is less active in her intrigues. I know better. What I mean is this, — that France rested her hopes of success on the party she had formed in our own bosom, that she never calculated upon that spirit which 1798-1800.] STANDING ARMY. 49 burst forth on the publication of the despatches, that her critical situation rendered a war with us impolitic, and that it was of course her interest to heal the breach with us, and wait for a more favor- able opportunity to accomplish her designs. Mr. Pickering tells us, that France wished to delude us by the semblance of a negotiation, and palsy our exertions. No doubt, she wished us to repose in the lap of confidence, till, haA'ing ' sharked up the fry of Europe,' she should have leisure to devour us also. But how, in fact, was this to be done ? She had evidently been too sudden in claiming tribute from America ; she saw that, in spite of her opiates, the eagle's 03-6 was vigilant, and ' the national pulse beat high for war ' ; she saw unexpected energies of patriotism bursting forth, and measures of defence adopted, notwithstanding her tampering with our envoy. She had no nav}' to force us to compliance ; and thus situated, I ask you, what was she to do? Was it not her interest to quiet our jealousies by forming a treaty with us, and delay to another and more promising period her schemes of bondage? Was not this the wa}' to enable her infernal agents to work more securely against us, and poison the public mind with more success? These arguments appear to me of considerable weight ; and though Mr. Gerry seems to be no Solomon in his correspondence, I am disposed on this sub- ject to subscribe to his opinion. "From considering France, I am naturally led to make some observations on the defensive steps which have been taken, and which, it is said, will be taken by our government. You may call me Jacobin, if you please, but I am not for enlarging our standing army. I wish there was nothing of the kind. It is the engine which has beat down the walls of libert}' in all ages ; and though I anticipate no dangers from the present one, still it is a precedent which ma}^ be fatally- abused. "I am opposed to standing armies on account of their moral effects. The activity of war leaves the soldier little time to cor- rupt himself. But an arm}^ in time of peace is the hot-bed of vice. Common soldiers are mostly taken from the dregs of society. Every farthing of their pay is spent in drinking. Example hur- ries along the honest and virtuous. Idleness vitiates them. They communicate their crimes to the neighborhood in which the}' are quartered ; and I do not think that Mr. Giles was too severe when he said, that, ' for five dollars' worth of whiskey, they would, ever}' man of them, sacrifice their countr}', and sell its liber- ties.' A soldier by profession is too apt to forget that he is a citizen. Subject to the absolute command of his superior officer, he loses the dignity of a freeman, and looks with contempt on 4 50 RICHMOND. [.Ivr. 18-20. subordination to civil authorit}'. I have no time to write further. I meant to have said something on tlie alHance with England, which Paine is talking about ; but I must defer it. Write soon ; correct me if I am wrong. You will find that my political principles and ideas of government are branches of my moral system. You do not know what an enthusiast I have grown for liberty." ^ " I feel vexed almost to madness, when I see the powers of Europe sitting so quietly till the chains are riveted on them. I expected ere this to have seen every nation, from the INIediter- ranean to the Baltic, in arms against this scourge of society*. But instead of that, the idle controversies of Rastadt are protracted, wliile Naples is given up to pillage, and France is gaining the command of the Rhine I think that the great nation has nothing to fear now but from the distressed state of her finances, and 1 suppose the plunder of Naples will fill her coffers for the present. The moment for action has been lost. Switzerland, Belgium, and Holland discovered the symptoms of a rebelhon ; — then was the time to strike a blow. "War, in its mildest forms, is horrible. As waged by the Russians [alluding to Suwarrow], it is the heaviest curse which can fall to the lot of man. If rivers of blood have already been shed, we must now expect oceans. God of Peace ! how long wilt thou leave th^' children a prey to all the horrors of war? We have read so long of battles that they have become familiar to us. We hear of the slaughter of thousands and ten thousands with as little emotion as if we had been told that so many flies had been swept away in a stoi'm. But is war on this account less calamitous ? Do you remember the picture of Horror which Southey gives us in a note to one of his odes? I shuddered at it. I saw the milk frozen on the breast of the dead mother. I saw the babe hanging to her cold bosom. I am indeed sick of war; m}' pra^-er to God is, ' Thy kingdom come,' a kingdom which the Prince of Peace will govern. " If I mistake not, the present period is the most eventful and important which has offered itself to our view during the whole revolution of France. In Euroj)e, the fate of nations is suspended in the balance ; and America, though so remote from the scene of blood and confusion, is most deeply interested in the decision of the contest. The eyes of all parties are now fixed on the President. 1 This letter was written a year subsequent to the one which follows, but is placed before it, as it best introduces his political sentiments. 1798-1800] JACOBINISM. 51 What can he do ? The Federalists in all parts of the countr}' seem opposed to a renewal of negotiation with France. The Jacobins are more clamorous than ever about his supineness in forming a solid peace with that government I rely implicitly on the firmness and independence of the President. I consider him as elevated above the clamors of faction, and superior to the narrow views of party. He is placed in so peculiar a situation, that no measure he can adopt will be popular. The only object he can pro- pose to himself is the good of his country ; and, I doubt not, he will pursue it with undeviating perseverance. I have ever consid- ered it, and shall consider it, the interest of America to be at peace with all nations. Let me ask 3-ou, then, what influence the pro- posed negotiation will have on maintaining the peace of our coun- tr}-. This is the most interesting light in which it can be viewed ; and it is ni}' sincere opinion that it will tend rather to embroil us with the rest of Europe than to establish a lasting peace with France ' ' What will the rest of Europe think of us for making a treat}' with France, when all other civilized nations have dissolved their con- nections with her? Have the}- not openl}' expressed their resolution to overthrow that government with which we are going to treat? ' ' Marshall stands at the head of the list, and I do but echo the multitude when I tell you that he is one of the greatest men in the country. His ' Answers to a Freeholder ' had a tendency to sink him in the estimation of the Northern people. But if you lived in Virginia, you would think just as he did. I blush when I think of the Alien and Sedition laws. The}* have onl}^ served to show the weakness of government. They were worse than useless. Marshall is a great character. He bids fair to be the first character in the Union. " I wonder how could presume to touch the venerable laurels of Washington. Did not Washington distinguish himself before and after the time of Lord Howe's command ? Did he not show the most consummate skill in improving the advantages which Lord Howe afforded him? Witness Princeton and Trenton. Let any man read Washington's own letters ; and if he will afterwards say that Washington is not a first-rate general, I will yield the point. " I rejoice with 3'ou, my friend, at the victory of Nelson. I hope the report is equally true respecting the defeat of Bonaparte's land forces. The Dii'ectory, in theii- last communication, have 52 RICHMOND. [^T. 18-20. carried him safe to Cairo ; slionld it l)e true tliat he has repelled all human opposition, I would invoke old Nilus from the ooze of his fertilizing streams, and beseech him to overflow with his swiftest torrents the land he has long enriched, and sweep this prince of rob- bers from the face of the earth. There is one question which has arisen in my mind since the late news from the Mediterranean, and I think it an important one. Ought not a just policy to be alarmed at the disproportionate greatness and power of the British navy ? There is not at present a nation in Europe to dispute with her the empire of the seas. We are exulting at the superiority of the British by sea, as we did a few years ago at the superiorit}' of the French by land. "We have bitterl}- rued the latter. Let us avoid the same error with respect to the former. I wish France to fall, but I do not wish England to rise on her ruins. We should be careful that, in destroying one scourge of the world, we do not give birth to another. "For my part I care not how soon the contest is decided. Should the worst happen, should my native couutr}' be prostrated, by the arts and influence of demagogues, at the feet of France, I will curse and quit it. I never will breathe the same air with those who are tainted with the foul impurities of French principles. I never will dwell in the country where I was born free, when it is doomed to groan under a foreign yoke. AVith tears in my eyes, T will bid farewell to the roof which sheltered my infancy, and to the green graves of my fathers, and take up my abode in the foreign land from which I boast of my descent, and which my honest ancestors left in hopes of finding climes more favorable to liberty and to the rights of man." Mr. Channing's interest in pubhc affairs, knowledge of national policy, and observation of men were yet more enlarged, while his powers of eloquence received a stimulant, from attending the de- bates of the Virginia legislature, which held its sessions in llie Capi- tol at Riclmiond. He writes: "I have listened to these speeches with a great deal of pleasure. The Virginians are the best orators I have ever heard." But zeal in the political movements of the day, and social enjoy- ments, occupied only the intervals of time. His energies were mainly turned to the duties of his school and to private studies. He had under his charge twelve boys, to whose care most of the hours of the day were devoted. In after years, he thought himself at this time too strict a disciplinarian. But he may have found a 1798-1800.] HIS POVERTY. 53 displaj' of decision more necessary from his youth and smallness of size, of which an amusing illustration is given in the folio wino- anecdote, related by himself. An old colored woman came into the school to complain of some of the boys who had damaged her garden, broken her fence, and torn up her flowers, making loud complaint, and wanting to see the master. When he presented himself, she surveyed him for a moment, and said, ''Tou de massa? You little ting, you can't hck 'em; dey put you out de window." He assured her, however, that the boys should be cor- rected, and that she should be satisfied for her loss, remarkino-, " Poor mamma ! she knew of no way of discipline but the lash."^' Absorbed in the duty of teaching during the day, and hving much apart from the family, Mr. Channing was prompted by his wish for quick advancement to pass most of the night in study. He usually remained at his desk till two or three o'clock in the morning, and often saw the day break before retiring to rest. He had also gained from the Stoics, and from his own pure standard of virtue, ascetic desires of curbing the animal nature, and of hard- ening himself for difficult duties. For the end of overcoming effeminacy, he accustomed himself to sleep on the bare floor, and would spring up at any hour of waking to walk about in the cold. With the same view he made experiments in diet, and was rigidly abstemious, while he neglected exercise from too close applicaUon. The result of these night-studies and of his general ignorance of the natural laws was, that an originally fine constitution was broken, and seeds of disease were planted in his system which years of scrupulous regard to health could never root out. To these sources of illness was added another, which, as it illus- trates his characteristic disinterestedness, may deserve a passing notice. When he left home his provident mother had given him a bill of credit on a house in Richmond, with the confident expecta- tion that he would use it to refurnish his wardrobe. Mone}', how- ever, he could not bring himself to take from his mother's large family, and never drew upon his friends. Depression of spirits and absorption of mind made him careless, also, of external ap- pearances; and he preferred to expend his salary in purchasing books. The consequence was, that his clothing became much worn, and he exposed himself during the whole winter without an overcoat, except when sometimes he borrowed one to attend church. These necessities came home to him when, upon Christ- mas day, he found himself too meanly clad to join the gay party assembled at Mr. Randolph's, and, sitting alone in his study, thought of his own family circle, then gathered, far away, around 54 RICHMOND. [/Ex. 18-20. his mother's table. He thus alludes, years afterwards, to his home- sickness : — " I am not sorr}' that you have had a touch of this disease. I know it well. I remember how my throat seemed full, and food was tasteless, and the solitude which I fled to was utter loneliness. It is worse than sea-sickness, but it comes from the heart ; it is a tribute to the friends you have left." This slight experience of poverty, too, sank deep into his memory, and gave him through life most tender compassion for the needy. His general state and habits he thus describes : — " My DEAR Fellow, — . . . . Did you but know the exquisite happiness which the handwriting of a friend affords me, now that I am so far from home, without one companion of my youth to clieer my social or share my gloom}' hours, I am sure you would snatch a few moments from sleep, or the round of amusements, to scribble me a letter. " You seem anxious to know how I am situated. Very happily, I assure you ; as happily as I could ))e at such a distance from Newport. I finish school before dinner, and all the rest of the day I spend as I choose. I am treated with every attention I can desire. I have a retired room for my study, a lonely plain to Avalk in, and you know, Shaw, that under these circumstances I cannot be miserable. I often look towards the North with a sigh, and think of the scenes I have left behind me. But 1 remember that cruel necessity has driven me from home, and wipe away the tear which the painful recollection had wrung from my eyes. Do not misunderstand me, Shaw. When I say cruel necessity, I do not mean poverty. No ! It is a necessit}- wliich my feelings have im- posed upon me, — a necessity arising from a change in my senti- ments, and a peculiarity of character which I cannot explain to you. It is now that I experience tlic benefit of habits which I formed in early life. O Heaven ! what a wretch should I be, how wearisome would be existence, had I not learned to depend on myself for enjoyment ! Society becomes more and more insipid. I am tired of tlie fashionable nonsense which dins my ear in every circle, and I am driven to my book and pen for relief and pleasure. With my book and pen in my hand, I am always happy. Nature or education lias given this bent to my mind, and 1 esteem it as the ricliest blessing Heaven ever sent me. 1 am independent of the world. Above all things, cultivate tliis independence. You know it is my idol, and I know of no virtue more necessary to a politician." 1798-1800.] LITERARY PURSUITS. 55 The studies to which he was assiduously devoting himself were partly of a general character, as appears from the following letters to his friend Shaw, describing his literary pursuits. " I have not yet received an answer to my last two letters. But I abhor ceremony, and when I have an hour's leisure and a full heart I cannot enjoy myself better than in communicating my sen- timents and feelings to a friend. I am now totally immersed in literature. I have settled a course of reading for three years, and I hope at the end of that time to have knowledge enough to enter on the world. I intend to pursue a course of modern history im- mediately'. I have purchased a set of Russell, and shall take Belsham's George the Third for a continuation. I shall gain more particular knowledge of the distinguished reigns by the help of biographies, I have understood that Harte's Gustavus is a good work. What do you know of it? If it is worth reading, and not too voluminous, could you forward it to me? What do you think of Gillie's Frederick? I can procure it here, if you recommend it. I have alreadj' Voltaire's Louis the Fourteenth. Would you advise Sully's Memoirs in this course? I shall begin Russell at Henry the Seventh of England. I have read all of Hume but tlie last volume. He does not throw light enough on the rest of Europe. Tell me what books must be added, and what retrenched. I wish I could get a good Roman and a good Grecian history. I know of none which is political enough, and which attends to the private life of those nations. Ferguson will carry me to the termination of the Roman Republic. But must I wade through Gibbon to get ac- quainted with the Empire? Rather than do this, I will wait till I begin a course of ecclesiastical history. What do you know of Mitford's Greece? I shall now read history' very differently from what I used to do. I shall read it as a politician and a moral- ist. I shall found my opinions of government on what I see to be the effects of different systems, and not on idle speculation. I study harder than ever." Of Robertson's Charles the Fifth, which he at this period read, he once remarked : — "That history first gave me a right direction in historical mat- ters. The introduction is superficial ; but to me, in my ignorance, it was full of light, and taught the value of broad views of human affairs ; it led me to look for the steady causes and tendencies at work among nations. On the whole, Robertson gives a prett}' fair view of the Reformation, — tliat mighty event, — tliough, indeed, he was a Protestant, and no Protestant can be wholly impartial." 66 RICHMOND. [^T. 18-20. Speaking of 's poem, he saj's : — "In ancient times it was a common opinion that Parnassus was hard to climb, and its top ahnost inaccessible. But in modern times we seem to have made a beaten cart-wa}' over it, and wliere is the man who cannot travel it without difficulty or danger? Helicon was once represented as a scanty stream, and happ}^ was he who could get a draught of it. But now it has become so bold a river that every ploughboy in the field of science can water his horses at it. Inspiration descends in the form of a thick fog, and the beclouded fancy which paints a monster, while it aims at sketching nature, is admired for the boldness and wildness of its thoughts "His metaphors, generally speaking, are too far-fetched. He shows more of the scholar than the man, and none but a scholar can understand his productions. He pleases the refined taste of the critic, but cannot strike the master-springs of the human lieart. .... His poetry is loaded with cumbrous epithets. Pie dazzles us with his splendor, but he does not warm us with the blaze of his genius. Like a glittering sword brandished in a sunbeam, he flashes light into your eyes, without communicating any of the heat of that luminary. I love an author who converges the rays of thought till the}' burn in a focus. "The ancients heaped flowers on the dead, but gave a simple garland of oak to the hving hero. I admire their taste. Let tlie servile imitator deck his lifeless page with a profusion of epithets. They keep the corpse out of sight. But genius can give the spark of life, the bloom of health, the lightning eye, the majesty of form, and the glow of thought, to her productions. What need, then, of ornament? .... " I have lately read Mrs. Wolstonecraft's posthumous works. Her letters, toward the end of the first volume, are the best I ever read. They are superior to Sterne's. I consider tliat woman as the greatest of the age. Her ' Rights of Woman ' is a masculine performance, and ought to be studied by the sex. Can you call her a prostitute? Slie indeed formed a guilty connection. But even then she acted upon jirinciple " It seems that you cannot love Mrs. Wolstoneeraft. I do not mean to figlit with you about her. Her principles respecting mar- riage would prove fatal to society, if they were reduced to practice. These I cannot recommend. But on other subjects her sentiments are noble, generous, and sublime. She possessed a mascuUne mind, but in her letters you may discover a heart as soft and feel- 1798-1800.] LOVE OF NATURE. 57 ing as was ever placed iu the breast of a woman. I onl}- know her by her writuigs " I have been reading Rousseau's Eloise. What a writer ! Rous- seau is the only French author I have ever read, who knows the way to the heart " I would also recommend to you a novel, ' Caleb Williams,' by Godwin. Shaw, what a melancholy reflection is it that the writers I have now mentioned were all deists ! Blest with the powers of intellect and fancy, they have not been able to discern the traces of a God in his Holy Scriptures, and have trodden under foot the only treasure which deserved pursuit. The pride of human nature has been the source of their error. They could not ' become as little children.' They could not bear the yoke of Christ, imbibe the meek and humble spirit of his religion, and rely upon his merits for pardon and acceptance with God." But while earnestly occupied in political speculations, and in historical and literary pursuits, — thus already manifesting the varied mental activity which marked him in mature life, — other characteristic tendencies appeared. The poetic temperament that had led him to the beach in Newport and to the willow walk in Cam- bridge — thrilling his soul with the sense of beauty, with yearnings to be free from imperfection, and visions of good too great for earth — was working strongly in him now. On the banks of the James River, dotted with islets of most brilliant emerald, — under the shadows of deep groves, where century-old sycamores reared their tall white trunks lilie cathedral columns, — among arbors formed by the gnarled grape-vines which twined their heavy folds over trees crushexl down by their weight, where the bright, polished leaves of the holly glistened, and the gum and the maple spread out their various-tinted verdure, and the tulip-tree raised its pyra- mid of orange-green blossoms to the sun, — he passed hours and days of delightful wandering, lost in soft dreams and rapturous visions. In one letter he says : — "I wish that j'ou had been with me, Shaw! Arm in arm, we would have strolled over the fields, and gazed with admira- tion on the surrounding scenery. A few traces of cultiva- tion varied the prospect, and all besides was wild and luxuriant. Nature still triumphed, — still reposed on her bed of leaves under the shade of the oak and pine. Our house was delight- fully situated on the top of a little hill. Before us spread a valley clothed with corn and tobacco crops. Beyond it rose two mountains. The passing clouds rested on their sunnnits, 58 RICHMOND. [^T. 18-20. and one continued forest covered their sides, extending down to tlie plain below. . . . " We would often rest under the vine or the peach-tree, fill our bosoms with clusters of wild grapes, wipe the down from the delicious fruit, and slake our thirst at the friendl}- rivulet which murmured by our feet. I assure you I have had a charming time. I love the country. As 3-ou have but little work to do, you hardl}-^ know what is the meaning of the word holida}'. View me, pent up in a school for eight months, and then let loose in the fields, free as the air I breathe, and emancipated from the frivolous punc- tilios and galling forms of society. I snuff up the fresh breezes ; I throw myself on the soft bed of grass which Natiu-e has formed for her favorites ; I feel every power within me renewed and invigorated. . . . " You told me, some time ago. that you had broken off the habit of musing. I wish I could say the same. You cannot conceive how much of m}' time, especially at this season, is thrown away in pursuing the phantoms of a disordered imagination. Musing wears away my body and my mind. I walk without attending to the dis- tance. Sometimes joy gives me wings, or else, absorbed in melan- choly, I drag one foot heavily after the other for whole hours together. I try to read, but I onl}- repeat words, without receiving an idea from them. Do give me a recipe for curing this disorder." Later in life, too, in counselling a 3'oung friend, he thus alludes to his own earl}- habits : — " Do anything innocent, rather than give yourself up to reverie. I can speak on this point from experience. At one period of my life I was a dreamer, castle-builder. Visions of the distant and future took the place of present duty and activity. I spent hours m reverie. I suppose 1 was seduced in part by physical del»ilitv; but the body suffered as much as the mind. I found, too, that the imagination threatened to inflame the passions, and that, if I meant to be vir- tuous, I must dismiss my musings. Tlie conflict was a hard one. I resolved, prayed, resisted, sought refuge in occupation, and at length triumi)hed. I beg you to avail yourself of my experience. " It is true that c\qy\ soul has its own warfare to go through, but still we may help one another. At your age there is often a great and sudden development of the sensibilities. The imagina- tion is stirred up by the hope of a vast and undefined good, by prospects of the uncertain and boundless future, and plunges into reverie. The present is too narrow for us. "We know not what we want. Sometimes a secret restlessness devours the voung, a 1798-1800.] REVERIE. 59 mj'sterious fever of the spirit. T\'e must not -n-onder at this. Our nature has mighty energies, and they are given to us, if I ma^' so say, in a rude state, that we may reduce them to harmony. The young mind, when roused to life and power, is at first very much a chaos. Some at tliis critical period abandon themselves to sensual excesses, in hope of seizing that intense good which they thirst for. Some give themselves up to secret musings, and seek in unreal worlds what the actual world cannot give. Happy the young man who at this moment seizes on some views, however faint, of the true and great end of his being ; who is conscious, amidst his wild thoughts, that he has within himself a power of forming him- self to something pure, noble, divine ; who S3'mpathizes with the generous, disinterested, heroic ; who feels that he must establish an empire over himself, or be lost. The idea of i)erfection is of necessity revealed to us at first very imperfectly ; but if we seize it with faith in the possibility of realizing it, of rising to something higher than we are, and if faith give birth to resolution, then our 30uth, with all its tumults and vehemence, is full of promise." And again : — "Have you been searching into your own motives, affections, powers, secret processes? This ma}' be most useful, if we study ourselves, not from self-idolatr}-, not under the notion that we de- serve all our power of thought, but that we may learn our common m3'sterious nature, may learn something of all souls, may learn our end, and may raise our standard of judgment and action. But perhaps you have been emplo^'ed with yourself in the sense of med- itating anxiousl}- and jealoush' on your defects, or of fashioning in reverie your own future lot. These are both bad occupations. I wasted a good deal of my early life in reverie, and broke the habit only bv painful self-conflict. I felt that my powers were running wild, and m}- religious principles were infinitely important to me in giving me the victoiy. The best escape from this habit is found in interesting occupation, of an earnest, absorbing nature, and an innocent, cheering society. I have sutfered, too, from a painful sense of defects ; but, on the whole, have been too wise to waste in idle lamentations of deficiencies the energy which should be used in removing them." And, finally, his romantic enthusiasm is thus laid fully bare, in a confession to his friend Shaw : — " My dear Fellow, — I sit down to write you, to disburden a full heart, and cheer a heavy hour. It is spring-time, and a uni- versal languor has seized on me. Not long ago, I was an eagle. 60 RICHMOND. . [JEt. 18-20. I had built mj- nest among the stars, and I soared in regions of unclouded ether. But I fell from heaven, and the spirit which once animated me has fled. I have lost every energy of soul, and the only relic of 3'our friend is a sickly imagination, a fevered sensi- bility. I cannot study. I wallv and muse till I can walk no longer. I sit down with Goldsmith or Rogers in my hand, and shed tears — at what? At fictitious misery ; at tales of imaginary woe. " My whole life has been a struggle with my feelings. Last winter I thought myself victorious. But earth-born Antjeus has risen stronger than ever. I repeat it, my whole life has been a struggle with my feelings. Ask those with whom I have lived, and they will tell you that I am a stoic. I almost thought so myself. But I only smothered a fire which will one day consume me. I sigh for ti-anquil happiness. I have long wished that my days might flow along like a gentle stream, which fertilizes its banks and reflects in its clear surface the face of heaven. But I can onli/ wish it. I still continue sanguine, ardent, and inconstant. I can re- member the days when I gloried in the moments of rapture, when I loved to shroud myself ni the gloom of melancholy. You may remember them too. But I have grown wiser, as I have grown older. I now wish to do good in the world. ' I love a divine,' says the good Fenelon, ' who preaches to save men's souls, and not to show himself.' I perfectly agree with Fenelon ; and to make such a divine as he loves, I must throw away those ridiculous ecstasies, and form myself to habits of piety and benevolence. One of the reasons why I dislike the rapture and depressions of spirit which we used to encourage at college is probably this, — 1 find none to share them with me. '' The other day, I handed to a lady a sonnet of Southey's, which had wrung tears from me. ' It is pretty,' said she, with a smile. ' Pretty ! ' echoed I, as I looked at her ; ' pretty ! ' I went home. As I grew composed, I could not help reflecting that the lady who had made this answer was universally esteemed for her benevo- lence. I knew that she was goodness itself. But still she wanted feeling. ' And what is feeling?' said I to myself. I blushed when I thought more on the subject. I found that the mind was just as passive in tliat state which I called ' feeling,' as when it received any impressions of sense. One consequence immediately struck me, that there was no moral merit in possessing feeling. Of course there can be no crime in wanting it. ' Well,' continued I, ' I have just been treating with contemi)t a woman of active benevolence, for not possessing what I must own it is no crime to want. Is this just?' I then went on to conside)- whether there were not man}- persons 1798-1800.J ENTHUSIASM. 61 who possessed this boasted feeling, but who were still deficient in active benevolence. A thousand instances occurred to me. I found myself among the number. ' It is true,' said I, ' that I sit in my study and shed tears over human miserj-. I weep over a novel. I weep over a tale of human woe. But do I ever relieve the dis- tressed? Have I ever lightened the load of affliction ? ' My cheeks reddened at the question ; a cloud of error burst from m}' mind. I found that virtue did not consist in feeling, but in acting from a sense of duty." Mr. Channing's poetic temperament was chief!}- manifested, how- ever, in the lofty hopes whicli it inspired for a state of ideal virtue in individuals and humanit}^ for " a more ample greatness and ex- act goodness, the world being inferior to the soul." In answer to one of his fervent outpourings upon these themes, his friend Walter writes to him: "I have read your letter over and over again, and should not deserve to live, were I not delighted with the beau- tiful enthusiasm and benevolent wishes breathed in every word. They are monuments of your goodness and benevolence to me more valuable than those of brass and marble. But, ni}' dear Channing, is not 3'our theory incompatible with the experience of ages ? " And in reply to j'et another letter, his brother Francis saj's : "You know nothing of yourself. You talk of your apathy and stoicism, when you are the baby of your emotions, and dandled by them without an}' chance of being weaned. What shall I expect? Noth- ing, certainl}', but what is amiable and humane ; but virtue in dis- traction may be as idle and useless, though soaring and sublime, as a lunatic." Friends on all sides, indeed, evidentl}' thought him the prey of fevered imagination, and to one of their appeals to be more calm and prudent, he thus replies : — " I will throw together a few observations on the subject, in as short a compass as possible, and without the least mixture of ro- mance or enthusiasm. I do not mean to challenge yo\x into the lists of argument. I do not fight for victory. I onl}' wish to con- vince you that I am not so wild in m}' views, or so erroneous in my sentiments, as 3'our letter represents me. " You begin with observing, that ' the will of Heaven to man is declared in the situation in which he is placed, and in the circum- stances of his life ' ; and 3'ou afterwards saj', that ' everj' one is a Howard who like him applies his penn}' or his pound.' I cannot assent to this in its full extent. You evidently go upon the suppo- sition that the circumstances of our lives are decided by Heaven. I believe they are decided b}' ourselves. Man is the artificer of his 62 RICHMOND. [^T. 18-20. own fortune. By exertion he can enlarge the sphere of his useful- ness. By activity he can ' multiply himself.' It is mind which gives him an ascendant in society. It is mind which extends liis power and ability ; and it depends on himself to call forth tlie en- ergies of mind, to strengthen intellect, and form benevolence into a liabit of the soul. Tlie consequence wliicli I deduce from these principles is this, — that Heaven has not, by placing me in partic- ular circumstances, assigned me a determinate sphere of usefulness, (which seems to be your opinion,) but that it is in m}' power, and of course that it is my duty, to widen the circle, and ' tlu'ow m}' beams' still farther ' into the night of adversity.' This, Francis, is the leading idea which runs through my letter, and will you call it extravagance ? "It is not enough that you do good in pi-oportion to your power, when 3'ou have criminally neglected to enlaige tliis power. Will you call the idle man ' a Howard,' who indeed shares his loaf of bread with a brother beggar, but who, by industry, might have pro- cured the means of making thousands happy? You understand me. I ma^' have written a thousand extravagances to you which I have forgotten. But the great and striking principles which I ad- vanced I have unfolded above, and they still appear to my sober reason as principles founded on immutable truth. You tell me I am onl^' a caudle. Perhaps I am less, — a farthing rushlight, a glowworm on a humble shrub. You say I am discontented at not being the sun. No such thing ! Discontent is no trait in ni}' char- acter. Give me but the consciousness that I have done all I could and ought to do, and 30U pluck out ever}- thorn from my bosom. I wish I could return your compliment, and say 30U were a candle. I wish I could point to a man of m}' acquaintance and sa^' so. Plii- losophers tell us that a candle fills with light a sphere of four miles' diameter. Send me the dimensions of your sphere. Mine is fifteen feet by ten. Is it not shameful ! Ambition has waved her flaming torch over nations, and set the world in a blaze. Avai'ice has penetrated earth itself, and with a steadier and more stinted light illumined the sunless mine. But show me humanity, with even one lonel}' candle in her hand, throwing a few beams into the night ' of adversity,' bringing to light the hidden treasures of neglected in- tellect, &c., &c. I dare go no farther, lest you should begin to compliment me about entlmsiasm." The form which his ardent philanthrop}' assumed was the one which must always cheer the truly noble and heroic, and which then presented itself in such glowing hues to many minds in France, 1798-1800.J COMMUNITY OF PROPERTY. 63 German}', and England, — the vision of a 'perfect society. ' ' Socrates and Plato," writes his brother, " were schoolmasters ; Pythagoras went farther, and formed a society of virtuous disciples, — a soci- et}' wonderful, because unparalleled. It was, however, confined to but a part of Italy. My brother advances with noble ardor to a vaster enterprise. The world is to be his Acadenn', and all mankind his pupils. To make all men happy, hy making all vir- tuous, is his glorious project. I adore it, thou moral Archimedes I but where wilt thou stand to move the mental world ? Whither has enthusiasm hurried 3'ou?" &,c. So, also, his friend Walter writes : "Will 3-ou make yourself miserable because you cannot reach the rainbow from the hill? In heaven, Channing, you will find the scope you seek for progression in virtue ; but here the mind par- takes of the clay which encloses it," &c. His views ma}' be best learned from the following letter : — "I have of late, my friend, launched boldl}' into speculations on the possible condition of mankind in the progress of their improve- ment. I find avarice the great bar to all ni}' schemes, and I do not hesitate to assert that the human race will never be happier than at present till the establishment of a community of propert}'. " I derive my sentiments from the nature of man. What is man? for what was he born? To vegetate, to draw nutrition from the earth, and then wither away forgotten and unknown? O, no! he bears a spark of divinity in his bosom, and it is Promethean fire which animates his cla}'. Look at the human mind. See it burst- ing forth, spreading itself through infinite space, by its power of receiving ideas from external objects concentrating immensity in a point, and by its powers of retrospect and anticipation concentrat- ing eternit}' in a moment. Need I mention his faculty of moral discernment, or his creative imagination? Now, Shaw, I would ask 3'ou, in what does the perfection of man consist ; which part of his nature requires most care ; from what source is his most ra- tional and permanent happiness derived? The answer you must make is, *■ The mmd.' In proportion as his mind is improved in science and virtue, in that degree is he happy. "Now, my friend, let me ask you to look on the world and to show me the man who is engaged in this improvement. All is hurry, all is business. But wh}^ this tumult? To pamper the senses and load the body with idle trappings. Show me the man who ever toiled for wealth to relieve misery, and unrivet the chains of oppression. Show me the man who ever imported virtue from the Indies, or became a better Christian by increasing his hoard. 64 RICHMOND. [^T. 18-20. Are not the mines of science forsaken for those of Potosi? Does not the pursuit of wealth damp our feehngs, freeze up the tears of benevolence, check the flight of genius, and excite in our bosom distrust and suspicion towards our brethren of the human race'} Does it not render mankind venal and mercenary? Yes ; give me gold enough and I will buy up the souls of our whole si)ecies. I do not except myself. I love money. I have my price. And what is gold? Perishing earth and dust. What does it procure? Meat, drink, and clothing. Now, Shaw, since the body is so infe- rior to the mind, do j'ou think that more attention should be paid to feeding and clothing it than is absoluteh- necessary? No. Is not this speculative opinion supported by fact? Do not nature and experience declare to us, that the more temperate we are, the health- ier and happier we are ? The wants of the bodt/, then, are few , and the labor of mankind is misapjilied. This conclusion is fairl}' drawn from the premises. " But here you will cr}^ out, ' All this is theoretic nonsense. Man is selfish. He will always strive to gratify his senses ; and if gold will procure these gratifications, he will always pursue it.' Stop, my friend ; I grant that man is selfish. But ought he to be so? Was man framed for himself, or for his fellow-men? On this point of morality I know we shall agree ; and you will think as I do, that if we can substitute benevolence for selfislmess, we shall add to the sum of human virtue and happiness. Again, ought man to provide most for his body or his mind? Here, too, we shall agree ; — and no doubt you wish to see a love of science take the place of a love of money in the human breast. Now I think that these changes can be effected in the sentiments and feelings of mankind. How? By education. Do you wonder, Shaw, that you see so many selfish and avaricious wretches on earth, when you behold every mother, as she holds her child on her knee, instilling the maxims of worldly prudence into his tender bosom? How is it that you and I, in the midst of this infection, still glow with benev- olence to mankind, and derive such high joys from the cultivation of our minds ? Is not this an earnest of what would hai^pcn uni- versally, were the world to unite in instilling these noble priii(.'ii)les into the rising generation? Judge from your own feelings, whether the principle of benevolence, sympath}", or humanity is not so strongly impressed on the heart by God himself that, with i)roper care, it might become the principle of action. Judge from your own feelings, whether the love of science is not founded upon so natural a sentiment — I mean curiosity — that, with the same care, it would pervade every bosom. I declare to you that I believe these 1798-1800] COMMUNITY OF PROPERTY. 65 ideas to be incontrovertible. Do you not glow at the prospect? Behold the rising virtues attended b}- truth and wisdom, — peace with her olive-branch, compassion witli her Ixalm O my friend ! I can go no farther. I feel a noble enthusiasm spreading through m\' frame ; every nerve is strung, ever}- muscle is laboring ; my bosom pants with a great, half-conceived, and indescribable sen- timent ; I seem inspired with a surrounding deit}'. "'But stop,' I hear you say, 'you are too impetuous. IIow will you lead mankind to educate their children in this wav? ' Av, there is the rub ; there lies the difficulty. It is onl}- by implanting benevolence and love of science in the mind of the parent, and root- ing out his avarice and selfishness, that we can hope to see the child educated as we wish. ' But how can this be effected ? Do 3'ou mean to war with nature ? ' No ; I am convinced that virtue and benevolence are natural to man. I believe that selfishness and avarice have arisen from two ideas universally inculcated on the young and practised upon b}' the old, — (1.) that every individual has a distinct interest to pursue from the interest of tJie community ; and (2.) that the body requires m,ore care than the mind. "I believe these ideas to be false ; and I believe that \o\\ can never banish them till you persuade mankind to cease to act upon them; that is, till you can persuade them (1.) to destroy all dis- tinctions of property (which 3'ou are sensible must perpetuate this supposed distinction of interest) , and to throw the produce of their labor into one common stock, instead of hoarding it up in their own garners; and (2.) to become really conscious of the powers and the dignity of their mind. You must convince mankind that the}* themselves, and all which the}' possess, are but parts of a great whole ; that they are bound by God, their common Father, to labor for the good of this great whole ; that their wants are but few, and can easily be supplied ; that mind., mind requires all their care ; and that the dignity of their nature and the happiness of others require them to improve this mind in science and virtue. Believe me, my friend, you can never root out selfishness and avarice till you de- stroy the idea that private interest is distinct from the public. You nnist lead every man to propose to himself, in all his actions, the good of the whole for his object. He must plough and till the earth, that all may eat of the produce of his labor. Mine and thine must be discarded from his vocabulary. He should call every- thing ours. Here would be no robbery, for a man could steal noth- ing but his own. No man would be idle where such sentiments and such examples prevailed ; and where there was no luxury to ener- vate him, every man would have leisure to cultivate the mind. We 5 QQ RICHMOND. [JF.T. 18-20. should sleep secureh- ; we should live long and hapj)ih' ; and perhaps, like old P^noch, when the time came, be translated to heaven. " You will tell me that this is all chimera, that if we could indeed convert one generation, it would be ver}' eas}' to perpetuate this order of things by education, through those that followed ; but how shall we convert this generation ? Shaw ! do 3'ou sit still and ask this question? Rise, rise! It is the voice of benevolence. Do you not feel new energies at the sound ? Wliy despair of success ? Are not you yourself ready to devote every moment of existence and ever_y drop of 30ur blood to the service of mankind ? And are 3^ou and I the only virtuous ones upon earth ? No ! Thousands are ready to join hands with us. Truth is omnipotent. She must prevail. Are not benevolence and thirst for knowledge so natural to our race, that, bj' cherishing them in ^outh, when the mind is unwarped, we can form them into principles of action'} Is there a man so hard of heart that yon cannot find in him some string to vibrate to the touch of humanity ? Why despair, then ? You pro- fess to believe in the Christian religion. Does not Christianity favor such a scheme? I beheve it will be hard to reconcile Chris- tian humility, charit}-, and contempt of riches with the present establishment of human affairs. Read Soame Jenyns. His argu- ments cannot be disproved. "Rouse, then! Consider how you ma}- best sei-vc mankind. Lend this letter to Walter. ' We few, we happy few, we l)and of brothers,' will unite our exertions in the cause of virtue and science. We will beat down with the irresistible engines of truth those strong ramparts consolidated b}- time, within which avarice, ignorance, and selfishness have intrenched themselves. We will plant the standards of virtue and science on tlie ruins, and lay the founda- tion of a fair fabric of human happiness to endure as long as time, and to acquire new grace and lustre with the lapse of ages. " My dear Shaw, I fear you will sa}' I am craz^'. No, no, — ' My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music' Then you will tell me I am one of the Illuminati. Upon my honor, I never did receive any letter or letters from Weishaupt^ in my life. These sentiments have arisen altogether from ni}' detestation of avarice and selfishness. " You will sec, through the whole of this letter, an ardent desire 1 Professor at the Bavarian Institute of Ingolstadt, and founder of tlic Order of the Illuminati, 177G. 1798-1800.] GODWIN'S POLITICAL JUSTICE. 67 to serve mankind. This is the reigning wish of my heart. Do trj- to think of some means in whicli we can unite our efforts for so desirable an end." What particular plan had taken shape in his mind does not appear distinctly", though, from his papers, it is probable that he thought of joining himself, as minister, to a settlement of Scotch emigrants, whose fundamental principle was common property. Friends speak laughingly of his "great scheme " ; and Walter pro- poses, in a vein of mock earnestness, to cany out the "imaginary republic of Coleridge and Southey, and a communit^^ of goods, in the backwoods, or, better far, in some South Sea island." He then goes on to expose what appear to him the peculiar dangers and temptations of " community'," and ends thus : — " Indeed, Channing, your sentiments are too extravagant. No doubt man would be happier if he were better. But the difficulty is to make him better. I do not know that this can be done. You say it is possible ; but I can hardly believe. I fear that the Ger- man Weishaupt has been tampering with you. However, he never attacked your reason and judgment, but only warmed your imagi- nation, by showing you, in distant perspective, beautiful scenes of men and women and children, sitting under oak-trees, eating acorns and drinking water. I suppose, in conformity with his wishes, 3'ou are studying German in order to be able to comprehend the mysteries of the institution, wiiich are so sublime that the Eng- lish language sinks under their weight. Jacobinism is closely con- nected with their system, is it not? and this is the reason why you tell me high things of the Democratic Virginians ? " His grandfather Eller^^, too, in his plain, straightforward fashion, opens his mind to his 3'oung relative thus : — " Godwin's ' Political Justice ' is after the manner of the French philosophers. I am not acquainted with his moral character; but I despise French philosophists. Their system goes to the destruc- tion of all government and all morality. I wish the poorer sort of the Godwinites and Jacobinites would push home upon their rich leaders in the doctrines of perfectibility' and equalization, the neces- sit}' of a communit}- of goods, in order to a consistency of conduct with principle. This would make a division among them ; for I believe I ma}- confidentlj- say, that there is not a rich man of those principles who would share his propert}' with the poor of the pre- tended fraternity. He might perhaps sa}', ' Be 3e warmed, be ye clothed ' ; but he would not give a cent, unless for the purpose of 68 RICHMOND. [^T. 18-20. elections, or to cany some other favorite point. The principles referred to are deistical ; and while men are absorbed in luxnr\', and entertain sueli high notions of human nature in general, and of themselves in particular, they will not listen with attention to the self-denying doctrines of the Gospel, nor submit to that subordi- nation which is essential to order and happiness, but will oppose themselves even to the government of Jehovah. To stand fimti in the midst of such characters requires a great degree of religions fortitude ; but I trust persecution is not necessary to preserve your integrity, or enkindle your zeal. The rock on which the true church of Christ is built is not to be overturned by violence or by under- mining." These most kindly meaning, but over-cautious friends little knew the depth of that living well of humanity which, first opening in young Channing's mind while reading Hutcheson in college, was thenceforth to pour abroad an exhaustless river. The current might be diverted, but nothing could seal the fountain. Their advice influenced his judgment, but it did not make him for an instant untrue to the law of his own character. The project pres- ent to his mind, whatever it may have been, was laid aside ; but the large philanthropy which prompted it was only purified by the sacrifice. No fears suggested by other minds daunted his own indomitable trust. Then, and forever, " white-handed Hope, The hovering angel girt with golden wings," cheered him and led him on. It would be interesting, however, to know how far this experience, that enthusiasm impelled him to plans which those whom he rever- enced and loved thought extravagant, was instrumental in develop- ing the deliberateness which was so conspicuous a trait in maturer life. And some may question whether he and the world gained more or lost by the vigilant purpose, then probably awakened, to avoid the least mistake. Were there not latent energies in him which never germinated, rich impulses which never bloomed and bore seeds for chance winds to scatter? Does not the Infinite Dis- poser balance the deficiencies of one class of characters by the excesses of another, and thus produce harmony by the counterpoise of contJ-asted energies? Can any created being approximate nearer to the right than by never compromising and never postponing, but always obeying, the highest impulse? On the other hand, most of those who knew Dr. Channing well would probably say that his crowning grace was the calm patience with which he refrained from 1798-1800.] STUDIES IN DIVINITY. 69 acting, until he was free to do so witliout a discord in an}- tone of feeling. He often declared that, if there was anything of worth in his life and influence, he owed it to the fidelity with which he had listened to every objection that was presented b}- the suggestion of his own or other minds to what he wished to believe or to do. He thought, too, that in younger da3's his impetuous nature had led him into error ; and though he found it a hard trial to resist the fer- venc}' of his temperament, he was yet firml}- resolved never " to be possessed," but, under all events, to " possess his soul in peace." But while Mr. Channing's interests were thus broad, his feelings were constantly concentrating more and more upon religion, and a preparation for the ministry-. And to his friend Shaw he thus writes : — " I am studying divinit}' harder than ever. Thanks to God who made me, 1 have chosen the only profession which could make me hap[)y. B}' studying the Scriptures themselves, I am trying to discover the will of God, and the uncorrupted doctrines which our Saviour taught. I am certain that I am impartial ; and the honest mind is in little danger of going wrong. " I once called myself a Christian. But till lately I knew not the meaning of the word. I entreat 30U, Shaw, not to absorb yourself so much in political pursuits as to lose sight of the most important of all your concerns. The distinguishing duties of our holy religion are humilit}', purity of heart, forgiveness of our worst enemies, forbearance under the heaviest injuries, detachment from the pleas- ures and pursuits of this world, and supreme affection to Deity. As charity is among the first of Christian virtues, Christianily necessarily requires of us an active life. It requires us to mingle with our fellow-men, and exert ourselves in promoting human hap- pmess. By ' detachment from the world,' then, I do not mean mo- nastic retirement. You cannot do too much good in the world. " It is impossible for any one to be a Christian, unless he be- lieves that the end of this life is to prepare for heaven, and bends his affections, his hopes, and his thoughts to this all-important end. Is your heart pure? ' Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.' Are you humble? By which I mean, have you sucli a sense of your unworthiness in the sight of God that you are willing to receive with an honest heart the truths which his Son taught, to give yourself up like a little child to be formed and guided by him, and to receive salvation, not as due to ^our own merits, but as a free and undeserved gift of God through Jesus Christ? ' Whoso- 70 RICHMOND. [JEt. 18-20. ever shall not humble himself as this little child, shall not enter the kingdom of God.' ' Resist not evil.' Here is a dut}- too sublime almost for our performance. We can hardl}' reach to so divine a height as to imitate our Maker in doing good to the unjust, as well as just. Many Christians try to explain awa}' this dut}-, and infi- dels laugh at it. But still it is in the Bible, and it ought strictly to be adhered to. What is the end of human existence ? To pre- l)are for heaven. How can we obtain heaven? By cultivating love to God and love to man. These are the great roots from which grow all the duties I have recommended. Now charit}' must govern us in all our conduct with mankind. Christ has expressly declared that this is a necessary- qiuTlificalion for one of his followers I assure you, I was struck with the sublime precepts of Christianity, when 1 began the study of the Bible. I was struck, too, with ob- serving how far I had deviated from them. I found that I had not a pure, an humble, a pious, or a charitable heart. I saw how Christian charity differed from what I used to call benevolence. Everything was new to me. "■You maj' see from my letters the warmth with which I have embraced the Christian cause. Would to God that I could resign every worldly prospect, and bend my whole soul to improvement in religion and the diffusion of the truths of the Gospel. O Shaw ! it cuts me to the heart to see the contempt and irreverence with which the name and the worship of the ' Majesty of Heaven ' are treated by the generality of mankind. Do we not offer a new cup of gall to our crucified Saviour? Are we not as inhuman as the Jews? Do we not plat, like them, a crown of thorns for the head of our Redeemer? They despised him, and we are ashamed to acknowledge him." From his own accounts, he was at this period much engaged in a patient, and, according to his means, a thorough review of the evidences of Christianity-, being stimulated no doubt by the open avowals of infidelity among the intelligent men of Virginia. This examination led him, after long struggles and painful perplexities, to an unfaltering faith in the providential mission and miraculous character of Jesus Christ. It was under the impulse of this deepened reverence for revelation, that he began the serious stud^- of the Scriptures, even writing out for liimself quite a voluminous com- mentary upon the New Testament, which he afterward destroyed. He sought, too, the advice of religious friends ; and we find him thus describing his pursuits and spiritual condition in a letter to tlie Rev. Joseph McKean, then lately settled at Milton, Massachusetts. 1708-1800.] RELIGIOUS ZEAL. 71 "Dear Sir, — I applied to our common friend and In-otlier, Francis, a few weeks ago, to desire liim to procure lor me a religious correspondent. I told him that I could not find in Virginia one young man to whom I could express my sentiments on religious subjects, or to whose bosom I could confide those feelings which the stud}- of the Scriptures insi)ired in my own. I told him that I wanted a friend to whom I could propose the difficulties which I found in the Bible, — a friend who had devoted his life to the service of his God, to whom I could open my whole heart, and talk with the familiarity of a brother. In a late letter, he tells me that 3'ou were pleased with the idea of such a corre- spondence. " I began the study of divinit}' with attending to the evidences of Christianit}'. I examined them with caution, and I think without prejudice ; and I am convinced that this religion is truly divine. I have now undertaken to acquaint myself with the doctrines of this religion ; and to do this I have not applied to an}' commentators, or to any authors except the apostles themselves. M}- object is to discover the truth. I wish to know what Christ taught, not what men have made him teach. I well knew that, if I began with read- ing polemical divinit}-, there were ten chances to one that I should embrace the system of the first author which I studied, whether right or wrong. I was certam that, as Christ came to save the world, every truth essential to salvation must be plainly unfolded in the Scriptures. I had also observed that man}' ministers, instead of guiding their flocks to the gates of heaven, had become so en- tangled in controversy as to neglect their most solemn charge, the saving of men's souls. These are the reasons which have induced me to apply to the Bible, — that onh' source of divine knowledge, — and to the Bible alone. The advantages I have derived from such a course seem to prove the propriety of it. I miglit have found the same truths in other authors, but they could never have made so forcible an impression on my mind. I have been active in acquir- ing, not passive in receiving, the great precepts and doctrines of Christianity, and the strength of my conviction is proportioned to the labor I have bestowed. My heart, too, has been affected, as well as my mind enlightened. I have learned to view every- thing, as it were, through the medium of Scripture, to judge of actions by the standard of Scripture morality, and to estimate the importance of present wants by their influence on the happiness of another state. Such is the plan which I follow, and such are the effects which I ascribe to it. I would thank you for your opinion on the propriety of it." 72 RICHMOND. [JEt. 18-20. He then goes on to state some critical clifRculties which he says have struck him, and closes as follows : — "They do not affect any of the great doctrines of Christianity*. But, as the}' are parts of the Bible, I wish to understand them, and as they are apparent contradictions, they affect the credibility of the histor}"." Mr. Channing was at this time examining also the speculative doctrines of the various sects ; and he apparently- pursued this work with something of the blended freedom and caution of his later years, for we find that he was charged by correspondents both with over-orthodoxy and heresy. One friend writes to him: "For m\- part, I must dispense with your sermon, as our tenets, I conjecture, do not coincide. You will look quite sober when I tell you that I am a ' Price-ite,' and believe, with him, an honest mind to be the one thing needful. I am quite a heretic, I know, on your system, but hope it is not criminal, as I am Christian enough to hold fast to ever}' principle necessary to piety and to virtue." But from the opposite side a correspondent appeals to him thus: "From an observation in one of your late letters, expressive of a doubt of the vicarious character of Christ, I am induced to think that 30U have not read Butler with that attention he deserves. I think he has proved that, if we are convinced by liistorical evidence of tlie truth of revelation, we are not to doubt of its doctrines because wonderful or mj'sterious. The arguments on tlie proposition are wortli_y, per- haps, of another attentive perusal. 1 am not singular in allowing them to be irrefragable. As a friend to truth, I shall witli i)leasure peruse your reply, and as candidly give to every objection its due weight. I must, however, request 3'ou not to unfold tliem in your letters, which are generally shown to , as tliey ma}' give unrea- sonable and painful alarms. You know the prejudices of education, and that to the last generation one step from orthodoxy is a devia- tion into heresy." His liberality was i)robabl3' quickened by the variety of opinions winch he found prevailing round him, and by the catholic spirit that pervaded Richmond. But although he found advantage in thus looking upon all sides of dogmatic questions, yet his inward struggles were greatl}' multiplied, and his mental loneli- ness became almost intolerable, as appears from the following ex- tracts from letters. " Would, Shaw, that you were here. I want a friend ; but I can nowhere lind one. My social feelings are as strong as ever. But I cannot often gratif}' them. I am sick of the unmeaning conver- sation of fashionable circles. By society, I mean the communi(Mi of 1798-1800.] LONELINESS. 73 souls. But where is this to be found? How I long to lean upon your arm, as I walk through the woods ! But awa\' with gloom. .... I cannot but thank you for your kind attentions, which from any one else would be burdensome to me. But knowing the good- ness of your heart, and that you receive more happiness in con- ferring than I can in receiving your favors, I banish the painful idea from my mind that I am troublesome to you, and enjoy without alloy all the pleasures which your friendship provides for me. " If 3^ou can indeed find leisure, write, I beg of you. I would empty my light purse (for light it is) every day of the week, if money could purchase such letters as I have to-night received. Do not construe anything I have said into an indifference about hearing from you. I wish you could see the rapture beam in my dull eyes as I open your packages ; you would want no other proof of my eagerness to correspond with 3'ou." There was at that time but one church in Richmond, though ser- vices were held also in the Hall of Burgesses, where an Episcopalian and a Presbyterian alternately officiated ; and interest in religion generally was slight. Mr. Channing was driven to rely, therefore, very much upon himself in determining his views, and finding nutri- ment for devoutness and love. His trials and struggles he thus makes known to his uncle : — "Would to God that I could return a favorable answer to your question respecting religion ! Christianity is here breathing its last. I cannot find a friend with whom I can even converse on religious subjects. I am obliged to confine my feelings to my own bosom. How often, when I have walked out into the country, have I looked for a companion to whom I could address the lan- guage of praise and adoration which was trembling on my lips, and which the surrounding scenes of nature had excited ! But in vain. I fear that they read the volume of nature without once thinking of its Author. The Bible is wholly neglected. That treasure of wis- dom and comfort is trodden under foot. The wonders of redeeming love excite no sentiments of gratitude. The glad tidings of a Sav- iour are heard without joy. Infidelity is very general among the higher classes ; and they who do not reject Christianity can hardly be said to beUeve, as they never examine the foundations on which it rests. In fine, religion is in a deplorable state. Many of the people have wondered how I could embrace such an unprofitable profession as the ministry. Alas! they know not the riches which God has promised to those who serve him. You may fear. 74 RICHMOND. [;Et. 18-20. my uncle, lest I have fallen a i^rey to the contagion of example. Thanks to God ! I have maintained m}' ground. The streams of dissipation have flowed by me, and I have not felt a wish to taste them. " I will go farther, Sir. I believe that I never experienced that change of heart which is necessary to constitute a Christian till within a few months past. The worldling would laugh at inc ; he woukl call conversion a farce. But the man who has felt the in- fluences of the Holy Spirit can oppose fact and experience to empty declaration and contemptuous sneers. You remember the language of the blind man whom Jesus healed, — ' This I know, that whereas I was blind, now I see.' Such is the language which the real Christian may trulv utter. Once, and not long ago, I was blind, blind to my own condition, blind to the goodness of God, and blind to the love of my Redeemer. Now I behold with shame and confusion the depravity and rottenness of my heait. Now I behold with love and admiration the long-suffering and infinite benevolence of Deity. " All my sentiments and affections have lately changed. I once considered mere moral attainments as the only ol>ject I had to pursue. I have now solemnly given myself up to God. I con- sider supreme love to him as the first of all duties, and moralit}' seems but a branch from tlie vigorous root of religion. I love mankind because they are the children of God. I practise tem- perance, and strive for purity of heart, that I may become a temi)le for his Holy Spirit to dwell in. I long, most earnestly long, to be such a minister as Fenelon describes. Religion is the only treasure worth pursuing. 1 consider the man wlio recommends it to society as more useful than the greatest statesman and patriot who adorns the page of history. What libertj- so valuable as liberty of heart, — freedom from sin ? " In this letter, it will be observed, Mr. Channing says, "■ 1 have now solemnly given myself up to God " ; and among his pai)ers is found his act of self-consecration. One reads the time-stained writing with reverent tenderness, as he would take from a crypt a sacred relic; but it is of too personal a character to publish. It is chiefly remarkable for the sincerity with which its writer la^s bare the morbid action of his soul, and for the care with which he seeks to guard against renewed failure in every possible emergency, and to map out clearly the path of duty in all relations. This paper marks the transition-point in the development of his character. Henceforth there will be less impetuosity, more steadfastness, less 1798-1800.J SELF-CONSECRATION. 75 bold enthusiasm, more forethought, vigilance, and patient hope. An on-looker may be inclined to mourn that conscientiousness so strictly rules an originally buoyant genius ; but he will see, too, with what beautiful radiance, love, constantly brightening like a central sun, throws peace and joy upon balanced powers, moving in even orbits. The thought, also, will present itself, had this noble heart but reached maturity in an age when a faith serene as that of his later life was filling society around him like a genial atmosi)here, then how would such an era of earnest piety have expanded every faculty, as the sunbeams open flowers ! But these confessions, shadowed as they are by the gloomj' theology which at that period overspread all minds, still prove how so^■ereign was rectitude in this man's moral nature, and how comprehensive and minute was its sway. There was no trait, through the whole of after life, so characteristic as the unsleeping oversight of his conscience. Particular phrases, and indeed the whole tone of the papers which thus open to us the secret chambers of the writer's spirit, show that the views which he then held of his own inward con- dition, and of his need of a renewed life, were such as are com- monly called "serious." It will be seen that he even uses the almost technical expressions, " change of heart," and " conver- sion." In regard to these expressions, however, and others also in the preceding letter, it is but right to add that he frequently asserted, without reservation, that he was never either a Trinitarian or a Calvinist ; and once, at a later period of life, when asked by a most estimable Orthodox acquaintance, "whether he had not at some time experienced conversion," he answered, "I should sa}- not, unless the whole of ni}- life may be called, as it truly has been, a process of conversion" ; to which this quaint rejoinder was made: "Then, friend Channing, you were born regenerate, for you certainly are now a child of God." Of this important era in his life. Dr. Channing, as late as 1842, thus wrote to a friend : ^ — "Your account of Richmond was very interesting. You little suspected how man}' remembrances jour letter was to awaken in me. I spent a year and a half there, and perhaps the most event- ful of my life. I lived alone, too poor to buy l)ooks, spending m}' daj's and nights in an outbuilding, with no one l)eneath my roof except during the hours of school-keeping. There I toiled as I have never done since, for gradually my constitution sank under 1 Huguenots in America. By Mrs. George Lee. Appendix, p. 282. 76 ■ STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [JEt. 20-23. the unremitting exertion. With not a human being to whom I could communicate my deepest thoughts and feehngs, and shrink- ing from common societ}', I passed througli intellectual and moral conflicts, through excitements of heart and mind, so absorl)ing as often to banish sleep, and to destroy- almost whoU}' the power of digestion. I was worn well-nigh to a skeleton. Yet I look back on those da3s and nights of loneliness and frequent gloom with thankfulness. If I ever struggled with m^- whole soul for purity, truth, and goodness, it was there. There, amidst sore trials, the great question, I trust, was settled within me, whether I would obey the higher or lower principles of ray nature, — whether I would l)e the victim of passion, the world, or the free child and servant of God. It is an interesting recollection, that this great conflict was going on within me, and that m}' mind was then re- ceiving its impulse towards the perfect, without a thought or sus- picion of one person around me as to what I was experiencing. And is not this the case continuall}' ? The greatest work on earth is going on near us, perhaps under our roof, and we know it not. In a licentious, intemperate city, one spirit, at least, was preparing, in silence and loneliness, to toil, not wholly in vain, for truth and holiness." He returned to Newport in July of the year 1800. The vessel in which he sailed was a sloop engaged in transporting coal. It was in a most wretched condition, being leaky and damp, and worse manned, for the captain and crew were drunken. They ran upon a shoal, and la}- there till fortunately lifted off b}' the next tide. He was very ill and much exposed. And his friends were shocked, on his arrival, to find the vigorous, healthy young man, who had left them eighteen months before, changed to a thin and pallid invalid. His da^s of health were gone, and henceforth he was to experience in the constantl}' depressed tone of a most deli- cate organization the severest trial of his life. Chapter V. — STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. JEt. 20-23. 1800-1803. At Newport, in the bosom of his famil}', Mr. Channing now re- mained for a year and a half, devoted to the pursuit of his theo- logical studies, and having under his charge the son of his Virginia friend, Mr. Randolph, and his own youngest brother, whom he was 1800-1803.] SELF-DISCIPLINE. 77 preparing for college. It was as deep delight to him to be at home, as it was to his mother, sisters, and brothers to have him with them. Francis had been compelled to return to Cambridge, wliere he was established as a lawyer. William thus became the head of the household ; and it was in this situation that his lovel}- domestic character began fully to display itself. The mantle of his father's sweetness fell upon him. When troubles and anxieties grew too strong for his mother to bear with equanimity, he would pass his arm around her, saying, " It will all be well, — it will all be well." He began, too, family devotions, and produced an impression of holiness and gentle dignity upon the minds of the younger members of the home circle, which can never be effaced. It is said tliat he was conscious, however, of an inherited tendency to irritability and sternness, which sometimes displayed itself in words or deeds ; and that, sorrowing over such frailty, and feeling its unworthiness, he resolved that he would never become a minister till he had gained a control over all angry dispositions. The struggle led to a beautiful triumph ; and no one, who saw the unbroken serenity of his mature manhood, could easily conceive that there had ever been an original excitability to overcome. His disinterestedness and anxious care for each and every one around him were unvarying. He undertook the superintendence of his three sisters' education, and induced one of them to give herself up very much to his guid- ance. " This year," writes this sister, " is impressed on my mind by his kind interest in me. He used to take me on his lap, and hold long conversations, which I sometimes thought too serious, though he would also play draughts with me for my amusement. He led me to walk with him, also, on the beach, when he would attract my "attention to the glories of nature, and of its Author." He was at tliis time, though not unsocial, yet disinclined to large companies, and fond of retirement. Such a course, he used to say, "made less work for repentance." His whole mode of life was extremely simple and abstemious, partly witli the view of re- storing his enfeebled health, but still more because he felt such habits to be favorable to the calmness and clearness of mind and the pure spirituality which he aspired to reach. The following extracts from his early papers will best show the manner in which, at this period, he was endeavoring to discipline his spirit. " I must not consider doing good as an accidental pleasure, but make it the business of life. Let me seek, not wait, for oppor- tunities. Let the active spirit of Christian charity be ever watch- 78 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [JEt. 20-23. fill in discovering objects, and persevering in devising means of usefulness. Love is happiness ; he who grows in love grows in happiness. God is Love ; and his image in us is love. If I would resemble him, let me strengthen love. I feel now that a degrading selfishness reigns in my heart." "In doing good, let me aim at simplicity of means. There is no need of expressing m^- intention, of asking an idle question, of appearing to labor. Let a silent, persevering course of action, lead me to my end." " Poverty and sickness have the first claims for relief. Let me, in m^^ solitary walks by night, search for wretchedness, and for my Lord's sake communicate the last of m}- store. Let me remember with Titus, that I have lost that day in which I have done no good to a fellow-man." "But there are higher ways of doing good. I should show the influence of religion in my life and conversation. Religion is amiable, gentle, cheerfnl, serene ; a friend to the social affections, the source of disinterestedness. Let me not represent it, then, as gloomy or hopeless. Levity, unmeaning ga^'ety, however, throws the mind off its guard, and opens the door to every temptation. Strict self-command is absolutely necessary. The Christian, though cheerful, is vigilant." " Let charit}' embrace in her broad arms all sects. Wh}- should I brand any who differ from me with opprobrious epithets ? Let me unite with all who love Jesus Christ in sincerity in propagating his religion." " It will sometimes be necessary to change the tone of a})proba- tion and pity to that of denial. But let me act on such occasions deliberatel}', not from whim or dislike ; and having formed my resolution, let me adhere to it with firmness. Let me ofler my rea- sons in a short, perspicuous manner, or, if I wish to conceal them, give one positive answer, and leave the subject, undisturbed by remonstrance, ridicule, or reproach. Mildness is not inconsistent with manly firmness. Benevolence will lose all its l)oauty. and much of its influence, if allowed to degenerate into indiscriuiinate, weak indulgence. A world would be too small a recompense for one sacrifice of principle." " When I feel Irritable, let me be silent, let me quit socictv. 1 wish to be cool and collected amidst insult and provocation. I would avoid the diffuseness which characterizes anger, and vindicate my character, conduct, or opinions in as few and temperate words as consists with the regard I owe to truth. All impatience to stop 1800-1803.1 REDWOOD LIBRARY. 79 the person who speaks to me will serve but to irritate. Let me be calm, not using self-command as a means of triumph, but of mutual happiness." Tlie whole energy of his nature, indeed, was then devoted to a preparation for the responsible profession tliat he had chosen. His days were passed at the Redwood Library-, where was freel3' ac- cessible to his use a collection of books, extremely rare and valu- able for the times ; and at night the light in the little office near the house, which he used for a stud}', was seen burning long after darkness had settled over his neighbors' homes. But this period of his life has been most happil}' illustrated by himself. " I must bless God for the place of ni}' nativity ; for, as my mind unfolded, I became more and more alive to the beautiful scenery which now attracts strangers to oiu- island. My first liberty was used in roaming over the neighboring fields and shores ; and amid this glorious nature that love of liberty sprang up, whitdi has gained strength within me to this hour. I early received impres- sions of the great and the beautiful, which I believe have had no small influence in determining my modes of thought and habits of life. In this town I pursued for a time my studies of theology. I had no professor or teacher to guide me ; but 1 had two noble places of study. One was 3onder beautiful edifice, now so fre- quented and so useful as a public library, then so deserted that I spent da}' after day, and sometimes week after week, amidst its dust}'' volumes, without interruption from a single visitor. The other place was yonder beach, the roar of which has so often mingled with the worship of this place, my daily resort, dear to me in the sunshine, still more attractive in the storm. Seldom do I visit it now without thinking of the work which there, in the sight of that beauty, in the sound of those waves, was carried on in my soul. No spot on earth has helped to form me so much as that beach. There I lifted up my voice in praise amidst the tempest. There, softened by beaut}', I poured out my thanksgiving and con- trite confessions. There, in reverential sympathy with the might}' power around me, I became conscious of power within. There struggling thoughts and emotions broke forth, as if mo^'ed to utterance by natm-e's eloquence of the wind and waves. There began a happiness surpassing all worldly pleasures, all gifts of for- tune, — the happiness of communing with the works of God. I believe that the worship, of which I have this day si)oken, was aided in my own soul by the scenes in which my early life was passed."^ 1 Works, Vol. IV. p. 336. One Volume Edition, p. 421. 80 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. \Mr. 20-23. It was at this time, also, that he saw much of the Rev. Dr. Hopkins, and received deep impressions from the influence of his character and doctrines. The following spirited reminiscences, communicated in a letter to Professor Park of Andover, present a verj' pleasing sketch of that consistent seeker after truth and holi- ness, who, whatever his speculative errors, was at least thoroughly in earnest. " It was not until I had left college that I became acquainted with him, and a short intercourse dispelled all the fear and reserve which my early impressions had left in my mind. His conversa- tion was free, rather abrupt, blunt, and often facetious. We saw at once that he had lived in his study, and borrowed ver^' little from the manners of the fashionable world. He took pleasure in talking with me of his past life, his conti'oversies, &c., and I regret that 1 took no notes, and did not, by questions, acquaint myself with the progress of his mind. He told me, I think more than once, of his first intercourse with , who had received Calvinism in its old forms. resisted his doctrines relating to the disin- terested character of faith and religion in general. At length liis objections were overcome, and one day, bursting into tears, he told Dr. Hopkins that he was conscious that he had never experienced true religion. Dr. Hopkins also gave me some particulars of his controversy with Dr. , in which it was plain that he considered himself as the undoubted conqueror. I exceedingly regret that I did not learn more from him of President Edwards. My impres- sion is, that President Edwards was a good deal indebted to Dr. Hopkins for his later views of religion, especially for those which we find in his essays on ' Virtue,' and on ' God's End in Creation.' I hope you will point out clearly the relation between these eminent men. Dr. Hopkins had not the profound genius of Edwards, but was he not a man of a freer and bolder mind ? " I was attached to Dr. Hopkins chiefly by his theory of disin- terestedness. I had studied with great delight during my college life the philosophy of Hutcheson, and the stoical morality, and these had i)repared me for the noble, self-sacrificing doctrines of Dr. Hopkins. I have forgotten most of our conversations on this subject. I remember his once telling me that he did not consider the last part of 1 Cor. xiii. as referring to a future life ; and I think that by the ' perfect' which was to ' come,' he understood the reve- lation of disinterested love under the Gospel. One day, a relative of mine, talking with him about the text Rom. ix. 3 (' I could wish myself accursed') observed that the passage should be rendered, 1800-1803.] REV. DR. HOPKINS. 81 'I did wish.' Dr. Hopkins replied, that if Paul did not saj- what our version ascribes to him, he ought to have said it. The idea of entire self-surrender to the general good was the strongest in his mind. How far he founded his moral system on the ' general good,' may be learned best from a tract he left on the subject, which Mrs. Hopkins put into my hands after his death. " He was very true to his doctrine of disinterestedness, as far as money was concerned. His liberality abounded in his deep pov- erty. One day m}^ elder brother visited him to take leave of him, on going to establish himself in another town. Dr. Hopkins said to him : ' I suppose you hope to get money. Very well. Get it justly, and spend it generously, and I don't care how much you get.' Dr. Patten told me that once, at a meeting of ministers, the case of a poor widow was laid before them, on which occasion Dr. Hopkins gave all he had, a quarter of a dollar. He was accus- tomed to say, that after that time he never knew want, and was able to commit himself without doubt to Providence. It was m}- habit, in the years 1800 and 1801, to attend a montlily meeting of pra3-er for the revival and spread of religion. Our number some- times did not exceed twenty'- or thirty. Still, a collection was taken for missionar}' purposes, and, as most of us were verj^ poor, our contributions did not greatly exceed the widow's mite. On one oc- casion, as I have heard from Dr. Patten, however, a hundred-dollar bill appeared in the box. Dr. Hopkins had received the same for the copyright of one of his books ; and he made this offering at a time when he received next to no salary, and often, as I under- stood, depended for his dinner on the liberality of a parishioner. " His views of the Divine agency and sovereignty were utterl}' irreconcilable with human freedom. He one day said to me that he did not see how a man could be more active, or (as I understood him) more a free agent, than in being pleased with a thing ; and in the last sermon I heard from him, he insisted that nothing was neeessar}- to responsibility but that a man should do as he pleased. The origin of the pleasure or volition was of no importance. "His preaching can only be understood by one who had heard him. His voice was most untunable. Some of the tones ap- proached those of a cracked bell more nearly' than anything to which I can compare it. He changed from a low to a high key, and the reverse, with no apparent reason. His manner was with- out animation. His matter, as far as I can trust my memory, was not made acceptable by an}^ adaptation to the taste of the hearer. He had exercised the severer faculties of his mind too much to give a fair chance to the imagination. He had no relish for poetry, and 6 82 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [^t. 20-23. spoke of himself as finding no attraction in Milton or Shakespeare. If his stj'le was clear and strong, he owed these qualities to his habits of thought, and not to any study of the best writers. We cannot wonder then that he was a very uninteresting preacher. He sometimes ascribed the unfruitfulness of his ministry to other causes, and seemed to see in it a judgment on himself. But a minister who has not the gift to win attention should see no m3-s- tery in his failing to do good. Dr. Hopkins was a student, not a preacher. His mind was habitually emplo3'ed in investigation, and he never studied the art of communication. With an unharmonious voice, with no graces of manner or style, and with a disposition to bring forward abstract and unpalatable notions, is it wonderful that he did so little in the pulpit? "His preaching had much naivete vfhen he descended from his abstractions. He used to speak without circumlocution, and in a plain, conversational way. Once, in preaching at Dr. Patten's, he spoke of the ' loaves and fishes ' as what men were still running after ; and his simple, blunt manner provoked a smile from some of his younger hearers. He saw it, and said, ' You may smile, but it is true.' ' ' He was an intense student. I have learned that he studied fourteen hours a day. He told me that once he allowed himself only four hours' sleep. His study was visible from m^' father's house, and I recollect that, rising very early one winter morning, I saw the light of his candle streaming through the window. He took little exercise. His frame was ver}' strong, or he must have sunk under his labors. ' ' He was facetious in conversation. I preached for him once ; and after the service in the pulpit, he smiled on me and said, ' The hat is not made 5'et.' On m}' asking an explanation, he told me that Dr. Bellani}- used to speak of theology as a progressive science, and compare the different stages of it to the successive processes of making a hat. The beaver was to be born, then to be killed, and then the felt to be made, &c. Having thus explained the similitude, he added, ' The hat is not made, and I hope 3'ou will help to finish it.' " His views of the times were dark. I one day told him that he must feel encouraged b}- the many revivals which were taking place. He replied, that these would only continue the existence of the church, but that great trials were to be expected before its tri- umphs. He gave a great deal of thought to prophecy, and was supposed to have a peculiar gift for its interpretation ; how justl}' I cannot say. 1800-1803.] REV. DR. HOPKINS. 83 " Like most of the ministers of the time, he was a strong Feder- alist, and was greatly' grieved by the political heres}' of his deacon, almost his only male church-member, whom, however, he did not spare, though in losing him he would have lost the only officer of the church. " He was a man of perfect honesty, and he loved honesty in others. I remember his giving me an account of a council, at which he assisted, for ordination of a candidate who had received liberal opinions on religion. The 3'oung man made no secret of his views, which were exceedingly offensive to several of the council. He answered the questions which were put to him with entire frank- ness ; and I recollect the smile of complacency with which Dr. Hopkins spoke of his honest}-, while dissenting from his opinions. " Dr. Patten told me, what I did not observe, that he attached more and more importance to his opinions as he grew old, and that he bore opposition less patiently, though Dr. Patten, who was his disciple, thought him not at all excessive in this particular. I re- member hearing of a severe rebuke he administered to a Methodist minister for his errors. One day, Dr. Hopkins met at the public library a singular man named Stuart, or Stewart, sometimes called ' the walking philosopher,' in consequence of his having travelled over a good part of the world on foot. Stuart was a man of much kindness, too kind to la}' his weight on a horse, or to eat animal food, or even to kill a mosquito, when sucking his blood ; but he was an atheist, and let drop some expression of his opinions before Dr. Hopkins. The Doctor was moved to indignation, and cried out, ' You fool ! were it not for God, you could not move a step from where 3'ou stand.' Stuart replied calmly to Dr. Patten, who was present, ' The old gentleman seems disturbed.' " Dr. Patten told me that Dr. Hopkins was doubtful as to the reality of his religion. He clung to the decrees, though, for aught he knew, he might himself be decreed to endless misery. I suspect, however, that his doubt was like that which men feel as to their living through the day. He was habitually cheerful, though I once saw him in what seemed to me deep dejection. I was with him the day after he was seized with his last sickness. A minister present prayed with him, and for the continuance of his life. When the prayer was finished. Dr. Hopkins said something to this effect : ' You should not have asked for my life. I can do nothing more. It is time for me to go.' He could not at that moment have been distressed by doubts. Perhaps these were the last words I heard from him. " These are very unimportant reminiscences, but I felt bound to 84 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [^t. 20-23. contribute what I could to his biography. The prominent light in which Dr. Hopkins is to be placed is that of a student seeking the glory of God and the spread of true religion, by purifying the com- mon faith of its errors, and unfolding the Christian sj'stem in its harmony and true proportions. He had man}' qualities fitting him for a reformer, — great singleness of purpose, invincible patience of research, sagacity to detect and courage to expose errors, a thirst for consistency of views, and resolution to carry out his principles to their legitimate consequences. I consider him as having contributed largel}' to the more rational form in which Cal- vinism is held among us. I cannot judge in what proportions this credit is to be divided between him and President Edwards, and I shall be pleased to be enlightened on this point in your biography. I indeed shrink with a feeling approaching horror from some of his doctrines, but do not on that account withhold the reverence due to his character." The generous and discriminating notice of Dr. Hopkins given by Dr. Channing, in his sermon at the dedication of the Unitarian Church in Newport,^ should be read in connection with these remi- niscences by all who would full}' understand the relation between this veneraljle man and his young friend. He there says: "I need not be ashamed to confess the deep impression which his sys- tem made on my youthful mind. I am grateful to this stern teacher for turning my thoughts and heart to the clamis and majesty of impartial, universal benevolence." In December, 1801, Mr. Channing was elected to the office of Regent in Harvard University, — a situation in every way most desirable, as it gave him support while pursuing his studies, exacted only the slight duty of preserving order in the building where he resided and of exercising a general superintendence over the 3'oung men, brought him into the immediate neighborhood of the valua- ble library of the college, and, though separating him from his family, reunited him to his elder brother. He returned to Cam- bridge in the early part of the year 1802 ; and his appearance, manner, and character at this period are thus described by his college friend. Judge White : — "At that time, I remember, my impression was, that a greater change had passed over him during the few years of his absence than I was prepared to expect. Instead of the firm, elastic step and animated manner which used to distinguish him, he appeared somewhat debilitated by ill health, and was more remarkable than 1 Works, Vol. IV. p. 342. One Volume Edition, p. 423. 1800-1803.] RETURN TO CAMBRIDGE. 85 formerly for gentleness, and a serious air and tone of conversation. I had thouglit of him as peculiarly qualified for eminence in the legal profession, and was struck with some surprise on finding that he had no ambition for any such distinction. But I soon perceived how much more elevated was his ambition. His wliole soul was engaged in the sacred studies to which he had devoted himself, and he at once showed that he had already become what St. Paul charged Timothy to be, — ' an example in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.' His wisdom, goodness, and sanctity, as well as his genius and intellectual powers, were strongly developed ; and I began to feel in his company, what only increased upon me afterwards, a mingled affection and respect, approaching to awe, which the presence of no other man ever in- spired in the same degree. " In the spring vacation of that year, being myself connected with the University, I had the measles badly at my room in college, and I have alwa3s remembered him as a comforting angel in my forlorn condition. As expressed by me at the time, 'I suffered nothing from want of attention, «S:c. William Channing watched with me, besides bringing me nice things as proofs of the ladies' remembrance. He has himself all the softness and delicacy of manner in attending to the sick which would become a woman.' This but feebly represents the impression which his tender and assiduous care made upon me, and which I coukl never forget. A China cup, in which he brouglit some of the ' nice things,' being left at my room, has been preserved as a precious memorial of his kindness, and is still among the first objects to greet my eye in the morning, .and to awaken delightful associations connected with him, — associations which can hardly fail to have a salutary influ- ence through the day. The agreeable and generous manner in which all his favors were conferred added to their intrinsic value a charm which made the remembrance of them peculiarly grateful. Such instances of kindness, however common they may have been, are worthy of notice, as illustrations of his character, and of the genuineness and extent of his benevolence. He always seemed actuated by the same sincere and elevated Christian love, manifest- ing it in his whole manner, and in all his social intercourse, ex- tending the same cordial greeting to those who were entitled to it, whether he met them in solitude or in society, among the hum- ble, or in the presence of high dignitaries. The imposing presence of official greatness, which might make some persons forgetful of humbler friends, never appeared to influence him in the slightest degree. His own great mind was above tlie ordinary effect of such 86 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [JEt. 20-23. circumstances, and it cost him no effort to be faithful to his convic- tions of the inherent dignity of man's nature, and to carry out his principles in all his conduct." In relation to his theological studies, and the opportunities offered to him at Harvard, the same friend gives the following account : — "■When he was pursuing his professional studies at the Uni- versity, we must remember that his advantages were very different from those now enjoyed thei'c by the students in divinit}'. At that time the means of theological instruction were comparatively meagre ; yet they were doubtless superior to what could be expected from the tuition of any clerg3man unconnected with the University, and greater to Mr. Channing than to other resident graduates en- gaged in the like studies. President Willard, I well remember, in speaking of the Regent's office, told me that one of his views in recommending its establishment was to afford an eligible situation for some worthy student in divinit^^ who might be induced by it to pursue his studies at Cambridge. I have no doubt that Mr. Chan- ning found it an eligible situation, and with his peculiar qualifications for self-direction, and his strong turn of mind for an independent course of stud^- and inquiry, that he made greater proficienc}' than is now common, even with distinguished scholars, who enjoy the higher i)rivileges afforded by the theological institution. Presi- dent Willard and Professor Tappan, both of them able and learned divines, were constantly accessible for advice and assistance, in addition to the interesting public lectures of the latter, who was then also delivering his course upon the Jewish Antiquities." Of Professor Tappan, the Rev. Dr. Pierce writes as follows : — " You may know Mr. Channing's opinion of him by the fact that he had him to preach his ordination sermon. He was considered a moderate Calvinist, which the Rev. John Dipi)on of Taunton used to say ' is a contradiction in terms.' Dr. Tappan was as impartial a divine as I ever knew, extremely cautious not to prepossess the minds of his pui)ils, and always exhorting them to judge for them- selves. It is well known that there was a strong mutual attach- ment between the professor and his distinguished pupil. Dr. Tapi)an was not only one of the most popular divines who entered our pul- pits, l)ut such men as George Cabot, Fisher Ames, Judge Lowell, did not hesitate to pronounce him one of the best preachers of the day." A friend, who was much with Mr. Channing at the period of his life which we are now considering, has the impression that his time was more occupied in writing than in reading. And his remaining 1800-1803.] HABIT OF WRITING. 87 papers give every reason to believe that he had akeady formed his peculiar habit of following out a train of thought pen in hand. Writing was with him, as he often said, the one great means of making clear to himself his own thoughts. New suggestions were noted ; contradictory views placed side by side ; qualifications and exceptions carefuUj^ stated under the admitted principles to which they referred ; broad, general views given of wliole subjects ; par- ticular conclusions succinctly recorded ; and tlius gi-adually, from a main root, a whole series of truths branched out and divided itself into its large classifications and minuter bearings. He early acquired these habits of methodical thinking ; and all principles and facts grouped themselves into an order, which was the farthest pos- sible from a mere mechanical arrangement, and which was ever unfolding under the organizing power of his spirit. This exactness of mind should be carefully heeded by all who would trace aright Mr. Channing's after progress as a theologian and a religious and social reformer. For what might often have seemed to those little acquainted with the laws of his inward nature like timidity or slow- ness was actually but the working of his unappeasable desire to obtain such a view of any subject as should have coherent whole- ness in itself, and be in unity with other views which he regarded as established. Already he was thus cautiously and patiently investigating the great problems, — as to the Divine Being and Character, — Human Nature, its destiny and duties, — Christ and Christianity, — Society and its various relations, — to the solution of which his after-life was consecrated. No authors probably aided him much in this travailing to give birth to great thoughts conceived by the spirit. But two writers were so often and so gratefully referred to by him — besides Hutcheson, Ferguson, and Price, whose influence has already been described — as to prove that they did something to de- termine at this period the current of his thoughts. The first, and by far the most useful to him, was Butler, whose " Ser- mons on Human Nature " he regarded as unsurpassed in English for clear, full, condensed thought, and to which may be traced, perhaps, the germs of some of his most important views. And the second was Law, whose mystic piety and earnest longing for spiritual perfection touched harmoniously many chords of his religious sympathy, although he felt that his temper was in other respects gloomy and narrow. He spoke with much regard, also, of Edwards, whose energy of intellect he greatly admired, while denying the soundness of his doctrine of necessity, and utterly rejecting its conclusions; many of whose writings he 88 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [^x. 20-23. thought suggestive of deepl}' interesting views of the spiritual rela- tions between the Divine Being and man, while he was horror- struck at the theolog}' of others ; and whose sketch of his conversion he once read in part to a friend, with a voice trembling in its ten- derness and c^'cs softened with emotion, as being one of the most pathetic and beautiful sketches ever given of the deeper workings of the soul.^ His habits as a student may be partially' illustrated b}-^ the fol- lowing extracts from his private manuscripts of that period. Tliey show the earnestness with which he was seeking to control his intellect and to direct it to the highest objects. "It is easy to read, but hard to think. Without thinking, we cannot make the sentiments of others our own. Thinking alone adopts them into our family. It is my misfortune, that I have read much, but have reflected little. Let me reverse this order. I prefer strength of impression to superficial knowledge, however exten- sive." "We are very apt to think we have ideas, when we have only words. We mistake s3'non3'mes for definitions. I have often found rich ideas by anal^-zing words, particularly when they are metaphorical. Words should never be used in a loose sense. We are apt to be led astray by imperfect analogies, particularlj- in reasoning on the nature of Deit}'. It has been well observed, that, when beginning a subject, we should consider the degree of evi- dence to which we should yield our assent." " In pursuit of truth I should possess indefatigable patience and invincible perseverance. Have I not embraced errors to avoid the toil of inquiry? Let me read no enfeebling productions, l)ut such poetry and works of fancy only as will tend to strengthen the pur- poses and elevate the feelings of mj^ soul. I wish to acquire a calm energ}', a strong principle of love and independence. Let me kindle a fire in my heart at the altars of religion, benevolence, and nature." "It is always best to think first for ourselves on an}' subject, and then to have recourse to others for the correction or improve- ment of our own sentiments. Thus we ma^' reach truth, wliich we should never have observed had we caught a particular mode of thinking from any author. No princii)les should be received from education and habit merely. Let me observe, before perusing the opinions of observers. We check original thought by first learning how and what to think from others. The strength of others should 1 Edwards's Works, Vol. I. p. 35. 1800-1803.] RULES FOR STUDY. 89 be called in only to assist our weakness, not to prevent the exertion of our own powers. By means of this dependence on books, error, as well as truth, descends in hereditary succession. The sources of original thought are dried up, and the mind is overflowed by foreign streams derived through channels which other men have formed. Self-dependence in science is the road to useful truth. The quantity of knowledge thus gained may be less, but the quality will be superior. Truth received on authority, or acquired witliout labor, makes but a feeble impression." "Whenever hypotheses are to be formed, let me first set down the facts on which they must be grounded, and weigh them care- fully. It would be advisable to form a blank book merely for the insertion of those truths to which I assent ; and it would be useful to revise whatever I have hitherto taken for granted, and judge it impartially. Let me beware lest a love of originality lead me astray. Ambition is as fatal as prejudice. Love of truth is the only principle which should influence us ; and those truths which will have influence on life are alone worthy of present attention. I was born for action. My object is to do good to the world by pro- moting the cause of religion, as well as to advance myself in religion. A life of constant action and unwearied exertion excludes universal knowledge. The improvement of the heart is infinitely more important than the enlargement of the understanding. I hope for immortality in heaven, not immortal fame on earth. I therefore wish to have a few important truths impressed deeply on my mind, rather than to be lost in that chaos of universal knowledge which has hitherto distracted me. Knowledge is only a means. Let me not make it the end. Abstruse speculations on useless subjects will but waste my time." "I must be very careful, lest, when rn}^ heart is warmed, I should be disposed to receive without examination the errors of enthusiasm for Christian truth. I fear that I am prejudiced in favor of some doctrines, and there is danger of my bending Scrip- ture to my preconceived opinions. Let me always pray for impar- tiality, and strive to read without prejudice. I should also try to acquire a spirit of moderation from the Bible, instead of that nar- rowness of sentiment which is creeping upon me. Let me study Scripture without any ambitious views of striking out a new system, or of shining by ingenuity. Plain truth is worth far more than the splendid speculations of philosophical divines." But already Mr. Channing's efforts were checked, and his spirits damped, by that state of half-health which did so much during the 90 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [JEt. 20-23. whole of his earl}' manhood to repress his native ardor and prob- ably to overcast his firmament of thought, though it could never subdue his elastic will and truly heroic conscience. To his grand- father EUer^' he thus describes his trials : — ' ' Perhaps it is fortunate for 3-ou that I have not written. A kind of stupefaction, of mental inactivity, has seized on me. A weight of duhiess has oppressed all my faculties. My under- standing and imagination have been buried under a cloud, my feel- ings deadened, and every spring of action relaxed. I feel but little interest in anything, and yet I am not at ease. This insensibility is morbid, the effect of disease, an unnatural state of the mind, a violence on its powers and energies. I do not act or feel, ^et my sluggishness is not voluntar3\ I am hemmed in, — I am fettered. Like Enceladus, I groan under the mountain. I labor to remove it ; but still, still it weighs on my breast, and seems to press heavier after every struggle. In fact, my late complaint has had more to do with the mind than the body, or rather the body has been affected in such a manner as peculiarly to affect the mind." Amidst this bodily and mental depression, making a path for himself between scepticism on the one side and a gloom}- theolog}^ on the other, slowly winning his way to peace and light, delicately conscientious, eager for unobscured views, aspiring with the intense enthusiasm of a highl}' ideal temperament after perfect good, he found the refreshment he so much needed in the societ}' of his elder brotlier, whose sweet, tender, glad, and poetic spirit formed with his a beautiful accord. Their leisure hours were passed to- gether in most unreserved intimacy, while sometimes the}' followed the paths which wound tln-ough the then unbroken woods of Mount Aubui'n, or overlooked the wide panorama from Prospect Hill, and sometimes wore away the night beside the embers on their student's hearth. Then, and ever after, they stood in mutual relations of transparent confidence, and were united by that devoted friendship which, next after communion with the Divine Spirit, and the love of a true marriage, is the holiest tie in life. P'rancis thus writes : "A word of our dear William. You know not how happ}' I feel in such a brother. He is a bright light in the world ; he illumines, he animates, he points the way." Near the close of his theological studies, Mr. Channing was ad- mitted as " a member in full communion of the First Church of Christ in Cambridge," which was at that time under the charge of the Rev. Dr. Abiel Holmes, who, in theolog}', was a " moderate Calvinist," and as a man was highly respected for unpretending 1800-1803.] DOCTRINAL OPINIONS. 91 piet}' and uprightness. The doctrinal opinions which he at this time entertained are embodied, though not very distinctl}-, in some articles of faith which he appears to have prepared for his own use. It would seem that his views were such as would then have been called Arian, but strongly tinged with opinions derived from Dr. Hopkins. At this time, as through life, Mr. Channing kept aloof from sec- tarian entanglements, for by instinct he dreaded, as much as from principle he disapproved, all fetters upon free thought. But it certainh'' is not strange that one, holding such opinions as he has recorded, should have been supposed to have a leaning towards Orthodoxy, as from the following communication it appears was the case. "He received the usual approbation to preach, I think," says Dr. Pierce, " from the Cambridge Association. As there was then no Divinity School, and he was peculiarly cautious about commit- ting himself on points of difference among Christians, as he was also supposed to be in familiar correspondence with his grandfather Ellery, who had the reputation of Orthodoxy of the Hopkins stamp, suspicions were entertained by some that he himself would enlist on that side. So thought some of the ministers composing the Asso- ciation before which he appeared for approbation. For, as he him- self told me, the only question proposed to him, after reading his sermon, was by Dr. Stearns of Lincoln, — " Whether he believed that God was the author of sin ? ' " Any doubts as to the actual state of his opinions, however, are put at rest b}' his own testimon}', as given in later j-ears. "There was a time," said he, "when I verged towards Calvinism, for ill health and depression gave me a dark view of things. But the doc- trine of the Trinit}' held me back. When I was stud3ing my pro- fession, and religion was the subject of deepest personal concern with me, I followed Doddridge through his 'Rise and Progi-ess' till he brought me to a prayer to Jesus Christ. There I stopped, and wrote to a friend that my spiritual guide was gone where I could not follow him. I was never in any sense a Trinitarian." Judge White thus confirms this statement : — "In a conversation which I had with him, on our way to visit Dr. Osgood, of Medford, about the time he commenced preaching, he spoke of Dr. Hopkins with warm esteem, both as a friend and a theologian, dwelling with particular emphasis on the strong feature of benevolence which marked both his character and his divinity, 92 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [^t. 20-23. and observing ver^- pointed!}', that ' tliose wlio were called Hopkin- sians, and considered his followers, appeared to know little of him or of his true theological views.' With all his esteem for his friend Dr. Hopkins, he had no s^'mpath}' with these supposed followers, or with their leading opinions. His not manifesting an oi)en and zealous concurrence with any particular sect or denomination, to- gether with the deep seriousness of his religious impressions, might have gi^en him something of an Orthodox reputation ; but I am persuaded tliat he was neither more nor less entitled to it at that time than at any subsequent period of his life ; for he was distin- guished then, as ever afterwards, for his devotion to truth and for the spirit of free inquiry." Mr. Channing began to preach in the autumn of 1802, being then in his twent^'-third year. " I find in my register for 1802," writes Judge White, " the fol- lowing memorandum against October 24 : ' Medford. Spent the Sunday and heard Brother Channing for the first time preach ' ; — and I have even now a distinct recollection of our interview with Dr. Osgood, at his house, where we dined, and of the gratification I experienced at hearing him express the most decided approbation of the discourse, and speak of the 3'oung preacher's whole services and manner in the kindest terms of sympathy' and commendation. Having been intimatel}' acquainted with Dr. Osgood, and knowing how frankly he expressed his real opinion, I felt some solicitude till he had spoken, and was the more gi'atified b}' what he said. Yet he did not express himself so strongly as he did afterwards, in the absence of Mr. Channing. I know that he regarded him as a 3'Oung preacher of extraordinar}' gifts, and of the highest promise in his profession. I mention this more particular!}', having seen it eiTO- neously stated in the ' Chiistian Register,' I think by an anon}'- mous writer, that his early performance was not thus promising. My expectations, which had been high, were full}' realized wlien I first heard him. There was the same charm in his sentiments and tones of voice which I ever after experienced from his preaching. Indeed, to me he always appeared essentially the same, though always advancing ; and the chief diflfcrence between his early and later preaching seemed to arise from his greater freedom, energy, and earnestness, both of spirit and manner, as he advanced in his profound views of religion and humanity." His preaching at once attracted attention for its fervor, solemnity, and beauty. The power of his look and tone, so exi)ressive of a soul that overflowed with spiritual life, won the hearts of his hear- 1800-1803.] INVITATION TO SETTLE. 93 ers, and was felt as evidence that he spoke with tlic authority of experience. A person wlio heard his first sermon, on the text, " Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee," in which he described the large range of benevolent action open to ever}' human being, however situated, describes his manner as sin- gularly "radiant and full of heavenl}- joy." The general admira- tion felt for his spirit and genius is proved by the fact that he was immediately asked to preach in Boston, Massachusetts, as a candi- date for settlement, by the society' in Brattle Street and by the society in Federal Street. The Rev. Dr. Thacher, pastor of the Brattle Street congregation, being quite infirm, was beginning to feel the need of a colleague ; and the leading men among his people were exceedingly desirous that Mr. Channing should be elected to fill this oflJice. The}- consulted with him freely in relation to the proposed arrangement, and gave him their assurance that he would receive the invitation of the society to become their associate pastor if he would once more preach before them. He returned to Newport to rest and recruit, however, without giving them a defi- nite answer. Meanwhile the society in Federal Street had been so strongly attracted towards Mr. Channing that thev hastened at once to re- quest him to settle with them, and deputed Deacon Francis AV right to wait upon him with the following " call" : — "Boston, December 29, 1802. " Dear Sir, — When a committee of the religious society in Fed- eral Street lately- made application to j'ou to preach on probation, the}' were influenced not merely by their own united opinions, but by their persuasion of the dispositions and wishes of the society which they represented. "It is gratifying to find that in this persuasion they were not mistaken, but that the society have received such satisfaction from your ministration among them, and have such a conviction of your character and accomplishments, that they were prepared for a more decisive expression of their approbation. At a full meeting of the society, holden on the 28th instant, they voted to invite you to be- come their pastor, and have assigned to us the grateful office of presenting to you their invitation "We have thus the satisfaction to ofl'er you the desires of a united people, and cannot but express a hope that this invitation and the proposals accompanying it will be acceptable to you. Such a result we shall consider as a blessing of Heaven on the society and its members, and all with whom they are tenderly connected. 94 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [JEt. 20'-2a "Any explanations or further communications from us, which may be considered necessary, we shall cheerfully offer on request ; for this purpose a personal interview would be agreeable to us, but the distance and the season of the year would render it inconven- ient for the committee to repair to Newport. If it should be con- venient to you, before your proposed return to this vicinity, to be at Providence or Bristol, some of the committee would have the pleasure of meeting you at either of those places, at such time as you shall specify. "In the name and behalf of the society, we remain, " Respectfully, with great regard, " Your friends and obedient servants, ' ' Francis Wright, Henry Hunter, Thomas Davis, John Davis, Simon P^lliot, Russell Sturgis, Edward Tuckerman, Jr., Committee. "Mr. William E. Channing." Together with this call, Mr. Channing received persuasive ap- peals from many friends, advising him to preach again, as requested, at Brattle Street. But Dr. Thacher was now dead ; and feeling that he was at once too ill and too inexperienced to discharge alone the duties in so large a congregation, and that the difficulties inci- dent to the settlement of a colleague with him were great, he deter- mined not to offer himself to that society as a candidate. In his letter he says : — ' ' I hope that I have not subjected your society to inconvenience by delaying to this period my answer to their application. A re- quest of such importance required long deliberation. I have con- sidered my decision as one which must seriously affect my whole future life. I have been unwilling, too, to determine without the counsel of my friends ; and from a concurrence of opinion, I am constrained to decline the invitation of the church and congregation in Brattle Street to preach before them with a view to settlement. " I have been for some tmie in a feeble state of health, and the labor of speaking in your house is so great that there would be danger of fatal injury. In so numerous a societ}', also, profes- sional engagements would require great exertions, the fatigues of 1800-1803.] FEDERAL STREET SOCIETY. 95 which might unfit me for that attention to stud}^ on which m}- use- fulness must very much depend. It is principally by impressing religious truth that a minister is instrumental in promoting the happiness of his people ; and his own personal discipline is indis- pensably- necessary to a faithful and effectual ministration of the word of God. Hence the importance, not only of health, but of much leisure, especially to one so young and inexperienced as m}-- self. Could I, then, consistently with a regard to the prosperity of the church, and the eternal interests of my hearers, desire a situ- ation which would require efforts disproportioned to my strength, and where the multiplicity of duties would allow but little oppor- tunity^ for improvement? " Your society. Sir, has much indeed to recommend it. But do not the very circumstances of your influence and numbers attach high responsibility to the office of your minister, and render experi- ence, improved talents, and insight of character peculiarly neces- sary? A man of principle should first of all inquire whether he is capable of performing the duties he is called to undertake ; and in calculating his powers he ought to guard against too high an esti- mation of them, lest he be led to engage in a sphere to which he is inadequate. My feelings, as well as my reason, recommend for me a more humble sphere ; and I have a confidence that you will be no sufferers in consequence of the resolution which I have adopted. " In thus declining the invitation of the church and congregation in Brattle Street, I am influenced by the highest respect for their character, and a sincere regard for their most important interests. And may God support and guide them by his grace and power ! "Under a grateful sense of the honor conferred on me by the society which you represent, I remain, with great respect, " Your obedient servant, ««W. E, ClIANNING." This letter, otherwise unimportant, is inserted as illustrative of the caution with which its writer made up his judgment as to any course of conduct, though he was prompt and resolute in executing his purposes when formed. It shows, too, very clearly his humble estimate of his own abilities, and his conscientious desire to fit him- self for efficient service in his vocation. Wisdom and moderation had already become his law. Mr. Channing was the more inclined to settle at Federal Street, because, while the weakness of that society called out his sympa- thies, he was hopeful that his health would permit him to meet with fidelity the hmited demand which would there be made upon him. 96 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [Mt. 20-23. So, returning to Boston, he conferred with the committee of the societ}', and accepted their call in the following letter : — " To the Committee of the Religious Society in Federal Street. " Gentlemen, — I now address you to communicate m}' accept- ance of the invitation of the society in Federal Street to settle with them as their minister. The character of the society, the favorable disposition the}' have expressed towards me, and the prospect of usefulness in a situation so well adapted to my present state of health, render this call peculiarl}- agreeable. " The proposals 3'ou have communicated are entirel}' satisfactory' ; and when I consider them as expressive of regard to religion, and originating in a desire to relieve your minister from solicitudes and embarrassments, I accede to them with pleasure " In settling among 3'ou, I shall consider the prosperity of the society as my end and happiness. As an ambassador of Christ, I shall endeavor faithfully to declare those truths which he has re- vealed in his Word, and on which the purity of the church and the eternal interests of mankind depend. " Though young and feeble, I am encouraged to form this solemn connection from a confidence in that candor and affection I have already experienced. I desire 3'our pra3'ers to Almighty God, that he would enable me to perform the important duties of my calling, and that my labors may not be in vain in the Lord. " With great respect, I remain, " Your sincere friend and obedient servant, "William E. Channing. "Boston, February 12, 1803." On Wednesday, June 1, 1803, Mr. Channing was ordained. The order of services was as follows : Introductory prayer by the Rev. Dr. Holmes, of Cambridge ; discourse b}' the Rev. Dr. Tappan, Professor at Harvard Universit}' ; pra3'er of consecration b3' the Rev. Dr. Osgood, of Medford ; charge 1)3' his uncle, the Rev. Henry Channing, of New London, who had declined preaching the sermon ; right hand of fellowship by his classmate and friend, the Rev. Joseph Tuckerman, of Chelsea. One who was a devoted parishioner and a warm personal friend in after years, George Ticknor, Esq., has communicated the follow- ing sketch of this occasion : — " M3' first recollection of Dr. Channing is on the da3' of his ordi- nation. My father, who was one of the council, led me by the hand, as a small bo}' ; and I went with him in the procession, and sat 1800-1803.] HIS ORDINATION. 97 with him. So far as I now remember, I had never heard of the person to be ordained ; and I have still no recollection of anything in the services of the daj', till they were about to be concluded. Then the pale, spiritual-looking young man, whose consecration I had witnessed without really understanding its purport, rose and announced the closing hymn. M3' attention was immediately fas- tened on him, and particularly on his visible emotion, when he came to the last stanza : — ' My tongue repeats her vows, Peace to tliis sacred liouse ! For here my friends and brethren dwell; And since my glorious God Makes tliee his blest abode, My soul shall ever love thee well.' His looks, the tones of his trembling voice, and the devout air with which he repeated rather than read these lines, are still present to me whenever the scene comes up in my thoughts ; and, in fact, at the time the}' so impressed the words themselves on my mind, that I have never forgotten them since. After the hymn had been sung, he rose once more, and in the same tender and devout manner pro- nounced a very simple benediction. In this, too, I see him still freshly before me, with his upcast eyes, and remember thinking how spiritual he was, and being sad that from his feeble appear- ance it did not seem as if he would live long." During the spring and summer, before and after his ordination, Mr. Channing resided at Brookline, in the family of Stephen Hig- ginson, Jr., whose heart, overflowing with benevolence and hos- pitality, had taken the interests of the young minister under his paternal care, and who, together with his devout and excellent wife, — who, though orthodox in views, was liberal in spirit, — rejoiced in the saintly puritj' and rich intelligence of their friend. Here a large librar}- and ever^' convenience for study or relaxation were open to his use ; his bodily health was benefited by country air and free exercise amidst the picturesque landscapes of that most beau- tiful neighborhood ; and his affections found a home. PART SECOND. Chapter I. — EARLY MINISTRY. ^T. 23-34. 1803-1814. IT was in his twenty-fourtli year tliat Mr. Clianning entered upon his ministerial course in Boston, ah-eady fitted by the dis- cipline of life and inward experience to sympathize in the move- ments of the time and place in which his lot was cast, and destined to lend them efficient aid. But before tracing his relations to tliat development of spirituality, liberty, love, which it was the mission of his age to promote, let us first observe his growth toward the stature of a perfect man in his closet and home circle, in his par- ish and immediate neighborhood. Thus shall we follow down the stream from its mountain springs, which were fed by the rains of heaven. The family of an estimable parishioner, with whom Mr. Chan- ning at first resided, remember him at that period as serious in deportment to a degree that was even oppressive. He had the air of one absorbed in his own contemplations, and looked careworn, weary, and anxious. Society seemed distasteful ; he joined but little in conversation ; took his meals in haste ; was retired in his ways ; lived mostly in his study ; appeared rather annoyed than pleased with visitors; seldom went abroad, — dechning, when pos- sible, all invitations; and, in a word, was most content when left uninterruptedly to himself. There was sweetness in his looks and words, however ; solemn counsels were gently given, and an atmos- phere of holiness threw a winning charm over his conversation and conduct. Undoubtedly, this reserve, the shade of which was deepest in his first entrance upon his duties, and which cleared awa}' as he became more confirmed in goodness and wisdom, was parti}' owing to his habit of fastening attention upon an}' subject that in- terested him, and of brooding over it even while in society and in action, — a fault in his regard, of which he early became aware, and which he endeavored through his later life to check. In his jour- nals he frequently thus refers to it : — 1803-1814.] EXCESSIVE STUDY. 99 "A subject has been veiy injurious to me. It has shut me up in mj' room till my body has been exhausted, and has led to neglect of my people and famil}-. I must be moderate in everything." " It will often be useful to fix the number of hours during which I will attend to a subject, and rigidly to adhere to the determina- tion." " My mode of study destroys me, my health, my piety, my social feelings ; and is therefore sinful." " My long absorption in a subject enfeebles my mind, prevents its free action, casts a cloud over my thoughts, produces a painful anxiety'." " M}' speculations about the origin of moral feelings, &c., can- not justify a practical neglect of them." ' ' No subject can be usefully continued bej'ond a certain time. The mind needs to be recruited. All the motives which impel me to pursue the subject require me to disengage my mind for a season." "The attainment of truth requires me to be able to continue in a state of doubt until I have had time to examine all the arguments which relate to a point ; and this examination, however protracted, if conducted by a love of truth, is virtuous, — approved by con- science and God, — the improvement of my best powers, — an approximation towards God." " The wretchedness I have suffered on so many topics shows the importance of limiting the period of attention." "Because doubt spreads itself over one subject I ought not to doubt of all. This will lead to miser3\ A narrow mind cannot see the connections between many propositions which are yet sup- ported b}' sufficient proofs." " M}' sleep has been broken b}- anxiety at not discovering truth." ' ' Let it be my rule never to carry a subject with me into society. My social duties are in this way neglected." But his serious manner was chiefly to be traced to profound conscientiousness. Without the elastic spirits which a vigorous tone of bod}' gives, as a power of reaction for the spirit, he bent beneath a feeling of unfitness for the duties of his vocation. To a 3'oung friend who was just entering upon the ministry, and who was oppressed b}' a like sense of responsibility, he once said : " Take courage. I suffered as 30U now do. In the early years of my ministry, ill health and a deep consciousness of unworthiness took away mj- energy and hope, and I had almost resolved to quit my profession. My brother Francis begged me to persevere, to 100 EARLY MINISTRY. [Mt. 23-34. make a fairer trial ; and to his influence I owe very much the con- tinuance of labors which, I hope, have not been useless to mj-self or to others." A letter written at this time to his uncle Henry well shows how deep his depression was : — " I have no right to complain of the trials of my ministry'. They are small, compared with what thousands of ray brethren are called to endure. I can complain of nothing but myself. Every day teaches me more of my weakness and corruption, and yet I seem to grow no better. I hope my hearers are more profited by my discourses than I am, or I shall do little good. I can only hope that God designs to humble me, to make me feel my insuffi- ciency, that he may lead me to ascribe the success of my labors to his blessing, whenever he may please to make them powerful to the salvation of souls." His painful struggles, and his mode of triumphing over his weak- ness, are pointed out yet more fully in a letter written many years later to a young brother who had sought his advice : — " I have passed through too much of 3'our sad experience, to be able to treat it harshl}'. M}' own mind has often been read}' to sink under like burdens. A merciful Power has sustained me, and I trust that it will sustain you. It is impossible that a man who is at all alive to his moral and religious obligations should enter on the ministry without man}' solicitudes, fears, and painful convictions of his distance from tlie perfection he is to teach. It is impossible for a 3'oung man, especially if he has been retired in his habits, to appear in a pulpit, — one of the most conspicuous spots on earth, — and to escape all consciousness of himself, and give himself up with an undivided heart to a work to which he is new, and to which his feelings have been but imperfectly trained. The strong- est of all passions, ambition, cannot at once be put to silence, and its inconsistency with the spirit of Christianity and the ministry produces keen self-reproach. " I tell you here what I suppose all ministers could tell, and I see not how the evil is to be avoided under the present constitution of things. God might have committed his word to the ministry of angels, but this he has not seen fit to do ; he intrusts it to earthen vessels, to frail men, to those who need moral and religious educa- tion as truly as their hearers, who reprove themselves in the re- proofs they administer to others, and who are to carry others for- ward by advancing themselves. A deep sense of imperfection and much spiritual conflict are, then, inseparable from the work. 1803-1814.] INWARD STRUGGLES. 101 " Your defects do not at all discourage me. I could tell of those who have struggled through the same. I do not mean to deny their existence. The onl}' question is, Do 3'ou thirst to be im- proved ? Do you thirst for a generous interest in 3'our fellow-crea- tures? Do you desire a new power to do good? Have you the principle of progress in j'ou ? Of this I cannot doubt, nor can you. That 30U are not doomed to stop forever where 30U are, I know. God is giving 30U power in your moral nature, in Christianity, in his Holy Spirit, against selfislmess, apathy, and corrupt ambition. These can be overcome, and must be, and I know not a vocation in which you can withstand them so effectuall3' as in the ministry. The verN' pains 3'ou have suffered, if the3' do not pals3' 3'ou 133- takr ing awa3^ the hope of change and progress, will do 3-ou good. The}' show you that 3'ou are not spirituall}' dead. The3' should satisfy 3-ou that 3-ou have the foundation of great ministerial usefulness(. Set3'ourself to work with new earnestness for your own improvement, and seek to improve yourself, not onl}- for 3-our own sake, but that you may more efrectuall3' improve and quicken 30ur fellow-creatures, and God will crown your labors with success. " What 3'OU need, what all need, is determined self-denial. You need to la3' on yourself severe rules as to the distribution of time, social intercourse, &c. You need force of purjjose, hardiness, and resolution. This is a much deeper evil than selfishness or coldness. You have been brought up, perhaps, too delicately, and are paying the penalt3- of having faced so few storms. You have not 3'et learned to will with that energy and fearlessness to which so many difficulties yield. Do 3'ou ask how this force is to be gained ? We know that exposure, exertion, and conflict with difficulties do much to give tone to the bod3', and so the3' do to the mind. The revolv- ing of elevating thoughts in our closet does little for us. We must bring them home to the mind in the midst of action and difficult3'. I cannot, then, consent that 3'ou should 3-ield to 30ur first serious trial in life. Resolve on the acquisition of moral energ3', — the great- est of acquisitions, — and, as far as you can command circumstances, place 3-ourself where it ma3' be won most eflfectually. I would not expose you ver3" freely at first, an3' more than I would carry the invalid from his warm room into a piercing atmosphere. But take on 30urself some good w^ork, and determine to carr3'^ it througli, whether hard or eas3', painful or pleasant, to the extent of your power. 1 care little where you preach, if 3011 find a sphere which will give a more manly tone to 3our mind, and inure you to wrestle with difficulties. I do not fear, nor must 30U. God bless you ! " 102 EARLY MINISTRY. [^Et. 23-34. In relation to the trials of young ministers, he once also said : "You must not expect too much from your minister, especially at first. If he have sensibility, he will suffer enough from the con- sciousness of deficiencA', without being reminded of it from abroad. I cannot describe to you the load which weighed down m}' mind at the beginning of my ministr}'." How far he was then wrapped about by chill morning fogs, which for a time, but onl}' for a time, shut out the sunshine of God's all- embracing joy, appears also from the following description of his earl^^ experience : — " You tell me j^our faith was the faith of happiness. This is never the surest. Fortunately', mine grew up under a dark sky, and the light has been increasing to this day. My passion for hap- piness spent itself in my youth in reverie. I never thought of realizing the vision on earth, and yet it has, in an humble manner, been realized. My faith in God, schooled by trial, looked to him first and almost exclusively for virtue, for deliverance from the great evil of sin, which I earl}- felt to be the only true evil. The consciousness of unworthiness repressed all hopes of immediate happiness, gave me a profound conviction of the justice of my suffering, turned all my reproaches from Providence on myself, and not on!}- made me incapable of murmuring, but taught me gratitude for the discipline of life. How often, in disappointment, has my first utterance been thanks to the Purifier of the soul ! " Thus m}- faith has never for a moment been shaken In- suffer- ing. The consciousness of unworthiness, of falling so far below my idea of duty, a feeling which hard!}- forsakes me, has helped much to reconcile me to outward evil. It has taken the sting from human reproach. In listening to the inward I'cprover, I have cared little for human opinion, and have found too much truth in censure to be much displeased with any but myself. Accordingly, my re- ligion has taken very much one form : I think of God as the Father, from whose power and love I ma}' seek and hope for myself and others tlie unutterable and only good, — that of deliverance from all inward evil, of perfect, unspotted goodness, of spiritual life now and forever. " I have talked of myself, for, after all, our experience is the best lesson we can give to others. Your nature differs. You have had an impatient thirst for innncdiate happiness, which my early history, and perhaps my mental constitution, forbade me. Happiness has come to me almost as a surprise, without plan or anticipation. You have grasped at it as almost your lawful inherit- ance, and had almost a fueling of wrong at disappointment." 1803-1814.] SELF-DISCIPLINE. 103 Thus all proves that he was at this time concentrated in his own soul, and seeking there to gain tlie unity with God which is salvation. His private papers, especially, show how intently he was striving to subdue evil, to shun temptation, and to give freest room to pure and holy thoughts. Such memorials are sacred, and should be used as under the e3'e of the spirit which wrote these records of its pilgrimage, and now has outgrown and dropped its mortal form. But it may encom-age sinking hearts to know that this good man was tried as they are, and agonized his way to peace. And some few hints are therefore given from his journals. They cannot, indeed, be rightly omitted, in describing one who was so bright an instance of moral victory. These papers most abound in the first years of his ministry, though the habits then formed remained strong through life. They manifest unvarying self- scrutiny, and prove by what toil his character and mind were formed. A tone of self-depreciation runs through them, — so eager is he to detect the most subtle workings of sin, to expel it, and to guard against its return. They reveal an incessant warfare, not with great evils, but with small ones, — with the remnants of evil lurking in the outskirts of his nature. It was by elaborate analysis of his own tendencies, and unfaltering aspiration to the perfect, that he sought to mould himself to a symmetrical goodness. The headings of these papers are various: such as "Ends," " Permanent Objects," " Promises," " Practicable Excellence," "Improvements required," "Relations," "Domestic Reforms," " System," " Subjects of Meditation," "Heart, Character," " Rules of Life," " Directory and Review," &c. It is noticeable in them, that intellect and affections are subjected to the same rigid disci- pline. Their pervading trait is devoutness. " How do I deserve to be removed from my labors, — I who labor so poorly, and with such low motives ! The honor of my work I have forfeited. Let me humble myself before God, and pray for restoration to his service." " How continually selfishness breaks forth ! It must be resisted perpetually. Let nothing be spoken or done to display self; but let simple love be the spring. Do I know what such love will rise to, if cultivated?" " Let me, when in society with those who diflTer from me, feel the importance of sincerity and independence. Let me consider that virtue is infinitely more important than their good opinion. Let me leave to God the impression which I make, when I frankly ex- press feelings and opinions. Let me remember that ultimately the friendship of the good will be secured by the discharge of duty." 104 EARLY MINISTRY. [^t. 23-34. "In conversation, let me feel that I shall gam more by candor than by victory." "Let me cherish frankness b}' thinking of the nobleness of the quality. Restraint prevents expressions of affection, makes societ}' painful, chills the heart." "Eternal life is holy life, — the exercise of love to God and all beings." " We must be babes, if we would have God revealed to us ; must feel the weakness, ignorance, helplessness, dependence, wants, of little children. We must become fools, and see that we know noth- ing. We must hunger and thirst, and feel a void, as having nothing. Am I a babe ? Do I sit low ? " "Attain a single, simple heart. Never speak to God or man without desiring the end I profess. Let me beware of formality in discharging religious duties. Let prayer, conversation, preaching, all flow from tlie heart. Let me first feel tlie force of truth myself, and then impress it upon others. Let me feel the force of every truth and every argument with which I am conversant. Let me be not learned, but wise." " Let me apply to my most painful, humble duties first and most attentively." " Let me continually engage in labors enjoined by God, and with the ends and temper he requires, and feel a perfect confidence in him for support. Let my whole life be a leaning upon God." " Let me place duty on tlie ground of privilege, and consider every opportunit}' of employing time usefullj' a favor ; and ask only. What is duty ? in every state." "When any particular sin recurs to my mind, let me connect it with an act of humiliation before God, so that even sin shall lead to a communion with God." "Let me decide upon the quantity and extent of an}^ pleasure which is right, before indulging in it, so as to avoid all painful balancing of mind. Let every meal be an exercise of self-govern- ment ; eating consideratel}', and recalling its designed end." " Let me live in continual preparation for prayer, in such a state of mind that 1 ma}' immediately engage in it." " Let one hour after dinner each day be given to intercession, to meditating upon and devising good, and as much of the after- noon as is necessary to accomplishing it." " In conversation, let me draw persons from evil speaking and contention, and painful or injurious subjects, by catching some tliought suggested, and making it the ground of remark." " Let me strive to connect every personal enjoyment with acts 1803-1814.] SELF-DISCIPLINE. 105 of kindness to my neighbor. Whenever I enjoj-, let me ask, How can I impart and diffuse this happiness? and let me make every pleasure a bond of friendship, a ground of communion, and esteem it chiefly on this account. When I suffer, let me ask. How can I relieve similar suffering, wherever it exists ? and so quicken sympa- thy and improve experience." " When I have any portion of time not devoted to an}' particular purpose, let me ask. Can I not spend it with God ? Let me seize it as a peculiarly privileged season." "Religious exercises are God's armor to defend us, the means of grace, support, and glory. Hence union with Christ is a ground of fruitfulness. Christ is all-important to us as a substantial, steady exhibition of virtue, not fleeting or unsubstantial." " Have access to God, as if introduced to his presence. Seek God ; seek the sight of him ; observe him in all things." " Let me every day give away something, and daily deny myself something, that I may have more to give." " Be very careful to open and close the day with devotion. Pray before going to meals, or entering societ}', or engaging in study and composition. On Sunday, let me preach over to myself the sermon, and pray for its success, before I go to the desk ; read works of sober devotion till the exercises of the day are over ; after service, consider how far I have been faithful and conducted as a minister should ; after supper, retire to examine, humble, and devote m^'self ; and until bed-time, reflect upon the character and love of the Redeemer." " I wish to gain a calm energy^ a strong principle of love and in- dependence." " I wish to gain clearness of conception., a distinct and simple mode of considering objects. I should be careful at first to separate from a subject everything foreign to it, and place it in as clear a light as possible." ' ' Amidst the multitude of objects perceived and remembered, there must be selection. Great objects make great minds. Hence God, eternity, heaven, the kingdom of Christ, the perfection of the world, our highest good, — these should be our objects." "To perceive the true end of existence, and the means to that end, is to improve the mind. We have a complex end, yet a har- monious one. The glory and kingdom of God, the hohness and happiness of mankind, our own eternal good, — these conspire." " A wise man seeks to shine in himself; a fool to outshine others. The former is humbled by a sense of his infirmities ; the latter is lifted up by the discovery of the faults of others. The wise man 106 EARLY MINISTRY. [iEx. 23-34. considers what he wants ; the fool what he abounds in. The wise man is happy in his own approbation ; the fool, in the applause of his fellows." " We should desire to have every idea connected in our minds, as its object is in nature, so that a clear view of it shall arise before us. Distinct conception is important. Wide views of beings and events should be desired. We should seek to see all things in their just extent, clearly, forcibly. All thoughts which they sug- gest should be connected in their natural order ^ he grasped at once, so as to form a complete view." " JEverything may be viewed as a sign of God's will and char- acter ; and our thoughts, after tracing an object, should at length ascend to this all-important end, — Should I be sluggish in such a world as this ? " " The perfection of mind is to have a propensity to seek agree- able and interesting objects, to have attention turn spontaneously to beauties of nature, excellences of human character, God's per- fections. A mind thus filled is always improving, always happy. A mind which turns to disagreeable things, party agitations, future uncertainties, &c., must be depraved. All objects may be viewed as expressions of goodness." ' ' How to keep the mind open to every source of enjoj'ment, to the little pleasures which surround us? There is a possibility of laboring too hard for this. We generally get so far absorbed in some care, as to become insensible to the variety of pleasing objects. Is there not an easy, disengaged state of mind very favorable to a succession of minute enjoyments ? There is sometimes an exhilara- tion of mind which throws a glory over every object, and seems to give new sensibility to every taste." "He is miserable who makes pleasure his business. God de- signs us for activity, pursuit of ends, — efficiency. Action origi- nating in God, and attended with the consciousness of his favor, is the highest source of enjoyment. Every pleasure should be an ex- pression of God's pleasure, and should bind us to those around us. Does not this state of mind invite pleasures of every description? Does it not open our eyes to all varieties of good ? " " Is it not possible to allow no unpleasant objects to dwell upon our minds au}^ longer than we can derive benefit from them ? Ma}' we not bring our sensibilities to pain ver}' much under our own con- trol, and use them only for discipline? How should every oppor- tunit3' be seized for invigorating our minds and active powers, perseverance, firmness, fortitude, application, so that energetic, successful, unwearied labor may be the result ! " 1803-1814.] PRAYERS. 107 His inward state is with like simplicity made manifest in papers of a devotional character, written apparently in part for his own private use, in part as preparative for the family altar and the pulpit. The tone of his piety, i)ervading as it did all thought and action, may be best understood from a few extracts. "0 God! the Centre of all pure spirits, the Everlasting Good- ness, we come to thee. Thou art the happiness of heaven ; and thy presence, felt b}' the soul that communes with thee, is the highest good. Ignorant of thee, we know nothing aright ; wander- ing from thee, we lose all light and i)eace ; forgetting thee, we turn our minds from the noblest object of thought ; and without love to thee, we are separated from infinite loveliness, and from the only substantial and sufficient source of jo}'. Thou hast an inex- haustible fulness of life ; and thine unceasing communications take nothing from thy power to bless. Thou art infinitely better than all thy gifts, and through all we desire to rise to thee." " We thank thee for the proofs thou givest of thy essential, pure, and i)erfect benignity, so that through all clouds and dark- ness we can see a gracious Fatlicr. In this world of shadows, this fleeting tide of things, this life of dreams, we rejoice that there is a Reality, sure, unchanging, in which we may find rest ; that there is a Power which can cleanse us from all sin, raise us to all virtue and happiness, and give us endless growth. How great is our privilege, that we have sucli an object for our hope and trust, — that our souls may contemplate infinite loveliness, great- ness, goodness, — that we may at all times commune with the Best of Beings ! " " For thj' inviolable faithfulness, thy impartial justice, thy un- erring wisdom, thy unfathomable counsels, thy unwearied care, thy tender mercy, thy resistless power, we adore thee. For the splendor si)read over all thy works, and still more for the higiier beaut}- of the soul, of which the brightness of creation is but the emblem and faint shadow, we thank thee. O, let thy love affect our hearts, let us feel its realit}-, constanc}', tenderness ! To thee we owe all. Thine is the health of our bodies, the light of our minds, the warmth of affection, the guiding voice of conscience. Whatever knowledge of virtuous impressions we have derived from the societ}' of friends, the conversation of the wise and good, the care of instructors, the researches of past ages, we desire to trace gratefull}^ to thee. We rejoice that we depend on thee, the Father of Spirits, whose requisitions are so reasonable, whose government is so mild, whose influences are so ennobling. How unspeakably 108 EARLY MINISTRY. [^t. 23-34. great is th}- goodness ! And all our other blessings are as nothing, when compared with the sublime, pure, infinite glory to which we are called by the gospel of thy Son." "We are infinitely honored in being under thy protection, and having all our affairs overruled by thy providence. We thank thee for every good influence imparted to our minds, for every holy aspiration, every motive of conscience ; for the countless materials of happiness, and our power over nature ; for the light which thou hast thrown upon the darkness of life's trials ; for the success with which thou hast crowned the labors of reflecting men in exploring thy works ; for the blessings of civilization and knowledge ; for our capacities of improvement ; for our domestic relations, and for their influence in softening and improving our nature ; for all the wisdom, purity, love, communicated to the human race ; for the illustrious examples thou hast raised up, in successive ages, of en- lightened piety and disinterested virtue : for the influence which eminent men have exerted, for the splendor they have shed on human nature, for the encouragement of their example in the pursuit of excellence ; and, above all, for our redemption ])y Jesus Christ, the privilege of access to thee, the hope of pardon, the influences of thy spirit, the prospect of immortality-." " We thank thee, that thou hast set us in families, in neighbor- hoods, in communities ; that thou hast made of one blood all men, thus uniting us in and by a common nature to the whole human race, and giving us means, motives, and opportunities to exercise a continually extending love. We thank thee for Jesus Christ ; that he came, not to bless one people or one age, but all nations and times ; tliat he came to establish such a religion, to seal such a covenant ; that he came to be a bright manifestation of God, to give everlasting happiness. For a Saviour so excellent, so suited to our wants, so fitted to awaken our love, to inspire hoi}' and de- lightful attachment, to call out our whole hearts, we thank thee. We bless thee that man's sins have served to manifest and glorify thy mercy, to show forth thine essential, inexhaustible goodness, so that our un worthiness has formed a new ground for love and thankfulness to thee." "May Christ be precious to us; teach us his worth, his glory, so that we may love him and rejoice in him with joy unspealcable. May a sense of the greatness of the evils from wliich he came to deliver, and of the blessings Avhich he can bestow, excite our sensi- bility, gratitude, desire, and lead our minds to dwell on him. Let sin be our greatest burden ; ma}' all life's ills seem light in com- 1803-1814.] PRAYERS. 109 parison with it ; may we groan for deliverance from it, and be more earnest in resisting it than in resisting all other evils ; and may we welcome Christ as our saviour from it." " Communicate and quicken spiritual life. May our souls be warm with life. Save us from an inanimate and sluggish state. Teach us thy purity, how great thy abhorrence of evil, how irrec- oncilable th}' hatred of it, and may we all partake of the same abhorrence of sin. Increase our sensibility to evil ; maj' we shun every appearance of it and repel the first temptation ; and in a world where example is so corrupt, we beseech thee to arm us with a hoi}' fortitude." " Inspire us with a generous love of virtue, of rectitude, of holiness. May we prefer it even to life. Animate us to adhere to good in every danger. May nothing on earth move us or shake our steadfastness. Increase our sensibility to good ; may we see more and more its loveliness and beauty." "Animate us to cheerfulness. May we have a jo3'ful sense of our blessings, learn to look on the bright circumstances of our lot, and mamtain a perpetual contentedness under thy allotments. Fortify our mmds against disappointment and calamit}'. Preserve us from despondency, from yielding to dejection. Teach us that no evil is intolerable but a guilt}' conscience, and that nothing can hurt us, if with true 103'alty of affection we keep thy commandments and take refuge in thee." " Ma}' every day add brightness and energ}' to our conceptions of thy lovely and glorious character. Give us a deeper sense of thy presence, and instruct us to nourish our devoutness by every scene of nature and every event of providence. Assist us to con- secrate our whole being and existence to thee, our understandings to the knowledge of thy character, our hearts to the veneration and love of thy perfections, our wills to the choice of thy com- mands, our active energies to the accomplishment of thy purposes, our lives to thy glory, and every power to the imitation of thy goodness. Be thou the centre, life, and sovereign of our souls." Thus earnestly was Mr. Channing seeking perfect peace and un- clouded light. He believed, and acted on the faith, that only the purity of heart which is blessed by seeing God can fit a man to be the spiritual teacher of his fellows ; and as the condition for use- fulness, he opened his inmost will to receive the Divine life of love. It certainly is not surprising that a nature so sensitive and tender, 110 EARLY MINISTRY. [^t. 23-34. especiall}' when compelled to undue action by ill health, should have manifested its struggles in a somewhat austere gravity of manner. But water gains cr^'stal clearness bj- percolating the sands ; and the ver}- severit}- of his self-discipline gave sweetness more and more to his social intercourse. For the first few months after his settlement, Mr. Channing lived, as we have seen, with some parishioners and friends. But even their devoted kindness could not fill the void in his affections ; and in a letter to his sister Ann, to whom he was most fondly attached, we find him writing, "lam sad; my sister, come and cheer me." It was soon in his power, however, to gratify this desire for domestic love by removing his mother and the faniil}- to Boston. His brother Francis and he had long since agreed, that, for the end of insuring their ability to aid their mother and her other children, one of them should remain unmarried for at least ten years ; and as his salary was a more certain income than his brother's professional gains, who, though rapidly rising to distinction as a law3'er, was not 3'et established in lucrative business, he now took it upon himself to fulfil the arrangement. So he wrote to his mother that he had a parsonage which he could not occupy, and fuel which he could not burn ; and that she would save him much waste and trouble by turning them to good use. He well knew that she could not afford to leave her house and large garden at Newport, without such an addition to her means as he thus placed at her dis- posal ; but he chose to represent himself as the person obliged, by pleading his need of her guardianship. She yielded to his aflfec- tionate appeal, and in a short time he had the satisfaction of seeing the home circle gathered round him, beneath his own roof, blessed by his bount}', and enjo3'ingthe best opportunities for happiness and improvement. The tact with which he sought to conceal — even from himself, if it might be — his kindness, proved its temper. His fatlier had left so small a property, that it was quite inadequate to the support and education of the growing family ; and b3' surrendering for their use the greater part of his salar3', William changed their con- dition from that of want to one of competence. But while thus suppl3'ing them with the means of comfort and culture, his words and acts rather tended to give the impression that the3' were nowise dependent upon him, but onl3' on the famil3' estate. AVithout, of course, employing deception, ]ie 3'et was sedulous to keep from the partakers of his benefits tlie knowledge that he was tlieir benefac- tor. " I was often amused, and still oftener filled with veneration," writes a brother, " b3^ the mode in which he talked of the necessity 1803-1814.] CARE OF THE FAMILY. HI of punctually paj'ing his board to our mother, and placed his funds in her hands, as he said, for safe keeping, withdrawing onl}- such trifling sums as he absolutely needed." All extra fees were given, as their rightful perquisite, to his sisters ; and as years passed on, and the wants and desires of the various members of the family unfolded, each day but gave new proofs of his ever thoughtful, ever delicate affection. His outlaw's for them, in addition to his large charities abroad, were so considerable, that, though his salary was for those times ample, being at first twelve hundred, and afterwards fifteen hundred dollars, he never laid up a cent, and was often wholly destitute. " Well do I remember," said one of his near rel- atives, " how pained he was at the time of my marriage, when he wished to make me a wedding present, and had but fifty dollars to give. He could not help then telling me how poor he was." Thus, for ten years and more, did he faithful!}' redeem the first words spoken to his mother after his ordination, when she said, " Now, William, I must give you up ! " " O, no ! " he replied, " 3'ou shall never find that the duties of the Christian minister are inconsistent with those of the son." A slight sketch of his constant little sacrifices in the petty details of life may most clearly show how he appeared to those who lived with him in the nearest relations, and who knew him best. He had always been strict in his habits of self-denial, in food, dress, and every mode of expenditure ; but he was now more simple than ever, and seemed to have become incapable of any form of self-indul- gence. He took the smallest room in the house for his study, though he might easily have commanded one more light, air}-, and in every way more suitable ; and chose for his sleeping-chamber an attic, which he shared with a younger In-other. The furniture of the lat- ter might have answered for the cell of an anchorite, and consisted of a hard mattress on a cot-bedstead, plain wooden chau's and table, with matfing on the floor. It was without fire, and to cold he was through life extremely sensitive ; but he never complamed, or appeared in any way to be conscious of inconvenience. In ill- ness only would he change for the time his apartment, and accept a few comforts. The dress, too, that he habitually adopted, was of inferior quality ; and garments were constantly worn which the world would call mean, though an almost feminine neatness preserved him from tlie least appearance of personal neglect. The only luxury he would indulge himself in was annually to lay out a small sum in increasing his scanty library. " Never did I know him to be guilty of a selfish act," testifies his brother; " and he shrank from any mention of his incessant kindness, as if the least allusion to it 112 EARLY MINISTRY. [Mt. 23-34. gave him pain." These few mementos are, indeed, quite unpre- tending ; but their ver}' humbleness may serve to show how vital was the root of love from which such ever fresh disinterestedness bloomed forth, A few further extracts from his journals will exhibit how his social affections were trained to an unreserved lo^-alty to conscience. " Let me pay peculiar attention to family prayer, to make Scrip- ture interesting and prayer solemn. Let me pray for them in se- cret daily. Let me attend to their reading, improve their minds. Let me attend to the religion of the domestics, and give them equal privileges with the rest on the Sabbath and in the famil}- exercises. Let me regard the wants of all, and live sacrificing my own will and desires to theirs, abounding in affectionate services, and remember- ing them always as those whom God has pointed out to me as my peculiar objects. " Let me endeavor to interest all in good pursuits, continually propose kind ends, make active benevolence their spring, and excite them to a course of pious, loving Mfe. " Let me in conversation avoid finding fault, satire, severity ; let me express the spirit and power, rather than the speculations, of divinity ; let me communicate liberally whatever knowledge I ac- quire, and raise our social intercourse. "Let me encourage and share innocent pleasures, contribute all in my power to their happiness, make them feel my affection, and convince them that love, not bigoted severity, leads to my cautious and solemn admonition. " Let me cultivate harmony and mutual affection, strive to make home interesting from peace and love and mutual interest and regard. " Encourage private prayer morning and evening among them. " Let me promote unity of sentiment, especially on religious and most interesting subjects. "Let me live with them as immortal beings, and have in view the end of present existence. " In the morning, when I see any of my friends after the nighfs separation, let me receive them as new gifts from God, as raised from the dead. " My mother has been quite ill. I have never seen her so much reduced. For a day or two my fears were not a little excited. I felt more sensibly than I ever did before, that this nearest, best, of earthly friends was mortal. Thanks to a merciful Providence, she is regaining her strength. It is a pleasing consideration, that her 1803-1814.] MANNERS. 113 children have been able to repa}- a little of her kindness ; but how little can parental kindness be requited ! " That his sense of duty was at this time even tyrannical, Mr. Chanuing recognized in later hfe, and regretted that this stern nurse had cramped the action of liis native impulses by too close swathing ; but he liad not then learned that the true art of moral culture is to balance extravagant tendencies b}' quickening those which are languid, and that growth is a safer means of harmony in character than repression. He painfully felt, too, that his solemnity repelled those whom he longed to win, and cast a shade over the circle he would have rejoiced to brighten. And, indeed, had it not been for his greatness of heart, dignity, assiduous affection, and evidently loftj- aims, his constant staidness of deportment would have been irksome. For the other members of the famil}- presented in manners an amusing contrast to this beloved friend, whom, highly as they honored him, it was not in their will to imitate. Tlie mother, as we have seen, had inherited from her father a vivacious temper, keen perceptions, a wit as sharp as it was droll, and a sin- cerity of thought and speech, which made hght of conventionalities, and swept away respectable pretences like cobwebs. Her sallies, given out in the plainest Anglo-Saxon, sometimes sounded strangely as a response to her son's guarded words, especially when the char- acters of others, or passing events, were under discussion. And the hilarity of the younger brothers and sisters would have jarred in discord with his taciturn ways, had not his considerateness been so genuine. Self-possessed in the midst of them, however, he allayed all differences, and melted them into one. He devoted him- self also to the culture of his sisters, read and conversed with them at certain portions of the day, was watchful over their manners, and as they came forward in life schooled himself to leave behind the student's gown, and accompanied them into the delightful circles which the influence of his talents opened to the members of his household. In the friendly groups, too, which his mother's hos- pitable and genial temper gathered round her fireside, he endeavored to act his part. But it was plain that he was not at home in fes- tive scenes of any kind. His conversation was at all times and in all places connected, grave, and on themes of high interest. He could not unbend. And intent as he was on subjects which ab- sorbed his whole spiritual energy, he actually had neither inclination nor even the sense of liberty to relax. In a word, he was striving forever to press onward and upward ; and chiefly longed to bear those whom he loved with him in his ascent. 114 EARLY MINISTRY. [^t 23-34. But though thus serious, he was most loving. His gentleness of character showed itself in all social relations. If controversies and warm debates arose, he had the skill to smooth the storm by soft words and calm looks. If scandal was introduced, he changed the topic ; and if any one's reputation was attacked, he would say, with quiet firmness, "Pray, stop! for if you continue these re- marks, I shall feel bound to repeat every word to the person of whom you are speaking." The effect was to stifle all desire of crimination. The same disposition appeared in his liberality to- wards those who differed in religious opinions. "William is no Quaker, you see," said his mother one day to a friend, with whom he was pleasantl}' talking upon their opposite views. "No," an- swered he ; " and E did not expect to find me one ; but there is a common ground of Christian feeling, where, without distinction of name, we can unite in belief, that the sincere worshippers of God are the accepted of God." As another illustration, this little incident may be mentioned. Busy in studies, in visits among his parish, and in charitable move- ments, or calls on the sick and needy, the week passed away, and left him on Saturday usually unprepared. A. colored teacher, who was occupied in his school duties on other days, but who was anx- ious to improve himself b}' Mr. Channing's societ}-, took occasion on the leisure afternoon to visit him, and frequently prolonged his stay into the evening. The mother was greatly annoyed at seeing her son's last precious hours thus broken in upon. But though it obliged hhn oftentimes to sit up late in the night, and to finish his sermons while the morning bell was ringing, he would never allow his colored friend to be denied. Generosit}" pervaded his conduct. To the erring he was consist- ently forbearing. Two instances may show this trait. A domestic, in whom the family placed confidence, professed " to be converted to religion," at some revival in the society to which she belonged, and was very strict in her devotions and attendance at meeting. The members of the family soon detected her, however, in the com- mission of indiscriminate petty thefts. When accused, she was highly indignant at being suspected ; but as the propert}' was found in her possession, her hypocrisy was clear. Mr. Channing did nothing in relation to the affair but to converse with her, giving her the most earnest counsel in his power, and then allowed her to de- part, lie expressed for her only the deepest pity ; mentioning as his reason, that " she had been brought up in an almshouse, and had received no good influences in early life." The amount taken was quite large ; but he considered it wrong to inflict a legal pen- 1803-1814.J ILL HEALTH. 115 alt}- upon one whom society liad so neglected ; and, if he had fol- lowed his own inclination, would have kept her in his service, and have sought to reclaim her. On another occasion, though at a somewhat later period of life, he rented a place in the countr}- for the summer, with the obligation on his part of keepnig it in order. The gardener whom he hired, however, proved faithless, sold the valuable vegetables and fruits, and injured the grounds and trees by his carelessness, leaving the loss to fall on his employer. The man became ill, and for the end of encouraging him to reform, Mr. Channing paid him his full wages, and, after exposing to him the baseness of his conduct, gave him his best advice, and pardoned the offence. The distaste for social enjoyments, which has been noticed, doubtless was mcreased b}- Mr. Channing's poor state of health ; for lassitude followed all exertion, and ph\-sical depression cast a chill upon a naturally' glowing temper. And for tlie end of ena- bling all to discriminate between the essential man and the accidents of his organization, it seems necessar}' to set this fact of his chronic debility in a distinct light. In our present ignorance of the rela- tions of body to spirit, indeed, we can never decide how far morbid action in eitlier is a cause or an effect ; but their mutual depend- ence is plain enough. It needs onl}' to be said, then, that from the time of his residence at Richmond till his death, he never knew a day of unini[)aired vigor. The common services of the i)ulpit pros- trated him ; unusual efforts Ijrought fever, alternating with dulness ; earnest conversation cost sleepless nights ; exercise, except of the most mod-erate kind, was rather exliausting than refreshing ; he 3-early lost weeks and montiis b}- inability to study or write ; and to one who knew him, it only seemed surprising that he could accom- plish so much. Had he but retained the buoyancy of early years, he might, by scholarship and by public and social labors, have shed abroad a light, beside which his actual success would be dim. On the other hand, indeed, it may be asked, whether his river of life did not gain depth from the narrow channel through which it was forced to roll? Fortitude, purity, concentration, may have in some degree compensated him for lack of strength. But to one who believes that God has forever established a harmony- between the spiritual and natural worlds, it must in all eases appear probable that the teachings of health will be more large, sound, varied, rich, than those of sickness. Yet he struggled bravely with his fate. He knew that his own imprudence had done much to cause his in- firmity, and humbly accepted the limits which it imposed, while he steadily sought to regain and keep the largest measure of power. 116 EARLY MINISTRY. [JEt. 23-34. " The very scmpnlous care that he took of himself," wi'ites a sister, '^was a sacrifice to duty. Most beautiful, too, was his thoughtful- ness to avoid being a l)urden upon others. His patience was un- varying. I can recall one instance of a feverish attack during the heat of summer. We had been fanning him during the day, and he had seemed as tranquil as a sleeping infant ; but to our great surprise, when the physician came in towards evening, he entreated him to give him something to alia}' the restlessness which was al- most beyond his bearing or power of control. But when was he otherwise than gentle I " Thus his very weaknesses formed a new bond of affectionate respect. He saw with pity the habits of effem- inacy and self-indulgence which constant regard to one's own state too often breeds in the invalid, and systematically guarded against such temptations. With the pride of an energetic character, too, he felt the shame of seeming to be a valetudinarian. But the keen- est pain he suffered was, from being forced to halt when he would have hastened, and to leave untried many a promising plan of self- culture and of usefulness. This was the true cross to a s[)irit so earnest in hope, comprehensive in s^^mpathy, conscientious, and brave ; and nothing could have been more manly than the uncom- plaining serenity with wiiich he bore it. Mr. Channing chiefly lamented his want of strength because he was thereby hampered in his private studies, and in schemes of pro- fessional activit}'. He did what he could, and too often much more than he ought, but fell far short of his ideal, and saw all round him fields white for the harvest, when his arm was too feel)le to put in the sickle and reap. Yet, from his first appearance in the pulpit, he made a sensation such as had been long unknown in Boston, distinguished as many of her ministers justly were. The highest among them, Dr. Kirkland, said truly of him, and of Buckminster, who came forward two years later, that they had introduced '-a new era in preaching." Their congregations were thronged ; and when either of them was to take his turn at the Thursday lecture in Chauncy Place, the usually thin audience at that antiquated service became a crowd. Immediately after Mr. Channing's settlement, the small society in Federal Street was much enlarged by the numbers drawn around the 3'oung, devoted, eloquent pastor ; and from that time forward steadily grew, until, in 1809, the old church was taken down, and the corner-stone laid of the large building which afterward occupied its place. The devoutly disposed in the community looked to him with the hope that he might be a means of fanning once more to flame the smouldering ashes on the altars of piet}-. The serious- 1803-1814.] PREACHING. 117 ness of his deportment, the depth and sweetness of his voice, the pathos with which he read the Scriptures and sacred poetrj', the solemnity of his appeals, his rapt and kindling enthusiasm, his humble, trustful spirit of prayer, his subdued feeling, so expressive of personal experience, made religion a new reality ; while his whole air and look of spirituality won them to listen by its mild and somewhat melancholy beauty. The most trifling saw in him a man thoroughly in earnest, who spoke not of dreams and fictions, but of facts with which he was intimately conversant ; and the serious gladly welcomed one who led the way, and beckoned them nearer to the hoi}' of holies which they aspired to enter. Intellect- ual people, too, were attracted b}' the power and grace of his pulpit addresses. He opened to them a large range of thought, presented clear, connected, and complete views of various topics, roused their faculties of discernment by nice discriminations and exact state- ments, and gratified their taste by the finished simplicity of his style. But the novelty, perhaps, that chiefl}' stirred his audiences was the directness with which he even then brought his Christian principles to bear upon actual life. With no flights of mystic ex- altation, forgetful in raptures of the earth, with no abstract systems of metaphysical theology, with no coldly elegant moral essa3'S, did he occupy the minds of his hearers, but with near and sublime ob- jects made evident by faith, with lucid truths approved alike by Scripture and by conscience, and with duties pressed urgently home upon all as rules for clailj' practice. He saw, and made others see, that life was no pla^'-place, but a magnificent scene for glorifying God, and a rich school for the education of spirits. He showed to men the substance, of which surrounding appearances are the shadow ; and behind transient experiences revealed the spiritual laws which they express. Thus he gathered round him an enlarg- ing circle of devoted friends, who gratefully felt that they drank in from him new life. The old members of the society, too, for the most part simple people of plain manners, took the heartiest delight in his services, while feeling just pride in his talents. And the few distinguished persons of the congregation knew well how to appre- ciate his rare gifts, and to extend his fame. Thus was he in ever}^ way favorably situated to call out his highest powers ; and his journals show how ardently he strove to fulfil the hopes which he knew were cherished for his usefulness. "My great end is the promotion of the moral and religious in- terests of mankind, the cause of virtue, the gospel. This is mj' occupation. This end may be accomplished ever}"where. Let me 118 EARLY MINISTRY. [^t. 23-34. make this stud}' the great end of life. Let me stud}' for this. Let my exercise, relaxation, visits, pra3'ers, all have this in view. Let me eat and sleep for this. Let me never lose sight of my flock, constantly oversee them, never leave them. Let me strive to make them fruitful to God, direct and excite exertion for good, exhibit an example of the life of God." " Weekl}' lectures are highly important. What an influence in the commonwealth would a general attention to religion in the capi- tal exert ! Ma}' not the present increased interest be a sprinkling before the shower ? " " Meetings to pray for the spirit. Let me when among Chris- tians, when visiting them, pray with them, that men may be awak- ened to religious attention, and desire that God be glorified, Christ obeyed, heaven sought." " Religious tinion. How to make them feel a desire of assisting, quickening each other in a religious course. Visit the church often in a religious manner. Pray in private and in public for this union. Make this the subject of conversation. Meetings of the church ; and in order to make them nseful, let me labor to become an extemporaneous preacher. The church should feel that on their prayers and zeal the salvation of others depends. Let me now strive to quicken my church, while attention is awakened to re- ligion." " The influence of the church I need. I can do little myself I want the brethren to be able to converse, the sisters at home to be able to instil into the minds of their children religious truth. I should lend suitable books, exalt their intellectual, powers, direct their habitual thoughts. " Have I not reason to fear that many are destitute of love to God, to Christ, to the church, to man? Do they not confide in a course of negative goodness ? Are they not full of false hopes from the performance of particular duties, abstinence from great crimes? Are they not easy and satisfied because they give no positive evi- dence of irreligion, not because they have positive evidence of re- ^ ligion? Do they not mistake habit for principle? Do the hopes,' pleasures, duties, difficulties of religion form any part of domestic conversation? Is holiness an end? Is God all in all? Is Christ all in all to them ? Is love the habit of their soul, operating in their whole conduct? " "Christ came to recover men from sin. A change of heart is the object of the gospel. In this consists the redemption of Christ. It becomes men to weep, to feel true, hearty sorrow at sin itself, to abhor and condemn themselves as without excuse, to feel themselves i^ 1803-1814.] INTEREST IN HIS PEOPLE. 119 dependent upon free, unmerited, unobligated, sovereign grace for pardon and renewal. Repentance includes unconditional submis- sion, choice and desire that God should reign, should accomplish his will, should dispose of his creatures as seems to him best. It supposes subjection of ourselves and others wholly to his will. It gives all things in all times and all places to him as his own forever." ''The spirit of God is the blessing of the new covenant. The knowledge, love, imitation, service, and enjoyment of God through eternit}' are all included in this gift. There can be no other rational, eternal blessedness. The spirit of God operates on the heart, creates new exercises, and dwells in the soul of Christians by con- stantly and immediatel}- supporting all good affections. Ever}' man must be new-born, have a new heart, a new principle, end, motive, disposition, a change b}- the spirit into a meek, submissive, self- renouncing, self-abhorring, benevolent state of soul, before he can believe, approve, choose the gospel, and receive the kingdom of heaven." " I must make the knowledge of divine truth m}- end, and there- fore labor to preserve a mind fitted to discover, and a heart read}'- to receive, instruction. The disposal of time, food, &c., should all be directed to this object ; and every truth I receive I should labor immediatel}' to impress on my own heart and on others." " Let me unite with the most serious statedly in prayer, for the revival of religion in the societ}'. Let the promotion of religion be the sole end of all exertions ; let nothing else be named. O the happiness- of a religious society ! " " I ought to bear my people on my heart ; feel the worth of their souls, that they have the capacity to serve, enjoy, glorify God for- ever ; feel continual heaviness and sorrow for their neglect of God ; be fer\ent, unceasing in prayer ; make their spiritual prosperity my joy ; indulge in no pleasure, engage in no pursuit, which may not subserve this end ; let every worldly interest which will drive them from my mind be resigned; let my highest anxiety, fear, hope, desire, afiection, be exercised toward them, that God may have a people among them. Let me be the servant of the least among them for this purpose." "Let me never talk of my zeal for souls, except with God; let me avoid all egotism, and carefully abstain from mention of personal experience on this subject ; let me never condemn other ministers as cold ; let me work where my work will not be known, among the poor, ignorant, &c. Let me lead the serious from dependence on me, from high thoughts of my society, to Christ. Let me labor 120 EARLY MINISTRY. [^t. 23-34. most where I shall experience least approbation, and attend chiefly to the insensible and sluggish. Let me do much in secret, pray, struggle, and purify mjself for my people ; let none know." " I am sensible of a want of tenderness in my preaching. I want to preach striking, rather than melting, sermons. Let me seek that my heart be soft." " God alone can soften my people ; let me labor, therefore, chiefly in prayer. There is great disregard to praj'er among us. In pub- lic worship preaching is exalted above pra^-er. Let me strive to make this part of the service more interesting." "Let me separate a portion of time for considering the nature and importance of my office, and for exciting a hofy, devout zeal, a fervent, sincere desire for tlie holiness and happiness of m}- people." " Let my visits be ministerial, serious ; let me speak plainly on rehgion, attend to the character of individuals, observe their wants. What a waste of time to make other visits ! If I should see a man of business give up two hours a da}' to making mere calls, I should think him an idler. How am I better? Whence my timidity on the subject of religion ? I do not carry conversation far enough to be serious, earnest, and hence seize no end with sufficient force." " Let me give courses of lectures upon various subjects, adapted to different ages and conditions ; a course to parents and heads of families ; to the church ; on church histor}', with applications of prophecy ; on the evidences, for the young ; weekly exhortations to children ; a course on the duties of the 3'oung ; on Jewish history and antiquities ; on the testimony of nature to God ; a course of expositions ; a series on the parables ; &c." " My i)reaching does not seem to be followed with a devout, grateful, submissive, holy spirit in my church. I do not witness fervor and happiness from the prospect and hope of heaven. Their religious conversation limited to a few topics, heartless, cokl, un- interesting ! Whence is this ? I feel increasing doubts about my success. However, we are commanded not to faint. I sa}' to my- self. One soul saved ; and I feel that such an object deserves all exertion." "The children are members of the church of Christ; earnest, aflfectionate attention is due to them. I must catechise them, pray with them, teach them to pray ; suggest subjects which they can illustrate ; give them texts to remember ; instruct them in the duties peculiar to their age, and in the doctrines suited to them." These resolves were carried into deeds ; and he was at this period an indefatigable pastor. He visited constantly, had periodical 1803-1814.] CHILDREN OF THE SOCIETY. 121 prayei'-meetings, and meetings for conversation and religions in- struction, — varying them as seemed best fitted to keep interest alive, — and, indeed, practised most of the modes which, though rare then, have now become common, for quickening religious sensibility and producing Christian union. To the sick he was a faithful friend, and entered into their anxieties and hopes with a touching devoutness, that lifted up their spirits as on angel wings in prayer. Into the chamber of death he came with the auroral light of the resurrection upon his brow. And to the mourner he showed the manna of consolation forever dropping on the desert. Yet sometimes his quick sensibility subdued him. When one of his oldest and most dear parishioners, Mr. Thomas Davis, was dying, he left the weeping group around the bedside, and coming to the church amidst the then small band of his parishioners, so intimate with each other that they seemed like one famil}', he en- deavored to commend the departing soul to the Heavenly Father. But his voice died in the utterance ; he sank his head on the desk, and burst into tears. A sob ran through the congregation, and then there was stillness. On one other occasion, when visiting a family- lately bereaved, he sat down with the circle of mourners, and after remaining for a long time in silence, as if overcome with the fulness of his feelings, he uttered a groan, rose, and left the room. But these were exceptions. He usualh' had perfect self- control, and wore an air of serene cheerfulness, that spread a con- tagious calmness over troubled hearts. In the children of the society' he felt the deepest interest. He liked to' gather them after service around the pulpit ; when, coming down, he would converse with them, and give them familiar lessons. This was before the custom of Sunday schools was introduced. Later in his ministry-, he and his friend Thacher pi-epared their well-known catechism. But at first he confined himself chiefl}' to oial instruction. He is remembered as having been very success- ful in making these addresses simple and attractive, clothing beautiful thoughts in intelligible language, and addressing them to his young friends with a benignant smile, that won their confidence and opened their hearts. He once pleasantly remarked, that the most satisfactory compliment he had ever received was from a little girl, who told her mother, " I understood every word he said." His respect lor children was, indeed, singularh' strong ; and respect is tlie only word that can fill}' express the trust he felt and mani- fested in their purity. He had, from the first, a profound love for their native honor, their quick moral intuitions, their truth and innocence. And once, when looking at the corpse of a beautiful 122 EARLY MINISTRY, [iEr. 23-34. child, he said, " I consider those so early taken as mysteriously privileged." While thus devoted to his own congregation, and made every year more and more an object of interest to the communit}' at large b}' the good influences which were seen to flow from his pulpit, Mr. Channing became widely known also by the useful custom of ex- changes, so universal in New England. In making these he limited himself to no denomination, but freely held intercourse with all who were seeking divine light and life. So indiscriminate, indeed, was he in this respect, that it was found difficult for man}- yesxrs to as- sign him a place in an}- of the sects, which the increasing temper of exclusiveuess w-as gradually forming. Alternately he was claimed and disowned b}- all, being himself, as we shall hereafter see, chiefly- anxious to shun controversy, and to keep the transparent heaven of religion unobscured b}- the clouds of theological disputes. Still, it w-as chiefly in Boston, and among the liberal divines of that capital, that his exchanges were necessaril}^ made ; and in their societies he was at all times a favorite preacher, though not a few complained of his gloom, and very many preferred the sententious wisdcjm, quaintness, sagacity, and rich variety of Kirkland, and the chaste earnestness, the scholarly fulness of allusion, the elegance of style, and eloquent oratory of Buckminster. Such hearers often carried doubtless to the religious assembly their delightful associ- ations with the superior conversational gifts of those gentlemen, who were l)oth distinguished for wit, pleasantry, anecdote, and that easy pla}' of fancy wliicli illuminates with transient charm the topic of tlie hour, and whose manners contrasted fa^orabl}- with Mr. Channing's absorbed air, his almost judicial moral severity, and his evident distaste for the current ti-ifles which polish the surface of life. To each of these distinguished men he was bound by ties of strong friendship, and he felt for their talents and acquirements a respect which they cordially reciprocated. Under date of Novem- ber, 180G, we find INIr. Buckminster thus writing to him from Paris, whither he had been driven to recruit by the malady which so prematurely eclipsed his bright genius. " Before this reaches you, you will be restored, I trust, to your people ; for truly I am very anxious for the religious situation of Boston, deprived, as it now is, in three societies, of regular pastors. I am sometimes ashamed of myself, when I think that I am here in Paris in perfect idleness, w'hile you are sinking under the labors of your ministry. But God grant that we ma}- be able to congratulate each other next summer, upon meeting, as I hope we shall, in health, and taught by our sufferings to cherish more carefully than 1803-1814.] S. C. THACHER. 123 ever this inestimable gift of our Maker, and not to draw upon it too fast so that we may use it longer and more sacredly in the service of our people and for the interests of truth. Farewell, my dear friend ! I pray that I may soon hear of your perfect recovery. Re- member my dear people as often as you can. '' Your friend and brother, "J. S. B." For Mr. Samuel C. Thacher, too, —who studied divinity under his care, and who became the beloved minister of the New South Church, when Dr. Kirkland was called to the station that, alter 1810 he filled with so much honor to himself and to the institution, of the Presidency of Harvard University, — he cherished the warm- est esteem, to which Mr. Thacher responded by most reverent love. " The many admirable principles I have heard from you," writes his youno- Mend, " I shall endeavor always to recollect, and it shall be my prayer to the Giver of all good, tliat I may not be unworthy the reo-aixfof tlie virtuous and wise. Remember me with much love to yom- brother, and believe me, my dear Sii', with all possible grati- tude and affection, your friend, S. C. T. On the occasion of this young brother's settlement, — whose opening talents and virtues Mr. Channing watched with the most tender interest, by whose example he felt himself animated, and to whom he was constantly more and more closely bound by harmony in views and spiritual sympathy,— he entered the following reflec- tions ii\ his journal : — " 1811, May 16. This week is pecuharly eventful and interest- ing. Yesterday I assisted at the ordination of my friend, S. C. Thacher. I presented him the right hand of fellowship. This event should recall to me the day when I devoted myself to the Christian ministry. Have I been a faithful, diligent minister, in- quiring for every means of doing good to my people, and devoted most sincerely to their improvement? Let me be quickened by this event, which has connected with me a young man whom I esteem and love. Let me confer with him on the means of benefiting our societies. Let me save him, if possible, from my errors. Let me avoid every feeling of rivalship. Merciful God, render him a better man and Christian than myself. PLave I made sufficient sacrifices to the young men who have studied with me? Have I paid atten- tions, instead of expecting them? Let me endeavor to excite my youno- brother to great fervor and activity, and let me catch the same'warmth from him. I fear, I feel, that I and my brethren are 124 EARLY MINISTRY. [^T. 23-34. not sufficiently engaged, and not desirous enough to see fruits from our labors. 1 am not ready to live a suffering life for Jesus Christ. M}- Saviour ! may 1 think of thy cross, of what thou hast endured for human happiness, and may I count it my highest honor to be a partaker of thy sutferings." And again he thus writes of him to a friend : — " Heaven can hardly bestow on me a greater blessing than the friendship of Thacher. The purity of his character and Ufe, and his devotion to his profession, render him peculiarly important to us at this time." Thus cordial, honorable, mutually beneficial, and every way manly, were the relations between these friends and a large circle of their brethren. But the days of one of the noblest of them were numbered. On the 9th of June, 1812, the sad tidings of the death of Buckminster threw the whole community into grief. How deeplj' Mr. Channing mourned with others the destruction of the hopes which clustered round this gifted and accomplished man appears from man}' of his papers of that period. He was himself absent at the time from home ; but when he came back, he preached by request a funeral sermon before the Brattle Street Societ}-, and to his own people spoke as follows : "On returning to this place, I am not permitted to see and embrace a Christian brother, a fellow-laborer in the gospel, whom 1 left in the midst of usefulness, — one of the brightest ornaments of his profession, and of this country, — whose vigor of mind, whose eloquence, whose piety, whose sincere devotion to the in- terests of Christianit}', I have witnessed with increasing pleasure and increasing hope. But God, who imparted to this highl^^ favored servant such unusual gifts, who kindled this superior in- tellect, has suddenly removed him from his wide sphere of honor and usefulness. Tliat you followed to the tomb this righteous man witli serious thought and sorrowful retlection I cannot doubt. My own heart sunk within me, when I heard the painful tidings of his death. I felt for the loss I had experienced as an individual ; but this sorrow was faint, compared with my painful sense of the heavy loss which our churches had exi)erienced." And in a letter he thus expresses himself: — " Buckminster's death gives me man}' painful and solicitous feel- ings in relation to the interests of religion in this place. People here, as you well know, are attached to religious institutions, not so mucli by a sense of the value of religion as by their love to their minister ; and I fear that their zeal will grow cold, when their 1803-1814.] BUCKMINSTER'S SERMONS. 125 ministers are removed. I wish that there were more attachment to the truth, and less to the man who deUvers it. The loss of Mr. Buckminster appears to me irreparable. I know no man who unites so man}' gifts from nature, so man}' acquisitions from study, and such power of rendering religion interesting to all classes of society, especially to the improved, the polished, the fashionable." As a last act of honor to this alread}' celebrated preacher, he, with Mr. S. C. Thacher, Mr. Buckminster's more particular friend, was requested to select and prepare a portion of his sermons for the press. " Mr. Buckminster's papers," writes Mr. George Ticknor, " came into my hands after his death, so that I had a good deal to do with this publication, — a circumstance which I mention as account- ing for my knowledge of the facts in relation to it. Mr. Channing undertook it, I think, with interest and pleasure, and gave a good deal of time to it ; though of course the labor and responsibility came chief!}' on Mr. Thacher. The tliree sermons on Faith, and the sermon on Philemon, attracted, I believe, more of his attention than any others. In the last, an omission was made at his sug- gestion ; but it ma}' be worth notice, in reference to the opinions he afterwards entertained on the subject, that the strong phrases in the discourse that touch slavery did not excite his attention. At least, I am satisfied that he made no remarks about them : and I remember the way in which he went over the whole of the sermon. What most struck me, throughout his examination of the manu- scripts, was his interest in Mr. Buckminster's reputation, and his care that justice should be done to it." The rule by which he was governed in this work was thus once communicated by himself : — ' ' Will }'ou allow me to suggest a counsel which I give to those who are publishing posthumous works? It is, to beware of pub- lishing too much. The best of a man's writings should be selected, with somewhat fastidious criticism, for the press ; and care should be taken, lest the best be lost and fail of their effect by being sur- rounded with much that wants interest, and will not be read. I proceeded on this principle in selecting Mr. Buckminster's sermons, and I thinlv their great success is in part owing to it." But besides tliese friends, to whom he was united by the relations of the pastoral office, and the cares and responsibilities, studies and hopes, incident to the ministerial profession, Mr. Channing had others with whom he held intercourse by letter ; and some passages, taken from his correspondence at this period, may be of interest, 126 EARLY MINISTRY. [JEt. 23-34. as yet further illustrating liis chai'acter. The}' will be suitably prefaced by one in which he pleasantly alludes to the stiffness of mental and moral habits contracted by too monotonous an absorp- tion in his own pursuits. " 1812. The great objection I have to writing letters is, that I can hardly do so without beginning to preach. I have composed sermons till 1 can with dilficulty write anything else. I exhort when I should smile. Not that I think a letter should be written without a desire to do good ; but instruction should be delivered with somewhat less formality than from the pulpit. I will tr^-, however, to lay aside my grave countenance sometimes." " 1808. This is m}' birthda}-. I have been looking back on the blessings which have filled up my existence. The last year, 1 find, has been crowned with mcrcnes ; and in acknowledging the unmerited goodness of God, I cannot but thank him that he has put it into the heart of so kind a friend to take such an interest in my wellare, and to express toward me so much tenderness and affection. All my life long, God has been raising up to me bene- factors. I never experienced the want of a friendly hand to sup- port me. O that with his blessings he would give me a heart to be grateful for them ! Give me your prayers, that the next year of my life may be more useful than the last ; that every day may bring me nearer to heaven ; that I may feel more of the power of religion ; that God would condescend to use even me as an instru- ment in advancing his cause in the world." " 1809. I feel more and more that I am doing little good ; but I blame myself as much as others. Since 3-ou have been absent, I have felt more debilitated than usual. I have not been capable of much mental exertion. How much do I need these rebukes to keep me humble ! You know the sin which most easily besets me. I have reason to be grateful for the various methods in which God is teaching me my dependence and imbecility." "1812. New Tear's day.^ The past year has been to us both peculiarly interesting. It has made some important changes in our domestic circles, and it has left, I hope, some salutary im- pressions on ourselves and our friends. I look back on it with much humiliation. I fear that my sufferings have not refined me as they ought. I am sure that my blessings have not left that tender sense of the Divine goodness which I wish ever to maintain. .... My increasing duties require increasuig activity, and some- * To his mother. 1S03-1814.] LETTERS TO FRIENDS. 127 times the}- suggest many painful fears and forebodings. Pra}- for me, tliat I may be faithful and useful "I recollect on this day the kindness and affection which j-ou have expressed toward me with so much uniformity' and tenderness, since I first knew 3'ou. Your friendship I have valued as one of the great blessings of m^- life, and I hope it will not forsake me in an3' prosperous or adverse changes which may await me ''I know that I have man}' friends, — perhaps few are more favored than I. But still I cannot spare j'ou. How much of the happiness, and I ma}' add of the usefulness, of my life do I owe to your tender, unremitting kindness ! How often have I been kept from fainting In }Our cheering voice ! Do not say that I am in- clined to exaggerate your offices of friendship. I cannot express what I feel. I have often felt that your partiality to me was un- merited, but I am not just enough to wish it diminished. It has become one of my highest earthly blessings. It is one of the few blessings to which I look forward with confidence. I feel that many other friends may fail, but I feel a strange assurance that no changes can sever us from each other. Is it not religion, that indissoluble bond, which unites us ? " "1811. In the beginning of this letter, I have alluded to an affliction which I have been called to sustain. It has pleased God this week to remove from us a friend in whom I have long felt a strong and increasing interest. You undoubtedly heard of her frequently, whilst you lived in this town ; but her character, her worth, you probably never knew. It has been my privilege and hapi)iness. for some time, to enjoy an intimacy with this singular woman, this highly favored child of God. She has been a great suflEerer for several years, but she has suffered so meekly and patiently, her character has been so refined and elevated by suffer- ing, she embraced all around her with such a strong and tender affection, amidst pains which would have rendered others insensible to all but themselves, she discovered such unabated energy of mind at the moment that her emaciated frame seemed just ready to resign its breath, that I have contemplated her with a delight and admiration which very few of our race have inspired. I have understood that in early life she was the victim of sensibility ; and indeed it was easy to see that her feelings tended to excess. But religion, that refining and subduing principle, exerted its kindest influence on her heart. She was called to a struggle peculiarly arduous, but she was conqueror. I cannot mourn for her departure ; yet it is a thought which almost saddens me, that I am no more to hear her animated voice, no more to commune with that powerful mind, that 128 EARLY MINISTRY. [JEt. 23-34. warm and pure heart, on this side the gi-ave. But to her pious and virtuous friends slie is not lost ; there is society in heaven." " 1810. I am not insensible to commendation. I will go far- ther. There is a commendation which affords me an exquisite satis- faction, — I mean a commendation which flows from an unaflected love of goodness, and from a desire to confirm it. 8uch com- mendation confers more honor on those who give than on him who receives it, and shows him that he has a place, not in the admiration of a superficial mind, but in the affections of a good, pure heart. Of this praise I can almost adopt the language of Henry the Fifth,— ' If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul alive.' But to be ' daubed with undiscerning praise,' to have my frailties forced on my mind b}' being told that I have none, to receive a tribute which m^- heart disclaims, and which fills me with appre- hension lest I have been a hj-pocrite, and have practised conceal- ment more efl^ectually than most of my fellow-beings, — this is in- deed painful and humiliating. You will not think that I mean to apply all this to i/ou ; but in j'our letter j'ou have ' o'erstepped the bounds' of that discretion which I wish j'ou to observe. You throw your colors on your friends too profusel}'. Humanit}' is but another word for imperfection. It is a distempered vision which represents it as faultless. I cannot tell you, ni}' dear friend, how much more I should have been gratified, if you had frankly disclosed to me the observations you must have made on my character, and had set before me the weaknesses, defects, disproportions, blemishes, which must have forced themselves on so discerning an oyQ." "1812. I thank them for their good opinion ; but to you I will say, that I feel almost an insuperable reluctance to visit, and much more to preach, where people have taken it into their heads that they are to see or hear anything uncommon. In my own breast I carry a conviction which contradicts all such opinions, and ren- ders applause painful and mortifying. The tender affection which 3^ou express is indeed delightful^ though 1 feel it is not altogether deserved ; but fame, general notice, is not my right, and I pray God that it may never be my wish or end." "1810. I would not have you think that any human friendship is of itself sufficient to raise you to the excellence I have fancied. There is another source to which you must repair. It is a most consoling doctrine of our religion, that the Father of Spirits de- 1803-1814.] GENEROSITY. 129 lights to perfect the works which he has made, that he has sent his Son to renew his own image in the human heart, that he inspires tlie love of virtue, that he hears the aspirations and assists the efforts of every soul which desires to be emancipated from its earthly and selfish propensities " I am very willing Uiat you should dissent from the opin- ion I have expressed of Hume. When I reviewed that part of my letter, I feared that I had been declamatory rather than convin- cing ; that I had carried my principle too far. It is a fault which I have often observed in my character, that I am prone to overstate an argument, — to infer too much from my premises, — to exliil)it a truth without the necessary limitations. I want to make an impres- sion, and defeat my end by demanding a stronger conviction or a more unqualified assent than I have a right to expect. I need to seek the excellence for which Bishop Butler is so remarkable, — I mean that of being so cautious and modest in his inferences, that his readers not only concede tlie positions for which he contends, but almost blame him for not demanding more. This habit conciliates great confidence for a writer ; and we are naturally impressed with the strength of his cause, when we see him able to support it with- out straining a single argument, or even carrying it to its fair extent. Some people, rather than lose a good metaphor, or a fine sentence, are often tempted to assert what is not altogether accurate ; and they have their reward. They astonish, but do not convince. They strike, but do not keep their hold of the mind. ]May you and I love Truth better than Rhetoric.'' Thus warm were Mr. Channing's sympathies, in the home circle, in his congregation, towards his brethren in the ministry, and to many friends. They were not limited, however, to these spheres, but widened to embrace the wants of all his fellow-men in the com- munity in which he dwelt. The poor were especially objects of his regard, many of whom freely Ansited him ; and he had always several destitute f-imilies under his care. His liberality, indeed, was so un- bounded, that his elder brother once said, " Really, William should have a guardian ; he spends every dollar as soon as he gets it." And so he actually did. With a good salary, he was vet always poor, — so utter was his dislike to accumulation, and so little anxious was he for the morrow ; but, as he seldom mentioned his deeds of kind- ness, comparatively few of them are particularly known. Many letters, however, which yet remain, prove how varied, numerous, judicious, and patient were his labors to cheer, encourage, and redeem the unfortunate. And when his own means were exhausted, 9 130 EARLY MINISTRY. [JEt. 23-34. rich and generous friends in his society made him their ahnoner. To one of these he writes: " I shall, indeed, consider it a great blessing to myself, as well as to you, to be able to suggest oppor- tunities of usefulness ; and I shall do this more readily, if you resolve never to oppose your own judgment out of respect to my feelings." And again he sa3's : "I thank God that he permits me to communi- cate to 3'ou the thanks of the poor and afflicted Rejoice that, through you, praise has ascended to heaven, — joyful praise from the lips of a man just trembling over the grave. I feel m^'self indebted to 3'ou for the benevolence you exercise to others Ma}' you yet more earnestly espouse the interest of the Redeemer, and imitate his meek and condescending love." Thus was he doubly a benefactor, b}' presenting to the wealth}' opportunities to bestow on the needy the gifts which God had intrusted to their guardianship. "I never heard him speak of giving pecuniary aid to any- one," says one of his sisters; "but facts speak for themselves. He must have had a thousand dollars to la}' out, of which he spent scarcely anything upon himself, except in case of sickness, or when he had to take a journey. He never had money for any length of time, and I have no doubt that he always disposed of it nearly as fast as he received it. We must believe that he gave away nearly eight hundred a year, and I have known many times when he had nothing. In all his feelings he was large and noble. I remember, on one occasion, he had attended the funeral of a gentleman of fortune, and afterwards had visited the afflicted family. The widow, M'ishing to express her gratitude, enclosed him fifty dollars in a note. It was a sore trial to him. He could not bear to wound the feelings of the lady by a refusal ; and yet, to accept it was not to be thought of. He returned it, and, I am sure, in cloiug so, found some way not to pain another by sparing himself. Think, for one moment, that any one could have offered money to such a being, as a return for his sympath}- ; but then it was so kindly meant on her part, that I could not mention it even now, if she had not long been numbered among the dead. She only did not know him. He was as wise, too, as he was generous, and I never saw any one who more truly understood the -value of money for the benefit of others, or who cared less for it himself." One slight anecdote shows his disposition in this respect. As he was taking a journey alone in a chaise, he was induced by the ap- pearance of poverty about a dwelling to stop and in(iuire after the condition of the inmates. He found a very old couple, helpless and wretched ; and after conversing with them some time as to their simple life, he bade them farewell, leaving in their hands his 1803-1814.] INTEREST IN THE POOR. 131 purse. He had ridden some miles before it occurred to bim that his horse would suffer, though he might not, from his penniless condition; when, finding himself in the neighborhood of an ac- quaintance, he borrowed the necessary sum to carry him on his way. His journals are interesting here, also, as showing how compre- hensive at once and minutely exact was his charity, in devising benefit for the suffering. There are long and full lists of the vari- ous classes of the community who needed care or aid ; sketches of their peculiar trials, temptations, and difficulties ; suggestions for public works, benevolent operations, special reforms ; and hints of all kinds as to the duties which society owes to its members. But a few extracts will speak for themselves. "Things to be done in town. — Comfortable houses to be let cheap for the poor. Innocent and improving amusements. Inter- esting works to be circulated among them. Associations among mechanics for mutual support if reduced. Complete course of in- struction for 3-outh designed for active life. Dr. Lathrop's plan of education. Justices' salaries to be fixed ; their fees ; small debts ; petty suits ; oppression of the poor. Taverns ; drinking-parties ; a work on ardent spirits should be written. Fire-clubs. Appren- tice-boys at bad houses ; &c." "Poor-house. — Rooms to be better aired. There should be selection in assigning rooms. Tracts to be circulated there. Let me visit them once a week. Thej' want plain, pious, unambitious, evangelical ministry ; the}' want that gospel which teaches content- ment in ever}' state. An association of females to furnish them employments. Neatness should be prescribed. Great regularity in theu' exercises. Mutual respect required ; decency of manners to each other." " Causes of poverty- to be traced. Charity is not enough directed. Intimate acquaintance with poor families. Employment found. Economical improvements. Store-houses. Provisions of wood in large quantities at cheap prices, and so with all necessaries of life ; to be bought at cheap seasons, and sold in large quantities. Rum ford boilers." " Excite no feeling of dependence. Stimulate to exertion. Re- lief, such as to call out energ}', and remove whatever disheartens and disables." " How much capacit}' there is in the poorer classes of knowledge and affection ! Why is it not developed ? Is not the social order bad? Cannot all the capacities of all classes be called forth? 132 EARLY MINISTRY. [^t. 2:3-34. Cannot men's motives in pursuing wealth be purified? Cannot a strong conviction be established, that Christ's precepts in the plain sense are the only rule for Christians ? Cannot the power of fash- ion and opinion, except in so far as they may be sanctioned by Christianity, be subverted ? " " Employ religious schoolmistresses in different parts of the town. The children of the poor need special care." In this project he was at this time much interested, and was instrumental, in connection with others, in establishing primary schools — being prompted by the considerations, that, by such a provision, — "The parents are relieved from a great burden, especiall}' in the winter ; the children are kept for many hours of the da}- at least out of the streets, where every vice is contracted, and from the crowded, unwholesome rooms, where they too often witness the worst examples ; their faculties are in a measure called foilh and improved ; the}' acquire some habits of order, application, and in- dustrj' ; are trained to decency of manners, dress, and appeai-ance ; become fitted for the business of life, and are instructed in the Scriptures and the duties of morality." "• A bakehouse for the poor, established by a fund for their use ; an association of the poor, contributing so much a week for a fund to support them in sickness ; associations for relief of the sick, old, debtors, and for the employment of those who are without work." " What can be done to exalt the poor and ignorant from a life of sense to an intellectual, moral, religious hfe? How excite an in- terest in the education of their children? Let me learn to extem- porize, that I may administer plain instruction. May not the mind be quickened by interesting the heart in religion? The Di\ine character, pceuliarl}' as displayed in Christianit}-, is the great means of exalting human nature. The poor need moral remedies. Let the poor be my end." " Let each rich family have some poor under their care ; espe- cially Christian families. Mention the poor to others. Connect the poor with good families." '• There should be an association to receive prostitutes, when re- duced by want and disease, to reform and emplo}' them. A house necessary, and one walled, «fcc. The object, seclusion, sui)port, and reudering them useful. A strong aversion to licentiousness should be awakened." "Immigrants. A society of ad\dce. They are subjects of speculation, exposed to unprincipled men. They want direction, 1803-1814.] LARGE HUMANITY. 133 friends. Keep them out of the way of designing people. They depend on the wants of landholders, &q." " Africans. To enable them better to manage the affairs of this life ; to acquire support, property ; to elevate their desire of pleas- ure above sense, to social enjojments and improvement of mind. I wish them to be thinking persons, to act from thought. Their modes of life would vary, if instruction was early given. A school may interest them. Their present evils — dirt, bad ah-, crowded rooms, and their poverty — originate in thoughtlessness, intemper- ance, &c. In learning they will find new pleasures, and be less tempted to irregularity. We must give them new tastes. What powers, how much mind, how much heart, what treasures, are con- tained in tliem! Shall all be lost? Awaken a sense of their true dignity and true excellence, and so prevent vain attention to dress, &c. Is it not possible to make a party among them in support of religion? May there not be a line of distinction di-awn among them, and a sense of character awakened?" These extracts from papers and journals, extending through the first years of his ministry, show how early and how earnestly his sympathies went out to his fellow-men of every condition. He seems to have wished — to quote again his diary — " to associate with all classes, to know their wants, and to become acquainted with the world in which I am placed." His longing was for noth- ing less than humanity made universal. The spirit that dictated his enthusiastic letters from Richmond was working in him still, and prompting him to seek for every practicable mode of redeem- ing man from the inhuman degradations to which tens of thousands are subject in a society selfish in its principles, laws, customs, maxims, influences, tendencies. He saw that actual life in Chris- tian communities is a hideous mockery of the generall}' professed discipleship to Him whose last s^'mbolic act was to gird himself with a towel and to wash his disciples' feet, whose test of dis- tinction was, " Let him that would be greatest among you be the servant of all," and who left as his dying legacy the new command- ment, " ^s I have loved you, so love ye one another." But these charities within his immediate neighborhood, extensive as they were, did not exhaust Mr. Channing's interest in his race. In the growing prevalence of order, justice, freedom, over the in- ternal legislation of the nations of Christendom, and of humanity and peace through their diplomatic, commercial, and intellectual intercourse, he saw a providential process, b}- which the scattered societies of earth are becoming transformed and reunited into the 134 EARLY MINISTRY. [^t. 23-34. kingdom of heaven, — a slow process indeed to human sight, and one accompanied b}' trial and struggle, but yet a sure one. And thus l)elieving, he thought that a minister of the glad tidings, of universal good-will, was so far from being exempt from the duties of a citizen, that he was, on the contrary, under special obligation to infuse, as he best could, the spirit of love, the hope of a higher future for mankind, the sense of responsibility to a superhuman authority', into the hearts of his fellows, — heated as the}' were by partisan passions, and turned from their rightful function of mutual beneficence by worldly jealousies. From early youth he had l>een, as we have observed, conversant with political movements ; he had been bred up in ardent attach- ment to liberty under constitutional limits ; he had shared in the exhilarating anticipations first excited by the French Revolution, and in the revulsion of shame and sorrow produced by its after excesses; he had watched the triumphs of the ''armed apostle of democracj'," till he had seen him rear his throne of uni\'ersal empire upon prostrate states, which fell bravely struggling for independent national existence ; and now, in common with many of the best and wisest around him, he feared, as an event by no means impos- sible, that the United States might be needed as an ark for free- dom, when the deluge of despotism had overswept Europe. In a word, he was at this time thoroughly in principle and affections a Federalist. Accordingly, in his Fast and Thanksgiving sermons, from which extracts will hereafter be given, he entered freely into the consid- eration of national dangers and duties, and brought men and measures to the test of the Christian standard. In tliis course of conduct he had the sanction of such men as Dr. Osgood and Dr. Kirkland ; but man}' of his brethren condemned him for desecrat- ing the dignity of the pulpit by the introduction of such topics, and large numbers of the laity were indignant at his presunii)tion, as they considered it, and officious intermeddling in matters beyond his sphere. As this was the period of the embargo and the last war, when commerce was prostrate and industry languished, — when the bond of the Union was almost severed by civil strife, and angry controversies prevailed in public and private, — when famil}' ties and old friendships were rudely broken by political dissensions, — when the circles of social intercourse were limited to tliose who adopted the same party creeds, and men rose or fell in the scale of esteem as their opinions vaiied, — when in tlie theatre tlie shouts of '•'•(^a ira" and "-God save the king," alternatel}' drowned each other, — when angry mobs tore unpopular editors from the jails 1803-1814.] POLITICAL SERMONS. 135 where they were put for safety, —and when, in a word, the nation was convulsed, —it can easily be understood that a preacher who espoused the cause of either of the contending bodies was forced to bear the brunt of severe censure, and to be made the object of exaggerated praise. To Mr. Channing one of these results was as distasteful as the other ; but as several of his sermons were printed, and thus became widely known, he largely experienced both. Some critics went so far as to ascribe to him no better motive for overstepping the usual lines of pulpit discussion, than that of seek- ing the notoriety which he thus met ; a charge, to be sure, which seemed sufficiently absurd to those who knew the man, and which his friends might have fully answered by stating the facts, that he had declined to deliver the Phi Beta Kappa oration before Harvard University from aversion to appear in public, that he habitually shunned various opportunities for displaying his talents, and held back from even the literary enterprises in which he was well quali- fied to excel, because he feared lest he might thus be led astray from the more appropriate duties of his profession. But he knew his own heart, and year by year went steadily on his course of giv- ing with perfect frankness such warnings and rebukes as he deemed timely. In these trials he had in private the faithful counsel of his brother Francis, who was a firm and earnest advocate of the same political views, and in public he received the support of some of the most distinguished of his fellow-citizens ; for this was the day when Governor Strong communicated the stern resolution of his character to the councils of the State, when George Cabot with his pen and tongue cast over perplexed subjects the clear light of his sagacious judgment, when Fisher Ames held private circles and public as- senTblies spellbound by the charm of his rich eloquence, and when Boston and Massachusetts generally were strongly enlisted on the Federal side. His decided action had the effect of adding to his celebrity and influence ; and he took at this time in public respect the position which he held through the rest of life. Thenceforward he was known as a man of unfaltering principle, at once temperate and bold, slow to form opinions, but fearless to maintain them, thoroughly to be depended upon in the most trying scenes, ready to follow through good or ill report his convictions of right, and who always " walked attended By a strong-siding champion, Conscience." Thus passed the first ten years and more of Mr. Channing's minis- terial life. Thev were uneventful, but inwardly rich in results ; and 136 EARLY MINISTRY. [^t. 23-34. many good seeds then planted themselves, which were afterwards to bear abundant fruits. Inherited errors, too, not a few, in thought and practice, had been slowl}- outgrown, — so slowl^', that he was perhaps unconscious of the change which had been wrought in his principles. Above all, he had learned the lesson of keeping true to his purest, highest self, or, to express the same fact more humbly and justly, of being obedient to the Divine will, however revealed to his inmost reason. Goodness had firmly enthroned itself as the reigning power in his nature. He lived the life com- municated from above. He was becoming 3'earl3' and daily more and more a child of God. From his very entrance on a public career, he produced upon all who came into his presence the impression of matured virtue and wisdom, and inspired reverence though young. He wore an air of dignity and self-command, of pure elevation of purpose, and of calm enthusiasm, that disarmed familiarity. Careful of the rights of others, courteous and gentle, he allowed no intrusions upon him- self. He was deaf to flattery, turned at once from any mention of his own services or position, paid no compliments, and would receive none ; but, b}' constant reference to high standards of riglit, transferred the thoughts of those with whom he held intercourse from personal vanit}- to intrinsic excellence, and from individual claims to universal principles. He gave no time to what was unim- portant, made demands upon the intellect and conscience of those he talked with, and inspired them with a sense of the substantial realities of existence. In his treatment of others there was no pre- sumption nor partialit}'. He was deferential to old and young : listened without interruption, and with patience, even to the dull and rude ; spoke ill of none, and would hear no ill-si)eaking ; tol- erated no levity, l)ut at once overawed and silenced it by wise and generous suggestions ; was never hasty, rash, nor impetuous in word or act, and met these weaknesses in others with an undis- turbed firmness that disarmed passion while rebuking it. Above all, he recognized in his fellows no distinctions but those of char- acter and intelligence, and, quietly disregarding cai)ricious esti- mates and rules of mere etiquette, met rich and poor, learned and ignorant, upon the broad ground of mutual honor and kindness. Thus his uifluence was always sacred and sanctifying ; and no bet- ter impression can be given of him, as he then appeared, than is presented in his description of the Good Minister, in the sermon — quite famous at the time — which he preached at the ordination of tlie Rev. John Codman in 1808. Henry Ware, the younger, once said truly, that Mr. Channing had there sketched his own portrait. 1803-1814.] THE GOOD MINISTER. 137 The passage is as follows, and with it this chapter may most suit- ably' be closed. "On this occasion, I have thought that it would be useful to dwell on the importance of a zealous and affectionate performance of ministeiial duties. On this subject I could wish to hear ratlier than to speak. I feel that the place which belongs to me is not that of a confident teacher, but of an humble, self-accusing learner. When I look round on m}' fathers and brethren in the ministry, whose years and experience and improvements in piety peculiarly fit them for this theme, I feel no faint desire to resign to them the office I am expected to perform. But my feelings and wishes have been overruled ; and now that I must speak, I wish to suggest something which will tend to quicken my own heart, which will stir up the minds of ni}' brethren, and which will impress this numerous assembl}- with the duties and objects, the tremendous responsibility, and the infinitely solemn consequences of the sacred ministry " To be instant in season and out of season is to be carried by affection to habitual, continued efforts for human salvation. It is not to make a few convulsive efforts when our feelings are acciden- tall}' warmed, and then to settle down into supineness and sloth. It is not to confine ourselves to a cold, mechanical round of what we call our duties, and to feel that we have done enough when we have done what is claimed and expected. It is to glow with a de- sire of success, to stand watching opportunities of doing good to the souls of men. It is to think that we have done nothing, whilst multitudes within our reach are peiishing in their sins. It is to think no labor difficult, no sacrifice great, b}- which men ma}' be saved. It is to explore new means of usefulness ; to inquire what peculiar forms of Christian exertion our peculiar conditions and re- lations may admit ; and then to follow with resolute purpose and strenuous effort the plans which approve themselves to our serious judgment. Perhaps there is no profession, no occupation, which encourages so much musing as the profession of a minister. It is ver}- easy and very pleasing to mark out paths of usefulness, to set at work in our imaginations a variety' of means from which the hap- piest effects are to flow. But to do as well as to toill, this is the toil. To be instant in season and out of season implies that we carr^' deliberation into practice ; that we convert possiV)le into real good ; that no discouragements have power to shake those purposes which we deliberately approve ; that we wait not to consult ease or opinion, when we have already consulted God and our own con- 138 EARLY MINISTRY. [JEt. 23-34. sciences ; that we press forward in the path of duty, undisraa^'ed b}' the opposition, unabashed b}' the ridicule, of tlie world. " Tliis zeal and earnestness ought to pervade our whole minis- terial duties. We should carr}- it into our private studies and devotions. A minister can impart to his people onl}' what he has himself received. His own understanding must be first enlight- ened, his own heart first kindled, before he can communicate a rational and fervent piety. Hence a minister should apply with zeal to the various means of personal improvement. He should never be contented with his present attainments, never imagine that he has learned all which God has revealed, never sa^' that he has formed his S3'stem, and has nothing to do but to preach it. Di\ine truth is infinite and can never be exhausted. The wisest of us are but children ; our views are ver}- dim and narrow ; and even where we discern the truth, how faint is its practical impression ! . . . . " But a minister must not onl}' be earnest in his private studies ; he must be urgent and alive in his public duties. P^rom his retire- ment he should bring into the sanctuar}' a heart glowing with Christian afl'ections. His prayers should discover a mind familiar with God, accustomed to the mercy-seat, elevated b}' habitual devotion, and breathing without effort the pure and humble desires of a Christian. In preaching, his heart should disclose itself in his sentiments, manner, and style. Whilst unfolding the Divine perfec- tions, he should let men see that the}' are perfections he himself loves and adores. In enjoining a Christian temper, he should urge it as one who has felt its beauty and power. When describing the promises of the gospel, he should speak with the animation of a holy hope. AYhilst directing men to the cross, he should speak as one who has prostrated himself at its foot. This is pulpit elo- quence. He should let men see that he has come, not to dazzle them with the studied ornaments of rhetoric, not to pla}' before them the tricks of an orator, but to fix their solicitous attention on the concerns of eternit}', to persuade them to be reconciled to (iod, and to incite them to universal obedience. Let me here mention, that it is highly important that his 7nanner be earnest. B3' this I do not mean a nois_y, tumultuous manner. I do not mean that a minister must have lungs of iron and a voice of thunder. Noise and earnestness are very dilferent tilings. I only mean that the minister should deliver his message as if he felt its inlinite weight, as if his whole soul were interested in its success ; and this he may do without being a brawler. In the still, small voice we may dis- cern tlie language of the heart. I repeat it, this expression of the heart is the perfection of ministerial eloquence. Rules are very 1803-1814.] THE GOOD MINISTER. 139 useful to teach us what to avoid. But when rules have done all that tlic3' can for us, they will leave us chilUng preachers, unless we superadd that tenderness and earnestness which an engaged heart can alone breathe through our delivery. Ma}- I be permitted to mention the want of this earnestness as a prevalent defect at the present da}'? My brethren, should not our sleeping hearers, and the faint efl'ects of our ministry, lead us to inquire whether we present religious truth in the most impressive form? Is it asked, how this coldness of manner is to be remedied ? Let us not, for this end, mimic feelings we do not possess. Let us, before we preach, possess our souls with the importance of the truth we are to deliver. Let us make our discourses truly our own, by catching first ourselves the impressions we wish to make on others. Whilst preaching, let the presence of the Divine Majesty frequently recur to us, that it may extinguish our fear of man, and excite an ani- mating confidence in the blessing of God. Were these our habits, should we not be more interesting preachers? "But, further, the zeal of the minister of Christ should extend beyond the sanctuary. He should carry into his common walks and conversations a mind bent on his great end, and ever ready to seize an oi)portunity of impressing men with religion. He should particularly labor in his own life, in his own familiar intercourse, to exhibit a uniform and interesting example of the truth he preaches. He should not only be solicitous to preach, but still more to live, Christianity. That minister is not instant in season and out of season, who has learned to excite in hunself some momentary feel- ings, and to employ words and tears of entreaty, whilst in the pulpit ; but who comes into the world ready to sympathize with its evil feelings, and to comply like a slave with its tyrannical requisitions. " Such is Christian zeal. I need not mention that this zeal can- not be maintained without great attention to the government of our desires and passions. The mind and heart can never act vigorously on religion whilst fettered and benumbed by any sensual lust, by avarice or ambition. Would we attain the bold and persevering zeal enjoined by the ai)ostle ? We must keep under the body ; we must partake with rigid temi)erance of animal pleasure ; we must look with holy indifTerence on worldly wealth and honor; and thus preserve unwasted the energy of our souls, that we may consecrate it to the work which we have voluntarily assumed. " This genuine Christian earnestness is too rarely seen. Minis- ters and private Christians are, indeed, very often in earnest ; but their zeal is not seldom an unhallowed fire, kindled at any altar 140 EARLY MINISTRY, [iEi. 23-34. rather than that of God. There are some whose zeal is madness, who place religion in the fervors and ecstasies of a disordered mind, and who shatter their own and others' understandings in a whirlwind of sound. There are some whose zeal is paitial ; they spend it all on forms and opinions, which, though not unimportant, are not the essentials of Christianit}'. Tliey compass sea and land, not to make followers of Christ, but converts to their sect. Thej^ overlook the heart, that the}' may rectify the head ; and make Chris- tianity, not a vital, inward, efficient principle, expressed in increasing conformity to Jesus Christ, but a dr}', cold, barren system of modes and speculations. There are some who are earnest enough, but their earnestness is passionate and irritable. The}' cannot bear contradiction. They do not address serious argument to the erro- neous, and affectionate persuasion to the sinful ; but express then* zeal in clamor, abuse, hard names, and all the varieties of perse- cution which their situation places within their reach. There is also a zeal which is the base-born progeny of pride and ambition. It is ever busy and active, for it loves to be seen and heard, and to \/ acquire influence in the church. It is greedy' of services which draw attention, and seeks to heighten itself by casting severe reflec- tions on the lukewarmness of others. Remote from all these is true Christian zeal. True zeal is enlightened and judicious, meek and gentle ; sensible of its own infirmities, and therefore ready to bear long with others ; not devoted to a part}', but to the wide interests of Christian piety ; not anxious for elevation, but willing to be eclipsed and thrown far behind by the more si)lendid and useful exertions of others for the common cause of Christianity. So single, disinterested, and fervent is the zeal which the gospel requires of its ministers." Chapter II. — SPIRITUAL GROWTH. ^T. 23-34. 1803-1814. We have followed Mr. Channing through the first ten years of his ministr}', and have seen how the livmg temple was built up within him, — from the holy of holies, where Divine Love shone on the tabernacle of conscience, to the outer courts in which even worldl}' interests were taught to l)ow before the presence of the All Good. lie had entered upon the pastoral office with many doubts and fears, humbled by conscious unvvorthiness, subdued beneath a sense of the 1803-1814.] MORAL AND MENTAL UNITY. 141 stern realities of eartlily discipline, and intent with all his moral energ}' to lead the heavenl}- life. His enthusiasm had been concen- trated in a solemn purpose of perfect fidelit}', and the force of his intellect absorbed in solving the problems of man's degeneracj', and his restoration to dignit}' and freedom. The feeling that he had assumed the most responsible of human functions, in the perform- ance of whose duties he could not but affect a large number of fellow-beings by the contagion of his inward maladies, or the re- freshment of his health, had made him severely scrupulous. And through every act, in all relations, he had offered the petition, — "Lord! place me in tliy concert, give one strain To my poor reeJ." His earliest preaching was pathetic, perhaps even sad, in tone. It was full of aspirations after the peace of a will made one with the will of God, and of strict demands for the purest self-denial. But gradually, as he was prepared, the beaut}' and blessedness of Di- vine communion streamed in upon his wakeful heart, like the glow of dawn through eastern windows. This spiritual development we have now to trace, and extracts from his sermons will afford us the surest guidance. His discourses, indeed, were his best diar^'. Their topics and the treatment of them were transcribed from the records in his heart ; and his re- proofs and appeals to his people were but the outward symbol of his own private struggles. In making these extracts, the rule has been kept of selecting such passages as were apparently of most interest to him at the time when they were written, and which are proved to have been the native growth of his mind b^^ contain- ing the views most fully and frequently unfolded by him in later j'ears. The attentive reader can hardl}' fail to be impressed with the manifestation of moral and mental unity given in these papers. Through modes of thought and expression merely adventitious, a few grand ideas are put forth, at first feeble, but slowly expand- ing until the}^ absorb into their strong trunks and wide-spread boughs the whole vigor of his life. In sentiment and style these sermons are original, in the sense that they were not derived from the atmosphere of the suiTounding community, or from the leading minds with which Mr. Channing held intercourse. Indeed, there was little resembling them in the preaching at that time prevalent in Boston or New England. But while original, he was far from being eccentric. He felt no desire to push his views to their extremes, no passion for system-making prompted him, no un- qualified statements were hazarded, no extravagant zeal led to 142 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [JEt. 23-34. reckless positiveness, and imagination throw around his patli no dehisive glare ; but good sense and modest}^ made him always moderate and mindful of due limits. Again, while true to him- self, he was not isolated in his intellectual aims. On the con- trarj^ his mind was open to the full influences of the age, and his heart beat responsively to the great impulses and longings with which humanit}' throughout Christendom was then instinct. The chief value, indeed, of these writings is to be found in the fact, that the}- are the answers of a sincere seeker to the questions which all the leading minds of the time were discussing throughout Europe. They are the observations of a patient student of tlie skies on this side of tlie ocean, and so ma}- serve to determine by parallax the orbit of tlie truths whose light was then just discerned in the firmament. In the ver}- first sermon which Mr. Channing wrote, he showed the singular consistency of his inward nature b}- thus expressing the essential principle of all his after thoughts and teachings : ' ' The end of life, God's one grand purpose, is, to prepare mankind for the holiness and blessedness of heaven b}- forming them to moral ex- cellence on earth. Redemption is the recovery of man from sin, as the preparation for glory. And all Cln-istian moi'als ma}- be reduced to the one principle, and declared in one word, Love. God is love ; Christ is love ; the gospel is an exhibition of love ; its aim is to transform our whole spirits into love. The perfection of the Divine system is revealed in the mutual dependencies which unite all crea- tures. All lean upon one another, and give wliile they receive sup- port. No man is unnecessary ; no man stands alone. God has brought us thus near to each other, that his goodness may be reflected from heart to heart. Holiness is light. We glorify God when by imitation we display his character. The good man mani- fests the beauty of God." Thus he struck the key-note of tlie s}'m- pliouy, in the evolving of whose melodious strains his whole life was to be passed. The order adopted in arranging the following extracts is the one chosen l)y himself for the work which he was engaged in writing at the time of his death, and of which a full notice will be hereafter given. As it was his purpose, in that book, to sum up the results of his inquiries, and to justify his leading views, its general divisions will safely direct us in attempting to trace his upward path. 1803-1814.] GOD OUR FATHER. 143 SECTION FIRST. religion. 1805. Love the principle of harmony in the universe. " The Christian possesses a great advantage in the contemplation of nature. He beholds unity in the midst of variety. He looks round on the changing scenery, and in every leaf of the forest, every blade of grass, every hill, every valley, and every cloud of heaven, he discovers the traces of Divine benevolence. Creation is but a field spread before him for an infinitely varied display of love. This is the harmonizing principle which reduces to unity and simplicity the vast diversity of nature, — this is the perfection of the universe. It clothes in moral glory every object we contem- plate. The Christian truly may be said to hear the music of the spheres. He hears suns and planets joining their melody in praise to their benignant Creator. His ear, and his alone, is tuned to this heavenly harmony. His soul is love." 1811. God olti Father. "When we conceive of God as a pure Spirit, and dwell on his incommunicable perfections, of which .we see no image or resemblance in any beings around us, he eludes the feeble vision of our minds. It is then almost impossible that the affections can be excited and centred upon him. Such views of God furnish us no object on which we can rest, as on a reality. Now the Scriptures invest this pure and infinite Spirit with a char- acter, relations, and qualities which we can comprehend, — such as are continually displayed around us, such as constantly address and touch our hearts, such as we can revolve in thought and med- itate upon with ease and delight, such as are attractive and promise happiness ; and thus they furnish us the best and most effectual means for exciting and cherishing the love of God. Of all the interesting characters and relations in which the Scriptures, espe- cially the books of the New Testament, exhibit the Supreme Being, that of: Father is the most common, prominent, striking " No character could bring God so nigh as this of the Father. There is no relation which we know so familiarly as the parental. What name recalls so many thoughts and feehngs, so many favors and tender remembrances, as that of parent? The Scriptures, then, in giving this view of God, place him before us in a clear, intelligible light. We are not called to dwell on perfections which are utterly incomprehensible, the names of which are sounds m the ear, but excite no ideas in the mind, and which have no tendency to interest the heart. God is our Father 144 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 23-34. " I fear it has been the influence of many speculations of ino-e- nious men on the Divine character to divest God of tliat paternal tenderness which is of all views most suited to touch the heart. I fear we have learnt insensibly' to view him as possessing only a general benevolence, which he extends over his wide creation, — a benevolence neither very strong nor ardent, not descending to individuals, and not essential to the felicity of the Divine nature. Now this distant and almost indifferent benevolence will hardly seize on our affections. It may please us in moments of calm speculation. It will not inspire a love strong enough to curb our passions, to compose our sorrows, to influence our lives. For these ends, we need to have other views frequentlj' suggested to us, — those views of God's affection for us and for his wide familj', which his parental relation to us suggests, and which the kindness of his providence compels us to receive. " Let me now ask, wh}' these views of God may not be cherished, and why we ma^- not suppose that God has properly the feelings of a father towards us. It is objected, that the supposition implies that God is not infinitely happ}-^ in himself, but derives happiness from his creatures ; and this derivation, we are told, is dishonorable to God. But I do not perceive that we dishonor God bj- believing that his creation is a real source of felicity to him, that he finds a real happiness in doing good, and in viewing with complacency obedient, virtuous, and hai)py children. To me there is no view of God more honorable than this. Is it not the character of a perfect man, that the happiness of others is his own, that he knows no higher joy than to confer and to witness felicity, that his heart responds to the feelings of those around him ? And if this is per- fection in man, can it be an imperfection in God? Do we, indeed, exalt God, when we represent him as unaffected b^' the state of his creatures? Next to ascribing malignity to him, what can we say worse of him than this, — that he looks on the joj's and sorrows of his own creatures without joy and without pity ? . . . . ' ' We cannot see much to envy in the felicity of a being who has no feeling of interest and love extending beyond himself. Deprive God of the happiness of love, and we deprive him of that enjoy- ment which we have every reason to believe the purest and most inexhaustible in the universe." 1811. The mercy and justice of God. " Mere}' is an essen- tial attribute of God, not an affection produced in him by a foreign cause. His blessings are free, and bestowed from a real interest in his creatures, — not purchased from him, and bestowed by 1803-1814.1 REGENERATION. 145 another on those whose welfare he disregards. He really loves man- kind ; and this is the great motive, first cause, and highest spring of their redemption. Thus I have endeavored to place before you Divine goodness in the glory in which it shines in Scripture. "But I must not stop here. This doctrine, whilst obscured by some, is carried to excess by others. There are those who, when they hear of the essential and infinite mercy of God towards even the sinful, imagine that God has no aversion towards sin, and can- not punish. Unhappily the minds of men are prone to run to extremes. They cannot be driven from one sentiment without vibrating to its opposite "To guard against such a perversion of the doctrine I have enforcedtlet me repeat, that his mercy is not an undistinguishing ibndness ; that whilst he compassionates the oflTendmg, and has appointed methods for their reformation and forgiveness, he is un- changeably the enemy of sin ; that his very character, as the universal Father, requires him to punish and humble the disobedient, selfish, unjust, proud, and impure, to redress every principle and practice opposed to the order and happiness and perfection of his creatures." 1811. Eegeneration. "A religious character is an acquisi- tion, and implies a change; a change which requires labor and prayer, which requires aid and strength from heaven; a change so great and important, that it deserves to be called a new birth. The Christian is a new man. Once the dictates of conscience might have been heard; now they are obeyed. Once an occa- sional gratitude might have shed a transient glow through his heart; now the Divine goodness is a cherished thought, and he labors to requite it by an obedient life. Once his passions were his lords ; now he bows to the authority, and waits to hear the will, of God. Once human opinion was his guide, and human favor the reward he proposed; now he feels that another eye is upon him, that his heart and life are naked before God, and to approve himself to this righteous and unerring witness and judge is liis highest ambition. Once he was ready to repine and despond when his wishes and labors were crossed ; now he sees a providence in life's vicissitudes, the discipline of a father in his sufferings, and bears his burdens, and performs his duties, with cheerful resigna- tion to Him who assigns them. Once he was sufficiently satisfied witli himself, or unwilling to feel his deficiencies ; now he is humble, conscious of having sinned, desirous to discover his errors, contrite in his acknowledgments, earnest in his application to Divine mercy, and resolute in his opposition to temptation. Once the thought of 10 14G SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [Mr. 23-34. a Saviour siiflbring for human pardon, and rising from the dead to confer immortahty, excited little interest ; now the promises, love, cross, and resurrection of Jesus come home to him with power, and awaken gratitude and hope. Once he lived chiefl}' for himself; now he has learnt to love his fellow-beings with a sincere and an efficient kindness, to lose sight of himself in the prosecution of benevolent designs, to feel for the miser}-, for the sins, of those around him, and to endure labors and sacrifices, that he ma}- give relief to the frail bod}', and peace and health to the immortal mind. To conclude, — once he was alive to injury, and suflered anger and revenge to direct his treatment of an enemy ; now his indignation is temi)ered by mercy, and he is ready to forgive " Still, to be Christians, all have much to put off, to sul)due, to correct, to renounce ; and all have much to put on, to acquire, to cherish. So that the Christian character may still be called a second birth. The best Christians can ordinarily look back to the period, when they were governed by inferior and unworthy principles ; when the world was more powerful than conscience and God, or at least when the sense of duty was comparatively faint and uninllu- ential. By the precepts, doctrines, motives, promises of Christian- ity, and by the secret influences of God's Spirit on the heart, they have been raised to a faith, hope, and love which may be called a new life. They have been born again "The fact is, there is a general resemblance between birth and the production of the Christian character. By both, a being is brought into a new state, and a most interesting change is produced in his conduct. Here, indeed, the analogy stops. The difference between the two changes which are here compared proves that the mode and cn-cumstanccs of their production must be very ditlorent. Scripture and experience lead us to believe that the change which makes a man a Christian is gradual, progressive. The Scriptures are very far from speaking of regeneration and conversion in the language of human systems, as effects which take place in a moment. On the contrary, regeneration and conversion are spoken of as if they were taking place through the whole of life. The Christian is continually experiencing the change which is expressed by these and similar terms." 1810. LovK OF r.oD. "The love of God which the Scriptures call us to cherish, and which ^ve are formed to attain and enjoy, is not a blind, irrational sentiment. It is founded on the clearest views of the understanding, on the abundant evidence we possess, that there is an Infinite Being, in whom reside wisdom, and power, 1803-1814. THE LOVE OF GOD. 147 ami goodness, without beginning, or end, or any limit ; who sustains to us the near and tender relation of Creator, Father, Benefactor, and Lord ; whose commands are equitable and kind ; and who is willing to pardon our otfences on the terms of repentance. It is the^oifering of the heart to this best of beings ; it venerates his majesty, esteems and adores his excellence, is grateful for his good- ness, rejoices in his felicity and in the felicity of his creation, im- plores his forgiveness, resigns itself to his providence, and desires to do his will ; and is this an affection to be decried and renounced? In the love of God are united the most delightful affections we exercise towards our fellow-beings, — filial love, thankfulness to benefactors, reverence for the great and good, symi)athy with the happy, and universal good-will. These pure affections all meet in the love of God ; and are refined, exalted, and rendered sources of inconceivably high delight, in consequence of the infinite amiable- ness and superiorit}- of the Being whom we love. " Do not confound this love with the ravings of enthusiasm. It is a calm, mild, reverential sentiment, improving the understanding, subduing the passions, giving serenity to affliction, and uniformity to the whole character and life. Do not conlbund it with a morose, churlish, and censorious bigotry. It is a happy, cheerful principle ; accepting blessings with a gratitude which improves them, delighting in all God's works, and seeing him in all, rejoicing in his provi- dence, and hoping innnortality from his mercy, regarding all men as his children, and discerning with pleasure all the excellences with which he has endowed them. Can that heart be gloomy, which adores and loves the infinitely wise and merciful God, and views him as a father, — which associates him with all its joys and pains, with all the works of nature, and all the changes of life, — which feels him near in danger and in death, and which hopes from his mercy a blessed immortality? No ! It is not the love of God which sheds gloom and despair, but a very different principle. True love of God illuminates the darkness of the present life, and is a foretaste of the felicity of heaven." 1808. The uappiness of beinCx loved by God. " In consider- ing the great hai)piness of possessing the Divine favor, I first obsei-ve that they who love God must derive an inexpressible joy from the mere consciousness that they are behned by such a Being, without regard to the benefits which flow from this lavor. '' The Christian views God as the best, the most lovely, the most venerable of all beings. He sees, that to this glorious Being he and all things owe their existence ; that the universe is full of God ; and 148 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [JEt. 23-34. that all happiness, from the rapture of archangels down to the faintest pleasures of animal life, is his unmerited and constant gift. With these exalted, delightful views of God, how full of joy is the conviction of the Christian, that this God looks on him with complacency and approbation ! His heart is softened bj' the condescension of the infinite Deity, who notices with pleasure his feeble attempts to serve and to imitate him. He would not resign the honor of such friendship for the empire of the universe. " My friends, did 3'our hearts never beat with joy, when j-ou have seen the eye of a beloved and revered friend and benefactor fixed on 30U with tenderness and approbation ; and can you be wholly insensible to the pleasure of him who feels the presence of God wherever he goes, and is able to sa}', ' The infinite Parent of the universe is m}' approving friend ' ? Can any one be so blind as not to see that here is a source of unfailing, of increasing happiness ? To the real Christian, the Divine character continually becomes more and more amiable. All creation, all the events of life, tend to endear to him his God. But the more he loves God, the more lie must delight in the consciousness of his favor. The more his conceptions of the Supreme Being are enlarged, the more his heart must thrill at the thought, that this Being looks on him with the tenderness of friendship. You who know not from experience the pure and joyful sensations which are here described, can you form no conception of the happiness of that man who looks round with adoring humility on the immensity of creation, on the endless variet}' of Divine blessings, and in the midst of his reverence and gratitude feels that the universal Parent, though encircled in his majesty, thinks of him continually, despises not his humble offering, is well pleased with his sacrifices of praise and love, and bears towards him an increasing, an unbounded affection? .... "Is there one who is wholly insensible to the blessedness of tliat man who has liberty of access to God, approaches him with confi- dence, speaks to him as a friend, spreads before him all his wants, believes that he is heard, and knows that he shall advance continu- ally nearer and nearer to his Father, and be introduced to his pres- ence in a purer world ? These are the indescribable enjoyments of the man who is reconciled to God. The Christian who views God as his approving friend needs no compulsion to bring him into the Divine presence. The thought, that God condescends to regard him with a favorable eye, swells his heart with unutterable grati- tude, and gives new ardor and confidence to his devotions. He no longer worships with cold formality a distant Deity, but casts him- 1803-1814.] GROWTH IN HOLINESS. 149 self into the arms of an ever-present Father. He no longer shrinks from God as a being whom he has offended. He may, indeed, shed tears, but they are filial tears ; he may blush, but it is from ingenuous shame, called forth by unmerited love ; he feels that the Father whom he has offended has requited his guilt with infinite tenderness, and the recollection of his sins only gives a new glow and sensibility to the exercise of his devotion. What happy com- munion necessarily results from a consciousness of the favor of God ! This consciousness disperses all those fears which haunt the guilty mind. The thought of God, which once was painful, once filled us with apprehension of judgment, now becomes our highest joy, the centre of all our thoughts, all our hopes, all our affections. We glow with new sentiments, new anticipations. We feel a new dignity in our nature, when we conceive of ourselves as being the friends of God." 1805. Gaovrrn m holiness. " True religion is not to be meas- ured by subservience to a farther end ; but is the end of ends itself. It is the health, purity, vigor, rectitude, of the soul ; and can too much of these be possessed? Is there an attainable de- gree of them which we should not desire and pursue ? Can God, the infinite fountain of good, — whose glory creation reflects, and before whom creation is as nothing, — can he be too much loved, revered, or praised? Can we ever render him all the honor which is his due? Shall we ever embrace his whole character and govern- ment, and have reason to restrain our views and affections, for want of new excellence to behold and admire ? . . . . " Let us feel that the authority and excellence of God claim all our hearts, all which we now are, all which we can be ; that it is the glory of the hosts of heaven to be conformed to his image and his law ; that we can approach those higher orders only b}' growing in pietj' and goodness ; that religion is the excellence of the in- tellectual nature in all its varieties and degrees ; that this is the only true improvement of our nature, and that we can never rise too high ; that according to our growth in these will be our rank in the scale of existence ; and, in a word, that b}' these alone we approach God and prove ourselves his children ' ' Religion is the rectification of the soul ; it is inward health ; it is the direction of affection to the most interesting objects. It con- sists of feelings and dispositions which include everjthing gener- ous, disinterested, sympathetic, and pure. It is in its ver}' nature peace " If, indeed, there were narrow limits to the Divine nature and 150 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 23-34. perfection, and scanty happiness to be promoted in bis system, then the joy of extended piety and goodness might be changed into sorrow, at the discovery of the imperfection and narrowness of the objects. But the infinit}' of God and of his designs and govern- ment is an assurance that the most fervent affections shall not be disappointed. His character invites the warmest friendship, the most exalted complacenc}' and esteem. His condescension encour- ages unljounded confidence. His goodness animates unbounded hope " What an argument is it for growth in religion, that by it we shall be raised to angelic purity and happiness ! What a com- mendation is it of that excellence which the Christian is called to cultivate, that heaven holds nothing more precious, — that heaven consists only in superior degrees of this excellence of soul ! " 1805. Signs of grov^^th. " We are not growing in religion, if we make piety a substitute for kindness, or kindness a substitute for piety ; if we hope by generosity to atone for extravagance or hist, or b}- honesty to atone for avarice. We are not growing in religion, if we are satisfied with performing occasional acts which suggest themselves to our minds, but make no exertion to learn how we may pursue the whole will of God. AVe are not growing in religion, if the thought of living habitually in an}' omission or any positive disobedience sits easy upon us, and makes no painful impression. If, on the contrary, our consciences testify that God's goodness and majesty excite us to seek universal obedience ; if in our hearts we feel that every branch of known duty is the object of our attention and pursuit ; if we can hope that not one sin of heart or life is habitually allowed and knowingly indulged, — then we may expect to grow in all excellence. Then the various duties which we seek to perform will co)ifirra one another. Our temperance will invigorate our love, and this our piety, and piety will add stabil- ity to both. In a life in which all duties meet, there is a harmony which is favorable to all. One spirit circulates through all. They grow like the limbs of a well-proportioned bod}' " When our duty and our happiness shall entirely coincide, then we shall be perfect beings ; and in proportion as we approach this state, we approach perfection "When one is growing in religion, in excellence, he converts more and more the common pursuits of life into means of piety and goodness, and makes them the way to heaven. The spiritual tem- per gives more and more its own color to all objects, and inlhi- ences every choice of the mind. The soul becomes more and more 1803-1814.] HARMONY OF HOLINESS. 151 impregnated with piety and love, and sees and pursues all things under the influence of these principles "If we are growing in Christian excellence, we shall become more simple in our characters. We shall be the same everj'where. The love of God and man will diffuse itself more and more through our common looks and words, emotions and actions. We shall feel this temper at home and abroad. It will influence us when no eye sees us, as well as when we are excited by numbers. It will lead us peculiarl}' to secret, unobserved performance of dut}', to habitual acts of kindness and devotion which lie beyond the notice of man. We shall not only be more serene in provocation, more cheerful in affliction, more moderate in prosperity, but everj^thing will take a hue from religion, and lead to the exercise of pious, humble, disinterested affections "If we are growing in religion, we shall make advance to this simplicity of heart, this harmonious, tranquil state of mind. We shall act more from one principle^ act more and more for one end; and hence our feelings and actions will be more consistent, uniform ; the color of our souls and lives will become more sin- gle ; and we shall exhibit one form to the world and to our own consciences." 1804. Harmony of HOLmEss. " As no holy temper can exist in separation from any branch of moral excellence, it follows that particular actions are to be approved only when they evince a gen- eral conformity of heart to the law of God. There is a beauty in real religion. All its sentiments and views and desires are harmo- nious ; all its actions are guided by one light, and animated by one spirit. It is founded on the crucifixion of selfish aflfections, and it flows out in good-will to God and man, and in complacent regard to all excellence in heaven- and in earth. It has no desire to avoid particular duties, for its happiness springs from the simplicity and consistency of its principles and pursuits ; and its serenity would be destroyed by the counteraction of holy and sin- ful dispositions. " If, my friends, you are animated by real religion, it will ap- pear in the beautiful and harmonious exercise of all hoi}- disposi- tions. You will possess a principle of devotion and of impartial benevolence, which will eradicate the debasing and enfeebling lusts and passions of your souls ; which will dispose yon to blend your interests with those of other beings ; which will unite j'ou with the univei'se, and flow out in tenderness to man, and submission to God. Trust not in an}' single virtue. If 3'our religion be genuine, 152 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 23-34. it will draw in its train the whole of moral excellence. Search, then, whether in all respects you are conformed to the law of God." 1805. Future rewards of usefulness. " One great end of the Deit}' in forming such an extensive connection and dependence in his S3'stem undoubtedly is, that he may give room to the benevo- lent exertions of his children. He peculiarl}' delights in communi- cating happiness through the good exertions of his creatures. He has so constituted the universe, that its happiness flows from the co-operation of its various parts, from benevolent reciprocation, and the mutual dispensing of blessings. God, therefore, may be considered as governing, not so much to impart good immediately, as to bless the good exertions of the benevolent. Hence we see that every benevolent deed will produce b}' its success peace and joy to the heart from which it flows ; for there is One in- finitely wise and powerful, who has taken upon Inmself the care of advancing every labor of love ; the good heart, therefore, will forever be called to rejoice in the happiness which it has pro- duced. " Why may we not suppose that the blessedness which will be en- J03'ed in the heavenl}' world will be the result of the joint exertion of all good beings ; and that each will have the felicity- of knowing that b}' his humble labors the blessings of God have contributed to this abundant increase? In the present state, indeed, we see but little of the consequences of actions. Often the benevolent seem to labor in vain ; seldom do they witness a harvest proportioned to their desires ; and hence the}- are in danger of fainting in well-doing. But the scene which now meets our eyes is narrow in comparison with the mighty system of God. We know not the modes in which he operates. We cannot take in the innumeraljle ways in which he makes the labors of the good conducive to the end the}' i^ropose. At the great con- summation of all things, the darkness will be dissipated, and the good will reap. Then the}' will see their prayers, their toils, their liberal contributions, their exhortations, all their various exertions for the interests of men, and for the kingdom of the Redeemer, improved b}' infinite wisdom to accomplish the happiest ends. They will see that their good works failed to accomplish the object they desired, only that they might conduce to greater good. They will see hai)piness existing and destined to exist and to increase forever, which they were the honored instruments of promoting. The}' will be hailed by some grateful voice, ascribing to their prayers and exertions the attainment of heavenly blessedness. 1803-1814.] HAPPINESS OF HEAVEN. 153 They will see the connection of their labors with the prosperity and triumphs of the kingdom of God. And joy will fill their hearts at finding that the}^ have not lived in vain, — that while, perhaps, they have labored in stations too humble for the notice of man, they have been workers together with God, and been permitted to lay the foundation of felicit}- which shall never end "True benevolence is not happ}- in itself; it is happy in the felicity of other beings ; and in proportion to its strength we shall ardently desire to attain to a state of existence in which we may behold and promote the highest good, may grow in goodness, be- come members of an active society warmed with purest benevolence, and be entirely devoted to the designs of the merciful God. The prospect of eternal life must be inconceivably more dear to a benevo- lent heart than to anj' other being, because this heart is fixed on an object so glorious and extensive, that it wants an eternity to enjoy and pursue it. Take away the rewards of the gospel from the benevolent soul, let him see no spheres of usefulness be^-ond the grave, let him see all his labors confined to the narrow sphere of this changing world, and his heart will sink and grow cold. There will be no object large enough for him to embrace. The good heart naturally allies itself with eternity. It is its nature to expand its views. Let ^it behold a kingdom of endless and in- creasing glor}' under the government of infinite love, and let it be invited to press forward to this kingdom, and its benevolence will give it vigor to pursue the prize. " It is true, indeed, that if the common conceptions of the world respecting' the rewards of the gospel were just, the benevolent heart could not pursue them. Men make a heaven of pleasures in no respect congenial to the heart of benevolence. A good man can be quickened only by the prospect of a future world in which goodness will be exercised and displayed. Jesus will reward his followers, not by introducing them to a paradise of sensual delight and to bowers of undisturbed repose ; but by enlarging their facul- ties, shedding new light into their minds, and welcoming them to a state where ever}' excellence will be confirmed, — where the}' will behold God as a friend face to face, and approach the Divine majesty with new aflfection, — where they will accomplish the Di- vine purposes with increasing vigor, delight, and success, and receive and communicate more happiness in an hour or a day than they have done in the whole of their lives on earth. Here is an object worth ambition. Here is an immortalit}' the thought of which should kindle every hope and desire, and quicken to the practice of universal piety." 154 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 23-34. 1810. Man's spiritual perfection the end of Providence. " By these obvious remarks we are led to the very important truth, that Providence has a principal regard to the mind of man, that divine principle by which man is distinguished above all the other inhabitants of the earth, and is rendered so capable of progression in truth, virtue, and happiness. To the Infinite Mind nothing can be so dear as 7n{nd. There is nothing over which he must watch with such affection. To a wise and good Creator no object can be so important as souls capable of goodness and wisdom ; and to form, expand, enlighten, purify, invigorate, and bless these souls must be the great end of his administration. The perfection of mind, or of intelligent creation, is the great end of God. "Do you ask in what this perfection consists? I answer, in knowledge, in love, and in activity. That mind which has a wide range of thought, knows much of God and of his creation, and loves what it knows, — which is bound by a strong affection to its Crea- tor and its fellow-beings, and acts as well as loves, — which puts forth all its powers, employ's all its knowledge, in the service of God, and in blessing his creatures, — that mind is a perfect mind ; and it is as happy as it is perfect. Its happiness partakes of the purity and serenit}' of the Divine felicity. Now this I conceive is the end of God, to bring his rational offspring to this perfect and blessed state, to give them the widest, clearest, and brightest views, to give them the strongest, purest, most disinterested love, and to form them to the most vigorous and efficient exertion of all their powers in the promotion of the best designs." SECTION SECOND. HUMAN NATURE. 1811. Principle of religion in human nature. "We have not merely capacities, of attaining just ideas of God ; there is a foundation in our nature for feeling and loving, as well as dis- cerning, his character. Let us dwell on this point. In human nature there is a sensibility to what is great and good. There is no man whose heart has not sometimes been moved, wlien he has heard of illustrious deeds, of pure, exalted, disinterested goodness, of an enlarged and vigorous mind emplo^'ed in vast and noble designs. Now this moral sensibilitj' is a preparative for the love of God, an impulse towards him, and evidently designed to be a bond of union between him and the human heart. In his character alone can this love of excellence find an adequate object and full gratification. We represent to ourselves higher excellences than 1803-1814.] DISCIPLINE OF LIFE. 155 we discern in the best around us, and want a purer and more dis- interested friend than earth can give. God is the only being without stain or blemish, without excess or defect. He is unerring wisdom, unsullied purity, unfailing faithfulness, impartial recti- tude, and unbounded, unwearied, all-ennobling, universal goodness. Are we so constituted, that these qualities, when dimly seen in imperfect man, impress the heart, and shall we not direct our minds and hearts to this Being, in whom they are concentred in infinite perfection, and shine with unclouded splendor? " This sensibility to excellence should be cherished b}' us, and employed to unite us to God. Have you ever felt the heart glow, whilst you have contemplated the true and good? Then you will acknowledge that this is one of the happiest, most improving, and ennobling sentiments of which we are capable. We not only enjoy, but catch the excellence we admire. That mind which is often directed towards the best of beings will not onl}- possess a happi- ness peculiarl}' pure and refined ; it will approach the goodness it loves, it will catch a ray of the celestial glor^', it will be changed into the same image. God cannot enter the heart without leaving traces of himself. It might seem presumptuous to speak of man as being a partaker of the Divine nature, did not Scripture employ this bold and elevated language. But this is really the happiness of him who contemplates God in his venerable and amiable per- fections, until he is warmed with love. Wh}', then, do we not love God? .... "God is, in the strictest propriety of language, our Father. What is the love of God, then, but a refined filial affection ? And this is an affection which we drew in with our first breath, and which was implanted at the ver}^ dawn of our being. From this view of love to God, we may see that the foundation of it is laid, that the heart is in a degree prepared for it, b}' the earliest feelings. We were learning this dut}^ as soon as we began to learn anything. This bond of union with God was formed in our cradle ; wh}', then, do we not follow this indication of the end for which we were formed? Why do we not lift up our hearts to our Heavenly Father? Does not the sentiment of filial reverence and love towards such a parent approve itself to our minds, our consciences, as reasonable, becoming, fair, and lovely? Is man ever more ennobled than when he feels his high and near relation as a child of the infinite God?" 1807. The discipline of life. "If, indeed, God designed to give as much ease and rest to rational beings as possible, — if this were the happiest state, — we might wonder at many vicissitudes 156 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [JEt. 23-34. which we behold. But God has the better end in view, of training up the mind to attention, observation, perseverance, and efficiency ; and in tliis view all those changes are good which disturb our indo- lence, which compel us to look forward and to form and execute long and laborious plans. Even danger is sometimes the best state for the individual. Apprehensions of great evil may be necessary" excitements. Tliis is not mere speculation. We ever3-whcre see the hapi)y influence of tiie difficulties, exigencies, hardships, and even dangers of life. We see minds, if I may so speak, of a stronger texture formed by scenes of trial. Those habits of sound judgment, of calm deliberation, of steady effort, of bold, unconquerable perse- verance, wliich we so much admire, are the effects of situations in which men feel that they have much at stake, that they are exposed to serious evils, that they must act with prudence and vigor, or they will certainly suffer." 1810. The blessings of hardship. "Let none consider this state of things as severe, as reflecting on the goodness of the Crea- tor. The difficulties of our state are among its best blessings. The distance at which good objects are placed, and the obstacles which intervene, are tlie means by which Providence rouses, quickens, invigorates, expands, all our powers. These form the school in which our minds and hearts are trained. Difficulty and hardsliip bind us more closely to objects. We love more ardently what we have suffered to attain, and enjoy nothing so exquisitely as what we have pursued through calamity- and danger. It is in such i)ur- suits, when we endure and labor for ends wliicli conscience and re- ligion enjoin, that our whole nature is called forth and perfected. The heart gains new ardor, the understanding new clearness and vigor. A delightful consciousness of rectitude sustains us even if we fail, and gives a rapture to success. Especiall}' if the ends for which we toil and suffer are of a benevolent character, do we receive a reward which swallows up our sacrifices and pains. The virtuous friendships which grow out of such labors, the glow of affection with which we are embraced by the good and holy, the consciousness of acting in union with Jesus Christ, and the excellent of all ages and all worlds, the sympathy, and approbation, and love which we excite, are indeed luxuries of the heart which cannot be too dearly' purchased. Never does conscience speak to us in such cheering tones ; never does our Ilcavenl}' Father look on us with such ai)i)ro- bation ; never are we so dear to those whose love it is indeed an honor and pri\'ilege to enjoy ; never does our nature seem so ex- alted, so worthy of its Author, so worthy of immortalit}-, as when 1803-1814.] SEEKING TRUTH. 157 we devote ourselves to the best interests of our fellow-beings, and, undismaj'ed by danger, unseduced b}- pleasure, unwearied by hard- ship, unprovoked b^' contempt, and reposing a humble confidence in God, the originator and rewarder of all good exertions, press for- ward with ever}' power to the hoi}' end we have proposed. Who, then, will repine at the hardships of a good life? These prove, re- fine, and exalt the human character. Ease, indulgence, luxury, sloth, are the sources of miser}'. They benumb the mind, quench the warm emotions of the heart, sever man from his Creator and his fellow, and make him a poor, sordid, selfish, wretched being." 1811. Duty of seeking truth. " It is the great excellence of man, that he is capable of knowledge, — that he not only receives impressions from outward things, but can compare and combine what he sees, can learn the properties, causes, and influences of surrounding objects, can discern the future in the present, and rise from visible nature to its invisible Author. He is formed for the acquisition and application of truth ; and his happiness and excel- lence very much depend on the truths he perceives. A mind which is open to truth, which sees things as they are, which forms right judgments of its own duties and condition, and of the character and rights of all with whom it is connected, is immeasurably exalted above the narrow, dark, confused intellect, which sees everything as through a mist, gives to everything the color of its own feelings, confines itself to what coincides with its wishes, contents itself with superficial views, and thus perpetually falls into errors and misapprehensions " Am I asked in what this honesty of mind consists, or what is included in it? I answer, — would we be honest, we must fill our- selves with a deep sense of the infinite value of truths with a desire to see everything as it is, to form a right judgment on every suliject ; and we must labor that this desire may exceed in strength all those passions which so often darken and blind the understanding. A supreme love of truth, a disposition to make all sacrifices to it, and to follow it, though it lead to contempt, loss, and danger, — this is the very essence of honesty of mind ; and where this exists, it will induce imi)artial and serious inquiry. " Our honesty of mind bears an exact proportion to the patience, steadiness, and resolution with which we inquire. When an opinion is proposed to us which does not agi'ee with our past conceptions, we must not reject it as soon as proposed, and, to save ourselves the trouble of inquiring and the shame of retracting, say that on this point we have made up our mind ; but, on the contrary, under 158 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 23-34. a sense of fallibilit}', we must be willing to review om* opinions, to examine afresh their foundations, and to receive an}' new light which our opponent may throw on the subject. We must be very careful, too, not to enter on the discussion with a previous determi- nation to form only one opinion. This is the case with many. The}' profess to be willing to inquire ; and yet the}' are fully satis- fied, before they begin, as to the point at which they will stop. But this is only a mockery of examination ; and we may as well spare ourselves all trouble, and hold fast our present opinions with- out pretendmg to sift them. Our duty is to enter on the consider- ation of every subject with a sincere desire to learn the truth, and to renounce whatever errors we may have hubibed. For this end, we should meet the subject fairl}-, look it fully, if I may say so, in the face, and give ourselves time to examine it with deliberation. We must not cast over it a glance, and from unmanl}- sloth pretend that we see all which can be seen, and hurry to a conclusion before we have laid a foundation for correct judgment. We must not catch at arguments which support the sentiment we approve, and say these are unanswerable, and refuse to look further. We are very apt to shut our eyes, under pretence that there is nothing to be seen, at the very moment that new light is breaking in upon us. Unhai)pily, this new light detects old errors, and therefore it is that we eagerly exclude it. Instead of this partial view, we must labor to attain as full and comprehensive a knowledge of the subject as possible. We must invite e^■idcnce from all quarters, open our ears to all that can be urged on both sides, and give attention to every argument proportioned to its importance. In this especially consists an honest inquiry for the truth. All our passions and prejudices incline us to hear only one party. Would Ave be honest, we must extend our views, and weigh Avith seriousness what is urged in favor of opinions we dislike. We too easily take it for granted that an opponent has nothing to urge in his favor. Let us first hear, and then decide. " After this dispassionate attention to all the evidence within our reach, the time for judginfj has come. Perhaps our inquiries have left us in a state of doubt on subjects where before we were confi- dent. In this case we must be careful not to express a stronger belief of a sentiment than we really feel. Perhaps it will be ex- pected that we shall use the language of decision. But our lan- guage should ever be the faithful expression of our conviction. When we affect greater confidence in a sentiment than we possess, we become interested in bringing our mind into this state of confi- dence, and shall almost inevitably be led to practise imposition on ourselves, as well as on others. Perhaps, in consequence of this 1803-1814.] TRUE HUMILITY. 159 inquiiy, we shall come to a decision, but to a very different decision from what others wish and expect. This is a tr^'ing condition ; bnt we must show our sense of the sacredness of truth b}- steadfastly adhering to it, wherever we are called to express our sentiments. Nothing should tempt us to belie the convictions of our minds. It is better to be forsaken and renounced by men, than to seek their friendship by affecting compliance with what seem to us errors. We are not called to be forward, rude, intemperate, in expressing our sentiments. We ought to be prudent ; but Christian prudence is never to be separated from Christian simplicity and sincerit}'. When called to act, we should uniforml}- espouse what we deem to be truth, and in this cause should be willing to suffer " This is honesty- of mind, — a most noble spirit, — the distinc- tion of a truly good and great man. It is a quality of character without which the most splendid talents are of little avail ; for then intellectual vigor may prove a curse, and may only help to plimge us deeper into error. This fairness of mind is not a very showy virtue, especially when it is exercised in the common con- cerns of life ; but perhaps it includes more magnanimitj-, courage, and self-denial than any other virtue. Multitudes have dared to face death in the field of battle, who have 3'et wanted strength and spirit to oi:)pose their own and others' prejudices " This virtue will especially give inward peace. The man of an honest mind has a consciousness of the truth of his convictions, which no other man can have. lie learns to distinguish truth with an ease peculiar to himself. Truth offers herself, if I ma^- so speak, in her natiye simplicity and beaut}- to an upright mind " The fair and upright mind dwells in a region of light. Con- scious of sincerity, it does not wish to hide itself from its own inspection, or from the inspection of God. It is conscious of his approbation, and confidently- hopes, through his mercy, to be at length released from all error, and to attain pure and unclouded vision in his heavenly kingdom." 1810. Humility and the dignity of man. " Humility is that impartial, just, and upright state of mind in which we view our- selves as we are. Humility has sometimes been described as a disposition to deny ourselves what we have, to think worse of our- selves than we really are, to take a lower seat than belongs to us. But Christianity is a religion of truth, and never calls us to practise deception on ourselves. It does not ask us to spend use- less tears and regrets on sins we have never committed, or to appl}' to ourselves terms of degradation and reproach which we have not 160 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^x. 23-34. deserved. There is no firm foundation of religion but truth. To ascribe to ourselves imaginary imperfections and crimes is the mark of an abject and timid mind, and gives little reason to hope from us that improvement which is the great end of Christian humilit}' " It is a duty to estimate highly the nature which God has given. It should be regarded with reverence, rather than contempt. Our danger is, that we shall think of it too meanl}', not too highly-. We ought to think of this nature soberly-, indeed, but still to attach to it a high importance. Man was formed in the image of God, and, notwithstanding the unhappy change which has taken place in his state, he has yet capabilities of excellence which show him to be a noble work of the Creator. There are yet in him powers of thought and action, a range of intellect, an ardor of feeling, a tenderness of conscience, a sensibility to what is right, which entitle man to respect. There are j-et in him many indications of a being formed for the highest happiness, the happiness of wisdom, piety, and goodness. There are many testimonies, too, that man is not forsaken by his IVIaker. There is an indulgent providence extended over him ; there is a liberality in the suppl}- of his wants, there is a provision for the improvement of his faculties, which prove that he is 3'et an interesting object in the sight of God. Yet more, we have an evidence of the most affecting kind to the value of human nature. God has given his own Son, — a being respecting whose nature, perhaps, revelation communicates no precise ideas, but whom we are yet taught to view as sustaining a peculiar relation to the infinite Father, and peculiarly beloved by him, — he has given this only-begotten Son to perform for us the kindest offices, to sustain towards us the most interesting relation, — that of saviour, friend, guide, and giver of eternal life. He has sent this beloved Son to take our nature, to become one of us, in the human form to display the vn-tues of heaven, and, by his promises, example, and aid, to inspire the same virtues into the hearts of mankind. " Here is enough to attest the worth of our nature. Here we are assured that man is capable of the greatest, best, and most honorable endowments ; that he can resemble God ; that he is designed for immortality ; that abodes in heaven are provided for his reception ; that the society of that better world are ready to welcome him as a sharer of their excellence and happiness. Con- sider man as a favored child of God, united by the tie of brother- hood to the Son of God, called to an immortal life, destined to endure and improve through all ages, to extend his views and affections, to fill a wider and a wider sphere, and to perform more 1803-1814.] CHRIST AND CHRISTIANITY. 161 and more noble services in the universe, through an endless exist- ence ; and surel}' such a being is not to be viewed with contempt. There is something sacred in tliat spiritual nature w^hich the breath of God has quickened, and which the blood of Jesus has been shed to cleanse, refine, and make forever hajDpy. " These views of human nature are not onl^' warranted b}- Scrip- ture, but I think an acquaintance with our race will lead a reflect- ing and pious mind to cherish the same hopes. We are sometimes permitted to behold humanit}' in so delightful a form, adorned with such virtues, exalted b}- such vigor of thought and such ardor of affection, so dead to self and so alive to all other beings, so superior, yet so unassuming, exerting an influence so beneficent, cheering, consoling, so resigned and devoted to God, and so sus- tained by the hope of heaven, so arrayed in intellectual and moral glor}-, that we have, as it were, a pledge of the height which man is to attain. Humility does not check these views, but rather calls us to cherish them, to cast our eyes forward to the glory and honor with which humanity is to be crowned, to form large and generous hopes, to burn with a strong desire for this elevated state. It is b}' feeding on these sentiments that the mind is expanded, fortified, and impelled to excellence. It is by this hope we are saved. This hope makes us to become what it promises." SECTION THIRD. CHRIST AND CHRISTIANITY. 1811. Christ a gift of God's love. " There are some who are so desirous to magnifj- the justice of God, that the}- represent him as viewing our race with unmingied indignation, and speak as if his love towards man were excited, and even purchased, by the sacrifice of his Son. In this vfay the unthinking are led to asso- ciate the ideas of an awful justice with the Father, whilst the}' clothe the Son with the delightful and attractive attributes of mercy, and consider him as peculiarly the source of their deliver- ance. I do not say that it is the intention of an}- to make this impression. I only state the fact, that such impressions are pro- duced by the unguarded language used on this subject, ' ' I fear that false conceptions have arisen on this subject, from the habit of speaking of our pardon and future happiness as ' pur- chased for us by the death of Christ.' The eflfect of such language is to fix in man}- minds the idea that our Saviour has oflfered to God an equivalent, — a price for our happiness, — and thus obtained for 11 162 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 23-34. us what would have been reluctantly bestowed, had we been left to the mere}' of God. Man}-, indeed, do not carr}- this language so far ; but the}' still feel as if forgiveness and future happiness were a purchase, and therefore not altogether the gift of free and pure benevolence. I will not say that it is improper to speak of our deliverance as purchased by Christ, because we usually speak in this manner of blessings which have been procured for us by the labor and love of other beings. But I am certain that this lan- guage never should be used, if the tendency is to weaken our con- victions of the great truth, that God is moved with compassion towards us by the essential benignity of his nature ; that of himself he is inclined to save our race ; that his blessings flow to us from a sincere desire to bless us ; and that pardon and life are free gifts, — not something paid for, — not something obtained for us from the severe justice of the Father by the compassion of the Son ' ' According to the customs of the age when the Scriptures were written, it was very common to redeem men from captivity b}' pay- ing a price. The blood or death of Christ, which is the instrument of our deliverance from the captivity of sinful affections and of death, is therefore called a price, a ransom ; and we are said to be bought by it. This is the plain, obvious meaning of Scripture, and so far from representing our blessings as bought for us from God by another, it represents God as buying or purchasing us, that he may shed on us his richest blessings. The mercy of God has not been excited towards us by the mediation of the Son ; but his mercy preceded, appointed this mediation, and gives it its efficacy." 1812. The life of Christ. "Among the truths relating to Jesus Christ, which should be preached, I have mentioned the holiness of his life. Let me here observe, that, from the large por- tion of the Gospels which is taken up in relating the life and actions of our Saviour, I cannot but think that preaching should be often directed to this subject. I cannot but think that this most delight- ful part of the Christian system — the life which Jesus led, the charade?' which he expressed — has been too much overlooked. The controversies relating to the precise dignity of his person have drawn attention from the holy and heavenly spirit which is everywhere discovered in the simple history of the Evangelists. The life of Jesus, as drawn in the Gospels, has been pronounced, perhaps with truth, the strongest evidence of his gospel, more im- pressive to a good mind even than the miracles. This, I think, may be affirmed with truth, that, if we would learn perfect good- ness, if we wish to warm our hearts with the love of it, we can adopt 1803-1814.] CHARACTER OF CHRIST. 163 no method so eifectual as the stud}', the frequent contemplation, of the hfe of Jesus." 1810. Character of Christ. " Jesus Christ is the Son of God in a peculiar sense, the temple of the Divinit}', the brightest image of his glory. In seeing him we see the Father. On this account it is delightful to contemplate him. It is delightful to think that his mildness, compassion, forbearance, and unwearied goodness are beams, reflections, of the character of the universal Father. No other manifestation is so suited to teach us that God is love. "It is also interesting to contemplate Jesus Christ, as in him are displa3ed, in the brightest forms, all the virtues and excellences of human nature. He, and he alone, is the perfect man, an unerring standard ; and it is in contemplation of Jesus that we can best learn the glorj' for which our nature is designed, that we shall best learn to love and aspire after excellence " It is a kind ordination of God that the evidence of Christianity should be a growing evidence. When we begin our inquiries into the truth of Christianity, we are first impressed with the miracu- lous works of Christ, those exertions of divine power which prove that the Father was in him, that he was commissioned from heaven. In proportion as we attend to the subject, a new source of evidence springs up and brings new conviction to our minds. In the moral character of Jesus we see a miracle more striking than the most stupendous work of a physical nature. AVe see in brighter and clearer light the impressions and evidences of a sincere, upright, devout, and most benevolent heart. We see a character most original and yet most consistent ; sucli as tlie Evangelists could never have feigned, sucli as impostors would never have imagined, but which is exactl}- suited to the wants and miseries of man, and to our highest conceptions of the Divinity'. ' ' If from the contemplation of this character we are so blest as to imbibe the spirit of Jesus, our conviction of his excellence and sincerity acquires new vigor. Every attainment in purity and benevolence opens our minds to behold and enjoy yet more of the benignity and glory of tlie Saviour. We feel a new delight in study- ing his history, in tracing his life. We feel an accordance between our best and purest sentiments and the conduct and instructions of Christ, and we find tliese invigorated as our knowledge of his char- acter is enlarged. We perceive ourselves gi'owing more and more like God ; we perceive our narrow and sensual hearts expanding with pure benevolence ; we perceive the storms of passion calmed, and a serene hope in God, and a patient endurance of injuries tak- 164 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^r. 23-34. ing possession of our souls. We know b}' an evidence whicli we cannot communicate to any but Cliristians, tliat Jesus is the Son of God, for we feel ourselves elevated and strengthened b}' his presence "I hope I am not insensible to the obligations of virtue and piet}' and benevolence, however displayed, however enforced. But never do I feel how lovel}' is virtue, — never do 1 feel so deepl}' my own wretchedness, unworthiness, and guilt, — never do I so ear- nestly desire to subdue mj' evil passions, and to put on hurailit}- and universal love, as when I behold the glor}' of God in the face, in the actions, in the words, of Jesus Christ." 1808. The majestic claims of Jesus. " Can we read this solemn declaration of Jesus without wonder and veneration? We now see him in a situation where everything tended to depress his mind, ^¥e see him surrounded by men who he well knew would ridicule his claims, and make them the foundation of his ruin. We see him in circumstances in which ambition and every earthly inter- est united to oppose the assertion of this high character. From his silence we see that at this trying moment he was perfectly com- posed, not agitated, not provoked, not hurried to imprudence b}' violence of passion, but capable of the calmest anticipation of the consequences of his acknowledgment. In this situation, when the solemnity of an oath was imposed on him, and when life or death rested on the words he uttered, we hear him breaking that silence which calumu}' could not interrupt, and in the most firm, serious, and majestic language claiming the honors of the Son of God, of the promised Messiah, of the Saviour of the world. We not only hear him assenting to the question, 'Art thou the Christ?' but add- ing to his assent a declaration of his glory, which he must have known would have been peculiarly offensive to the Jews, and ap- plying to himself language which, under the old dispensation, had been limited to God, — thus expressing his intimate union with the Father. If we consider the solemnity of the occasion, and the lan- guage employed by Christ, we are authorized in saying, that, if Jesus did not declare the truth, he was not merely a common de- ceiver, but the very worst of deceivers. But how can this be rec- onciled with his whole Ufe and doctrines? and how could a man of such a cliaracter have made such a profession in circumstances which threatened nothing but humiliation and suffernig? "If we view Jesus, bound as a criminal at a human tribunal, hemmed in with malignant enemies thirsty for his blood, how can we help astonishment at the serene, dignified, sublime language in 1803-1814.] DIGNITY OF JESUS. 165 which he spoke? What marks of an elevated mind, conscious of majesty, unintimidated by the worst forms of danger, and assured of triumphs over all opposers ! It cannot be said that this is the language of boasting. It was extorted from the silent sufferer by an oath. He who had heard without reply the accusations of malice, and discovered a mind free from ever}^ discordant feeling, at length lifted his eyes to his judges, and declared, ' Ye shall here- after see me sitting at the right hand of God, and coming in the clouds of heaven.' " 1808. Dignity of Jesus. " A few daj's before, he had entered this city in triumph, he had wrought miracles which extorted ad- miration, he had heard the shouts of a crowd welcoming him as the promised Son of David. Through this same city he now passed as a criminal in bonds, a silent sufferer, and experienced only con- tempt or indifference. He saw a fickle, worldly people converted into enemies, because he had refused to assume the outward glory which they expected in the Messiah. It is peculiarly hard to bear a sudden reverse of circumstances, to maintain' benevolence towards men who, from selfish feelings, express attachment, and then for- sake, injure, and conspire to destroy us. But Jesus wept o\ev Jerusalem, when he foresaw its ingratitude ; and even whilst its inhabitants thronged after him to extort a sentence of condemna- tion, he expressed no emotions of disappointment or anger, and bore, with equal tranquillity, the malignity of rulers and the versa- tility of the populace. He saw how little effect had been produced by his ministry. He saw his enemies prosecuting their designs without any of the opposition tliey had feared. No friends ap- peared to accompany and defend him. But he made no attempts to excite anew the hopes and attachment of the multitude. And he, who had so often addressed tliem for their own salvation, offered not one appeal to secure himself. .... " Pilate marvelled greatl}'. He had been accustomed to observe in prisoners a disposition to clear themselves from such aggravated charges. He saw how easily these accusations might be repelled ; he was astonished at the composed, unbroken silence of the accused. This silence of Jesus expresses great dignity and conscious innocence. He knew that the occasion required no defence. A Roman governor, residing in tihe narrow province of Judea, needed not to be told that no insurrection had been stirred up within his jurisdiction. Pilate must have been too well acquainted with the affairs of Judea, to need that Jesus should declare that he had forbidden none to pay tribute to Caesar. Pilate must have known 166 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [Mr. 23-34. the Jewish people too well to believe that they would ever have ac- cused a man who reallj- aimed to break the Roman ^'oke from their necks. It was not necessary that he should speak in order to pre- vent misconception in his judge ; and he was therefore silent. In this position of Jesus, in tliis declining to use any means with the governor or populace for his safetj", we see the evidences of a mind submissive to God, superior to fear, undisturbed by passion, and persuaded that its sufterings were instrumental to some important end. This conduct of Christ, especiall}' if we consider the friendly sentiments of Pilate, was inconsistent with all the views and mo- tives which influence selfish men "In these words we see the majesty and fearless composure of Jesus. ' I cannot and will not deny that I am a king. It is my great office to declare the truth ; it is by the influence of truth, that I am to reign in the hearts of men ; and I cannot shrink from as- serting this most important truth, that I have the power and authority of a sovereign at once to rule and to defend mj- people. Let not this doctrine offend. Ever}- one who is of the truth, who loves the light, and whose mind is open to conviction, heareth and acknowledgeth this and all my doctrines.' Tiiese words, spoken at so interesting and trying a period, discover to us the elevation of our Saviour in a very striking light. We see his mind unbroken bj' suffering. We see in him tlie firmest adherence to the doctrines he had formerly tauglit. We see in him a conscious diguit}', a full conviction of the glory and power with which he was invested. He asserts his royal office, not from ostentation, not amidst a host of flatterers, but in the face of enemies ; and when he made tliis sol- emn declaration, his appearance bore little conformity, indeed, to the splendor of earthly monarchs." 1810. The universality of Christianity a proof of its Divine ORIGIN. " I wish at this time to call your attention to the extent of the influence whicli Jesus ascribes to himself in the text, ' I am the light of the world.' " He here represents himself as sent to diff'use his lustre through all the regions of the earth, to introduce a religion for the whole human race, to improve the human character in every nation under heaven, to be a universal benefactor, to guide the steps of all men, however widely dispersed, to a better world "From tlic whole tenor of the New Testament, we learn that Jesus Christ claimed to himself the high cliaracter of the guide, in- structor, and Lord of the whole human family. He declared him- self connnissioned to diff'use most salutary doctrines through the 1803-1814.] UNIVEESALITY OF CHRISTIANITY. 167 earth, to bring all nations to one faith, to introduce a new worship in the place of the various s^'stems which divided mankind, to unite the discordant world under himself as a common head " Let me point out some of those features of the gospel which fit it for being a universal religion. The representations of God, given by Jesus Cln-ist, are fitted to draw to him the hearts and hopes of all human beings. Under all other religions, the Divinity was rep- resented as sustaining a peculiar relation to the particular nation for which the religion was designed "But Jesus represented him as the Father of all, as having no regard to outward distinctions, as the God of Jew and Gentile, as looking with a father's compassion on those nations who had wan- dered from him, and as extending his arms to receive them. In the gospel, the paternal character of God is continually brought to view. ' Our Father,' is the language in which we are to address him ; and all men are invited to approach in the character of chil- dren. This is at once a ver}' tender and a ver}' noble sentiment. We, indeed, are so accustomed to it, that we see nothing singular in that religion which enforces it. But we should go back to the age of Christ. We should remember the blindness of the idolater, and the narrow feelings of the Jew ; and then we shall be struck with the elevated and enlarged mind of Jesus Cluist, who so clearly taught that God is no respecter of persons, that he is the God and Fatlier of all men, and that before his thi'one all nations may bow and find equal acceptance " Again, another feature of the gospel which renders it fit to be a universal religion is this. The worsliip it prescribes is remark- ably free from forms, rules, ceremonies, and thus it is adapted to all climates, all modes of life, all states of societ}', and other cir- cumstances under whicli men ai'e placed " It is ver}' remarkable, that when he was brought up and living amidst the pomp, and show, and forms, and bigotr}' of the Jews, he should yet teach a religion in which the whole stress is laid upon sentiments, dispositions, and principles, which give to forms all their value ; in which the worship of God in spirit and in truth is declared to be the onl}' acceptable worship, and in which nothing of the outward religion and burdensome ritual of his time is to be found ; in which are enjoined onl}' two positive institutions, so sim- ple and so expressive that they may be observed b}' all men of all nations with equal ease and with constant improvement. Does not this purit}-, this simplicit}-, this spirituality of the gospel, substan- tiate the claim of Jesus, that he came indeed from God, to be the light of all manlcind ? . . . . 168 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 23-34, " Let me conclude this branch of the subject with directing j-ou to another feature of the gospel which fits it to be a universal relig- ion. It is a plain, perspicuous religion, and suited to the compre- hension and wants of all classes of societ}'. A universal religion ought to have, if I ma}' so speak, the clearness, brightness, of the sun, and to diffuse its beams of truth and consolation on high and low, rich and poor, — on all the varieties of the social state. This is eminently the character of the gospel, and distinguishes it from all other religions. Jesus Christ, whilst he claimed the highest title, yet descended in a sense to the level of the humblest of man- kind. He dispensed his religion in familiar language, in striking and eas}' comparisons, in affecting narratives, and in brief and comprehensive precepts. He did not, like the ancient teachers, affect a distance from the multitude, and reserve his mj'steries, in- comprehensible by vulgar minds, for select disciples. He addressed all men with one voice, with the same doctrines, promises, and ad- monition ; and, what is remarkable, whilst he instructed the igno- rant, he 3'et presented to the refined and intelligent more sublime and interesting truths than they had ever conceived before. He was simple and familiar, but in reading his discourses we discover a majesty' in his simplicitj', an authority mingled with his conde- scension. He taught as one who came to instruct the race, for he spoke on subjects which come home to ever}' man's breast. He did not adapt himself to the circumstances of an}' particular age, or nation, or rank. He spoke of that God on whom all men depend, of that obedience and love which all men owe, of tliose sorrows which pierce every heart, of that sin which burdens every con- science, of that death wliich terminates every mere earthl}' pros- pect, and of that futurity to which the eyes of all nations have ever turned with inquiring anxiety. This is the excellence of the gos- pel, that it is fitted for the many, for the mass of mankind, in every age and every nation. It does not treat of local or temporary in- terests. It warns of danger to whicli all are exposed, enjoins vir- tues which all may practise, and offers consolation which all at some seasons need. Its spirit, which is universal love and benev- olence, is fitted for all climes, for all classes. It makes the true dignity of man in every condition ; it forms the hai)piness of fami- lies and communities ; and it is the best preparation for happiness in heaven. Surely a religion so suited to the whole luunan race is wortliy tlie universal P'atlier. And when we consider the circum- stances of liim who proclaimed it, and the darkness, narrowness, and corruption of tlie age in wlilcli he lived, have we not conclusive proof that he came from God, that the end for which he was sent 1803-1814.] CHEIST'S RELATIONS TO THE RACE. 169 will be accomplished, that he will 3'et be the light of the world, in the most extensive sense of the words, and that his truth, designed for all nations, will finally be extended to all the regions of the earth ? " Before this sun of righteousness, the mists of error, supersti- tion, idolatry, will melt away ; all nations, receiving one pure faith, will be reduced to peace. The predicted time, when the lion and lamb shall lie down together, will come ; from an enlightened and a united world one offering will ascend to the common Father and Redeemer. These are prospects which almost overpower belief by their vastness and their happiness. But God has sent his Son to be the light of the world ; and causes are in operation sufficiently powerful to produce these desired effects. The diff'usion of Chris- tianity through so man^^ nations, amidst so man}- difficulties in the past, is a pledge of its future progress. This religion is now the religion of the civilized world, of the most improved nations, of nations who are extending themselves through the earth, and who, according to all human probability, must acquire a decided influ- ence over all other countries. Here, then, is a rock and foundation of hope to the good man amidst the fluctuations of the world. The cause of truth, holiness, and human improvement is the cause of God himself." 1811. Christ's relations to the race. "The exalted state of our Saviour is a subject on which the Scriptures often dwell, although it is necessarily attended with a degree of obscurity. The manner in-which he now exists can very faintly be conceived b}' us. Our experience is limited to this world. Jesus is the inhabitant of heaven ; he has entered on an immortal life, and is clothed with power, such as is unknown amongst men, — a power felt through heaven and earth, — a power which is one day to be displayed in the most wonderful eflfects "That God has invested his Son with authority over the whole human race, to accomplish the most benevolent ends, is not to be wondered at as something unprecedented, and unlike everything we see in the course of providence. This relation of Jesus Christ to the human race is not altogether without example. On the con- trar}', it is God's common method to connect one being with others, for the sake of imparting to them the blessings we need. All the good which we have received has flowed to us, not immediately from the Father, but from other beings, who have received power, authority, wisdom, and love from God, that they might be sources of good to us and all around us 170 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 23-34. " It may be objected to the views which have now been given as to the power to which Christ is exalted for human salvation, that we do not see such sensible effects as might be expected from this universal sovereign. To this I answer, that a being so far exalted above us must have innumerable modes of operation which we can- not discern or comprehend. His agenc}' ma}- continually be mingled with human events, and ^et we not discern it. No being acts, if I ma}- use the words, with so much silence and secrecy as the Infinite Father. He is ever present, and ever operating, and 3'et we see him not, we hear him not ; and his Sou Jesus Christ, who is the image of his power as well as of all his perfections, ma}' act in the same unseen, j-et efficacious manner. The narrowness of our vision is sufficient to account for our not distinguishing more sensibl}' the operation of Jesus Christ in human affairs ' ' The agency of Christ is at present silent and concealed ; but the time is approaching, when the veil which conceals our Lord will be removed, when he will be revealed, with the angels who now obey him, in the glory of the Father, when his power will be felt through the regions of the dead, when all who have lived will receive new life at his hands, and when all will surround his judgment-seat. Then will be seen, and felt, and acknowledged by all, the exalted authority of Jesus Christ " At that da}- men will be as angels, and will be associated in a measure with angels ; and then will be understood that striking language of Paul, that it is the purpose of God to ' gather together in one all things in Christ.' " 1811. Christ's relations to the Church. "By his Church our Saviour does not mean a part}-, bearing the name of a human leader, distinguished by a form or an opinion, and, on the ground of this distinction, denying the name or character of Christians to all but themselves. He means by it the body of his friends and followers, who truly imbibe his spirit^ no matter b}' what name they are called, in what house they worship, by what peculiarities of mode and opinion they are distinguished, under what sky the}- live, or what language they speak. These are the true church, — men made better, made holy, virtuous, by his religion, — men who, hoping in his promises, keep his commands. "Ever since Christ's church was established such a unity has existed, such characters have been formed by the gospel ; and this influence it will exert through all ages. As we have said, we have reason to suppose, from what has been experienced, that great changes will take place in the present state of Christianity ; and the 1803-1814.] PROGRESS OF SOCIETY. 171 time is, perhaps, coming, when all om* present sects will live only in histor}'. But the influences of the gospel will not therefore cease ; the church will not die with the sects into which it is broken. On the contrar}-, we ma}' hope that the vine of God will flourish more, when these branches are lopped off which exhaust its strength and bear little fruit. Men will then learn that Christianit}' is designed for practice, and not for contention ; ceasing to censure others, the}^ will aim to reform themselves. The simple gospel, divested of human addition, no longer disfigured by absurd explanation, will be the centre and bond of union to the world. The name of Chris- tian will absorb all other names ; and the spirit of love to God and man will take the place of unhallowed zeal and bitter contention. Human churches, human establishments, — the effects and monu- ments of folly and ambition, — will fall. But the church of Christ — which is another name for piet}', goodness, righteousness, peace, and love — shall endure forever "The recover}' of men to holiness, by the diff'usion of a holy doctrine, was not one of the inferior objects of Christ's mission, not an accidental end, which may fail, and yet his great purpose be accomplished. This was the central work which brought him into the world. Forsaking all other ends, he lived for this, — to unfold, and confirm, and enforce a religion which should fill the whole earth, and subsist to the end of time "It is a delightful and elevating thought, that the Son of God, of whom the Scriptures speak in such magnificent language, has this peculiar interest in the sanctification and recover}' of our race ; that, after living to teach, and dying to confirm, his truth, he is now clothed with majesty and might, to extend it through the earth. Can that cause fail which has this advocate in heaven ; that king- dom be overthrown which this immortal and benignant Sovereign watches with a constant care? We must never imagine Jesus Christ withdrawn from the support of his church, or indifferent to the holiness and virtue of our race." SECTION FOURTH. SOCIETY. 1810. Providence manifested in the progress of society. "We must not suffer the miseries which histor}' brings to view to fill our minds, and to crowd from them the animating conviction of an overruling Providence, which will make light spring up in dark- ness, and the furious waves subside into peace. We ought to re- 172 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [JEt. 23-34. member, that, whilst societ}' has been so agitated, innumerable individuals have, in all ages, enjoyed peace and security- ; that, in the famil}' retreat where history never penetrates, the domestic virtues have been cherished, and all the endearments and improve- ments of social intercourse enjoyed. We ought to remember, that, amidst the convulsions of the world, the cause of truth and religion has ever maintained its ground, and been silentl}- extending its in- fluence ; that the race has been progressive ; that the light of revelation, which at first faintU' gleamed in an obscure corner of the world, is now beaming on many nations ; and that treasures of knowledge and wisdom have constantly been accumulating as they have been transmitted from age to age. Let us not, then, waver in the belief, which there is so much to confirm, that there is a wise and almighty Providence extended over all the changes of society. "As the individuals of the human race pass through stages of helplessness, inexperience, and suffering, before they attain the vigor of their powers, so the race itself is destined to pass through its infanc}' and growth, before it attains to wisdom and happiness. As the individual improves by experience, and gains the best lessons from suffering, so, perhaps, society is to be instructed and ameliorated by calamity. Future ages ma}' look back on the present, and, whilst they shudder at the scenes of confusion and bloodshed which are now exhibited, ma}- be kept from that de- pravity of manners, that selfish, mercenary spirit, that neglect of Christianity and of education, that pride and ambition, which are the sources of our miseries. But, whatever be the methods of Providence, we may be assured that the interests of virtue and religion will triumph, and with these all the interests of society will be advanced. Nothing is wanting except the extension of pure principle and pure manners, to make society happy ; and without this, all other improvements will be of no avail. But this will be effected "The time is coming when the wicked will be remembered only to instruct and improve, and the miseries of men be remembered only to illustrate the triumphs of goodness and happiness. Let us, then, never faint ; but in the darkest period cleave to the cause of righteousness, seek to bless and reform mankind, and exult in the thought that our labors shall not be in vain in the Lord Jesus." 1809. Peace on eautii. " Peace is a state of harmony between beings who have one interest, arc alive to the same pleasures and pains, and participate in each other's views and feelings. Our K 1803-1814.] PEACE ON EARTH. 173 Saviour, in his last prayer for his disciples, has taught us what he meant bj' the peace which he came to establish on earth, when he expresses again and again this desire, that they might ' be one, even as he and the Father were one.' " By this peace we are not to understand merel}' that state of things in wliich men abstain from mutual injury. It is that mutual affection which prompts us to ever}' sacrifice for one anotlier's good, and renders each happy to do and to suffer for his friend. Peace is sometimes spoken of as a negative, inactive state. But in the gospel it expresses something very different, — the union of good hearts, which are inflamed with the best sentiments, which are at- tracted b}' congeniality, and which conspire to act for the com- mon welfare. This peace is not the profession of lips, but living concord. " The end for which Jesus Christ came was to convert men into real friends, to make them objects of each other's attachment, to give them a common feeling and a common interest. He came to oper- ate on the spirit, to produce inward effects, to implant a principle of true love, to fit men for the most endearing relations. He came to adorn the human character, to strip it of ever3-thing fierce and re- pulsive, to make it attractive, to shed round it the mild lustre of benevolence. He came to take from men's hands the implements of war, and to open their arms to embrace one another. He came to dispel distinast, suspicion, and jealous}"^, to render man worthj' of the confidence of his brother, to bring men to that exalted state in which the}- will lay bare their whole souls without fear. He came to draw men off from separate interests, and to win them to objects in which all may combine, to which all may lend their aid, and which will thus form the means of affectionate intercourse. He came to soften insensibilit}', to make many hearts beat in unison, to excite the tenderest concern for each individual's welfare, and the most generous, disinterested labors for the common good. He came to root out envy, to give every person an interest in the excellence of others, to make us look with delight on all promises of goodness, to rouse us to be helpers of each other's purity and perfection, to teach us to feel that the progress of our brethren is our own. He came to form such a union amongst men as would lead them to pour freely from their hearts the noblest views and feelings, and thus become the means of enkindling every grace and virtue, and mutual sources of love and wisdom. He came, in a word, so to bind us together that we should count nothing material or spiritual our own, but hold all things in common, and give all to the general well-being." 174 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [Mi. 23-34. 1810 (April 5, Day of Public Fast). The military despotism OF France. " Am 1 asked, what there is so peculiar in our times? I answer : In the veiy heart of Europe, in the centre of the civ- ilized world, a new power has suddenly arisen on the ruins of old institutions, peculiar in its character, and most ruinous in its influ- ence. We there see a nation, which, from its situation, its fertilit}', and population, has always held a commanding rank in Europe, suddenly- casting off the form of government, the laws, the habits, the spirit, by which it was assimilated to surrounding nations, and b^' which it gave to them the power of restraining it ; and all at once assuming a new form, and erecting a new government, free in name and profession, but holding at its absolute disposal the proi)erty and life of every subject, and directing all its energies to the sub- jugation of foreign countries. We see the supreme power of this nation passing in rapid succession from one hand to another. But its object never changes. We see it dividing and corrupting b}^ its arts, and then overwhelming by its arms, the nations which surround it. We see one end steadily kept in view, — the creation of an irre- sistible military power. For this end, we see ever}' man, in the prime of life, subjected to military service. We see military talent everywhere excited, and by every means rewarded. The arts of life, agriculture, commerce, all are of secondary value. In short, we see a mighty nation sacrificing ever}' blessing in the prosecution of an unprincipled attempt at universal conquest. "The result 3'ou well know. The surrounding nations, unpre- pared for this new conflict, and absolutel}' incapacitated b}' their old habits and institutions to meet this new power on equal tcnns, have fallen in melancholj' succession ; and each, as it has fallen, has swelled by its plunder the power and rapacit}' of its conquerors. We now behold this nation triumphant over Continental P!)urope. Its armies are immensely numerous ; j'et the number is not the cir- cumstance which renders them most formidable. These armies have been trained to conquest by the most perfect discipline. At their head are generals who have risen only by military merit. They are habituated to victory, and their enemies are habituated to defeat. "All this immense power is now centred in one hand, wielded by one mind, — a mind formed in scenes of revolution and blood, — a mind most vigorous and capacious, but whose capacity is filled with plans of dominion and devastation. It has not room for one thought of mere}'. The personal character of Napoleon is of itself sufficient to inspire the gloomiest forebodings. But in addi- tion to his lust for power, he is almost impelled by the necessity of his circumstances to cairy on the bloody work of conquest. His 1803-1814.1 NAPOLEON AND FRANCE. 175 immense armies, the only foundations of his empire, must be sup- ported. Impoverished France, however, cannot give them support. Tliey must tlierefore live on tlie spoils of otlier nations. But the nations which they successively spoil, and whose industry and arts they extinguish, cannot long sustain them. Hence they must pour themselves into new regions. Hence plunder, devastation, and new conquests are not merely the outrages of wanton bar- barity ; tliey are essential even to the existence of this tremendous power. " What overwhelming, disheartening prospects are these! In the midst of Christendom, this most sanguinary power has reared its head, and holds the world in defiance ; and now, let me ask, how are we impressed in these dark, disastrous times? Here is every form of misery. We are called to sympathize with fallen greatness, with descendants of ancient sovereigns, hurled from their thrones, and cast out to contempt ; and if these do not move us, our sympathy is demanded by a wretched peasantry, driven from their humble roofs, and abandoned to hunger and unsheltered poverty. The decaying city, the desolated country, the weeping widow, the forsaken orphan, call on us for our tears. Nations, broken in spirit, yet forced to smother their sori'ows, call on us, with a silent eloquence, to feel for their wrongs ; and how are we moved by these scenes of ruin, hor- ror, and alarm? Does there not, my friends, prevail among us a cold inditference, as if all this were nothing to us, as if no tie of brotherhood bound us to these sufferers ? Are we not prone to fol- low the authors of this ruin with an admiration of their power and success, which almost represses our abhorrence of their unsparing cruelty ? " But we are not merely insensible to the calamities of other nations. There is a still stranger insensibility to our own dangers. We seem determined to believe that this storm will spend all its force at a distance. The idea, that we are marked out as victims of this all-destroying despotism, that our turn is to come and perhaps is near, — this idea strikes on most minds as a fiction. Our own deep interest in the present conflict is unfelt even by some who feel as they ought for other nations. .... "It may be asked, whether I mtend by these remarks to repre- sent our country as in a hopeless state. No, m}- friends. I have held up the danger of our country in all its magnitude, only that I may ui my huml)le measure excite that spirit which is necessary, and which by the blessing of Providence may be elTectual, to avert it. Alarming as our condition is, there does appear to me to be one method of safety, and only one: — Js a people, we must he 176 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 23-34. brought to see and to feel our danger ; we must he excited to a public spirit^ an energy^ a magnanimity^ proportioned to the solemnity of the times in which we are called to act. If I may be permitted, I would say to the upright, tlie disinterested, tlie enlightened friends of their countr}', that the times demand new and peeuUar exertions. In the present state of the world, there is, under God, but one hope of a people ; and that is, their own exalted virtue. This, therefore, should be your object and labor, — to fix the under- standings of the people on the calamities that are approaching them ; to enlighten the public mind ; to improve our moral feelings ; to breathe around you an elevated spirit ; to fortif}' as many hearts as possible with the generous purpose to do all which men can do for the preservation of their countr}-. You should labor, not to excite a temporary' parox3'sm, for the danger is not to be repelled by a few impassioned efforts. We want a calm and solemn appre- hension fixed in ever}* mind, that we have ever3-thing at stake, — that great sacrifices are to be expected, but that the evils are so tremendous as to justifj^ and require ever}" sacrifice. We want to have a general impression made of the character, spirit, designs, power, and acts of France; — of the unparalleled wretchedness, the political, moral, and religious debasement, attendant on union with her, or on subjection to her power. To effect this end, I have said that new exertions should be made. The common vehicles of political information have done, and may do, much, but cannot do all which is required. Authentic publications in the names of our wisest, purest, most venerated citizens should be spread abroad, containing the plain, unexaggerated, uncolored history of the revo- lution and domination of France. " It may be said that the people have all the evidence on this subject already communicated to them. I fear that many have not received suflflciently distinct and connected information from sources on which they rely ; and I am confident that many who know the truth need to have the convictions of their understandings converted into active principles, into convictions of the heart. I fear there are many who are blinded to the true character of the conqueror of Europe, by the splendor of his victories ; many who attach to him tlie noble qualities which have been displayed by other heroes, and who repose a secret hope in his clemency. The}' ought to know, and they might know, that he has risen to power in a revolution which has had a peculiar influence in hardening the heart ; that his character is unillumined by one ray of beneficence ; that he is dark, vindictive, unrelenting ; that no man loves him, that he cares for no man's love ; that he asks only to be feared, 1803-1814.] CHRISTIANITY OUR SAFEGUARD. 177 and that fear and horror are the only sentiments he ought to inspire "On these topics, and on man}- others which would illustrate the character and tendency- of the French domination, might not con- viction be carried to some minds at least, and might not many sluggish minds be aAvakened, if persevering, steady efforts were made b}' men whose characters would be pledges of their veracity and disinterestedness? Sudden effects might not be produced, and perhaps sudden effects are not to be desired. We do not want a temporary', evanescent ardor, excited for partial purposes and lo- cal objects. We want a rational conviction of their great danger fastened on the people, and a steady and generous purpose to re- sist it b}' every means which Providence has put within their power. Let me entreat all who are interested in this great object, the im- provement and elevation of public sentiment, to adhere to such means only as are worthy that great end ; to suppress and condemn appeals to unworthy passions, misrepresentation, and that abuse which depraves public taste and sentiment, and malces a man of a pure mind ashamed of the cause which he feels himself bound to support. Let me also urge 3-ou to check the feelings and the ex- pressions of malignity and revenge. Curses, denunciations, and angr}' invectives are not the language of that spirit to which I look for the safety of our country. We ought to know that the malignant passions of a people are among the powerful instruments hy which the enemy binds them to his yoke. The patriotism which we need is a benevolent, generous, forbearing spirit ; too mucli engrossed with the public welfare to be stung by personal opposi- tion ; calm and patient in exhibiting the truth, and tolerant towards those who cannot, or who will not, receive it. Let me repeat it ; the end we should propose, the elevation of public sentiment and feeling, is not to be secured by violence or passion, but by truth from the hearts and lips and pens of men whose lives and char- acters give it energ}'. "But as the most effectual method of exalting the views, pur- poses, and character of our nation, let me entreat 3'ou who are lovers of your country to labor witli all your power to diffuse the faith and practice of the gospel of Christ. The prevalence of true Christianity is the best defence of a nation, especially at this solemn and cA'entful period. It will secure to us the blessing of Almighty God ; and it will operate more powerfully than any other cause in making us recoil from the embrace of P^ ranee. No gi-eater repugnance can be conceived than what subsists between the mild, humane, peaceful, righteous, and devout spirit of the gospel, and 12 178 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [Mt. 23-34. the impious, aspiring, and rapacious spirit of this new nation. Christianity will, indeed, exclude from our breasts all feelings of ill-will, malice, and revenge towards France and her sovereign ; for these are feelings which it never tolerates. But it will inspire a hoh' abhorrence of her spirit and designs, and will make us shudder at the thought of sinking under her power, or aiding her success. "But it becomes us to promote Christianit}', not only because it will helj} to save our countr}'. We should cherish and diffuse it, because it will be a refuge and consolation, even slwuld our country fall; a support which the oppressor cannot take from us. The sincere Christian is not comfortless, even in the darkest and most degenerate times. He knows that oppressive power is but for a moment ; and his benevolence is animated b}' the promise of God, that, even in this world, this scene of cruelt}' and wretchedness, there will yet be enjoyed the reign of peace, of truth, and holiness under the benignant Saviour." Extracts from a Sermon preached in Boston, July 23, 1812, THE DAY of THE PUBLIC FaST APPOINTED BY THE EXECUTIVE OK THE Commonwealth of Massachusetts, in consequence of the declaration of war against Great Britain. "That we have received no injuries from the nation we have selected as our enemv I do not say ; but when I consider the conduct of our own govern- ment in relation to the two belligerents, — the partiality and timid submission they have expressed towards the one, the cause of sus- picion they have given to the other, — and the spirit in which they have sought reparation from England, I am unable to justify the war in which we have engaged. To render the war justifiable, it is not enough that we have received injuries ; — we must ask our- selves. Have we done our duty to the nation of which we complain ? have we taken and kept a strictly impartial position towards her and her enemy ? have we not submitted to outrages from her enemy by which he has acquired advantages in the war? have we sought reparation of injuries in a truly pacific spirit? have we insisted only on luidoubted rights? have we demanded no unreasonable con- cessions ? These questions must be answered before we decide on the character of the war, and I fear the answer must be against us. . . . If we have rushed into it when we might have avoided it by an impartial and pacific course, then we have wantonly and by our own fault drawn on ourselves its privations and calamities. Our enemy may, indeed, divide the guilt with us ; but on ourselves, as truly as on our enen\y, falls the heavy guilt of spreading tumult, slaughter, and misery through the fiimily of God.' 1803-1814.] DEMORALIZING INFLUENCES. 179 "If on the ground of right and justice this war cannot be de- fended, what shall we say when we come to consider its expediency, its effects on ourselves and the world ? It is a war fraught with ruin to our propert}"", our morals, our religion, our independence, our dearest rights, — whilst its influence on other nations, on the common cause of humanity, is most unhappy " This war is a death-blow to our commerce. The ocean, which nature has spread before us as the field of our enterprise and ac- tivity, and from which we have reaped the harvest of our prosperity, is, in effect, forbidden us. Our ships and superfluous produce are to perish on our hands, — our capital to waste awa}^ in unproductive inactivity, — our intercourse with all foreign nations is broken off', and the nation with which we sustained the most profitable inter- course is our foe. Need I tell you the distress which this war must spread through the commercial classes of society, and among all whose occupations ai-e connected with commerce? How many are there from whom the hard earnings of years are to be wrested by this war, whose active pursuits and cheering prospects of future comfort are exchanged for discouragement, solicitude, and ap- proaching want ! "In addition to this, as our resources are decreasing, the public burdens are growing heavier ; and government, after paralyzing our industr}' and closing the channels of our wealth, are about to call on us for new contributions to support the war under which we are sinking. And, to fill up the measure of injur}', we are told that this war, so fatal to commerce, so dreaded by the friends of com- merce, is carried on for its protection. We are required to believe, that restriction and war, the measures which have drained awa}'^ the life-blood of our prosperity, are designed to secure our rights on the ocean. " But loss of property is a small evil attending this war, — its effect on our character cannot be calculated. I need not tell you the moral influence of a war which is bringing to a gloomy pause the activit}' of the community, — which is to fill our streets with laborers destitute of employment, — which is to reduce our young men to idleness, — which will compel a large portion of the commu- nit}' to esteem their own government their worst eneni}'. Regular industry is the parent of sobriet}^ and gives strength to all the vir- tues. A community must be corrupted in proportion as idleness, discontent, and want prevail. We have reason to fear that these temptations will prove too strong for the virtue of common minds, — that, with the decline of commerce, the sense of honor and upright- ness in pecuniary transactions will decline, — that fair dealing will 180 SPIRITUAL GROWTH [iET. 23-34. be succeeded b}' fraud, — that civil laws will be treated with con- tempt, — that habits of dissoluteness and intemperance, already' too common, will be awfull}' multiplied, — that our 3'oung men, thrown out of emplo3^ment and having no field for their restless activity and ardent hopes, will give themselves up to lawless pleasure or immoral pursuits. " Let me here mention one pursuit which this war will encourage, and which will operate very unhappily on our character. I have said that the ocean will be abandoned. I mistake ; — the merchant- vessel will indeed forsake it, but the privateer will take her place. The ocean is no longer to be the field of useful and honest enter- prise. We are no longer to traverse it, that we may scatter through the world the bounties of Providence. Henceforth plun- der, — plunder is our only object. We are to issue from our ports, not to meet the armed ship of our enem}', — not to break her naval power, — not to wage a war for public purposes ; but we shall go forth to meet the defenceless private merchant, and, with our sword at his breast, we are to demand his property, and to en- rich ourselves with his spoils. This pursuit is, indeed, allowed by the law of nations ; but Christians, and the friends to public morals, must dread and abhor it, as pecuHarly calculated to stamp on a people the character of rapacity' and hardness of heart. Yet this is the pursuit, this the character, in which Americans are hence- forth to be found on the ocean. " But all the ruinous effects of this war are not yet unfolded. To see it in its true character, we must consider against what nation it is waged^ and with what nation it is connecting us. AYe have selected for our enemy the nation from which we sprang, and which has long afforded and still offers us a friendly and profitable inter- course, — a nation which has been for ages the stronghold of Protes- tant Christianity, — which everj-where exhibits temples of religion, institutions of benevolence, nurseries of science, the aids and means of human improvement, — a nation which, with all the corruptions of her government, still enjoys many of the best blessings of civil liberty, and which is now contending for her own independence, and for the independence of other nations, against the oppressor of mankind. When I view my country taking part with the op- pressor against that nation which has alone arrested his proud career of victor^', — which is now spreading her shield over deso- lated Portugal and Spain, — which is the chief hope of the civil- ized world, — I blush, — I mourn. We are linking ourselves with the acknowledged enem}' of mankind, — with a government .... which has left not a vestige of liberty where it has extended its 1803-1814.] HOLINESS, TRUTH, HUMANITY. 181 blasting sway, — which is at this moment ravaging nations that are chargeable with no crime but hatred of a foreign j-oke. Into contact and communion with this bloody nation we are brought by this war, — and what can we gain by building up its power ? On this subject too much plainness cannot be used. Let our government know that we deem aUiance with France the worst of evils, threatening at once our morals, oui' liberty, 'and our religion." ^ Chapter III.— THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. Events were now about to summon Mr. Channing from the quiet scenes in which he was earnestly' seeking a religious life, to take an active though unwilling part in the Unitarian controvers}' ; and any one who wishes to understand aright his relations to this move- ment should cast a glance backward, aud note the progress of the different influences which then met to intermingle in unpleasant but inevitable conflict. If with a catholic and not sectarian temper we surve}' the ecclesiastical history of New England, we cannot fail to see, that in this commotion of the spiritual world, as in those which disturbed the atmosphere, the elements were but seeking equilibrium, and that modes of thought and feeling which at first seem to run most counter to each other were really different cloud- currents of one storm. Certainly the candid of all parties must admit, that, by means of this agitation, the heaven of piety has become more clear, the air of thought more fresh, the earth of charit}- more green. From the middle of the last century onwards, three distinct tendencies may be traced in the minds of the Christians of this country, and, indeed, of Europe also. The first is Spiritual Piet}% devoutly longing for a near communion with the Infinite Being and the heavenly world, manifesting itself in various forms of enthu- siasm, and desiring universal sanctification. The second is Phi- lanthropy, demanding a thorough application of the law of love to all the actual relations and practical concerns of life, and ani- mating men to an unprecedented zeal in moral and social reforms. 1 Tlie reader who wishes to learn more fully Mr. Channing's views at this eventful period, is referred to the remarks on the " Duties of the Citizen in Times of Trial and Danger." Works, Vol. V. pp. 411-421. One Volume Edi- tion, pp. 679-684. 182 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [^t. 23-34. The third is Free Inquiry, seeking a harmon}' between religion, philosophy, and experience, — between revelation, reason, and common-sense, — and aiming to give such a view of man's destiny upon earth as shall do justice to nature, to history, and to Divine Order. With what was good in each of these tendencies Mv. Chanuing sympathized and co-operated, while from the extrava- gances of each he sought to guard himself and others ; and the sincere student of his writings cannot but observe with admiration the calm consistency with which he twined his threefold cord of existence. He was from original impulse, by method, and in action, complex and not simple, always reconciling differences by a living synthesis, averse to every kind of partisanship, and each year becoming more liberal, various, expansive, well-balanced. The appropriate motto of his life is Holiness, Truth, Humanity. Extracts from letters, manuscripts, and publications, at this period, will sufficiently indicate Mr. Channing's position. The}' are suitably introduced by one in which, at the veiy close of his career, he has himself reviewed the wa^^ whereby Providence had led him up to peace. " February, 1840. " I read 3'our communication with much sympathy. Indeed, it carried me back to the earlier stages of m}' own religious history. Not that I have ever suffered as you have done ; but no person can think on the subject of religion without encountering difficulties. Most people owe their freedom from doubts to the absence of thought. As soon as we begin to reflect, we are compelled to call in question a part of our traditionary faith ; and the shaking of a part sometimes makes us tremble for the whole. 1 have spent years of earnest, anxious search for the truth ; nor do I repent of my toil. All n\y toil and solicitude vanish, when I think of the calm faith, the enlargement of views and hopes, in which the}- have issued. " You wish to know the history of my mind, but it would fill a volume. M3' inquiries grew out of the shock given to 1113- moral na- ture by the popular system of faith which I found prevailing round me in my early years. All my convictions of justice and goodness revolted against the merciless dogmas then commonly taught. I went to tlie Scriptures, and the blessed light gradually beamed on me from the word of God. I soon learned the great end for which Christ came into the world, — that his first, highest purpose was, not to deliver us from punishment, but from that which deserves l)uni.shment, from moral evil, from every impurit}' of heart and life, from whate\er separates us from God ; that he came to exert 1803-1814.] STANDARD OF TRUTH. 183 a moral, spiritual influence, by which man was to become a pure, disinterested, excellent being. I soon learned that heaven and hell belong to the mind, that ' the fire and the worm ' have their seat in the soul, and that we can attain to the happiness, only by drinking into the spirit, of heaven. In other words, I learned that ' the kingdom of heaven is within us,' — that Christianity is eminently a spiritual system, or intended chiefly to redeem the mind from evil, — that we understand its records only when we interpret them according to this principle. One great truth came out to my apprehension more and more strongly. I felt, I saw, that God is most willing to impart his ' Holy Spirit,' his strength and light, to every man who labors in earnest to overcome evil, to press forward to that per- fection which is the only heaven. You will easily see how these views scattered all the darkness into which I had been plunged by a false, traditionary faith "I beg you to feel that I sympathize with you in your trials. I can say for 3'our encouragement, that the noblest human beings have sometimes passed through similar ones, and have emerged into the light of a calm and happy faith. Be not anxious to make up 3-our mind in a moment. Be assured that God, the good, the just, cannot demand of you assent to what shocks your best feelings. Inquire as you have opportunity. Seek light from above. Espe- cially- be faithful to your convictions of duty, and live up to the light you already have, and I am confident that 3'our difficulties, as far as they are mental, will give way." TO THE HON. WILLIAM ELLERT. " Boston, March, 1806. " Dear and honored Sir, — .... You will see from this that our standard of divinity does not entu-ely correspond with yours. It is clear that we cannot all be right. The great question, then, offers itself, ' Whether any deviate so far from truth as to be dis- qualified for receiving the blessings of the gospel, or whether any of the errors of the day necessarily imply a temper opposed to the spirit of the gospel.' " It seems to be universally granted, that the state of the heart and aff'ections is the great point by which a Christian is to be judged ; and that sentiments are no farther important, than as they involve, imply, and cherish a state of heart. Now, can we say of. the com- mon errors which prevail in the Christian world, that they cannot coexist with a penitent, a pious, a benevolent spirit? Unless we can prove a clear repugnance between certain sentiments and the spirit of the gospel, — such a repugnance as forces us to conclude 184 THE UNITAEIAN CONTROVERSY. [Mt. 23-34. that he who holds these sentiments cannot possess this spirit, — are we authorized to declare the sentiments damnable? An essential doctrine seems to be one which is necessary to the existence of Christian love, and is necessarily implied in this temper. I cannot, therefore, charge a man with damnable heresy, unless I see that his sentiments prove an opposite temper, or, at least, exclude the ex- ercises of Christian love. If this be just, are we not called to be cautious in judging of the character, while we freel}^ criticise the opinions, of others? May we not love the heart, when we think poorly of the head, of our neighbor? " TO THE HON. WILLIAM ELLERY. " Boston, May, 1806. "Dear and honored Sir, — I thank 3'ou for your letter, and for the comment which it contains upon our divinity. You com- / plain that our standard is not particular enough. But this is the distinguishing feature of our system of liberality. The greater the variety of sentiments with which a system will harmonize, or the fewer its fundamentals, the more worthy it is of liberal minds. " I conceive these to be the leading principles of modern divinity : 'Practical righteousness is all in all, and eveiy system which embraces motives enougli to a good practice is sufficiently correct. Love is the fulfilling of the law and of the gospel. All truth is designed to excite this temper, and to form the habits which flow from it, and this is the only test which we fallible mortals can appl}' to doctrines. We have reason to think there are good men in every denomination. Ever}' sect, therefore, embraces sufficient truth for the great end of Christ, the attainment of everlasting life. It does not follow from this, that all systems are equally valuable ; for some may tend more to purify the heart than others. But we cannot be certain that any system is wholly inadequate to this all-important end, and we must, therefore, condemn no man, unless his practice ^ be corrupt.' "The general sentiment which runs through this system, 'that the temper of the heart is the one thing needful in order to acceptance with God,' appears to me scriptural. All sects acknowledge that mere speculative assent is of no avail, that it is the cordial accept- ance of the truth which makes the Christian. If, then, the same state of heart can exist in those who embrace different systems, I should pronounce them equally acceptable to God. This appears to me to be the great question, — ' Whether the different sys- tems embraced by professing Christians imply diflerent tempers, 1803-1814.] CALVINISM. 185 principles of action, ends, and affections in those who embrace them ; or, in other words, whether any of these systems, from their very nature, prove the absence of the Christian spirit in those by whom the}' are supported.' " We find in the Scriptures denunciations against those who do not believe in Christ ; but the reason seems to be, that they who reject Christ prove and express by this rejection a corruption of heart. ' Ye are not of God, therefore ye hear me not.' In the same way we must make it to appear that the reception of a system can flow only from a corrupt heart, before we exclude those who hold it from Divine favor. It is not so much the reception of one system, or the rejection of another, as the temper of heart implied in this reception or rejection, which affects a man's acceptance with God. If this be true, it seems, that, to judge of the importance of doctrines, we must first form clear conceptions of the peculiar, characteristic, distinguishing spirit and temper which the gospel re- quires ; and doctrines are to be estimated in proportion as they are necessary to this temper, are implied in it, or flow from it." " Boston, December 29, 1812. " I have spent this evening with our dear , and she put into my hands your letter on the subject of religion, to which you re- ferred in the last which I received from you. I read it with sorrow. I saw that your mind was yielding to impressions which I trusted you would repel with instinctive horror. I know that Calvinism is embraced by many excellent people, but I know that on some minds it has the most mournful effects, that it spreads over them an im- penetrable gloom, that it generates a spirit of bondage and fear, that it chills the best affections, that it represses virtuous eftbrt, that it sometimes shakes the throne of reason. On susceptible minds the influence of the system is always to be dreaded. If it be believed, I think there is ground for a despondence bordering on insanity. If I, and my beloved friends, and my whole race, have come from the hands of our Creator wholly depraved, irresistibl}' propense to all evil and averse to all good, — if only a portion are chosen to escape from this miserable state, and if the rest are to be consigned by the Being who gave us our depraved and wretched nature to endless torments in inextinguishable flames, — then I do think that nothing remains but to mourn in anguish of heart ; then existence is a curse, and the Creator is '' O my merciful Father ! I cannot speak of thee in the language which this system would suggest. No ! thou hast been too kind to me to deserve this reproach from my Hps. Thou hast created me 186 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [^x. 23-34. to be happy ; thou callest me to virtue and piety, because in these consists my felicity ; and thou wilt demand nothing from me but what thou givest me abilit}' to perform. ' ' I see with sorrow that 3'ou are beginning to depart from the simple and affecting truths which you once cherished. You have become the advocate of an ' inborn corruption ' which incapacitates for duty, and yet you thhik man to be responsible. You even seem to be leaning to the melancholy doctrine, that he may be abandoned to endless misery for not experiencing a change of heart, over which he has little or no control, and which depends entirel}' on the will of another being. Perhaps I have mistaken your sentiments. Your letter is written in an obscure, mystical style, ver}^ different from what distinguishes your ordinary compositions. Your concep- tions seem to me loose, unsettled, undefined ; but, as far as they have form or substance, the}- are melancholy and forbidding. I am also deeply grieved to find you talking about persons, who call themselves Christians, and who believe this or that doctrine. M3' dear friend, let me beseech 3'ou to resist the bitter, censorious spirit which like a wasting pestilence has infected the air you breathe. Let us never forget how man}' purer and wiser minds than ours have viewed Christianity under forms and aspects very different from those which this religion has presented to us. "You talk of some persons who hope to be saved, 'partly ])y their own merits and parti}- b}' Christ's.' I confess I have not met with this description of Christians ; but I can easil}' conceive that men whose heads are thus confused may still have ver}' good affec- tions. I do know Christians whose hope rests on the infinite, essen- tial, unmerited, and unpurchased mercy of God, who think that the freedom and glor}^ of this mercy are diminished by that system which represents it as excited or produced by the merits or vicarious sufferings of another being, and who therefore dislike that unscrip- tural phrase ' the merits of Christ,' and the common, and as the}' think unsupported, explications of the atonement. Such Christians, who say nothing about their own worth, and whose fear is that they may throw a stain on the essential mercy and placability of the Father, do not seem to me to err in affections, even though they may in sentiment ; and I have found among them some of the most pious and disinterested of human beings. "Your sweeping conclusion about those ' who do not think the Son equal to the Father ' astonished me still more. Can you be ignorant of the scruples of the best minds on this darkest of all doctrines, of the great number of learned and excellent men who have rejected it, and of the many passages of Scripture which 1803-1814.] REV. NOAH WORCESTER. 187 seem to contradict it, and wliicli may decide a man's opinions whose heart is devoted to God and truth? Let me ask you to read a popular work on this subject, Worcester's Bible News, not so much with the hope that it may influence your judgment, as that it may teach you respect for those who differ from you. Locke's Reason- ableness of Christianity, also, will give you some valuable ideas on the nature of faith, a subject which seems to you very obscure, and which Calvinism wraps in tenfold darkness. "My good friend, if I know myself, I have no proselyting zeal about met I wish only to aid you in recovering the /ree^om and independence of your mind, in order that you may think with calm- ness and deliberation "Your sincere friend. TO THE REV. NOAH WORCESTER. " Boston, January 11, 1813. "Dear Sir, — I have long known you by your writings, and have long wished to express my gratitude to you for the service you have rendered to the cause of truth and free inquiry. But a variety of occupations have prevented. " I am now led to write 3'ou in consequence of the wishes of many in this quai-ter to establish a work,i in which your aid will be very important. It has long been the opinion of many friends of Scriptural truth, that we need a periodical publication which shall be adapted to the great mass of Christians, and the object of which shall be to increase their zeal and seriousness, to direct their attention to the Scriptures, to furnish them with that degree of Biblical criticism which they are capable of receiving and applying, to illustrate obscure and perverted passages, and, though last not least, to teach them their Christian rights, to awaken a zealous attachment to Christian Uberty, to show them the ground of Con- gregationalism, and to guard them against every enemy who would bring them into bondage. "Our conviction of the importance of this work has been strengthened by the appearance of a publication in The Panoplist, recornmending the immediate erection of ecclesiastical tribunals. After conversing about the best means of attaining the end above described, the general question was, ' To whom shall we commit the superintendence of such a periodical?' and we unanimously concurred in the opinion that you are peculiarly fitted for the office of editing it ... " You may expect aid from gentlemen in this town and vicuuty. 1 The Clirislian Disciple. 188 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [^t. 23-34. With the sentiments of these gentlemen j'ou are generally ac- quainted. They are not precisely agreed as to the person or dignity of Christ, nor do they wish that the work should be devoted to any particular view of that subject. Whilst they are willing to admit the arguments of all sects, they wish chiefly to exhibit those relations and offices of Christ which Christians generalh' acknowl- edge, and to promote a spirit of forbearance and charit}' among those who differ in relation to this and other difficult subjects. As to the peculiarities of Calvinism^ we are opposed to them, without censuring those who embrace those sentiments. We are opposed to that system particularly, inasmuch as it prostrates the indepen- dence of the mind, teaches men that the}- are naturally incapable of discerning religious truth, generates a timid, superstitious de- pendence on those who profess to have been brought from dark- ness into light, and so commonly infuses into its professors a censorious and uncharitable spirit. " You will do us the justice to believe, that in this business we are not actuated b}' the spirit of partisans. We have long given proof of our aversion to contention by bearing patiently and silently the most grave misrepresentations of our characters and sentiments. We have no desire to diffuse any religious peculiarities. Our great desire is to preserve our fellow-Christians from the systematic and unwearied efforts which are making to impose on them a human creed and to infuse into them angry and bitter feelings towards those who differ from them. Our great desire is to direct men to the word of God, and to awaken in those Christians who receive this as their onl}' standard a more devout, serious, earnest, and affectionate piety than they often discover." " Boston, April 28, 1815. " My dear , I received your letter of the 21st, and thank 3'ou for the confidence in me which it discovers. I am very much interested in the subject of it, and wish to see as far as possible the operation of religious sentiments in the hearts of others. Your simplicit}' of character is a proof that I have received a tolerably faithful picture of 3'our feelings. I attach vastly' less importance to what 3"ou have experienced than you do 3'ourself ; but God's providence frequently makes our weaknesses and sufferings the means of our improvement ; and I hope that your character will be purified, and your purposes of obedience confirmed, by terrors and emotions which seem to me to imply no supernatural agency. "Religion, in my view of it, belongs to man as a rational and moral being. It consists of affections, dispositions, and habits vol- 1803-1814.] CONVERSION. 189 untarily cherished, and especially founded on just and amiable views of God. The religion which you describe seems to me a tumult of the soul, an involuntary impulse, a triumph of the pas- sions over reason. I think that I respect religion too much to believe that it commonly- springs up amidst such disorders, and, I may almost say, ruins, of the rational nature. You seem to me to have yielded yourself up to terror^ not remembering that this pas- sion, like every other, needs restraint, and that no passion is so apt to pass its bounds and to disorder the mind. The worst supersti- tions of the heathens originated in terror, and I have no doubt that to this the worst corruptions of Christianity are to be traced. You will grant, my young friend, that, whilst your mind was so power- fully excited b}' fear, you were not in the best frame for judging correctly of any religious truths. If you have ever seen a man under the influence of a panic, you will recollect that he was in a measure insane, and capable of being led an3'where by a firmer mind. All strong passion has the effect of insanity on the judg- ment, and makes a man a very different being from what he is in his cooler hours. "You will permit me in all frankness to say to 3'ou, that I see much of human weakness and timidity in ^-our description of your state before you received comfort, a weakness not peculiar to your- self, but at some periods of life experienced by almost every human being. In fact, we are all in some measure children to the end of life, without firmness where we ought to be most deliberate, and governed b}' passion where we ought to follow most resolutely the dictates of reflection. As to the joy which followed j^our depres- sion, it was, I apprehend, a very natural effect. The mind, espe- cially in youth, is soon exhausted by a strong emotion, and is prepared to receive an opposite feeling with peculiar force. Great depression and great J03' are often seen to succeed each otlier. The mind overwhelmed with the thought of danger is equally over- whelmed with transport by the thought of escape. My own temperament is rather equable, but my life is too much made up of successions of feeling. I am sometimes dull and dispirited, and feel as if all my powers and affections were dead. An interesting book, or a religious friend, or other circumstances, will at once awaken me from this low and desponding state, and then a new soul seems kindled within my breast. I have feelings and views so fresh, and tender, and animated, that I hardly appear to myself like the same man. This is the condition of our poor nature ; and I have learned to ascribe these changes much more to my physical organization than to any peculiar influences from above. I see and 190 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [^t. 23-34. hear of such vicissitudes of feeling as you describe ver}' frequently, especially among the INIethodists and Baptists, and I am nowise disposed to ascribe to hypocris}- the narratives given by these per- sons of sudden transitions from horrid thoughts and deep distress to a state of peace and assurance of God's favor. I learn, how- ever, from the unhapp}' issue of many of these conversions, that they deserve little confidence, and that there is but one sure test of piety which is an habitual regard to the will of God^ leading us to correct every unchristian disposition, and to cherish all the virtues of the gospel. " I think your errors mn.j be traced very much to one source, — unjust and unworthy views of God. This is the great spring of cor- ruption in religion. The great controversies in the church may be resolved into one question, — ' Is God indeed perfectly good ? ' To my mind, most of the prevalent theories of religion rest on the supposition that he is not good, that his government is dreadfully- severe, and that it is the greatest of evils to receive existence from his hand. I do not mean that these sentiments are professed, but they are really involved in the common theories of Christianity-, and by being early fixed in our minds the}^ throw a sad darkness over God, over the present and future life, and prepare men for doctrines wdiich hardly ^ield in gloominess to some of the super- stitions of heathenism. Perhaps it is one of the last lessons which many of us learn, that God is truly good ; and perhaps the hardest of all religious duties is to confide in his equity and benevolence. The severe views of religion which prevail are thought favorable to piet}-, very much on the ground that the most rigid monastic insti- tutions were regarded with so much veneration. That these in- stitutions often produced uncommon strictness and uncommon y^-z-ror I do not doubt ; but their general influence on the character was not favorable, nor did the}- promote the great cause of piet}-. " You speak of the creed 3'ou have signed, and justify- it on the ground that you ought to show what sense or meaning ^-ou give to the Scriptures. When, therefore, \o\\ said, ' that there were three persons in one God,' you intended b}- this to give the meanijig of certain passages of Scripture which have been variouslj- interpreted, or to show in what manner you iinderdand them . Now I object to this article, that it wholly fails of its end, that I cannot conceive what^^'ow mean b}' it ; it brings to my mind but one idea, which I know you can- not intend, that one God is three Gods. In using language for the ex- press purpose of showing what we mean, we cannot be too careful to avoid equivocal w-ords, or unusual meanings of common words. The word person you use in a sense which I do not comprehend, 1803-1814.] FREEDOM OF INQUIRY IN RELIGION. 191 and which is whollj' unauthorized by common usage. What, then, is gained b}- forsaking the language of Scripture ? "On reviewing this letter, I find it written in a manner which j'ou may possibh' misapprehend. There may seem to you a want of tenderness, and a positiveness, which I assure you are far from my heart. I am obliged to write as fast as m^-pen will run, and in aiming at brevit}- 1 have omitted expressions of kindness which m}- heart would prompt. I have simply- wished to guard you against what I deem great errors, and to give you my views of the true spirit of Christianit}-. I onl^' ask from 3-0U calm reflection. I beg that no authority' maj- be given to my sentiments because they are asserted with strength. Confidence is no mark of truth. I wish you to write me with perfect frankness, and to point out what you think m^' errors. That your character will be improved by the scenes through which you have latel}- passed is mj- sincere hope. I shall never love 3-ou less for any opposition of sentiment, whilst I discern in j-our character the badge of a true disciple, which is love. As to your entering the ministry, you do well to deliberate. It is a profession to which we should be led by a desire of doing good, and a hope that we shall be more useful in it than in other pursuits. You will excuse any inaccuracies in so hasty and long a letter. " Yours, affectionately, "W. E. CHANNING." 1811. Freedom of inquiry in religion. " From the manner in which Christ and his apostles introduced and established the gospel, we learn that the}' considered religion as a subject on which all men ought to think for themselves, to employ their own minds, to inquire, to deliberate, to fix a serious, impartial attention. It was the wish and intention of the great Founder of our religion, that his religion should be examined, should be received on very different grounds from false religions, should have no support but what it derived from its own excellence, and from the evidences of a Divine interposition b}' which it was accompanied " Christianity everywhere considers it as a settled, conceded point, that men, on the subject of religion, are to exercise their own judg- ment, and to follow their own conviction. I know it is thought by some that this freedom of inquiry in religion is dangerous, espe- cially to the great mass of mankind. It is thought more safe that a few should lead, and that the multitude should follow. It is said, what is common should be admitted as true, that the hereditary faith of men should never be disturbed by suggesting the impor- tance of examination 192 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [iEx. 23-34. " It is true that the right of private judgment may be abused. Men, under pretence of thinking for themselves, ma}' renounce the plainest and most important truths, ma}- choose to depart from the multitude, and, to show their boldness and independence, may advance sentiments at which a common mind shrinks with horror. But liberty in ever}- form ma}- be abused. There is but one infal- lible method we can employ of preventing men from doing evil, — they must be bound hand and foot, and not be suffered to exert one power of body or of mind. Give them a power, and they will sometimes misapply it. Furnish a field of action, and they will sometimes go astray. Invigorate the mind, and they will some- times employ this vigor in accomplishing unworthy ends. Encour- age them to examine before they believe, and they will sometimes practise unfairness, dishonesty of mind, and ari'ay error in the garb of truth. But these evils form no balance against the innu- merable advantages of a vigorous exertion of the powers we pos- sess ; and he who, in order to remove these evils, would restrain men's liberty of thought and action, would rob our nature of every- thing which ennobles it, and reduce the race almost to the level of brutes "The opinion is not entirely correct, that inquiry into religion has produced the multiplicity of sects in the Christian w-orld. I would rather say, that the want of examination has often originated and extended them. The readiness of numbers to embrace what is dogmatically and loudly asserted, what addresses the passions instead of the understanding, has been the greatest temptation to the heads of sects to propagate their peculiarities, and furnishes them with followers. The heads of sects have generally their full share of ambition, and their ambition is fostered and made more active by the common disposition which they see to receive their doctrines without examination. We must not imagine that the wa}- to stifle sects is to encourage men to receive religious opinions without thought or inquiry. In a land of universal toleration, this is the most direct way of laying them open to imposition and en- thusiasm. The only way of producing uniformity is to encourage serious and honest inquiry. " This uniformity has sometimes been sought by constraint ; but in vain. If, indeed, the power of a state should command one form of religion to be preached, and should prohibit the expression of all others, I grant that something like uniformity would appear. There would be no clamors of contending sects. We should have in their place the silence of the grave. But even in this case there would be no real uniformity of sentiment ; for where the activity of 1803-1814.] IMPORTANCE OF FREE INQUIRY. 193 the mind is checked on the subject of religion, men can hard!}- be said to have any sentiments. The}' maj' hear, the}' may receive words, but all their conceptions are vague. They may utter the same sounds, but as far as they attach any distinct meaning to what they say, the probability is that they resemble each other in opinion as little as do now the different sects. Besides, this vas- salage of mind cannot forever be maintained. There is an elastic force in the human understanding which resists this weight of op- pression ; and when the enslaved world once obtains freedom, and begins to think for itself, it will by reaction become more devious and extravagant in its operation than if no burden had been im- posed. Again I say, the only way to produce lasting uniformity of sentiment is to encourage men to think seriously and honestly on religion, to inquire into the grounds of what they believe, to separate the true from the false, and the clear from the obscure. " It is the influence of such examination to bring truth to light. Truth IS not hidden beneath an inii^enetrable veil, but reveals her- self to the sincere inquirer. Men of this character are not easily led away by noisy declamations, by bold assertions, by high pre- tensions. They soon learn that true wisdom is not characterized by positiveness, and that those who claim most unreserved assent from others deserve it the least. They demand proof, and this is the last demand which enthusiasm is prepared and inclined to an- swer. They are not carried away by sounds and names. They do not range themselves under a particular banner and denounce war and destruction on all who take a different standard of belief. Claiming for themselves the right of inquiry, and taught by inquiry that they ai'c prone to eiT, they become more diffident of their own judgment, and lay aside their censoriousness towards others. And if they do not agree entirely in sentiment with those around them, they still live in peace, and give and receive light ; and thus a foun- dation is laid for real and increasing uniformity of opinion " This subject is never uninteresting. It is peculiarly important at the time in which we live, when so many opinions divide the religious world, and so many are summoning us with confidence to come over to them, if we would find truth and salvation. In this state of things we are peculiarly called to examine before we ap- prove. Among the various sects into which our community is broken, none can produce any warrant of infallil)ility, any appoint- ment to the high office of interpreting the word of God for their brethren. Let us not be swayed by names or numbers ; let us not give up our understandings to the sway of the positive and dicta- torial. Let us seriously inquire into the grounds of our Christian 13 194 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [Mr. 23-34. faith, and, having estabhshed the great principle that Jesus Christ is the authorized teaclier and light of mankind, let us repair to his word, where he speaks to us and to all mankind, and with sincere, honest, humble, impartial minds, desirous to receive and resolved to obe^' his truth, let us earnestly meditate on his instruction. " If once we forsake this guide, to whom shall we attach our- selves? If once we choose to rest on human authority, whom shall we select as our teacher out of the multitude who wish to number us among their proselytes? What pledge have we, that we shall not throw ourselves into the arms of the most deluded? Let us, then, stand fast in the liberty with which Christ has made us free. Let us receive nothing because positively' asserted by others. And neither let us settle down in our own present conceptions, as if the}" were infallibly right and could not be corrected. Let us avoid equally the desire of singularit}- and the desire of conformity, and with dispassionate, unprejudiced minds follow our Master wher- ever he shall lead." EXTRACTS FROM A LETTER, ETC., TO THE REV. SAMUEL C. THACIIER. " June 20, 1815. " My Friend and Brother, — I have recollected with much satisfaction the conversation which we held the other morning, on the subject of the late Review, in the Panoplist for June, of a pamphlet called ' American Unitarianism.' .... After leaving you, ni}' thoughts still dwelt on the subject ; and, painful as is the task, I have thought it m}' duty to exhibit to the public the topics which we discussed, as well as to add some reflections suggested by private meditation. " I bring to the subject a feeling which I cannot well express in words, Init which you can easily understand. It is a feeling as if I were degrading myself by noticing the false and injurious charges contained in this Review. I feel as if I were admitting that we need vindication, that our re[)utations want support, that our char- acters and lives do not speak for themselves. My self-resi)cct, too, is wounded, by coming into contact with assailants who not only deny us the name of Christians, but withhold I'rom us the treatment of gentlemen. These feelings, united with my love of peace, would induce me to pass over the Review in silence, if it were limited to the sphere within which we are [)ersonally known. In this sphere, I trust, its bitterness, coarseness, and misrepre- sentations will work their own cure ; and that no other defence is required, but the tenor of our ministry and lives. But the work in 1803-1814.] LIBERAL CHRISTIANS. 195 which this article is published is industriouslj' spread through the country, and tlirough all classes of societ}'. The aspersions which it contains are also diffused, as widely as possible, by conversation, and even by newspapers. We owe, then, to ourselves, and, what is more important, to the cause of Christian truth and charity, some remarks on the representations and spirit of the Review "The Panoplist Review, though extended over so many pages, may be compressed into a very narrow space. It asserts, — "1. That the great body of Liberal ministers in this town and its vicinity, and of Liberal Christians, are Unitarians in Mr. Bel- sham's sense of the word ; that is, they believe that Jesus Christ is a mere man, who when on earth was liable to error and sin ; to y' whom we owe no gratitude for benefits which we are now receiving ; and for whose future interposition we have no reason to hope. "2. The Review asserts that these ministers and Liberal Chris- tians are guilt}- of hypocritical concealment of their sentiments, and behave in a base, cowardly, and hypocritical manner. "3. Christians are called to come out and separate themselves from these ministers and the Liberal body of Christians, and to withhold from them Christian communion. " I will consider these three heads in their order. " The first assertion to be considered is, that the great body of Liberal ministers in this town and vicinit}', and of Liberal Chris- tians,^ are Unitarians, in Mr. Belsham's sense of that word It is unnecessary to multiply extracts to show, that not only Boston, ^ " I have used the phrase or denomination Liberal Christians because it is employed by' the Reviewer to distinguisli tliose whom he assails. I have nevef been inclined to claim this appellation for myself or my friends, because, as the word /(7*era/(7y expresses the noblest qualities of the human mind, — freedom from local prejudices and narrow feelings, the enlargement of the views and affections, — I have thought that the assumption of it would savor of that spirit which has attempted to limit the words orthodox and evancjeJicnl to a particular body of Christians. As the appellation, however, cannot well be avoided, I will state the meaning which I attach to it. " By a Liberal Christian, I understand one who is disposed to receive as his brethren in Christ all who, in tlie judgment of charity, sincerelj' profess to re- ceive Jesus Christ as their Lord and Master. He rejects all tests or standards of Christian faith and of Christian character, but the word of Jesus Christ and of his inspired apostles. He thinks it an act of disloyalty to his Master to in- troduce into the church creeds of fallible men as bonds of union, or terms of Christian fellowship. He calls himself by no name derived from human leaders, disclaims all exclusive connection with any sect or party, pi-ofesses himself a member of the Church Universal on earth and in heaven, and cheerfully extends tlie hand of brotherhood to every man of every name who discovers the spirit of Jesus Christ. " According to this view of Liberal Christians, they cannot be called a party. 198 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [^t. 23-34. but its vicinit}', is involved in the charge. In fact, the Liberal part}', in general, is ranged under the standard of Mr. Belsham. Now we both of us know this statement to be false "The word Unitarianism, as denoting opposition to Trinitari- anisni, undoubtedly expresses the character of a considerable part of the ministers of this town and its vicinity, and the Common- wealth. But we both of us know that their Unitarianism is of a very different kind from that of Mr. Belsham. We agreed in our late conference, that a majority of our brethren believe that Jesus Christ is more than man, that he existed before the world, that he literally came from heaven to save our race, that he sustains other offices than those of a teacher and witness to the truth, and that lie still acts for our benefit, and is our intercessor with the F'ather. This we agreed to be the prevalent sentiment of our brethren. There is another class of Liberal Christians, who, whilst the^' reject the distinction of three persons in God, are yet unable to pass a definite judgment on the various systems which prevail, as to the nature and rank of Jesus Christ. The}' are met by difficulties on ever}^ side, and generally rest in the conclusion, that He whom God has appointed to be our Saviour must be precisely adapted to his work, and that acceptable faith consists in regarding and fol- lowing him as our Lord, Teacher, and Saviour; without deciding on his nature or rank in the universe. There is another class, who believe the simple humanity of Jesus Christ; but these form a small proportion of the great body of Unitarians in this part of our country ; and I very much doubt whether of these one individual can be found, who could conscientiously subscribe to Mr. Belsham's creed as given in the Review. The conduct of the Reviewer, in collecting all the opinions of that gentleman, not only on the Trinity, but on every other theological subject, in giving to the whole col- lection the name of Unitarianism^ and in exhibiting this to the world as the creed of Liberal Christians in this region, is perhaps as criminal an instance of unfairness as is to be found in the records Tliey are distinpuishecl only by refusing to separate themselves in any form or degree from the great body of Clirist. The}' are scattered, too, tlirough all classes of Christians. I have known Trinitarians and Calvinists who justly deserve the name of Liberal, who regard with affection all who appear to follow Jesus Christ in temper and life, however they may differ on the common points of theological controversy. To this class of Christians, which is scattered over the earth, and which I trust has never been extinct in any age, I profess and desire to belong. God send them prosperity ! — In this part of the countrj', Liberal Ciiristians, as they have been above described, are generally, though by no means universallj'. Unitarians, in the proper sense of that word. It is of tliis part of them that I chiefly speak in this letter." 1803-1814.] CHARGE OF CONCEALMENT. 197 of theological controversy. The fact is, that the great body of Liberal Christians would shrink from some of these opinions with as much aversion as from some of the gloomy doctrines of Calvin " I trust that the statement which has now been made will not be considered as casting the least reproach on those amongst us, who believe in the simple humanit}' of Jesus Christ. Whilst I differ from them in opinion, I have certainl}' no disposition to deny them the name and privileges of Christians. There are gentlemen of this class, whom I have the happiness to know, in whom I dis- cover the evidences of a scrupulous uprightness and a genuine piet}' ; and there are others, whose characters, as portrayed by their biographers, appear to me striking examples of the best in- fluences of Christianity- "I now come to the second charge of the Review: That the liberal ministers of Boston and the vicinity, and the most consid- erable members of the Liberal part}^, ' operate in secret ; intrust only the initiated with their measures ; are guilty of hypocritical con- cealment of their sentiments ; behave in a base and hypocritical manner.' .... This charge is infinitely more serious than the first. To believe with Mr. Belsham is no crime. But artifice, plotting, hypocrisy, ca-e crimes ; and if we practise them, we de- serve to be driven, not only from the ministry, not only from the Church, but from the society of the decent and respectable. Our own hearts, I trust, tell us at once how gross are these aspersions ; and our acquaintance with our brethren authorizes us to speak in their vindication with the same confidence as in our own. "It is not to be wondered at, that those who have charged us with holding sentiments which we reject should proceed to charge us with hypocriticall}' concealing our sentiments. Most of us have often contradicted Mr. Belsham's opinions ; and the}' who insist that these opinions are ours will be forced to maintain that we prac- tise deceit. The}- start with a falsehood, and their conclusion can- not therefore be true. I am not, however, disposed to dismiss this charge of artifice and hypocrisy so lightly As to myself, I have ever been inclined to cherish the most exalted views of Jesus Christ which are consistent with the supremac}' of the Father ; and I have felt it ni}- duty to depart from Mr, Belsham in perhaps every sentiment which is peculiar to him on this subject. I have always been pleased with some of the sentiments of Dr. Watts on the inti- mate and peculiar union between the Father and Son. But I have always abstained most scrupulously from every expression which could be construed into an acknowledgment of the Trinity. My 198 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [Mr. 2:3-34. worship and sentiments have been Unitarian, in the proper sense of that word. In conversation with ni}' people, who have requested my opinion upon the subject, especiall}' with those who consider themselves Trinitarians, I have spoken with directness and simpli- city. Some of those who differ from me most widel}' have received from me the most explicit assurances of my disbelief of the doctrine of the Trinit}', and of my \iews in relation to the Saviour. As to my brethren in general, never have I imagined for a moment, from their preaching or conversation, that they had the least desire to be considered as Trinitarians ; nor have I ever heard from them an}' views of God or of Jesus Christ but Unitarian, in the proper mean- ing of that word. " It is indeed true, that we seldom or never introduce the Trini- tarian controversy into our pulpits. We are accustomed to speak of the Father as the only living and true God, and of Jesus Christ as his Son, as a distinct being from him, as dependent on him, sub- ordinate to him, and deriving all from him. This phraseology per- vades all our pra^^ers and all our preaching. We seldom or never, however, refer to any different sentiments, embraced b}- other Christians, on the nature of God or of Jesus Christ. We preach precisely as if no such doctrine as the Trinity had ever been known. We do not attempt to refute it, an}' more than to refute the systems of the Sabellians, the Eutychians, or the Nestorians, or of the other sects who have debated these questions with such hot and unprofit- able zeal. But, in following this course, yve are not conscious of having contracted, in the least degree, the guilt of insincerity. We have aimed at making no false impression. AYe have only followed a general system, which we are persuaded to be best for our people and for the cause of Christianity ; the system of excluding contro- versy as much as possible from our pulpits. In compliance with this system, I have never assailed Trinitarianism ; nor have I ever said one word against Methodism, Quakerism, Episcopalianism, or the denomination of Baptists ; and I may add Poper}-, if I except a few occasional remarks on the intolerance of that system. The name of these sects, with that single exception, has never passed my lips in preaching, through my whole ministry, which has con- tinued above twelve years. We all of us think it best to preach the truths or what we esteem to be the truth, and to say very little about error, unless it be error of a strictl}- practical nature. A striking- proof of our sentiments and habits on this subject may be derived from the manner in which you and myself have treated Calvinism. We consider the errors which relate to Christ's person as of little or no importance, compared with the error of those who teach that God 1803-1814.] AVERSION TO CONTROVERSY. 199 brings us into life wholly depraved and wholly helpless, that he ^ leaves multitudes without that aid which is indispensably necessary '^ to their repentance, and then plunges them into everlasting burn- ings and unspeakable torture for not repenting. This we consider as°one of the most injurious errors which ever darkened the Chris- tian world ; and none will pretend that we have anything to fear from exposing this error to our people. On the contrary, we could hardly select a more popular topic ; and yet our hearers wiU bear witness how seldom we introduce this topic into our preaching. The name of Calvinist has never, I presume, been uttered by us in the pulpit. Our method is, to state what we conceive to be more honorable, and ennobling, and encouraging views of God's charac- ter and government, and to leave these to have their effect, without holding °up other Christians to censure or contempt. We could, if we were to make strenuous efforts, render the name of Calvinist as much a word of reproach in our societies, as that of Unitarian is in some parts of our country. But we esteem it a solemn duty to dis- arm, instead of exciting, the bad passions of our people. We wish to promote among them a spirit of universal charity. We wish to make them condemn their own bad practices, rather than the erro- neous speculations of their neighbor. We love them too sincerely to imbue them with the spirit of controversy. "In thus avoiding controversy, we have thought that we de- served, not reproach, but some degree of praise for our self-denial. Every preacher knows how much easier it is to write a controver- sial than a practical discourse ; how much easier it is to interest an ^/ audience by attacking an opposite party, than by stating to them the duties and motives of the gospel. We often feel that our mode of preaching exposes us to the danger of being trite and dull ; and I presume we have often been tempted to gratify the love of dispu- tation which lurks in every society. But so deeply are we con- vinced that the great end of preaching is to promote a spirit of love, a sober, righteous, and godly life, and that every doctrine is to be urged simply and exclusively for this end, that we have sacrificed our ease, and have chosen to be less striking preachers, rather than to enter the lists of controversy. "We have seldom or never assailed the scheme of the Trinity, not only from our dislike to controversy in general, but from a per- suasion that this discussion would, above all others, perplex, and . needlessly perplex, a common congregation, consisting of persons of all ages, capacities, degrees of improvement, and conditions in society. This doctrine we all regard as the most unintelligible about which Christians have ever disputed. If it do not mean that 200 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [Mr. 23-34. there are three Gods (a construction which its advocates indig- nantl}' repel) , we know not what it means ; and we have not thought that we should edify common hearers by attacking a doc- trine altogether inconceivable, and wholly beyond the grasp of our faculties. We have recollected, too, the mischiefs of the Trinita- rian controversy in past ages, that it has been a firebrand lighting the flames of persecution, and kindhng infernal passions in the breasts of Christians ; and we have felt no disposition to interest the feelings of our congregation in a dispute which has so disgraced the professed disciples of the meek and lowl}- Jesus. Man}- of us have been disinclined, not only to assail s^'stems which we do not believe, but even to enforce the views which we have given of the rank and character of Jesus Christ ; because we have known how divided the best men have been on these topics, and how largely we ourselves partake of the fallibility of our nature ; because we have wished that our hearers should derive their impressions on these points as much as possible from the Scriptures ; and because we have all been persuaded that precision of views upon these subjects is in no degree essential to the faith or practice of a Christian. We have considered the introduction of the Trinitarian controvers}- into the pulpit as the less necessary', because we have generally found that common Christians admit that distinction between God and his Son, and that subordination of the Son, which we believe to be the truth ; and as to that very small part of our hearers who are strongly attached to the doctrine of the Trinity, while we have not wished to conceal from them our difference of opinion, we liave been fully satisfied that the most efl'ectual method of promoting their holiness and salvation was to urge on them perpetually those great truths and precepts about which there is little contention, and which have an immediate bearing on the temper and the life. To conclude, we have never entered into discussions of the doctrine of the Trinity, because we are not governed by a proselyting ten)per. I will venture to assert, that there is not on earth a body of men who possess less of the spirit of proselytism than the ministers of this town and vicinity. Accustomed as we are to see genuine piety in all classes of Christians, in Trinitarians and Unitarians, in Cal- vinists and Arminians, in Episcopalians, Methodists, Baptists, and Congregationalists, and delighting in this character wherever it ap- pears, we are little anxious to bring men over to our peculiar opin- ions. I could smile at the idea of a Unitarian plot, were not this fiction intended to answer so unworthy an end. There cannot be a doubt, that, had we seriously united for the purpose of spreading Unitarianism by any and every means, by secret insinuations 1803-1814.] HERESY AND EXCLUSION. 201 against those who differ from us, by uncharitable denunciations, and by the other usual arts of sects, we might have produced in this part of the country a Unitarian heat and bitterness not inferior to that with which Trinitarianism is too often advocated. But not the slightest whisper of any concert for this end has ever reached me ; and as to these arts, our people can best say how far we have practised them. Our people will testify- how little we have sought to influence them on the topics of dispute among Christians, how little we have labored to make them partisans, how constantly we have besought them to look with candor on other denominations, and to dehght in all the marks which others exhibit of piet}^ and goodness. Our great and constant object has been to promote the spirit of Christ, and we have been persuaded that in this wa}'' we should most effectually promote the interests of Christian truth " I now come to the third head of the Review, which I propose to consider. The Reviewer, having charged us with holding the opinions of Mr. Belshara, and hypocritically concealing them, solemnly calls on Christians who differ from us in sentiment ' to come out and be separate from us, and to withhold communion with us.' .... This language does not astonish me, when I recollect the cry of heresy which has been so loudl}' raised against this part of the country. But I believe that this is the first instance in which Christians have been deliberately called to deny us the Chris- tian name and privileges. As such, let it be remembered ; and let the consequences of it lie on its authors. " Why is it that our brethren are thus instigated to cut us off, as far as they have power, from the body and church of Christ ? Let eveiy Christian weigh well the answer. It is not because we refuse to acknowledge Jesus Christ as our Lord and Master ; it is not because we neglect to stud}' his word ; it is iiot because our lives are wanting in the spirit and virtues of his gospel. It is because, after serious investigation, we cannot find in the Scriptures, and cannot adopt as instructions of our Master, certain doctrines which have divided the Church for ages, which have perplexed the best and wisest men, and which are verj' differently conceived even by those who profess to receive them. It is, in particular, because we cannot adopt the language of our brethren in relation to a doctrine which we cannot understand, and which is expressed in words not only unauthorized by the Scripture, but, as we believe, in words employed without meaning (unless the}' mean that there are three Gods) b}' those who insist upon them. This is our crime, that we cannot think and speak with our brethren on subjects the most 202 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [^x. 23-34. difficult and perplexing on which the human mind was ever engaged. For this we are pursued with the cr}^ of heres}', and are to have no rest until virtuall}' excommunicated by our brethren " Most earnestly do I wish that the Dissertation of Dr. Campbell on Heresy", in his Translation of the Four Gospels, was more gen- erally read and considered. He has proved, I think, very satisfac- torily, that heresy, as the word is used in the Scriptures, does not consist in the adoption or profession of wrong opinions, but in a spirit of division, of dissension, of party, in a factious and turbulent temper ; and that the heretic is not a man who entertains erroneous or even injurious sentiments, but one who loves to be called Rabbi and master ; who has a disposition to separate Christians, to create or to extend sects and parties Let Christians weigh well the nature and guilt of schism, the consequences of separation, and the spirit of their religion, before they adopt the measure recommended in this Review. For myself, the universe would not tempt me to bear a part in this work of dividing Christ's church, and of denoun- cmg his followers. If there be an act which, abo^^e all others, is a transgression of the Christian law, it is this I know it will be said that Christians are not called upon to reject real Christians, but heretics and false pretenders to the name. But heres}', we have seen, is not a false opinion, but a sectarian spirit ; and as to false pretences, we desire those who know us to put their hands on their hearts, and to say whether they can for a moment believe that we hypocritically profess to follow the instructions of Jesus Christ. Does charity discover nothing in our language and lives to justify the hope that we are united to Jesus Christ by love for his character, and by participation of his spirit? .... " I wish that my motives for these earnest remonstrances against division ma}- be understood. I feel as little personal interest in the subject as an3' individual in the community. Were the proposed separation to take place, I should still enjoj- the ordinances of the gospel in the society of those whom I best love. The excommuni- cation which is threatened gives me no alann. I hear this angry thunder murmur at a distance, with as little concern as if it were the thunder of the Pope, from whom it seems, indeed, to be bor- rowed. But whilst I fear nothing for myself, I do fear and feel for that bod}' of which Christ is the head, which has been bleeding for ages under the contests of Christians, and which is now threatened with a new wound. I feel for the cause of our common Christianit}', which I am set to defend, and which has suffered inconceivably more from the bad passions and divisions of its friends than from all the arts and violence of its foes. I cannot but look forward 1803-1814.1 GOOD-WILL TO OPPONENTS. 203 with paiii to the irritations, hatreds, bitter recriminations, censo- riousness, spiritual pride, and schismatieal spirit which will grow up under this system of denunciation and exclusion, and which may not only convulse many churches at the present moment, but will probably end in most unhappy divisions among the very Christians who denounce us ; who seem indeed to be united, now that a com- mon enemy is to be trodden under foot, but who have sufficient diversities of opinion to awaken against each other all the fury of intolerance, when this shall have become the temper and habit of their minds. I repeat it, I have no interest in this point but as a Cln-istian; and as such, I look with a degree of horror on this attempt to inflame and distract our churches. Error of opinion is an evil too trifling to be named, in comparison with this practical departure from the gospel, with this proud, censorious, overbearing temper, which says to a large body of Christians, ' Stand ofl", we are holier than j'ou.' .... " Having thus considered the three principal heads in the Review, I now proceed to offer a few words of friendly admonition, as to the temper and conduct which become our brethren and ourselves, under the injuries which we receive. " The first suggestion you have undoubtedly anticipated. It is, that we remember the great duty which belongs to us as Christians, of regarding our enemies with good-will, if possible with a degree of approbation, at least with displeasure tempered with compassion. .... As to the great mass of those Christians who view us with so much jealousy, we must remember that they know us only by report, that they believe as they are taught by men to whom they ascribe an eminent sanctity, and that they are liable to be carried away on this, as on every other subject, by loud assertion, and by addresses to their fears. Accustomed as they are to hear us branded with names and epithets, to which they have attached no definite ideas, but which seem to them to express everything de- praved, can we wonder that the}* shrink from us with a kind of terror ? To this great class of our opposers we certainly owe noth- ing but kindness ; and we should esteem it an unspeakable hapiji- ness, that we can look with so much pleasure and hope on those by whom we are dreaded and shunned ; that we are not obliged by our system to regard our adversaries as the enemies of God, and the objects of his wrath. On this point, above all others, I would be urgent. Our danger is, that repi'oach will hurry us into language or conduct unbecoming the spirit of our Master. Let us remember that our opposers cannot ultimately injure us, unless we permit them to awaken bad passions, and to impair our virtues. Let us 204 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [.Ex. 23-34. remember what is due from us to our religion. The more unchari- table our age is, the more the glory of the gospel is obscured b}' its being exhibited as a source of censoriousness and contention, the more we owe it to our Lord to wipe off this reproach from his truth, to show the loveliness of his religion, to show its power in changing the heart into the image of divine forbearance and forgiveness " Another important suggestion is this : Let us hold fast our up- rightness That our churches are to be general!}' shaken b}' the assault which is made upon them, I am far from believing. But some ma}' suffer. It is not impossible that the efforts which are now emplo^'cd to direct against us the uncharitableness and mis- taken zeal of the countr}', and to spread disaffection through the most' uninstructed and the most easily excited classes of societ}-, may produce some effect. We know the fluctuations of the human mind. We know that the sincerest Christians are often unduly in- fluenced by timidity, and may be brought to suspect a minister, when he is decried as a heretic who is leading souls to hell. It re- quires more strength of nerves and more independence of mind than all good people possess to withstand this incessant clamor. A storm, then, ma}' be gathering over some of us, and the sufferers may be tempted to bend to it. But God forbid, my friend, that any of us should give support to the aspersions cast on our uprightness, by ever suppressing our convictions, or speaking a language foreign to our hearts. Through good report and through evil report, let us with simplicity and sincerity declare what we believe to be the will of God and the way to heaven, and thus secure to ourselves that peace of conscience which is infinitely better than the smiles of the world. Let us never forget that the most honored condition on earth is that of being sufferers for the sake of righteousness, for adherence to what we deem the cause of God and holiness ; and let us welcome suffering, if it shall be appointed us, as bringing us nearer to our persecuted Lord and his injured apostles. My brother, we profess to count man's judgment as a light thing, to esteem this world and all which it offers to be vanity. We profess to look up to a heavenly inheritance, and to hope that we shall one da}- mingle with angels and just men made perfect. And with these sublime hopes, shall we tremble before frail and fallible fellow-creatures, be depressed by difliculties, or shrink from the expression of what we deem important and useful truth? God forbid ! " I have time to add but one more suggestion. Let us beware lest opposition and reproach lead any of us into a sectarian attach- ment to our peculiar opinions. This is a danger to whicli persons of ardent and irritable temper are peculiarly exposed. Too many 1803-1814.1 REMARKS ON DR. WORCESTER'S LETTER. 205 Of us are apt to cling to a system in proportion as it is assailed, to consider ourselves pledged to doctrines which we l-e jenly espoused, to rally round them as if our own honor and inteiest wTe at s ake, and to assert them with more and more positiveness Is i? we were incapable of error. This is the infirmity of our l^^ad nature ; and whilst we condemn it in others, let us not allow it m omseU;s. Let us be what we profess to be, patient mquu-ers after truth, open to conviction, willing to listen to objections wilhng to renounce error, wUling to believe that we, as -^U as other ma have been warped in our opinions by education and -^uatio^^^, -^^ that others may have acquired important 7^^%^^^^^' .f °"=^^ weakness or prejudice, we may have overlooked Weie we a pa^-, anxious'to make proselytes, we should do wel to be positive ind overbearing. But we profess to be anxious that our fel ow Christians should inquire for themselves into the dithculties of le- li<.ion, instead of implicitly receiving what we have embraced. We profess to believe that candid and impartial research will guide maniind to a purer system of Christianity than is "ow to be found in any church or country under heaven. Most earnestly do I hope that we shall not be betrayed by any violence of assault into a sectarian heat and obstinacy, which will discredit our profession, and obstruct this glorious reformation of the Church of God. EXTRACTS FROM REMARKS ON THE REV. DR. WORCESTER'S LETTER TO MR. CHANNING. Augitst, 1815. "By the advice of friends whose judgment I respect, I have resolved to offer to the public some remarks on the letter of Dr. Worcester in reply to mine addressed to Mr. Thacher. They will be few in number, and as free as possible from per- sonalities " My letter to Mr. Thacher is considered by Dr. Worcester as bitter and severe ; but, called as I was to repel the charge of im- morality brought against men whose virtue and piety I know and honor, and to whom I am bound by ties of friendship and Christian affection, I felt it a solemn duty to express what I deemed a virtu- ous indignation. I labored, however, to temper displeasure with Christian moderation ; and, on finishing my letter, my fear was, not that I had expressed an improper warmth, but that I should be considered as wanting in sensibility to the injuries done to some of the best men in this community. I know, however, the many weaknesses and imperfections of my nature. I may have erred, for the provocation was great; and I sincerely repeat the declara- 206 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [^t. 23-34. tion with which I closed rn}- letter, that for every departure from the spirit of the gospel I implore the Divine foigiveness " One great object of Dr. Worcester's letter, if I understand him, is to conve}' to his readers the impression, tliat the mode of preaching of Liberal ministers is ' concealed, indistinct, and un- faitliful.' This he attempts to prove, first, from the statement which I made of the views of Liberal Christians in relation to tlie character of Jesus Christ. This statement, he says, is ambiguous. That it is general, that it does not descend to particulars, I grant; but I deny that it is ambiguous, if considered, as it ought to be, in relation to the object for which it was made. It was simply- de- signed to repel the charge of the Reviewer, that we are Unitarians in Mr. Belsham's sense of the word. Was it necessary' that in such a statement every question should be met and answered, which miglit possibly be started in relation to our sentiments? .... " The next proof of our preaching in a ' concealed, indistinct, and unfaithful manner ' is derived from the account which I liave given of our general style of preaching My statement was plainly this : that we labor to preach the truth, to preach what- ever we clearl}' discover in the word of God ; but that, in doing this, we generally avoid references to opinions which we do not receive, and never hold up those Christians mIio differ from us to censure or contempt. According to this statement, we evidentl}' preach the whole counsel of God, as far as we understand it. But Dr. Worcester, passing over this account, has selected a passage in which I observe that ' we urge perpetually those great trut/is and precepts about which there is little contention, and which have an immediate beaiing on the temper and life.' From this passage he infers that we can urge none of the ' primary and peculiar doctrines and institutions of the gospel, because about all these there has been great contention.' To this I answer, first, that I liave never understood that there has been much contention al)out the ' great precepts ' of tlie gospel, not even about those wliicli have been most habitually disregarded. Christians, satisfied with dismissing tliese from their lives, have retained them in their systems. Kwnx tlie bitterest persecutors in the Church have never disputed the i)recepls of ' loving their neighbor as themselves,' and of ' doing to others as they would have others do to them.' .... It may next be observed, that the common disputes about the ' great doctrines ' of the gospel have not related so much to their truth and importance as to some inferior points connected with them. For example, there has l)een much debate about the benevolence of God. wliethcr it forms his whole moral character and his highest spring of action, 1803-1814.] LOVE OF TRUTH. 207 or whether it be subordinate to wisdom or rectitude ; but all parties have agreed that God is benevolent. In the same manner, many have disputed about the omnipresence of God, whether his sub- stance be extended through infinite space, or whether he be present only by his knowledge and power to ever}^ portion of space ; but all have agreed that God is omnipresent. In like manner, Chris- tians have disputed about the precise way in which Christ's death has an influence on our forgiveness ; but that it has a real and important influence on forgiveness almost all unite in asserting. Once more. Christians have never been weary with disputing on the mode and extent of spiritual influences ; but, with ver^' few excep- tions, all maintain that these influences are real, and are promised to our pra3'ers. Let no one, then, say, that we preach no primar}' or peculiar doctrines of Christianit}', because we insist perpetuallj^ on principles in which the different classes of Christians generall}^ concur. Such principles, we sincerely believe, form the very sub- stance and glor}' of the gospel. They shine with a clear and un- sullied splendor. We are deeplj- impressed with their truth, their supreme importance, and their sufficiency to salvation ; and there- fore we urge them with unwearied importunity, with zeal and affection. "It is possible that Dr. Worcester will go on to object, that, according to this very account, our preaching must be extremel}' general, vague, wanting in precision, and therefore unfaithful. The answer is short. If we are indeed general and vague in our representation of the truths of the gospel, it is because ive are faith- ful^ because we dare not be precise above what is written, because we stop where the Scriptures seem to us to stop, and because we have a ver}' deep and sorrowful persuasion that our religion has been exceedingly defaced and corrupted by the bold attempts of theologians to give minute explanations of its general truths, and to cramp it with the fetters of systematic precision. We tell our hearers, that God sent his Son to die for us, exalted him to be our Prince and Saviour, and ordained him to be Judge of the quick and dead, and never think it necessary" or faithful to fill up the outline of Scripture, by adding, that the Son who was sent was the very God who sent him, or by speculating on the infinite evil of sin, and on the necessity of an infinite atonement, in order to illustrate the fitness of such a mediator. Thus, then, we preach. Whether our preaching be nothing more than the inculcation of ' natural religion,' let our hearers determine " It is urged, that our sentiments lead us into an entire indiffer- ence to Christian truth ; that we believe all error to be innocent ; 208 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [JEt. 23-34. that we consider belief in the truth as no virtue ; and that we thus set aside those passages of Scripture in which the highest impor- tance is attached to this belief. This objection is founded on our extending tlie name and privileges of Christians to the lowest Uni- tarians, who hold some sentiments from which, as I stated, we gen- erally shrink with aversion. Now I den^- that an}- indifference to truth, or any contempt of those passages which enjoin belief of the truth, is implied in this extension of our charity The faith to which salvation is promised in Scripture seems to us to reside in the heart much more than in the understanding. The true believer is distinguished, not by clearness and extent of views, but by a ' love of light,' a ' love of the truth,' originating in a sincere desire to ' do the will of God.' .... "This love of di%dne truth, this honest, unprejudiced, obedient mind, we highly venerate, and alwaj^s enjoin as essential to salva- tion. But we know that this love of truth is consistent with the reception of man}' errors. We know that the apostles, during the life of their Master, possessed this temper in a sufficient degree to constitute them his followers, and yet they grossl}- misunderstood some of his plainest and most important declarations. We believe, too, that, at the present day, many in ever}- Christian countr}- are placed in circumstances almost, if not quite, as unfavorable to a clear understanding of the gospel, as the apostles were under the ministry of Jesus. From considerations of this nature, from a knowledge of the amazing power of education and other circum- stances over the opinions of every mind, and from a fear that we, as well as others, may have been swa3'ed and blinded b}' unsus- pected infelicities attending our condition, we are very unwilling to decide on the degree of truth which is required for the salvation of every individual, or to say that the errors of an api)arentl3' sincere professor of Christianity are inconsistent with a pious character. In our judgment of professed Christians, we are guided more b}' their temper and lives than by any peculiarities of opinion. We lay it down as a great and indisputable principle, clear as the sun at noonday, that the great end for which Christian truth is revealed is the sanctification of the soul, the formation of the Christian charac- ter ; and wherever we see the marks of this character displayed in a professed disciple of Jesus, we hope, and rejoice to hope, that he has received all the truth which is necessary to his salvation. Act- ing on this rule, we cannot exclude from the Church the lowest Unitarians who profess subjection to Jesus Christ. Of this class we have known or heard of individuals who have breathed the gen- uine spirit of their Master ; who have discovered a singular consci- 1803-1814.] VERBAL DIFFERENCES. 209 entiousness in all the walks of life ; whose charity has overflowed in good deeds ; whose wills have been resigned in affliction ; and who lived as seeking a better country, even a heavenly. Such men we have not dared to exclude from the Christian Church, on the ground of what seem to us great errors, any more than to exclude the disciples of Calvin ; whose errors we also deeply lament, but whose errors are often concealed from us by the brightness of their Christian virtues. "We are not conscious that by this liberalit}' we at all oppose those passages of Scripture in which great stress is laid upon belief of the truth ; for we are convinced, from laborious research into the Scriptures, that the great truth which is the object of Christian be- lief, and which in the first age conferred the character of disciples on all who received it, is simply this, that Jesus is the Christy or anointed by God to be the light and Saviour of the world. When- ever this great truth appears to us to be sincerel}' acknowledged, whenever a man of apparent uprightness declares to us his recep- tion of Jesus in this character, and his corresponding purpose to study and obe^' his religion, we feel ourselves bound to give him the hand of Christian fellowship, and to leave it to the final Judge to determine how far he is faithful in searching after the will of his Lord. This duty of searching, and of searching witli humility and with a single and fearless regard to truth, we constantly' inculcate ; and we sincerely believe that in this wa}' we approve ourselves friends of truth much more decidedly than if we should aim to ter- rify and prostrate the minds of our hearers by threatening them with everlasting misery, unless they receive the peculiar views of the gospel vVhich we have seen fit to espouse " The principal argument which Dr. Worcester offers in favor of the proposed separation of Trinitarians and Unitarians is the great differences between them. I sincerely regret that these differences are so studiously magnified, whilst the points of agreement between these classes of Christians are as studiously overlooked. Dr. Watts and Dr. Doddridge have left us a better example. Trinitarians and Unitarians both believe in one God, one infinite and self- existent mind. According to the first, this God is three persons ; according to the last, he is one person. Ought this difference, which relates to the obscurest of all subjects, to the essence and metaphysical nature of God, and which common Christians cannot understand, to divide and alienate those who ascribe to this one God the same perfections, who praise him for the same blessings, who hope from his mere}' the same forgiveness, who receive on his authority the same commands, and who labor to maintain the same 14 210 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [^t-. 23-34. spirit of devotion to his will and glor}-? According to Trinitarians, Jesus, who suffered and died on the cross, is a derived being, per- sonally united with the self-existent God. According to the Unita- rians, he is a derived being, intimately united with the self-existent God. Ought this difference, which transcends the conception of common Christians, to divide and alienate those who love the same excellent character in Jesus Christ, who desire to lireathe his spirit and follow his steps, who confide in him as perfectly adapted to the work which he was sent to accomplish, and who labor to derive just conceptions of his nature from his own instructions ? The dif- ferences between Trinitarians and Unitarians are very often verlial. As soon as Trinitarians attempt to show the consistenc}' of their doctrine of three persons with the Divine unity, their peculiarities begin to vanish, and in many of their writings little or nothing is left but one God acting in three characters, or sustaining three rela- tions, and intimately united with his son Jesus Christ. Ought dis- tinctions so subtile and perplexing to separate those who love the same Divine character, and respect the same Divine will? "Dr. Worcester, however, seems disposed to widen the breach between these classes of believers. He says, the Saviour ' whom you acknowledge is infinitel}' inferior to ours.' I answer, we be- lieve that God saves us by his son Jesus Christ, in whom he dwells, and through whom he bestows pardon and eternal life. A higher Saviour we do not know, and cannot conceive. But Dr. Worcester does not stop here. He says, ' The God whom you worship is dif- ferent from ours.' To this I answer, as others have answered before, that I with my brethren worship ' the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, who hath glorified his son Jesus,' whom Peter preached. (Acts iii.) We worship 'the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,' to whom Paul ' bowed the knee.' We Avorship that God whom Jesus in his last moments worshipped, when he said, ' Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.' We worship that God to whom our Lord directed us, when he put into our lips these affecting words, ' Our Father who art in heaven.' We wor- ship that God of whom our Master spoke in these memorable words : ' The hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth.' Dr. Worcester speaks of a different God ; but we can renounce ours for no other. This worship we are persuaded is a spriug of purity, joy, and hojjc ; and we trust that it will prove to us a source of unfailing consola- tion amidst the trials, reproaches, and rude assaults of the world. — But I must stop. The points of dispute between Unitarians and Trinitarians cannot be treated with any fairness within the narrow 180:3-181 l.J INTOLERANCE. 211 compass of a pamphlet, and I wish not to discuss them in connec- tion with the present controversy, which primarily relates to the moral character of the great body of Liberal Christians. " Dr. Worcester has labored to show, that charity,' instead of forbidding, encoui'ages and requires Trinitarians to exclude Unita- 'rians from Christian fellowship, because charity commands us to promote truth, and truth is promoted l\y this system of exclusion. But let me ask, Why is truth to be promoted? Not for its own sake, but for its influence on the heart, its influence in forming a Christian temper. In what, then, does this temper consist? very much m candor, forbearance, and kind affection. It follows, that any method of promoting truth which is unfriendly to these virtues is unchristian ; it sacrifices the end to the means of religion. Now let me ask, whether the practice of rejecting as ungodly men those who diff"er from us on subtile, perplexing, and almost (if not alto- gether) unintelligible doctrines, be not obviously and directly op- posed to the exercise and diffusion of candor, forbearance, kind affection, and peace. Has it not actually convulsed the church for ages with discord and war? The right of denouncing those who differ on such doctrines, if granted to one Christian, must be granted to all ; and do we need the spirit of prophecy to foretell the consequences, if the ignorant, passionate, and enthusiastic, who form the majority of every community, shall undertake to carry this riglit into practice? The idea, that a religion which is designed for weak and fallible mortals of all classes and capacities, and which is designed to promote unity, peace, candor, and love, should xeX. •make it oi\r duty to reject, as wholly destitute of goodness. c\'ery man, however uniform in conduct, who cannot see as we do on points where we ourselves see little or nothing, appears to me the grossest contradiction and absurdity. If this be Christianity, we may say anything of our religion more truly, than that it is a relig- ion of peace. A more effectual instrument of discord was never devised. Charity, then, does not command the Trinitarian to ex- clude his Unitarian brother. Charity commands us to use mildness and persuasion ; to open our eyes to the marks of virtue in those from whom we difl'er ; to beware of ascribing error to a corrupt heart, unless the proof be striking ; to think modestly of ourselves, and to drive from our minds the conceit of infallibility, that most dangerous error which ever crept into the Church of Christ." ^ 1 " I cannot forbear earnestly desiring Christians to obtain, if possible, some accurate iil^as of the most important point in the present controversy. Let them learn the distinction Itetween Trinitarianism and Unitarianism. Many use tliese words without nicaninar, and are very zealous about sounds. Some suppose that Trinitarianism consists in believing in the Father, the Son, and the Holy 212 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [^Et. 23-34. EXTRACTS FROM REMARKS ON THE REV. DR. WORCESTER'S SECOND LErrER TO MR. CHANNING. Noi'emher^ 1815. "As fai' as I understand the i)revalent senti- ments among Liberal Christians in this quarter of our countrv, they appear to me substantially to agree with the views of Dr. .Samuel Clarke and the author of Bible News ; and were we required to select human leaders in religion, I believe that we should range ourseh'es under their standard in i)reference to any other. " Dr. Clarke believed that the Father alone is the Supreme God, and that Jesus Christ is not the Supreme (lod. but de- rived his being and all his power and honors from tlic I'nthcr, even from an act of the Father's power and will, lie main- tains, that, as the Scrii)tures have not taught us the manner in which the Son derived his existence from his Father, it is presump- tuous to affirm that the Son was created, or that there was a time when he did not exist. On these subjects the word of God has not given us light, and therefore we ought to be silent. The author of Bible News in like manner affirms that the Father only is the Su- preme God, that Jesus is a distinct being from God, and that he derives everything from his Father. He has some views relating Spirit. But we all believe in tliesc ; we all believe that tlie Fnlher sent tlie Son, and gives, to those that ask, tlie Holi] Spirit. We are all Trinitarians, if this belief is Trinitarianism. But it is not. Tlie Trinitarian believes that the one God is t/irre dislinct pcrsom, called Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ; and be believes that each of these persons is equal to the other two in every perfection, that each is the only true God, and yet that the thwse are only one God. This is Trinitarianism. The Unitarian believes that there is but one person possessing supreme Divinity, even the Father. This is the great distinction ; let it be kept steadily in view. Some Christians have still more vague ideas on this subject. They suppose that Trinitarians think highly of Jesus Christ, whilst Unitarians form low ideas of liim, hardly ranking him above common men, and therefore V they choose to be Trinitarians. This is a great error. Some Unitarians believe that tlie Father is so intimately united with Jesus Christ, that it is proper, on account of this union, to ascribe Divine honor and titles to Jesus Ciirist. Some Unitarians deny that Jesus is a creature, and affirm tliat lie is properly the Son of God, possessing a Divine nature derived from the Father. Some Unitarians, who assert that Jesus is a creature, maintain tliat he is literally the first-born of the creation, the first production of God, tlie instrumental cause by whom God created all other beings, and the most exalted being in the universe, with the single exception of the Infinite Father. I am persuaded tliat under these classes of higii Unitarians many Christians ought to be ranked who call them- selves Orthodox and Trinitarians. In fact, as the word Trinili/ is sometimes used, we all believe it. It is time that this word was better defined. Christians ought not to be separated by a sound. A doctrine which we are called to be- lieve, as we value our souls and our standing in the church, ought to be stated with a precision which cannot be misunderstood. By the Trinity, I liave all along understood the doctrine, that God is three persons." 1803-1814.] THE ATONEMENT. 213 to the ' proper Sonship' of God, which neither Liberal nor ' Ortho- dox ' Christians generally embrace. But the prevalent senthnents of Liberal Christians seem to me to accord substantially with the systems I have above described. Like Dr. Clarke, the majority of this class feel that the Scriptures have not taught the mode of Christ's derivation. They, therefore, do not call Christ a creature, but leave the subject in the obscurity in which they find it, carrying with them, however, an impression that the Scriptures ascribe to Jesus the character of Son of God in a peculiarly high sense, and in a sense in which it is ascribed to no other being. "With respect to the Atonement, the great body of Liberal Christians seem to me to accord precisely with the author of Bible News, or rather both agree very much with the profound Butler. Both agree that Jesus Christ, by his sufferings and intercession, obtains forgiveness for sinful men ; or that, on account, or in con- sequence, of what Christ has done and suflTered, the punishment of sin is averted from the penitent, and blessings forfeited by sin are bestowed. It is, indeed, very true, that Unitarians say nothing about infinite atonement, and they shudder when they hear that the ever-blessed God suffered and died on the cross. They reject these representations, because they find not one passage in Scripture which directly asserts them or gives them support. Not one word do we hear from Christ or his apostles of an infinite atonement. In not one solitary text is the eflflcacy of Christ's death in obtaining forgiveness ascribed to his being the Supreme God. All this is theology of man's making, and strongly marked with the hand of its authoi\ But the doctrine of the Atonement, taken in the broad sens'e which I have before stated, is not rejected by Unitarians. On the question, which is often asked, how the death of Clu-ist has this blessed influence, they generally think that the Scriptures have given us little light, and that it is the part of wisdom to accept the kind appointment of God, without constructing theories for which the materials must be chiefly borrowed from our own imagination. " My motive for making the preceding statement is no otlier than a desire to contribute whatever may be in my power to the peace of our churches. I have hoped, that, by this representation^ some portion of the charity which has been expressed towards Dr. Clarke and the author of Bible News may be extended towards other Uni- tarians ; and that thus the ecclesiastical division whtch is threatened may be averted. Let it not, however, be imagined, that I or my friends are anxious on our own account to extort from the ' Orthodox an acknowledgment, that possibly we hold the true gospel, and are not ' devoid of Christian faith and virtue.' We regard other Chris- 214 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [JEt. 23-34. tians as brethren, but can in no degree recognize them as superiors in the Cluircli of our common Master. We do not dread the cen- sures which the}' may pass on our honest opinions. We rejoice that we have a higher judge, whose truth it is our labor to learn, obey, and maintain, and whose favor will be distributed by other priucii)les than those which prevail in a prejudiced and short-sighted world. But, whilst we mean not to be suitors to our brethren, we are will- ing and desirous, by any fair representations, to save them from a course which, as we firmly believe, will be injurious to their own characters, unjust to their fellow-Christians, unfriendly to the diffu- sion of the gospel, and highl}- offensive to our benevolent Master. Most happy should 1 be, if, by any honorable concessions on our part, our churches could be preserved from the shock which threatens them '"It is intimated that we 'dread a development.' We respect many of our opponents, but we dread none. Our love of peace, they ma}- be assured, has another origin than fear or selfish views. It is from deep conviction that I have stated once and again, that the differences between Unitarians and Trinitarians lie more in sounds than in ideas ; that a barbarous phraseology is the chief wall of partition between these classes of Christians ; and that, would Trinitarians tell us what they mean, their system would generally be found little else than a mystical form of the Unitarian doctrine. These two classes of Christians appear to me to concur in receiving the most interesting and practical truths of the gospel. Both be- lieve in one God of infinite perfection ; and we must remember that it is this perfection of God, and not his unknown substance, which is the proper object of the Christian's love. Both believe in the great doctrine, that eternal life is the free gift of God through Jesus Christ. Both learn from the lips and life of Jesus the same great principles of duty, the same exalted views of human perfection, and the same path to inunortality. I could easily extend these points of agreement. And what are the questions which divide them? Why, these : First, AVliether the One God be three distinct subsistences,' or tlu'ee persons, or tlu'ce '■ somewliats'' '^ called persons, as Dr. Wor- cester says, for want of a ' better word ' ; and, secondly, Whether one of these three subsistences, or im[)ropcrly called persons, formed a personal union with a human soul, so that the Infinite Mind, and a lunnan mind, each possessing its own distinct consciousness, be- came a complex, person. Such are the points, or rather i)hr:ises, of difference between these Christians. And ought i)hrases like these 1 "Wjirillaw." - " Tliis worJ liiis been used by Triiiitarians in writing and conversation." 1803-1814.J Christian union. 215 — of which we find not a trace in the Bible, which cannot be defined by those who employ them, which conve}' to common minds no more meaning than words of an unknown tongue, and which present to the learned only flitting shadows of thouglit, instead of clear and stead}' conceptions — to separate those wlio are united in the great principles which I have stated? Trinitarians, indeed, are apt to suppose themselves at an immeasurable distance from Unitarians. Tlie reason, I think, is, that they are surrounded with a mist of ob- scure pliraseology. Were this mist dispersed, I believe that they would be surprised at discovering their proximity to the Unitarians, and would learn that the}- had been wasting their hostility on a band of friends and brothers." ^ September, 1816. Christian union. "The guilt of a sectarian spirit is but little understood, or it would not be so often and incon- siderately incurred. To bestow our affetjtions on those who are ranged under the same human leader, or who belong to the same church with ourselves, and to withhold it from others who possess equal if not superior virtue, because they bear a diflferent name, is to prefer a party to the Church of Christ. Still more, to look with an unfriendly, jealous e3'e on the improvements and graces of other denominations, is one of the most decided acts of hostilit}' to Jesus Christ whicli his disciples have power to commit ; for the virtue towards which the}'^ thus cherish and express dislike is the image of Christ, the promotion of which is the highest end of his life, of his death, and of his mediation at tlie right hand of God. "I speak not this to the reproach of one class of Christians rather than of another. All have reason for deep humiliation. All have been infected with this accursed leaven of party spirit. Few Christians, it is to be feared, look on the virtues and attainments of otlier denominations with equal pleasure as on those of their own. Few do entire justice to those who differ from them. It is to be hoped, however, that in this respect a real improvement is spread- ing througli Christendom. The partition walls are beginning to fall. The fires of persecution are going out. "This union of Christians is the brightest feature, the distin- guishing glory of our age. Let it be extended, and our religion will have free course through the earth. A new face will tlien be given to the world. Hitherto the strength of Christians has been spent in mutual conflict. The force of the kingdom of Clirist has 1 For a j'et fuller statement of Mr. Clianninfj's views at this period, tlie reader is referred to tlie remarks on '' The System of Exclusion and Denunciation in Keligion," Works, Vol. V. pp. 373-391. One Volume Edition, pp. 478-489. 216 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [^t. 23-34. been wasted in civil war. Let Christians of eveiy name and every region feel and respect the hoi}' bond of brotherhood ; let their prayers and labors be united for the diffusion, not of sectarian peculiarities, but of that genuine Christianity which all hold in common ; let a co-operation as extensive as the Christian world be formed to ditfuse it and make it practically efficient. " Let churches lay down their arms and love one another, and nations will begin to learn war no more. Let Christians of differ- ent countries embrace one another as brethren, let them co-operate in schemes of general utility to the Church and to mankind, and the}' will shudder at the thought of breaking tliis sacred union. Peace, universal peace, will be then their constant prayer." 1817. Christian liberty. " It was by asserting their right to the free use of the Scriptures, and to private judgment, that the Reformers laid the foundation of that purer state of religion in which we now rejoice. Let these rights never be wrested from us. Let us hold them dearer than all civil immunities. Better have our persons and property than our minds subjected to a desi)ot. " Is it said, that this jealousy is no longer needed in Protestant countries, that faith and conscience are here left free? We cer- tainl}' have reason to thank God for the enjoyment of greater religious libert}- than was ever possessed before. The fire of per- secution is quenched ; the Scriptures are in ever}' man's hand. But still, to read the Scriptures with independent minds lequires no little effort. There are still obstructions to the privilege of judging for ourselves. The spirit of popery did not expire among our ancestors with its forms. Human nature and its ruling pas- sions are always the same. The same love of power, the same desire to lead, the same wish to dictate to the consciences of oth- ers, which burned in the breasts of the Romish clergy, and built up the Romish hierarchy, still subsist and operate among us. There is still, and always will be, until man is more exalted by Christianity, a conspiracy against the religious as well as the civil rights of men. In Protestant countries there are those who are impatient of contra- diction, who wish to impose their views on others, who surround their creeds with similar terrors to those made use of by the Papal church, and doom to destruction all who have the temerity to differ from their opinions. And what is yet more melancholy, in Protestant countries are multitudes who, awed by great names and loud denun- ciations, want courage to inquire for themselves, fear to doubt what positive men and popular opinion pronounce sacred, take the name .of a human leader whom they dread to desert, and adopt as their IX 1803-1814.] LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE. 217 standard not so much the Scriptures as the interpretation of con- fident fellow-beings, who condemn all but themselves and their ser- vile adherents. To this timid spirit we owe the worst corruptions of Christianity' in earlier times, and it is this which still obscures the glory of our religion. "Remember, my friends, that the great doctrine of the Reforma- tion was this, — that Jesus Christ is the only infallible teacher of his church, and that to him, as he speaks in his word, and not to hu- man guides, we are all bound to listen. It is the character of the consistent Protestant, and of the enlightened Christian, that he calls no man master, and bows his faith and conscience to no hu- man tribunal. He is not intimidated by positive assertion, anath- emas, and cries of heres}'. He goes to no infallible head, whether at Rome, Geneva, or Wittenberg ; borrows no creed from Trent or Westminster ; takes no name from Luther, Calvin, or Arminius ; intrenches himself behind no traditions of forefathers and ancient saints. He, indeed, avails himself of the lights and arguments of good and great men of present and former times. But Jesus is the onl}' authority to whom he submits. " Ever}' church in Christendom has its errors ; and perhaps errors which to future ages ma}' seem as gross as many earlier supersti- tions appear to the present generation. In readiug Scripture im- partially, we may be compelled to dissent from opinions which are embraced b\' multitudes with an excess of zeal. In this case our path is plain. Let us be meek, but bold professors of truth. Let us all adhere with firmness to what we deliberately and solemnly believe to be the truth of God. Let us not shrink from its defence because it is persecuted, because it is unpopular, because it may expose us to an evil name. Truth should be dearer to us than reputation. We must remember that it has seldom made its way without exposing its professors to suffering and rei)roach ; and in the reproach of our Master we should be willing to share. " This right to consult and judge for himself of God's word is our neighbor's as well as our own. Whilst we claim it for ourselves, let us not deny it to others. Let us give what we ask. Let us be anxious, not to make men think as we do, but to direct them to the only source of truth ; and let us not condemn their motives, if in interpreting the Scriptures they diflfer from ourselves. '" There is a strong disposition in men to make their own creeds standards for those around them, to cling to the opinions on which they differ from others with peculiar confidence and tenacit}- ■; and, as if incapable of error, to look with an evil eye on those who doubt them. But this is a strange inconsistency in a Protestant. 218' THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [JEr. 23-34. The claim of infallibility was the veiy article of the Romish church against vvliich Luther most strenuously set his face. He maintained that popes, councils, fathers, and the whole church might err; and who of us that reads the records of the church, who that sees the lamental)le and now acknowledged errors, both of the Romish and Protestant communions, will not assent to this doctrine of human frailty? Yet, in opposition to this i)rinciple, how many Protestants clothe themselves with that infallibility which the^' have condemned and derided in Rome, assume this very place of pope in the church, prepare articles of faith for their brethren, and give over to perdition those who will not receive their decrees ! To this usurping and uncharitable spirit the miseries of the church in every age are to l)e traced. It is this which has divided Christians into hostile l»ands, kindled public wars, and made the page of Christian history as black and bloody as the records of heathenism. "•Strange, that, with all history to instruct us, we do not learn to be humble, candid, and tolerant ; that we do not remember that we, and not our brothers, ma}' have erred ; and that, even if we are right, it does not become us to pronounce his error a crime. " The peace of the church has been long enough disturbed. There is but one wa^' to restore it. We must respect each other's rights, feel our own fallibility, be kind to them that differ from us, and be just to the excellences and sincerity of all denominations. Look where we will into the innumerable divisions of the churcli, we may everywhere find marks of the spirit of Jesus. The Catholic church, even if it seems to us the most corrupt, can boast of names which do honor to humanit}-. Let us cease to think that our own sect has engrossed all truth and all goodness. Tliis charity is tlie ornament of the true Clu'istian, and the only l)ond which can unite disciples too long divided, the only remedy which can heal the wounded and lacerated body of Christ." ADDRESS AT THK FORMATION OF THE BERRY-STREET CONFERENCE. May, 1S20. Liberal Christianity. "The views and dispo- sitions which have led to this meeting may easily be expressed. It was thought by some of us, that the ministers of tins Common- wealth who are known to agree in what are called Liberal and calliolic views of C/iristiuitifi/, needed a bond of union, a means of intercourse, and an opportunity of conference not as yet enjoyed. It was thought that b}- meeting to join their i)rayers and counsels, to report the state and pr()si)ects of religion in different i)arts of the Commonwealth, to comnmnicate the methods of advancing it \y 1803-1814.] BERRY-STREET CONFERENCE. 219 which have been found most successful, to give warning of dangers not generall}' apprehended, to seek advice in difticulties, and to take a broad survey of our ecclesiastical affairs, and of the wants of our churches, — much light, strength, comfort, animation, zeal, would be spread through our body. It was thought that, by such a meeting, brotherly love would be advanced, that a foundation would be laid for joint exertion, and that many valuable objects, which now languish through our ignorance of each other, and want of concert, might be prosecuted with vigor and success. It was thought that the circumstances of the times demand a more earnest co-operation than formerly, — that, living, as we do, in an age in which the principle of combination, the power of associated num- bers, is resorted to by all sects and parties in an unprecedented degree, we were bound to avail ourselves of this instrumentality', as far as consists with the free, upright, independent spirit of our religion. For these ends it was proposed that an annual meeting should be held, which should be spent in prayer, in hearing an aTIdress from one of our number, in offering reports as to the state of our churches, and in conference as to the best methods of ad- vancing religion "The Christian religion is in a particular manner committed to the care, watchfulness, protection of ministers ; and Christianit}', if it be true, must be acknowledged as eminently the cause of God, and the highest interest of human beinos. We exaogerate nothina; when we s[)eak of all human institutions, — government, science, arts, public wealth, public prosperity, of all the outward, positive goods of life, and even of the progress of intellect and the devel- opment of genius, as inferior and comparatively unimportant con- cerns ; for man's relations to God and to a future life are, after all, the true springs of purity, goodness, greatness, consolation, joy ; and it is by making them known in their realit}- and extent, that society is to be advanced and refined, as well as individuals redeemed and trained for heaven. " Let us, then, never forget tliat the religion which reveals the True God and Immortal Life, which is the best legacy of past ages, and the only hope for the future, is committed to us, to be preserved, extended, perpetuated ; and let the dignity of our office — an office before which the splendor of thrones and the highest distinctions of earthly ambition grow dim — be used b}' us to V develop a just elevation of mind, a force of resolution and action, a superiority to temporary' applause, a willingness to live and die, to labor and suffer, for tlie promotion of Clu-istianity " The present is not an age of controversy of believers w'ith infi- 220 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [JEt. 23-34. dels, but of believers with believers ; and it is not uncommon now to hear the name of Christian denied to those who, in earlier seasons of peril, were thought the most powerful defenders of the faith. It is not, however, the distinguishing peculiarity of our times that Christian fights with Cliristian, for such contentions make up the burden of ecclesiastical history ; but tliis seems to me to be the striking distinction of the age, that Christians, instead of being arra3'ed, as heretofore, under the difl'erent standards of little sects, are gradually gathering by large masses and witli SNstematic order into two great divisions. Tliese two great divisions are known among us by the names of Orthodox and Liberal ; and altliough it is true tliat other party distinctions remain, yet these are so promi- nent and comprehensive, that they deserve our peculiar and ahnost exclusive attention, in considering tlie special duties which are imposed on us by the times. "This most important division of the Cln-istian community is traced to different causes by the different parties. The Orthodox maintain that the great cause of it is an arrogant disposition in tlieir opponents to exalt reason at tlie expense of revelation, to scatter the sacred cloud of mystery which hangs over tlie deep things of God, to reject the Divine word because it apparently contradicts tlie conclusions of human understanding. On the other hand, the Liberal or Rational maintain that this division is to be traced to the advancement of the human mind, to the establish- ment of just principles of Biblical criticism, to the emancipation of Christianity from the corruption of ages of darkness, and that it is not their unwarrantal)le boldness, but a servile adherence on the part of their opponents to prejudices consecrated bj' antiquit}', which prevents the union of Christians. "These explanations, though totally opposed to each other, as- sist us to understand the true nature of the controversy which agitates the community. We may learn from them, that particular doctrines are not the chief walls of separation. The great question is not, whether the trinity, or vicarious |)uiiishmcnt, or innate sin, be true. There is a broader question which now divides us, and it is this, — How far is reason to be used in explaining revelation ? "The Liberal Christian not only differs from his Orthodox brother on i)articular points, but differs in his mode of explaining that liook which they both acknowledge to be the umi)ire. He maintains that the great, essential i)rincii)les of C'hristianity, such as God's unity and paternal character, and the equity and mere}' of his administration, arc there revealed with noontide brightness, and that the}' accord perfectly with the discoveries of nature, and the 1803-1814.] DUTIES OF LIBERAL CHRISTIANS. 221 surest dictates of our moral faculties. Consequcntlj- he maintains that passages of Scripture, which, taken separatel}', might give clifTerent ideas of God's nature and government, are, in common candor to the sacred writers, to l)e construed in consistenc}' with these fundamental truths. He affirms, too, that just as far as we acquaint ourselves with the circumstances under which these pas- sages were written, such a consistent interpretation is seen to be the intention of the authors, and that we are therefore justified in believing that nothing but the antiquit}' of the sacred writings prevents us from making the same discovery in relation to other passages which continue to be obscure. " Tlie Orthodox Christian discards as impious this exercise of reason, tliough he himself not seldom is compelled to resort to it, and maintains that the Scriptures are frittered away bj' his oppo- nents because they take the liberty, which, when needed, is taken by all, of explaining figuratively certain passages, which, according to their literal import, seem to contradict the general strain of Scripture and the clearest views whicli God's works and word atfbrd of his wisdom and goodness. Such is the state of the controversy' among us. A rational, consistent interpretation of Scripture is contended for b}' one part}', who maintain that before such an inter- pretation the doctrines of tlie Trinit}', of Infinite Satisfaction, of Election, of Irresistible Grace, and Sudden Conversion, fly as the shades of the night before the sun ; whilst the other party main- tain that these doctrines are not a whit the less credible because the}- offend reason and the moral sense, that an important part of faith is the. humiliation of the understanding, weakened and per- verted as it is by sin, and that myster}' is one of the sure and essential marks of Divine revelation. "The question now presents itself. What duties result from this state of the Church? "Is this controversy an important one? Is this rational inter- pretation of the Scriptures for whicli we plead important? Are the doctrines which seem to us to flow from such interpretation worth contending for? These questions will help us to judge of our duty at the present moment. And in answer to them I would maintain, that the controversy is of great importance, and that we owe to Jesus Christ, our Master, and to his gospel, a strenuous defence of the rational, consistent interpretation whicli we are seeking to give to his word. The success, perhaps the veiy existence, of Christianity requires this service at our hands. Christianit}' cannot flourish, or continue, unless thus interpreted. It is a fact, that, however disordered human affairs seem to be, 2-22 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [JEt. 23-34. society is becoming more enlightened ; and there is a growing de- mand for a form of religion which will agree with the clear dictates of conscience, and the plain manifestations which the universe makes of God. An irrational form of religion cannot support itself against the advances of intelligence. We have seen in Catholic countries a general revolting of enlightened men from Christian- it}', through disgust at Popery, the onlv form under which it was presented to their view. Let an irrational Protestantism be exclu- ■sively propagated, so that the intelligent will be called to make their election l)etween this and inOdelit}-, and the result can hardly be doubted. The progressive influence of Christianity depends mainly on the fact, that it is a rational religion ; by which 1 mean, not that it is such a system as reason could discover without revelation, and still less that it is a cold and lifeless scheme of philosophical doctrines, but that it is a religion which agrees with itself, with our moral nature, with our experience and ob- servation, with the order of the universe, and the manifest attributes of God "I have time to add but one more reason for earnestly and firmly defending and spreading what we deem the consistent, rational, and just interpretation of Christianity ; and it is this, that the cause of Practical Relit/ion, of evangelical piety and morals, is dee[)ly concerned in this movement. On this point a more par- ticular discussion is needed than the present limits allow, because increasing pains are taken to represent our views as unfriendly to vital religion, and to connect with opposite doctrines the ideas of devoted zeal and seriousness. This fact is particularly interesting to ?/s, for our great work as Christian ministers is to promote Praclicdl Clnistianily, love to God and love to man ; and our pe- culiarities are susi)icious indeed, if they are in any manner unfavor- able to this supreme end of our office. " Rut the reproach is groundless. On the contrary, the chief motive, I conceive, for insisting on and spreading rational views is, that they are manifestly more suited than so-called Orthodox views to reconcile men's hearts to God, to purify and exalt human nature, to advance charity and philanthropy, and all the peculiar virtues of the gospel. Did I not l)elieve this, I should say, let us at once lay down the weapons of controversy ; for even if we hold the truth, it is not worth contending for, it ought not to be contended for, at the hazard of the peace of the community, if it is only a theorem for the speculative intellect, an abstract science, without power to operate on the character, inaitiUicable to the conscience and life. Agjiin I say, it is the practical injiuence of Liberal views, it is the 1S03-1814.J COK^GREGATIONALISM. 223 baneful tenclenc}' of Orthodox views, which summons us to the zealous advocacy of rational and consistent Cliristianit}'." 1820. Congregationalism. "Our fathers maintained the inde- pendence of Ciiristian churches. This was their fundamental prin- ciple. They taught that every church or congi-egation of Christians IS an independent community, — that it is competent to its own government, has the sole power of managing its own concerns, electing its own ministers, and deciding its own controversies, and that it is not subject to anj' other churches, or to bisliops, or s^-nods, or assemblies, or to an}- foreign ecclesiastical tribunal whatever. Tliis groat principle seemed to our fathers not only true, but in- finitely important "The question now offers itself. Were our fathers justifial)le in adopting and asserting this principle ? And one answer immedi- ately suggests itself. In the Scriptures we find not one word of a national church, not an intimation that all the churches of the same country should link themselves together, should give up their in- dependence and self-control, and subject themselves to a common master and a few prelates. In Scripture we find but two uses of the word church, when applied to religious concerns. It some- times means the whole body of Christians spread over the earth, and sometimes a particular congregation of Christians accustomed to meet in one place. That such congregations are to submit themselves to one common head or pope, as the Catholics teach, or to a national head, as the English church teaches, or to any power or tribunal distinct from that which subsists in each, is nowhere even hinted in the Scriptures. Such connections are human arrangements, and can be defended only by arguments drawn from their necossit}-, or their- obvious fitness to promote the ends of the Christian religion. "But can such a defence be sustained? What benefits, I pray you, are to be expected from uniting particular churches into a mass, a body, under one government? To answer these questions, consider the purposes for which churches are instituted, — and the}'- may be expressed in a short compass. Churches arc instituted that Christians may grow in knowledge, piety, and charity, by meeting together as Christians, by joining in worship, by com- muning together in Christ's ordinances, by receiving instruction from a public teacher, and uniting in good works. The association is a friendly one, intended to promote holiness, truth, and universal virtue, by persuasion, example, and intercourse. Now, I ask, how are these objects advanced by combining many churches under one L- 224 THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [JEt. 23-34. government? Will a church be more stronglj- united in love, will it worship more fervently, or make surer progress in truth, if its minister be appointed, its worship regulated, its creed established, by a foreign power, be that power a pope, or a king, or an assembly of bishops, or an assembly of elders? One would think that every church could better consult its own edification — and this is its great object — than strangers. " There should undoubtedly be a close union between different churches, hut a union of charity, and not a consolidation into one mass, or a subjection to one tribunal. This last mode of binding churches together is uncongenial with the free and equal spirit of Christianit}', engenders ambition, intrigue, and jealous}', subjects Christ's Church to civil or ecclesiastical bondage, substitutes force for persuasion, and stifles the spirit of inquir}-. These are almost inevitable effects. Once create a power or jurisdiction over all the churches of a country, or over a large number, and 3'ou create a prize for ambition. This power becomes important to the magis- trate, it excites the craving of the clerg\'. They who gain it will not fail to strengthen and extend it ; free inquiry will be its prey ; and the cardinal virtues of the gospel — humility', meekness, and charity — will be trodden under its feet " Congregationalism is the only effectual protection of the Church from usurpation, the onl}- effectual security of Christian freedom, of the right of private judgment. As such let us hold it dear. Let us esteem it an invaluable legac}'. Let us resist everj' effort to wrest it from us. Attempts have been made, and ma}' be repeated, to subject our churches to tribunals subversive of their indei)en- dence. Let the voice of our fathers be heard, warning us to stand fast in the liberty with which Christ has made us free. The inde- pendence of our churches was the fundamental principle which the}' aimed to establish here, and here may it never die." ^ 1 The reader, who wouhl trace the gradual development of Mr. Channing's principles, should read, in connection with this address, the tracts on " Objec- tions to Unitarian Christianity Considered," 1819, Works, Vol. V. pp. 3U3-410, One Volume Edition, pp. 401-408; " The Moral Argument against Calvinism," 1820, Works, Vol. I. pp. 217-241, One Volume Edition, pp. 45'J-4G8; and chiefly the " Discourse at the Ordination of the Rev. Jared Sparks, Baltunore," 1819, Works, Vol. III. pp. 69-103, One Volume Edition, pp. 307-384. 1814-1822.] DIVINE JUSTICE. 225 Chapter IV. — SPIRITUAL GROWTH. ^T. 34-42. 1814-1822. Controversy was utterly uncongenial to Mr. Clianning ; his tem- per, tastes, desires, habits, all conspired to make it repugnant. He was discriminating in processes of thought, instinctively repelled dogmas, however time-hallowed, which were abhorrent to the dic- tates of his moral nature, made nice distinctions between opinions resulting from accidental influences and truths addressed to the reason of man universall}' in the creeds transmitted by tradition, and was earnestly' watching for a brighter spnitual day to dawn ; but, while thus impelled to join the ranks of the progress-party, and fitted by eloquence to be a leader there, he yet appreciated so justly what was good in the tendencies of established bodies of believers, and so cordially sympathized with the character displayed by Christians of every denomination, that he felt he was doing violence to his heart by withdrawing from their communion. Above all, he was so conscious of the darkness, ignorance, sophistry, overspreading the theological world, and so fervently longing for some full vision of Divine Wisdom, that a position of sectarian dogmatism seemed to him as absurd as it was presumptuous. He was chiefly desirous to forget the things behind and to press on. It would be treating him with great injustice, then, not to present some more positive traces of his spiritual growth during these years of painful dissension. How very small a space controversy occupied in his mind is proved by the fact, that, among his unpublished sermons and manuscripts of that period, there does not remain a single controversial paper. He was seeking to reverence and love God, to respect and sympathize with man, to form himself and his fellows anew in Christ's image, to mould society upon the pattern of Divine justice. This will appear in the following extracts. SECTION FIRST. RELIGION. Oclober, 1814. Divine goodness and justice one. "I would have you penetrated with the conviction that God is most just ; but I would have you hold this truth in consistency with that most interesting of all truths, that God delights to do good, and that all his operations are directed by benevolence. Benevolence and justice are harmonious attributes of God, to which all others may be reduced ; and the true idea of justice is, that it is a branch or mode of exercise of benevolence. 15 226 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [iEx. 34-42. " This tlioiiglit is so important, especially' as giving us the clear- est view of the justice of God, that I shall proceed to offer a few remarks in illustration of it. There is reason to fear that this attri- bute has not always been placed in its true light. Some persons, misled by confining their attention to a few passages of Scripture, have represented justice as a distinct perfection from goodness, and as sometimes clashing with it, and opposing the wishes of Divine benevolence. Such sentiments are dishonorable to God, and injurious to true piet}', b}' stripping his character of its chief excellence, the infinity of goodness. Such representations of justice have induced some to regard it as an attribute to be dreaded ratlier than to be esteemed and loved ; and many have wished to exclude it from their conception of God. But an attention to the general scope of Scripture will correct the error, and teach us that God's justice coincides with goodness, and is even a branch of it, and that it is therefore to be regarded with affectionate reverence " Divine justice is, in fact, an exercise of enlarged benevolence, enjoining and enforcing by rewards and punishments those dispo- sitions and actions on which the peace, order, improvement, and felicity of rational beings depend. I repeat it, the -principle of jus- tice is benevolence. It is God's goodness which inclines and impels him to maintain a moral government, or to treat beings according to their characters ; for nothing has so much influence as character on the hai)piness or miserj' of his universe. The more benevolence a being possesses, the more he will honor, reward, and encourage that spirit of universal love which is the very soul of happiness, and the more he will discountenance that selfish and ungrateful spirit which disorders, and darkens, and desolates creation. "God's justice, then, is a wise benevolence, employing rewards and punishments to exalt intelligent creatures to the most perfect and hai>py character, to a participation of that love or moral good- ness which forms his own felicity." 1815. Spiritual influences. "There is another class of Chris- tians, who, whilst they believe that God constantly operates on the human mind, and that without his operation no fruits of goodness are produced, yet believe that the mode of his influence is essen- tially ditfcrent from that presented in the view just given. They believe that Divine influence is not sudden and irresistible, l)ut suited to the nature of man as a free and accountable being ; that it is habitual, gentle, persuasive, ofl'ering truth to the mind and motives to the will, but leaving the individual at liberty to comply with or reject it. They conceive tliat compulsion or irresistible power would entirely destroy the virtue of human actions, would 1814-1822.] WALKING WITH GOD. 227 reduce man to a macliine, and would tluis entirely' defeat God's end, which is to rendei" us objects of approbation and reward. They conceive that our whole goodness is to be ascribed to God as its author, because he gives us all our powers, our understand- ing, our consciences, our knowledge of duty, our capacity of im- provement, because he furnishes in his gospel the most powerful motives to obedience, and because, by the silent influences of his providence and spirit on the heart, he suggests good thoughts, awakens desires of holiness, and furnishes all the strength which we need to resist temptation. But the}' believe that God's agency stops here, that he does not in any manner compel men to follow the light and the motives which he presents, — does not force them to use the strength which he bestows. It depends on themselves whether the}* concur with or resist his grace, whether the}' use well or neglect the powers which he gives, whether they will serve God or disobey him." 1817. Walking with God. "It is the earnest desire of the pious man, whose heart has been touched by God's good spirit, to feel what he believes, that God is with him ; and his attention is often withdrawn from all finite things, that he may bring home this thought with power to his heart. "■ The quickness of perception, the sensibility, to which the mind, by use and time, may attain on these subjects, is not easily- believed by those who have made no progress in religion. The pious man, whose mind is exercised on God, comes to see him in a peculiar manner. He has a consciousness of his presence which he cannot easily describe or communicate to one who has lived wholly in the world. In scenes which to others are blank and desolate, he feels that he is not alone ; and in society where others see only their fellow- beings, a higher presence is revered and perceived. Even when thinking of outward things, there is, if I may so speak, in the breast of a devout man, a latent sense of God ; just as, when we are near or in sight of an individual whom we respect, there is a consciousness of him, and a reference to him, even though we are conversing freely with other beings. "The pious man finds in the whole of Hfe, in its successes or reverses, in the kindness of friends or the calumnies of foes, in the difficulties and trials of his state, calls and motives to this secret converse with God, and life becomes more and more interestmg in proportion as it strengthens this sacred intimacy. Often, when to those around he seems to be living among things seen, and engaged by human agencies, he is holding a high and pure nitcrcourse with the P'ather of his spirit. And this piety 228 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^.t. 34-42. brings its reward in the serenity and refinement wliicli it imparts to the whole spirit of him who thus walks witli God." 1813. The dignity of piety. " What is there wliich gives such dignity to our nature as the capacity of knowing and of lov- ing the best of beings? It is chiefly this capacity of religion that lifts us above brutes, that allies us to superior orders of l)eings. You must at once acknowledge that the mind is ennobled just in proportion to the grandeur and sublimity of the objects on wiiich it is employed. Tliink, then, of the elevation of that mind which habitually directs itself to God, of that heart in wliicli this infi- nitely great and good being is enthroned. We ought to considt-r piet}' as the highest, most generous, and dignified attainment which is placed within our reach, — in fact, as the noblest characteristic which an intelligent creature can exliibit. "It is melancholy that piety should not be associated in every mind witli the idea of dignity and lionor. But, unhappily, religion has been so often worn as a mask by the unprincipled, it has so often been accompanied b}' mummery and superstition, that some have associated with its venerable name feelings of contempt and degradation. They think that to be devout is to be weak. Of all delusions there is none greater than this. " We should feel that piety is the very spirit of heaven, the very life of angels, a pure celestial flame, ever tending to that world from which it descended, and aspiring towards Him by whom it is enkindled. We should feel that piety partakes the glory of God, who is its object, and assimilates us to him ; that it gives warmth to benevolence, strength to fortitude, firmness to integrity, and calmness and peace to afflicted virtue. These are the venerable and attractive attributes in which piety should be arrayed." 1816. Resemblance to God. " There is something most affect- ing in the thought of resembling God. It is a reflection which ought to fill and almost overwhelm our minds, that we have a nature capable of bearing the image of God's perfections. This single view of our nature throws round it a lustre infiniteh' sur- passing all the honors of the world ; and this thought of resembling God is not a presumptuous one. The purity, the virtue, to which we are called in the gospel, and which men have in a measure attained, is the same in nature with that which constitutes the glor}' of God. In particular, that disinterested love, that diffusive bcricv- olence, to which Jesus Christ so emphatically calls us, forms the highest glory of the Divine character. The language of John on this subject is remarkable. ' God is love, and he that dwells in love dwells in God.' Astonishing thought! By Christian good- 1814-1822.] PIETY AND GOODNESS. 229 ness we are made partakers of God's nature, we shine with a ray of his Hght, we share his higliest perfection, we become temples of tiie Divinity, God dwells in us. This grand reality is too faintly felt by us. We do not with sufficient force conceive the intimate relation which we may sustain to God. We do not heartily believe that Christian virtue constitutes us his children, by making us like him. We do not bring it home to ourselves, that in sinning we are extinguishing a ray of Divinity within our souls, and that by every step in moral progress we are ascending towards God, the Original and End of all excellence and felicity." 1818. True piety one with active goodness. " Religion is a high degree of delight in all the perfections of God, — in his wis- dom, his rectitude, his benevolence ; and what is the most accepta- ble expression of this veneration? Is it enough to admire and praise? Do we not most efficiently manifest our esteem by seeking to become what we praise, by transcribing into our lives the per- fections of God, by copying his wisdom in the judicious pursuit of good ends, his justice in the discharge of all our obligations, and his benevolence in the diffusion of all possible happiness around us? Then is our love of God the most exalted, when in our sev- eral spheres we aim to be like him, to reflect his glory, to act for the great end for which he is ever active, the improvement and happiness of every being within our influence. " I wish 30U to feel that religion, love to God, is in no way at war with our relations and present state. It does not take us out of the w.orld. It is not inconsistent with any of the useful pursuits of life, but unites them with itself, and makes them oblations to God. He who feels the true influence of religion does not relinquish his labor. On the contrary, he becomes more industrious, labors with more cheerfulness, is more contented with his lot, however difficult. Religion furnishes motives which give to existence a dignity and animation such as he was unconscious of before. Neither does he forsake society. On the contraiy, his social char- acter is improved. Taught by God's goodness, he looks round on his fellow-beings with new tenderness. A more benignant smile lights up his countenance at sight of human virtue and happiness, a more frequent pain is felt at sight of human guilt and misery. He is more conscientious, more just in his transactions, more faithful in all his relations, milder in his temper, and more active in his charity. Neither does he give up all his enjoyments. His religion cuts off no innocent and healthy stream of pleasure. It heightens pleasure, b}- making it more rational, more pure, more 230 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^r. 34-42. equable, more consistent with all the diitles of life. This, ni}' friends, is the nature and influence of true religion. "In one word, religion is designed to refine and improve our whole nature, to make us better in every condition, to awaken all our faculties, to render us active, intelligent, generous, pure, tem- perate, meek, contented, and serene. And it is genuine just so far, and no farther, as these effects are produced. This influence of religion over the whole life is the proper standard by which it should be measured." 1819. PiKTY AND MORALITY. "What IS it iu God which calls forth our veneration, gratitude, love, filial attachment? What attribute gives him a claim to these sentiments? On this i)oint there is little diflerence of opinion. All Christians will tell you that God is chiefly to be loved and revered because he is good or benevolent, and because he is righteous or just, — because he de- sires at once the happiness and the excellence of his creatures, — because he rejoices to send benefits on all who are fitted to receive them, — because he enjoins and rewards virtue, and abhors and punishes impenitent guilt. Benevolence and righteousness, then, are the attributes on which Piety chiefly rests as its object, and by communion with which it acts and grows. "But consider a moment wliat benevolence and righteousness are. Are they not the very qualities which we mean by Morulili/ ? What is morality but the exercise of a benevolent and just temper towards all beings witiiin our knowledge and influence? If so, what is God's character, the character wliich we are to love, but perfect morality? — what but tlie very dispositions, in their fulness, which conscience enjoins upon every man, and which form what we call rectitude? To love God, then, is to love morality in its most i)erfect form ; and thus we see how religion and morals pass into eacli otlier and become one. " Tins idea seems to me too important to be passed over lightly. Men have always sunk a great gulf between piety and morality, religion and rectitude, dcvontness and virtue. To love God has been thouglit something (|uite distinct from loving our neighbor, loving our duty, loving right anil worthy actions. But they are not to be divided ! To love (iod is the same thing as to love rectitude, for God is rectitude ; this is the central principle of his character. His character is the perfection of morality, and the love of him is the love of morality. Tlie love of God is hut another name for the love of essential benevolence and justice ; — it is a sincere and obe- dient delight in a Divine government, by which these virtues are 1814-1822.] PIETY AND MORALITY. 231 manifested, enforced, spread abroad, and renewed most gloriously. So inseparable are religion and morality. If we could conceive of God as wanting the qualities and attributes which in men we call moral virtues, we should thereby tear up and destroy the vital germ of piety. Nothing would remain for our love, veneration, and filial attachment to cling to in God. He would have no claim on us. It is because he is The Good, because he is a moral being, and because in loving him we love Perfect Morality, that we are bound to love him with all tlie heart, soul, and strength. " According to these views, the genuineness and strength of our religion appear altogether in our love of righteousness and good- ness, and in our endeavor to approach God in these moral perfec- tions. I know religion is generally represented as something different from this. The labor of men has always been to divorce piety from virtue, — to substitute adulation for moral obedience, acts of homage to God for equitj' and benevolence to men. Hea- thenism was little more than an attempt to conciliate the Divine favor b}' outward rites, to please God by other means than a pure and good life. We cannot wonder that men fly to these false modes of religion, for the obligations they impose are light and easy, when compared with those of rectitude. It is vastly easier to flatter the Supreme Being than to subdue ourselves. Nothing is so hard as to root out bad passions, to be upright, at whatever cost, and to be benevolent and charitable under all provocations and difficulties. To seek a resemblance of God's moral purity is unspeakably more toilsome than to praise him with transport "The happiest influence of religion appears, not in giving us occasional joys and raptures, but in communicating delicacy and power to our sense of duty, in strengthening conscience to resist all created tilings when they oppose its convictions, in exaltuig our ordinary life, in making our control of the passions complete, our charity superior to all sacrifice and suflJering, and our uprightness immovable as the throne of God. The happiest influence of religion appears, not in raising us to sometliing higher tlian morality, for that would be to raise us above God himself, but in giving us sub- lime ideas of morality, a pure will and higli aim, a purpose of ex- cellence such as never could exist without a knowledge of God's character, and a hope of his aid in imitating his goodness. Religion makes us moral by renewing our cliaracters and lives in the image of Divine virtue. It forms us to a rectitude, and benevolence, and purity, of a higher order than worldly men can conceive. In this its glory and strength are made manifest. Religion is the perfection of moralit}'." 232 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 34-42. 1816. The happiness of a religious life. "The human heart not only needs objects of affection, but it demands an object vast, infinite as God, complete!}- to fill and to satisfy it. The soul of man, though often debased and contracted, often discovers to us a remarkable property, perhaps the most remarkable in its con- stitution, — a certain insatiableness of desire, a love of great objects, a discontent with what is narrow and limited, a thirst for something better than it finds on earth. This principle has sometimes been called the love of the infinite, and though often suppressed by want, and oftener by vice, it is ineradicable in human nature, and shows to us that the human mind can find repose only in the Infinite Being. God is the onl^' fit end and object for such a being as man. The world cannot fill his mind. You see him discontented, rest- less, even amidst its fairest prospects. A secret uneasiness preys on him, which he can neither analyze nor describe. The truth is, his soul, whilst confined to the world, has not 3et found its true element. He has desires and affections to which nothing here is proportioned. " Whilst earthly objects are exhausted by familiarit}', the thought of God becomes to the devout man continually brighter, richer, vaster, derives fresh lustre from all that he observes of nature and providence, and attracts to itself all the glories of the universe. The devout man, especially in moments of strong religious sensi- bility, feels distinctly that he has found the true happiness of man. He has found a Being for liis veneration and love, whose character is niexhaustible ; who, after ages shall have passed, will still be uncom[)rehended in the extent of his perlections, and will still com- municate to the pure mind stronger proofs of his excellence and more intimate signs of his approval." 1816. Heaven. " Descriptions of this nature too often convey the impression that heaven is a state of rapturous ecstasy, suspend- ing reason and the calm exercise of understanding. It is, indeed, true, that the Scriptures teach us that in the future life the afiTections will be powerfully excited. New sensibility will be communicated to the heart. God will be loved with a vastly purer and intenser love than is known on earth. But still tlie understanding will not be sacrificed to the feelings. Devotion will be calm, deliberate, reasonable. It will be the fruit of extended knowledge. All the faculties of the understanding will be exerted and invigorated, as well as the atfections ; and the hai)piness of heaven will possess that serene and rofiecting character which it is becoming and lion- oral)le for rational beings to enjo}'. -1 1814-1822.J ERRONEOUS VIEWS OF HEAVEN. 233 " Another representation of heaven, which seems to me unfavor- able to a strong impression of its happiness, is this : — Heaven is often described as a place where eternity' will be spent in immediate acts of Divine worship. This error arises from a too literal and narrow interpretation of passages in Scripture. Their true meaning is, that at all times, and in all places, spirits in heaven will possess that sensibility to God which places of worship are particularl}- designed to promote. Whatever region of this vast universe they ma}' visit, they will regard it as God's empire, God's temple ; his presence will be felt, his perfections be traced and adored, his will be cheerfully obej'ed. This spirit of devotion, which we ought to cherish on earth, will, indeed, be the habit of heaven ; but its exer- cise will be consistent with the greatest variety of scenes and employments, and very unlike that wearisome monotony of an end- less round of religious services which some seem to anticipate. " I proceed to consider another view of heaven which renders it uninteresting. Heaven is sometimes described in a manner which excludes the idea of improvement, of progression. The thought of a stationary existence, of remaining the same through eternity, of a world where the mind, as it looks forward to endless ages, will see no change, no progressive ascent to superior virtue, is a most discouraging and melancholy one. The human mind seems so im- patient of limits, it so delights in boundless prospects, that we can hardl}' feel as if it would be happ3', even in heaven itself, were it to find that it had reached its goal ; that no accessions were to be made to its knowledge and goodness ; that no nearer approach could be gained to God and superior orders of being ; that all above it was forbidden ground, an inaccessible felicity. "Such conceptions of heaven are altogether inconsistent with what we know of the faculties of the human understanding, which seem capable of indefinite progression, and with what we see of the works of God, which teach us that he delights in a progressive cre- ation. We ought rather to conceive of heaven as a state which will offer far greater means of improvement than the present, which v' will open new fields for thought, new worlds for research, which will inspire a more intense desire of moral greatness, and give continu- ally increasing energy and splendor to all the virtues which ennoble our nature "Another error in the description of heaven, which I think ren- ders it less interesting, is that the thought of society is thrown too much out of sight. Now, human nature is essentially social. It wants objects of affection, companions to whom it may communi- cate its thoughts and purposes, and with whom it may act and 234 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 34-42. enjo}'. Pleasure is tasteless without friendl}' participation, and ever}' view of heaven excluding this is unfavorable to an impression of its happiness. We are too apt to think of heaven as a solemn place. It ought to be viewed b^' us as a place of cheerful society. The countenances of its inhabitants should seem to us irradiated b}' a benign smile in their intercourse with one another, and their piety, though reverential, should seem to us a filial and happy sen- timent, which enters into the conversation, and which they delight to manifest together. ''Another view of heaven which seems to me to weaken its in- terest is this : — Its inhabitants are often described as forming a world by tliemselves, as having no connection with any other be- ings. IIea\'en seems to be considered as a region separated from the rest of the universe. Now an improved and benevolent mind can hardly escape the desire of extending its acquaintance with tliis boundless universe of which it forms a part ; and heaven would seem a place of confinement, did it shut up its inhabitants forever from every other region. But we ought not to conceive thus of the future state of good men. We need not doubt the fact, that angels, whose home is heaven, visit our earth and bear a part in our trans- actions ; and we have good reason to believe, that, if we obtain admission into heaven, we shall still have opi)ortunity, not onl}' to return to earth, but to view the operation of God in distant spheres, and be his ministers in other worlds "It is not impossible, that, in our intercourse witli other worlds, we shall meet with beings who are passing through the first stage of discipline, like that wliich is now assigned to ourselves, — beings exposed to pain, temptation, and sorrow, beings who may need our symi)athy and aid, and to whom we may render the same offices which we have reason to beheve angels now render to the human race. It seems to me that we do not render heaven a less inter- esting or less happy world, when we su})pose that its inhabitants retain the tendercst sensibility, and feel for the sufferings winch ma}- be endured in other regions of tlie creation. Tliere is a sympatlu' which, thougli in a measure painful, gives a peculiar charm to ex- istence, and wliich a good man would not wisli to resign ; and we ought not to believe that tliis is excluded from heaven. "Once more: the descriptions which are given of heaven are often, I tliink, rendered less interesting than they should be, by false ideas which are entertained about tlie perfection of its inhab- itants. It seems to be tliought, that, because good men are to be perfect hereafter, tliey will all resemble each other ; and hence that diversity of character, of taste, and habits, which contributes so 1814-1822.] HEAVEN A PROGRESSIVE STATE. 235 inuch to oar happiness, is made to give place to a monotonous and unvaried excellence. But all God's works are marked by variet}', and to this they owe much of their interest and beauty. "Will all this variety be blotted out in heaven? No one, who reflects that this life is a preparatory state, can doubt that our future character will be a continuation of the present, — that, if we enter heaven, we shall cany with us essentially the same minds which we possess on leaving the world, and thus all the peculiarities of earth which are consistent with goodness will be transplanted in the future state. The Scriptures teach us that it will be part of the happiness of heaven to meet there the good and excellent of former times, — - the patriarchs, and prophets, and apostles, and other benefactors of mankind. But this happiness would be wholly lost, were men in heaven to lose their peculiar characters, were all to be cast into one mould, were all, in becoming perfect, to become perfectly alike. No, — heaven will not present this unvaried and dull uniformity. The strong lines of character which marked men on earth, we ma^' sup- pose, will distinguish them hereafter. Paul will retain his ardor, John his kindness, Isaiah his imagination. In heaven we shall wit- ness every form of intellectual and moral excellence. Some of its inhabitants wall exhibit to us the milder, and others the sublimer virtues. Some will be distinguished by glow of feeling, some by profoundness of thought, some by activit}' and energy of will. There will be, too, different degi-ees of the same excellence, and different employments corresponding to the character. "The true view of heaven, that which the Scriptures give, that which .reason sanctions, and that which we can most powerfully realize, is, that it will not essentially change, but rather improve our nature. We shall be the same beings as on earth ; we shall retain our present faculties, our present affections, our love of knowledge, love of beauty, love of action, love of approbation, our sympathy, gratitude, and pleasure in success. We shall probably, too, have bodies not wery different from what we now have, — the eye to behold creation and receive its beauties, the ear to hear the voice of friendship and to receive the pleasures of harmony, and even sense refined and purified. This we know, that Jesus in a form like ours ascended into heaven, and when Moses and Elijah conversed with him on the Mount, they appeared in the human form, differing from ours only in its splendor ; and from these facts it would seem that our future bodies will bear a general resemblance to the present." 1817. Heaven a place for grov^th and action. "In heaven the understanding will be called into vigorous exercise, and will be 236 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [Mt. 34-42. continually enlarged and improved b}' exertion. Some persons seem to conceive that the mind will at once attain its full and per- fect growtli in the future world, that it will ascend immediate!}- from this region of darkness and error into the brightest light of heaven, tliat it will expand at once to the full extent of its ca- pacities, that everything which is to be known will at once be acquired, and therefore that new acquisitions will not be proposed, and will not of course awaken its activity-. But this is an imagi- nation altogether unauthorized by Scripture, and it ditl'ers so entirely from present experience, that nothing but positive declara- tions of Scripture can give it a claim to belief. In this life, pro- gression is the universal law. Nothing is brought into being in its most perfect state. Everything rises to maturity from feeble beginnings. " The all-wise Creator delights in a progressive system, in grad- ual improvement, not in immediate perfection. It is his uniform method to conduct beings through various stages, not to fix them at once in an unchangeable condition. Now, such being the method of Providence, and such the nature and experience of man, is it not natural to expect that in a future life our nature will be progressive, that the knowledge with which the Christian will commence his future being will be a point from which he will start, a foundation on which he will build, rather than a state in which he will eter- nally rest? '' Freed from all the passions and prejudices which now darken and disorder his mind, loving the truth with increasing ardor, clothed with a spiritual, vigorous, refined, immortal body, released from all pain, disease, languor, and relaxing toil, and, above all, associated with enlightened and benevolent minds, with angels of light, with apostles, prophets, sages, with Jesus Christ, who is the wisdom of God, — blest with all these aids and guides, with what rapid steps must the Chri*^tian advance in the knowledge of God and of his works ! And when we consider that this progression will be eternal, will never end, what an astonishing coneei)tion is given us of the future greatness of man ! We cannot follow him on his path of glory. To an ever-progressing being no limits can be pre- scribed. There is no rank of created existence to which he will not ascend. AVhere seraphs now worship, there man will one day wor- ship, and the purest praises which heaven now hears will ascend from once human lii)s. Are there orders of beings whose cxi)ansive minds embrace the interests of worlds as easily as we do the con- cerns of our l»usiuess and families? The mind of man, continually improving, will enjoy the same expansion. 1 am lost when I at- 1814-1822.] THE FUTURE GLORIES OF THE GOOD. 237 tempt to represent to myself human nature perfected in heaven, and through endless ages approaching its wise and holy Creator." 1816. The future glories of the good. "It is a very in- teresting view of death, that, instead of destroying, it sets a seal on the virtues of good men, the seal of eternity. It places them be- 3'ond danger. It takes them from a region of moral infection, where they sometimes drooped, where temptation triumphs over the most experienced in piety, wliere the purest excellence can hardly be viewed without feelings of solicitude. " When we think of the good and holy who have left us, we should banish from our thoughts all gloomy images which death presents. They should rise before our minds, improved, perfected, clothed with a new lustre of goodness. We shoukl think of them as ascended to a purer region. The countenance on which we were accustomed to see the expression of all kind affections should sliine upon us brightened with a more benignant smile. Their piety should appear as raised, refined, and kindled into purer ardor b}' its near approach to God. We should see them surrounded with better friends and examples than those they have left, and in the midst of the purest and happiest society. " Tliat in this wide creation there are spheres of nobler action than are enjoyed on earth, that there are wider fields for the powers of intelligent beings, and more generous and glorious objects for benevolence, who can doubt? This world, it is not unhkely, is the abode of the feeblest and most imperfect members of God's family. It is, perhaps, the sphere of the humblest labor. Nowhere, per- haps, do intelligent beings enjoy, expand, so little. Go where we will in creation, if we except the abode of the condemned, probably' we shall find more improved intelligence, and wider spheres of use- fulness. Our present experience teaches us that God delights in an active creation. We see all nature in motion. We see that he delights in accomplishing his most important ends b}' the agency of his rational creatures, and that thus their concurrence with the cre- ation forms at once their happiness and dignit}'. Who can doubt that this same principle regulates the whole universe which God has made, that everywhere his purposes are committed to the charge of creatures, that all spaces and ages are one vast field of exertion? Among the chief wonders and glories which the future world is to disclose to us will be the enlarged powers, relations, and influences of virtuous beings. "Let us not, then, imagine that the usefulness of the good is finished at death. Then rather does it begin. Let us not judge of 238 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [JEt. 34-42. their state by associations drawn from the chiUness and silence of the grave. The}' have gone to abodes of Hfe, of warmth, of action. They have gone to fill a larger place in the system of God. Death has expanded their powers. The clogs and fetters of the perishable body have fallen otf, that they ma}- act more freely and with more delight in the grand system of creation. We should represent them to our minds as ascended to a higher rank of exist- ence, and admitted to co-operate with far higher communities. Tliis earth was only their school, their place of education, wliere we saw their powers comparatively in an infant state. They have now reached a maturer age, and are gone to sustain more important relations. They have been called because their agency was needed in higher services than those of this w^orld. AVliere they are now acting, it is not given to us to know ; but the all-wise Father can never be without a sphere for the virtues of his children. It would be grateful to believe that their influence reaches to the present state, and we certainly are not forbidden to indulge the hope. But wherever they may be, they are more useful, more honorably occu- pied, than when on earth ; and by following their steps, we may, however separated from them during life, hope to obtain admission into the same bright regions where they are pressing onward to perfection." SECTION SECOND HUMAN NATURE. 1815. Generous views ok man. " We need to feel more deeply that we are intrusted with a religion which is designed to ennoble human nature, which recognizes in man the capacities of all that is good, great, and excellent, and which offers every encouragement and aid to the pursuit of perfection. The Christian minister, in preparing his discourses, should often recollect, that man, degraded as he frequently appears, has yet powers and facuilties Avliich may be refined into angelic perfection, that he is invited to prepare for the community of angels, that he is formed for endless progress in intellectual and moral excellence and felicity. He should often recollect, that in Jesus Cln-ist our nature has been intimately united with the Divine, and that in Jesus humanity is already enthroned in heaven. Familiarized to these generous conceptions, it should often be his object in preaching to unfold to men their capacities of greatness, to reveal the splendor of that destiny to which they are called by Jesus Christ, to awaken aspirations after a nobler charac- ter and a higher existence, and to inflame them with the love of all 1814-1822.] MAN'S CAPACITIES OF GOODNESS. 239 the graces and virtues with which Jesus came to enrich and adorn human nature. In this wa}' he will prove that he understands the true and great design of the gospel and the ministry, which is the perfection of man's character " JNIay I be permitted to saj-, that perhaps the greatest defect in the ministry, as at present conducted, is, that it is not sufficiently directed to ennoble and elevate the minds of men. It does not breathe a sufficiently generous spirit. It does not appeal sufficiently to the highest and best principles of the human heart, nor delineate with sufficient frequency and energ}' those lofty sentiments and deeds to which something congenial responds in almost ever^' breast. It appeals too constantl}- to the lowest principle of man's nature, — I mean the principle of fear, which, under judicious ex- citement, is indeed of undoubted use, but which, as ever}- parent knows, when habitually awakened, is always found to depress and debase the mind, to break the sjjirit, to give a tameness to the character, and to chill the best affections. Perhaps one cause of the limited influence of Christianity is, that, as Christianity is too often exhibited, it seems adapted to form an abject, servile charac- ter, rather than to raise its disciples to true greatness and dignit}'. Perhaps, were Christianity more habitually regarded as a system whose chief design is to infuse honorable sentiments, an ingenuous love of God, a superiority to unwortlw pursuits, a virtue akin to that of heaven, its reception would be more cordial, -and its influ- ence more extensive, more happy, more accordant with its great end, — the perfection of human nature." 1816. Man's capacities of goodness. "One of the great characteristics of the present day is a lowness, a sordidness, a frigidness of thought and feeling. Men think meanly of their nature, and hence their conduct is selfish and earthly. We do not, indeed, see men in general given up to gross vices. We do not meet around us the ferocity or beastly licentiousness of the savage state. We find man\- marks of improvement, when we compare the present with earlier ages. But there is little elevation of sentiment. Comparatively few seem to be conscious of their high original, tlieir capacities of excellence, their relation to God, their interest in eternitv. "Blessed be God, in the histor}' of every age and nation — amidst the ravages of ambition and the mean aims of selfishness — there have broken forth nobler sentiments, and the evidences of a heavenly virtue. Every age has been illustrated b^- men who bore themselves like men, and vindicated the cause of human nature, — 240 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 04-42. men who, in circumstances of great trial, have adhered to moral and religious principle, to the cause of persecuted truth, to the interests of humanit}-, to the hope of immortality, — who have trod- den under foot the fairest gifts of fortune and the world in the pur- suit of dut}'. It has often pleased God to gather round these men the clouds of adversity, that their virtues might shine with a sub- limer splendor. This is the greatest value of history, that it intro- duces us to persons of this illustrious order ; and its noblest use is b}- their examples to nourish in us a conviction, that elevated purity of motive and conduct is not a dream of fauc}', but that it is placed within our reach, and is the very end of being. " I have spoken of history as refuting the low conceptions which men form of their nature ; but, without looking back to former ages, may not every individual, amidst the corruptions of present soeiet}-, discover in his own sphere some delightful examples and illustra- tions of human goodness ? Does he not discern some whose names are never to be inscribed on the rolls of earthly fame, and who can boast no distinction of intelligence or station, but whose sincere devotedness to God, whose gratitude in adversity, whose patience under injury, whose cheerful discharge of humble duties, whose unwearied zeal in doing good, afford a delightful proof of the con- nection between the human and angelic nature? Let none, then, say that the corruptions of society forbid us to believe that our nature is susceptible of high advancement. The road to perfection is not unexi)lored. We have forerunners in this path. AVe see the traces of many steps directed to immortality. Men of like passions with ourselves have subdued temptation. The good and great were not miracles in the moral world. We possess the same power, the same motives, the same heavenly guide, and the same promise of Divine assistance " He who never looks up to an excellence higher than he has attained, who never regards himself as formed for pure and gener- ous sentiments, who never admits the thought that exalted good- ness is placed within his reach, will never put forth his powers in pursuit of virtue. He will never rise. He dooms himself to his present state. Exertion supposes that good ma}' be attained, and vigorous exertion supposes that the mind is kindled by the prospect of great attainments. What can you expect from him who sees nothing in the future better than the past? On the other hand, a belief in tlie capacities and dignity of humanity, a belief of its future glory, a belief that higher excellence is the very end for which we were made, is a spring of generous and unwearied activity. This faith, when deeply fixed in the mind, is a pledge and earnest of the 1814-1822] FORCE OF MORAL PURPOSE. 241 improvement to which it aspires. It awakens new power in the soul. It gives a natural clignit}' to the thoughts and actions, and produces an almost involuntary abstinence from all that is false and selfish. "He who accustoms himself to reflect on Jesus Christ, on his apostles, on martyrs, on the best of men, on the loveliest and sub- limest forms of humanity, who regards these high beings as his forerunners in the path of glory, and whose chief prayer is, that he ma}- walk in their steps, — this man has learned the true secret of greatness. Though on earth, he has taken his place in a higher world. Blessed be God, these consoling and encouraging views are not only authorized by the gospel, but Jesus Christ came for this very end, to fix them in our minds, to make them the rule of our lives. His great object was to exalt us to true glorj-. His example was placed before us, not to create a transient emotion, but to show us to what height our nature ma}^ be raised." 1818. Force OF MOKAL PURPOSE. " The Christian is known by the energy with which he wills to do right. It is his distinction, that his sense of religious dut}^, his moral principles, his purposes of virtue, predominate within him. He does not merely love what is good, but chooses it with power. ' ' We hear often of greatness of character. The only true great- ness consists in unconquerable purpose of obedience to God. It consists in adhering with energy and courage to truth, duty, and honor. It consists in taking our rules of action from our own minds, enlightened by revelation, and following our deliberate con- victions of .right in the face of death and danger. It consists in asking ourselves, first, not what is expedient or safe, but what is generous, excellent, and acceptable to God ; and in forming pur- poses of rectitude with a force which man and time and suffering cannot subdue. This holy energy of mind is the only true great- ness, and it is a greatness not beyond the reach of our na- ture " The truly interesting portions of history are those which attest the moral power of man, which show us fellow-beings sustained by inward principle and confidence in God under the heaviest pressure of pain, which show us the mind unchanged in prosperity and ad- versity, passing unmoved through honor and disgrace, clinging to excellence when her only earthly dowry was death. Would we see our nature in its greatness, we must see it forsaken by all outward aids, compassed with obstacles, yet steadfast, gathering power from difficulty, and opposing a firmer front in proportion to the violence with which its principles are assailed. 16 242 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 34-42. "The true use of the trials and temptations of life, and of the turbulent passions in our own breasts, is to call forth sph-itual en- erg}' and heroic purposes. God might have placed us in a world where duty and pleasure would have mingled and formed one cur- rent ; but where would have been the discipline of virtue in such a world? Under such a constitution of things, our nature would have been free from sin ; but whilst ever}' stain would have been pre- vented, almost every bright trace of moral glory would have been dim. The crown would have fallen from the head of goodness. We are otherwise circumstanced ; — we are placed now in a region of storms, perils, hardships ; now in one of blandishments, seduc- tions, snares. In such a world, would we be virtuous and make progress in religion, we must put forth our powers to choose the good and to love it entirely. The conscience must act with vigor. Excellence must be pursued earnestly. An inert purpose will avail us nothing. Our whole nature must be awake. Who does not see that such a world is fitted to form a higher order of minds than a state removed from temptation? True, we must toil, but the har- vest is rich. We must fight, but the strength we gain b}' conflict is an inestimable compensation. Here we have one explanation of our present state. We are tried as by fire, that we may come forth purer from the furnace. Our virtues are in peril, that we may hold them with a firmer grasp. This is the world for the formation of generous and resolute spirits. Let its purpose be in us full}' ac- complished "This force of principle gives, as it were, new power to the whole man. With this inward spring how much can we accom- plish, how much endure ! Sustained by a consciousness of recti- tude, diflficulties no longer daunt us, and hindrances sink before us. The minds of men are exceedingly weakened by inconsistent passions, by fear, interest, regard to opinion. They effect little, because they want unity. He who is accustomed to ask what is right, and to espouse it with energy, leaving the consequences with God, derives new power from his singleness of purpose. It gives him fearlessness of mind. His faculties, concentrated on his du- ties, act freely and strenuously ; he perseveres w here others would droop, and succeeds where they would fiiil. Right action, by being in itself simple and harmonious, brings an immediate reward in peace, equanimity, steadiness. Strong moral principle is a spring of honorable impulse, and gives us the highest use of all our fac- ulties " Force of moral purpose makes us happy. Happiness does not consist, as men are too apt to imagnie, in passive enjoyments. It 18U-1822.] TRUE HAPPINESS. 243 is found In the strenuous use of our best affections. We enjoy most in i)utting forth our whole nature, in being full}' alive to all scenes and relations, and especiall}- in preserving our noblest faculties in healthy and efficient activity. There is a constant satisfaction at- tending the vigorous exercise of conscience, while a feeble operation of the moral principle, which shows us what is right, but gives no strength to perform it, is a source of constant miser}'. There is an exhilaration, a hope, a joj', springing up within us when we will with power what we see to be good, when we are conscious of treading under foot i\\e low principles and interests which would part us from God and dut}', when we sacrifice firmly and unre- servedl}- selfish desires, or the world's favor, to the claims of Chris- tian rectitude. Moral energ}- inspires an unconquerable resolution, and fills us with a rare delight. The mind enlarges itself, and gains a new feeling of its capacities and destination, in these seasons of generous excitement ; just as the body seems to gather new height and dimensions when a person is upborne by an exalted sentiment. The most exulting moments of life are those when, after a conflict of strong passion with the sense of duty, we come ofl" conquerors, and are conscious that we have risen in spiritual existence. A feeling of this nature becomes in a degree habitual to the man, whose general tone of mind is a sincere purpose of ad- hering to the path of Christian virtue." 1814. True happiness. "The true happiness of man has its scat in the mind which God has breathed into us, in the enlarge- ment of its powers, in the elevation of its sentiments, in the firm- ness and purity of its principles, in its ascent to its native heaven. Compared with the capacities of this imperishable principle, and with the means of unfolding and exalting it, everything outward is worthless. " The best of all the blessings which God gives to man is a heart alive to what is great and good, which glows at the sight of excel- lence, and kindles with desire to become one with what it admires. The best of all God's blessings is a heart which is accustomed to aspire to him as its source and destination, which is alive to his all- pervading presence, which meets him in his works, converses with him in solitude, blesses him in affliction, prays to him with the assurance of being heard, and hopes from him all which infinite goodness can bestow. The best of all blessings is a heart which partakes God's benevolence, which feels its relation to the uni- verse, which is bound by friendship to the good, by sympathy to the afflicted, and by an overflowing tenderness to the narrow circle / 244 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [JEt. 34-12. of domestic life. Tlie best of all blessings is a heart which car- ries with it a consciousness of its unbounded destiny-, which looks forward to eternit}' as its inheritance, which hopes for perfect goodness, which feels alliance with higher orders of beings, and anticipates a union with the spirits of the just made perfect, with departed friends, and with the ascended Saviour. In such a state of heart is the true happiness of man." 1814. Perfect society. " Perfect social happiness is reserved for a higher stage of existence. Fill as 30U ought Aour relations here, and you will rise to a better world, and be welcomed into a happier and purer community. But this is not all. It is very doubtful whether we should be the happier, if our social connections were at present improved as much as we desire. We desire friends who will regard us with unremitting tenderness, in whose societj' we shall escape from every temptation, who would fly to our aid in every difBcult}^ to our rescue in every danger. The thought of such friends is indeed delightful ; but in the present life we are not worth}' of them, and I fear they would injure us by the very excess of their tenderness. They would probably keep ns all our lives in a state of infantile dependence. Relying always on their aid, and shielded always by their care, we should attain no firmness of char- acter, no courage, no proper self-dependence." 1815. .Indications of immortality. "In the inexhaustible love of knowledge which animates the human understanding we have a bright indication of the realit}' of a future existence. God has given to man a spirit which is evidently designed to expand through the universe, which disdains the confinement of space, and which, although for ages it has been making progress in the knowl- edge of nature, still thirsts for more extended information. There is a restlessness in the human mind which no acquisition can allay. Thought is forever enlarging its horizon. " Were man destined to Hve only in this world, his desires and powers would have been fitted wholly for this world, and his capaci- ties would have been limited to the means of i)resent enjoyment. But his faculties are now continuallv overleaping the bounds of earth ; he delights in discoveries which have no relation to his ex- istence on this jjlanet ; he calls to his aid the arts, not merely to render life comfortable, but to assist him in tlie most remote re- searches ; invents instruments which extend his sight beyond these visible heavens, and levcal hidden stars and s_ystems ; and presses on and on to fathom the profoundest secrets of tne universe. The human mind has an intense delight in what is vast and unexplored. 1814-1822.] INDICATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. 245 Does such a mind carry with it no proof that it is destined to wider spheres of experience than earth affords, — that it is designed to improve forever in the knowledge of God's wonderful works? " In man's power of looking forward with hope to distant and everlasting ages, we have a second clear mark of a being destined to anotheT- existence. Were this world everything to man, his longings would not stray beyond its brief span. His anticipations would-be proportioned to his being. Of what use, except to tor- ment him, would be the idea of eternity to a creature of time? Why kindle in man the sublime sentiment of immortality, if the grave is to be his doom ? . . . . " Our capacity of knowing God is another indication that we are appointed to future modes of being. The human mind is not limited to objects of sense. It has a reUsh for the unseen. It forever tends to rise from the effect to the cause, — from creation to its Author. This tendency may be pronounced one of the essential, instinctive principles of our nature. " Nor is this desire of acquaintance with God slight and tran- sient. The human mind, by cultivation of pious sentiments, may be, and often has been, raised to an intimate union with the Divine Being, to a vivid feeling of his presence, to an habitual discern- ment of him in his works and providence. It has attained to sen- timents of sacred rapture, to more than earthly joy, in praising, adoring, thanking him ; and just in proportion as the heart is the abode of these generous emotions, it desires a nearer approach to the Divinity, and longs for an improved condition, in which He ma}^ be worshipped with pure and perfect love. When a mind has thus become alive to God, it clings to existence with increasing earnest- ness. It cannot endure the thought of being blotted out from among God's works, — of being deprived of the consciousness of his perfections, — of losing forever his friendship, — of rendering him no more service. Piety necessarily takes this form of desire for near communion with the Infinite Being in a future, better, end- less existence ; and what do all these aspirations indicate ? " We have another indication of man's future life in the moral sensibility which God has imparted to the soul. " The human mind, notwithstanding its degradation, has some- thing in it congenial with excellence. It delights to hear and read of angelic worth and greatness of character. It loves to conceive of more perfect forms of human nature than real life exhibits. To this propensity, poetry and fiction are indebted for their origin. Especially when the mind has been refined by the practice of good- ness, does it naturally represent to itself a beauty of virtue such as 246 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [JEt. 34-42. has never been attained on earth. It is dissatisfied with all that it has gained, and pants for greater purit}'. Its verj- improvements prompt it to desire a better existence, where present stains and imperfections will be done awa^-, where it will fill a wider sphere of nsefulness, where it ma}- be united with the excellent whom it loves, and become worthy of their friendship. This delight in goodness, this thirst for perfection, with which the human mind is instinct, is full of promise. Were this life ever3-thing to us, would God have formed us thus capable of conceiving and desiring heights of excellence which in this life are unattainable ? Will he crush the hope of moral progress, to which our ver}' virtues give intenseness? .... " The man of refinement and sensibility finds himself, as it were, in accordance with universal nature. Every scene, every season, touches some spring in his heart. The stream, the mountain, the ocean, the clouds, the distant constellations, all speak to him in a language that he understands. There is something in him akin to all this beauty and sublimity, which gives him a claim to property in the whole creation. There is especially in the soul a sensibility to the grand, awful scenes of nature. Whatever bears the impress of infinite majest}-, whatever is too vast to be grasped b}- the senses, brings to the heart a mysterious delight. The storm, the thunder, and raging ocean, fearful as the}- are, still awaken a solemn pleas- ure, for the}' speak to us of almighty power, and accord with our love of greatness. Now this sensibility to whatever is great and fair in universal nature seems to attest the glor}^ of the human soul, and to point out to it a sublime destiny. AVlij- has God placed man amidst this boundless theatre, revealed around him this end- less creation, touched his heart with the love of beauty, and given him this delightful and awful interest in all that meets his eye, if he is merely a creature of the earth, soon to shut his e^'es on these majestic scenes, and to be buried forever in a narrow grave? Does tlii.s love of the infinite, this attachment to the universe, seem suitable to so frail a nature? Do the}- not suggest the idea of a being who belongs to the universe, and who is to fill an ever- widening sphere? .... " I now i)rocecd to another and a more decisive indication of a future life, which is furnished us by human nature. I refer to the capacit}' which man actually possesses of attaining to greatness of character. " Whilst man fulls far below the perfection he desires, he yet is sometimes seen to ascend to a sul)limity of virtue which docs honor to our nature, and proves that it is formed for heaven. We 1814-1822.J SUBLIME DESTINY OF MAN. 247 shall discover in history persons not merely' faithful in tlieir regard to the prescribed duties of life, but who are filled with a grand dis- interestedness of character, a sublime goodness, which outstrips what is positively- demanded, which is prodigal of service to God and man, and overflows with sacrifices and sufferings in the cause of duty. "These great examples show us what man may become, and what he is designed to be. These are lineaments of a noble nature, marks of a sublime capacit}', a sublime destiny-. We all have some- times seen our nature manifested in these honorable forms, have seen great temptations and calamities calling forth great virtues, have seen the human countenance bright with the expression of magnanimous affections, and have felt how lovely and how glorious may be liumanit}'. And can we believe that the soul of man, gifted with such capacities, is created for a day? Can we think that the great men who have thrown such light on the past were but meteors, extinguished as soon as kindled, — extinguished in the midst of their glory? Why were such sublime capacities given to a being of such an humble destin}' ? Does the all-wise Creator thus waste his noblest gifts, and is he so unconcerned for those on whom these gifts have been conferred ? It is a natural sentiment, entitled to respect, that exalted goodness cannot perish. It is fitted for a better world than this, and the Creator would be dishonored were his noblest work to be lost. Nature may pass away, but can good- ness, sublime goodness, that image of God, be destroj'ed? And if human nature be capable of this goodness, is it not destined to immortality ? "Another indication of a future state suggested by our nature is to be found in the triumph which man often obtains over death, in the manner in which he passes through the last change. " To the sensible appearances of death, so sad and appalling, we should do well to oppose the energ}' of soul with which it is often encountered. Then death itself will furnish us with a proof of im- mortality. Sometimes the hour of death is an hour of peculiar glory for human nature. Instead of being conquered, man is seen to conquer the last foe ; and he seems to suffer onlj- that the greatness of humanitj' may be developed. In instances like these, the last act of the soul is an assertion of its immortality. Can we believe that this moment of sublime virtue is the moment of annihilation, — that the soul is extinguished when its beauty is most resplendent ! If God intended that death should be an eternal extinction, would it be adorned, as it often is, with a radiance of the noblest, loveli- est sentiments and affections of our nature? Would the greatest triumph of man be the harbinger of his ruin ? 248 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [JEt. 34-42. " There is another view yet more sublime. I refer to the deatli of the martyr to religion, to his countr}', to the cause of truth and human improvement. You have read of men who preferred death to desertion of duty. They encountered the menaces of power, they endured the gloom of prisons, and at length, in the fulness of their powers, were led to the place of execution. Their steps never filtered, their purpose never trembled, their looks were firm, yet mild and forgiving, and with unshaken trust in God they counted it an honor to suffer in his cause. And what now shall we say of death? That it triumphed over these men of unsubdued virtue, — that it quenched these bright spirits? Or shall we rather say that it was designed to illustrate the immortal energy of piety and virtue, and to show that the faithful soul is more than conqueror over the last foe? Can we think that God impels those who love him by the best principle in their nature to encounter death in its most dreadful forms, and then abandons them to final extinction, at the very moment when they must be to him most worthy of his love? " We find another indication of immortality in our nature, when we consider the principal source of human enjoyment. I ask, then, what is this principal source of human enjoyment? " A slight observation will teach us that happiness is derived chiefly from activity, from conscious growth, from the successful effort to improve our powers, from rising by our own energy to an improved condition. It is not what we have already gained, be it knowledge, property, reputation, or virtue, which constitutes our happiness, so much as the exertion of our faculties in furtlier ac- quisitions. The idea of advancement is of all others the most con- genial with the human mind. We delight not so much in possession as in piu-suit, not so much in holding the prize as in pressing for- ward to seize it with the eye of hope. The feeling of progress is the great spring of hapi)iness ; and it is this which gives cheerful- ness and animation under the severest lot. " Now what does such a nature indicate? Is it true that man's chief hai)piness consists in animated pursuit, in consciousness of improvement, — that, when his advancement is most swift and sure, this principle most prompts him to press forward? Is not perfection, then, the end of his being? Is he not made to advance, to ascend, forever? and does not this soaring nature discover a being designed for a forever brightening career? Would this in- satiable thirst for progress have been given to a creature of a day, whose powers are to i)erish just when beginning to unfold, and whose attainments are to be buried with him in eternal ob- livion? .... 1814-1822.] GREATNESS OF HUMAN NATURE. 249 " If this world were our home, and our only portion, should we have sentiments implanted b}' our Creator which teach us to live above it, and impel us to feel that it is noble to renounce it? Were this our only sphere of enjoyment, could we ever deem it beneath us, unworth}' our nature? "But this is not all; we not only honor men when the}' rise above the world, its pleasures and gains, — we particularly revere them when they hold life itself with a degree of indifference, when they disdain it in comparison with principle, and advance to meet seeming destruction by a resolute and unshaken adherence to prin- ciple. On the other hand, we feel a contempt for those who cling to life as the best of blessings. We cannot endui-e the coward, while we are lenient even towards the excess of courage. We view with admiration the man who is prodigal of life in an honorable cause, and who prefers death to the least stain of guilt. Now these feelings surely indicate that the present is not our whole ex- istence. Were this life everything to us, should we be so con- stituted as to consider the voluntary relinquishment of it as the noblest deed ? Should we have feelings which impel us to cast it away? Were death entire and eternal extinction of all our power and virtue, would the welcoming of it appear the height of glory ? All these feelings which I have considered, and which prompt us to sacrifice the world and life to the purity of the soul, are so many attestations from God to the dignity of the soul, so many assur- ances that it is destined for higher relations than those which it now sustains to the bod}^ and the world." 1814. Greatness of human nature, as revealed by Jesus Christ. " Consider the discoveries which Jesus Christ has made of the glory of human nature. His gospel may be said to be a revelation of man to himself. It calls us home to our own hearts, and there discloses to us capacities which should awaken the pro- foundest gratitude and admiration. The great unhappiness of men is, that the}' live abroad, thc}^ lose themselves in the accidents ai'ound, they are engrossed by outward events, by the changes of the natural or political world. The}' do not explore the grander world within. ' ' Jesus Christ thought nothing worthy of his notice but the soul of man ; and the whole tone of his gospel is, that the soul is capable of all that is great and excellent, that it may become the image of God, that it may ascend to the glor}' and purity of angels. It is constantl}' his doctrine, that man is appointed to join the society of heaven, and that he will there shine as the sun, that he will 250 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^x. 34-42. exchange his present imperfection for spotless purity. As in the child we view the future man, so in man we are taught b}^ the gospel to view the germ of the future angel. We are taught that there is no height of excellence in the universe to which the human mind in the progress of eternity may not attain. These are views which have little to interest him who never reflects on his inward nature, who only feels that he has a body and organs of sense, and who thinks the highest happiness is to be found in the gratifications of the brute. But there are those who feel conscious of the heavenly principle within them, who, at the sight of distinguished virtue, pant to attain to its resemblance, who kindle at the thought of a boundless progression, of a never-ending ascent towards God. To such persons, how delightful is the confirmation which the gospel gives to the wishes and aspirations of their better nature ! What a splendor is thrown round human nature, when it is thus viewed as the future associate of all that is most excellent in heaven, as the bright reflection of the glorious goodness of the Creator ! " SECTION THIRD. CHRIST AND CHRISTIANITY. 1815. The end of Christianity. " This idea, that the great end of Christianity, of the mission of Jesus, is to exalt the human character, although it runs through the Scriptures, has been veiy much overlooked. Christians have been inclined to believe that Christ lived and died to influence the mind of God, rather than the mind of man, — to make God favorable to us, rather than to make us obedient to God. " I cannot but believe that this is a very erroneous view, and utterl}' unauthorized by the Scriptures. The Scriptures, I think, lead us to believe that holiness, or excellence of character, is a vastly greater blessing than pardon or forgiveness. According to the Scriptures, it is a greater privilege to be delivered from the polluting power than from the consequences of sin. According to the Scriptures, holiness, goodness, virtue, is the pearl of great price. It is God himself dwelling in the human heart. It is heaven enjoyed on earth. " There is no happiness but in goodness. This is the felicity of God, and this is the best gift he imparts to his creatures. The noblest work of God is a holy, pure, virtuous mind ; and Jesus Christ can i)erform no ministiy more noble than the recovering of a sinful mind to a heavenly state." 1814-1822] CHRIST'S LOVE FOR MAN. 251 1817. The spirit of Christ. " Our religion demands of us, not merely single acts and feelings, but a character or general frame of mind. We must have Christ's spirit, which means his temper ; or, in other words, we must have an habitual state of the soul answering to our Lord's "The great principle, which runs through and binds together all parts of the Christian system is this, — that our happiness, our eternal happiness, depends on the character we form. Men are very apt to forget, that in everything but religion they estimate one another, not by occasional acts, but by the general frame of the mind. There is such a thing, we all know, as character, some- thing very different from particular actions and occasional feelings, something prominent in the mind, and which works itself into almost all the life. Character is not something which we put on at one moment and put off at another, not something reserved for great occasions, or which appears only in striking actions. It in- fluences the common decisions of the judgment. It gives a peculiar form to the common opinions and purposes of the individual, and, still more, it pervades the whole mind "Jesus Christ did not come to work upon the surface of the human heart, but to pervade it with his religion ; he did not come to inculcate transient feelings and actions, but to implant perma- nent principles, to give a new life to the soul. It is well, it is necessary, that we should know the large demands of his gospel, so as not to lose its blessings by stopping at low attainments, — so as to propose seriously the acquisition of that devout, benevolent, and heavenly temper, which is the veiy essence of his religion. We cannot be too sensible that to be a Christian is a great work. If we do not rightly estimate the difficulties of our task, how can we apply to it with perseverance, resolution, spirit, and success? We have to incorporate Christian principles into our very souls. We have an inward conflict to sustain, a glorious change to ac- complish, by God's assistance, in that mind which is most properly ourselves." 1819. Christ's love for man. "To feel the strength of Christ's benevolence whilst he was on earth, we must consider that it re- ceived no aid from any persons around him. It is comparatively easy to cherish a sentiment which operates in every other breast, to reflect a light which shines strongly on ever}- side. But the benevolence of Christ received no accession from S3'mpath3'. The fountain of this living water was within himself. He drew his love from his own will. The age in which he lived had no thought of a 252 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 34-42. benevolence so purified, extended, and disinterested as his. It was a selfisli, exclusive, bigoted age. The characters of the most improved were narrowed and debased bj' prejudice. Jesus Christ is seeu^ to have been a lonely being, even among his disciples, when the tone and temper of his mind are considered. No one felt like him, or could lend fervor to his charity. His love cannot but im- press us, when we thus consider how solitary, how unborrowed it was, how it resisted every social influence and example, in how full a river it flowed through a parched land, from which it received no tributar^^ stream. "To feel as we ought the love of Christ, we should consider also its extent. In reading his history, we see it spreading over the whole face of society, comprehending all orders of men, and embracing ever}' human relation and interest. His love did not owe its strength, as ours too often does, to its limitation. The current was not powerful because hemmed in. It was not a close circle, witliin which his affection glowed to intenseness. He felt that the world was his home, and there was a prodigal liberality in his affection. He could not be happy but in expanding his sym- pathy to the whole range of man's wants and sorrows. There was no class of human beings beneath his notice. If he preferred any in regard, it was the poor and forsaken ; precisely because they needed most a friend and benefactor. The place of instruction in which he seemed to take particular pleasure was the open air, where all might hear him. His charity, like that light to which he often compared himself, fell on all. It spread from the little child to the ends of the earth. It blessed individuals who were near him, and at the same time reached the most remote nations and ages. In the same breast dwelt the tenderness of a son for an amiable mother, and the vast charity of the Saviour of the world. His benevolence partook at once the character of the stream which winds through the valley, and of the mighty ocean which connects all lands. " Again, to perceive the strength of Christ's love during his ministry on earth, we must remember that he carried with him a consciousness of his immense superiorit}' to all around. He was not a man moving among equals. He remembered the glor}' he had left, and to which he was to return. The wisest and best around him must have appeared to him hke children. There were none in whose society he could find the refreshment and pleasure which we derive from equal and congenial minds. Now it is when men are surrounded by inferiors, that their pride, contempt, impa- tience, and weariness perpetually break forth. What a striking 1814-1822.] CHRIST A MEDIATOR. 253 proof, then, of the benevolence of Jesus is it, that, so far from exhibiting indifference or contempt, he was distinguished by a lowly and gentle sweetness of deportment ! His dignity was so softened b}- meek and tender feeling, that his disciples approached him with familiarit}-, lived with him as a friend, and felt no pain in his presence. We should have expected that a being so august, and whose works were so wonderful, would have struck awe into men's minds ; but the amiableness of Jesus seems to haA^e triumphed over his greatness, and to have inspired affection even stronger than reverence. We see this illustrated in every part of his his- tor}' ; in John's lying on his bosom, in Mary's anointing his head, and in the deep and tender grief with which his disciples, after his death, came to embalm his remains. When I consider this con- scious superiority of Jesus, I cannot express my conception of the strength of his benevolence, as displayed in the affectionate famil- iarity with which he lived among men, in the gentleness and con- descension of his manner, in his hiding his majesty behind his compassion. It is far easier to scatter blessings than to stoop to the low and to live with them as a friend. The Son of God walk- ing amidst the band of his disciples as an equal, sitting at their table, inviting to it the publican, and conversing with all he met on the highway and in the palace with like sympath}' and interest, displays to m^-- mind a charity stronger than when he employed his power to raise the dead. In ever}- act and relation of common life, we see that his very life and spirit was benignity." 1817. Christ a mediator. "The sentiment which I wish to enforce is this, — that Jesus Christ is continually, in all ages, in all times, employed and interested in behalf of the human race, — that his kindness to mankind is constantly operating, — that he bears a permanent relation to them, — that he never ceases to do good. "It is to be feared that these conceptions are not sufficiently familiar. Many, when they think of Christ, think of him only, or chiefl}^ as having lived several ages ago. Their minds travel back to the time when he dwelt on earth. They conceive of him verj' much as a teacher or prophet who brought an important message from God, and, having declared it, died in attestation of it, and then left the world to enter into a state of reward and rest. Jesus Christ is thus separated from us, and thrown back into a distant antiquity. AYithout being distinctly avowed, this is with many the most habitual and frequent mode of regarding Christ, and it is one cause of the faint interest often manifested in his character 254 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 34-42. " Such a view of Christ, when no higher views are connected with it, will not take a strong hold on men of improved and culti- vated minds. They will not feel that their obligations to Christ are great, when he is regarded only as a prophet of earl}- times ; and the reason is, that, from their early familiarit}^ with the leading truths of his gospel, and from their habit of reasoning about these truths, they come to think that the}' might have learned these with- out his aid. You well know that, since the time of Jesus, the human mind has been much employed in seeking for evidences in Nature, of many interesting doctrines which he taught. The con- sequence is, that a system of Natural Rehgion has been constructed. We have works of the learned, in which God's unit}- and goodness, and a future state of retribution, are supported, and, we are some- times told, are demonstrated, by proof drawn from the creation and providence. Now, the effect of this mode of appeal to Nature in defence of these truths is, to lead men to the notion that Nature is a sufficient witness to these doctrines, and that the authority of Christ ma}- be spared. Jesus seems to them to have conferred no signal benefit in teaching doctrines which are written on ever}- page of God's works. But it is forgotten that it is by the light which Christ has thrown on Nature that they are enabled to read it with so much ease. It is forgotten that, before his time, philosophers hesitated, wavered, doubted, about these simple truths of religion, as they are now termed. It is forgotten that philosophy had not taken a step towards subverting idolatry. "Hence the more cultivated become insensible to their obliga- tions to Christ, when viewed as a mere teacher of an early age. Hence it is not uncommon to hear Nature arrayed against Christ, to hear Nature referred to as a higher authority than Christ, to see his instructions virtually set aside when they do not correspond with what is asserted to be the doctrine of Nature, although before his coming she had taught so little, — although it is his gospel which has given her a tongue. I have intended by these remarks to show that the habit of thinking of Christ merely or chiefly as a teacher who lived several ages ago, and left behind him an excellent system of religious truth, is not suited to excite a strong interest in him, — certainly not such an interest, not such a sensibility, as pervades the New Testament. " I would now observe, that this mode of viewing Christ is wrong, defective, inconsistent with the plain declaration of the Scriptures. According to these, Jesus Christ is not a teacher whose agency was chiefly confined to the time when he was on earth. He eve?- lives and is ever active for mankind. He sustains other offices than those 1814-1822.] CHRIST A MEDIATOR. 255 of a teacher ; he is Mediator, Intercessor, Lord, and Saviour. He has a permanent and constant connection with mankind, and a most intimate union with his Church. He is through all time, now as well as formerly, the active and efficient friend of the human race. " When Jesus spoke of his death, he never spoke of it as if it were to separate him from the concerns of our world, as if he were to rest from his efforts for mankind. He regarded it as an event which was to introduce him to a nobler and wider sphere of activity-, where he was to contribute more extensively to the conversion and salvation of mankind. ' I go to prepare a place for you.' ' When I am lifted up,' that is, crucified, ' I will draw all men to me.' After his resurrection, he did not speak as if his work had been finished by dying and rising again. He says, ' AU power is given to me in heaven and earth. Lo ! I am with you to the end of the world.' "According to the Scriptures, Christ, the Son of God, as a re- ward for his humiliation, labor, and sufferings for mankind, is now exalted to universal empire. Angels are subjected to him. Nature is subjected to him. He is present by his knowledge and power with his Church. He never forgets the race for which he died. He intercedes for them. He assists them. He watches over the inter- ests of his religion. He will make it victorious. According to the Scriptures, the time is coming when his influence, now silent, will be conspicuous, when the veil behind which he operates will be withdrawn. He is to come with hosts of angels. He is to raise the dead, to judge the world, to fulfil the solemn threatenings, and to confer the everlasting blessings of his gospel. " Tliis connection of Jesus Christ with the human race seems to me very clearly unfolded in Scripture, and though it is astonishing by its vastness, yet it is in no respect incredible. That God should choose to save and bless a race of beings by the agency of an illus- trious deliverer, is only an exemplification of that system which is established in nature, under which we see God committing the preservation and happiness of a large family to a parent, of a large kingdom to a sovereign. Connections and dependencies of this nature are peculiarly adapted to call forth an exalted benevolence, and the strongest and best aflfections of the soul. God might have raised mankind by an immediate act of power from sin and death. But it is more consistent with his character, and with his usual modes of operation, to assign this work to an exalted being capable of accomplishing it, and to place this being in the most interesting relations to our world. " Is it now asked, ' Why are these views important? ' I answer, 256 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 34-42. the}^ give a new complexion to the mind wbicli truly imbibes them. The3^ are not mere speculative principles. They are suited to move and actuate the soul to its centre, to have a powerful operation on the affections and the life, and therefore they should often be revolved. The heart which is truly imbued with them rises to Christ with a grateful and affectionate veneration which is felt for no earthly friend. There is something peculiarly affecting in the idea of a love, a philanthropy, living and operating through ages, and looking down from heaven with an unbroken tenderness on a race like ours " I close with observing, that a mind conversant with these views of Christ acquires a vigor of hope, and a fulness of jo}', which can be derived from no other source. Our hope of the heavenly world is nourished by no views so effectual!}' as by these. That world, so pure, so distant, so unseen, though beUeved by us to exist, is not easily conceived of as designed to be our future dwelling. It is by bringing it home to the heart, that Jesus is there, that Jesus in our nature is there, that he is there as a friend, and forerunner, and advocate, — it is by cherishing these views that heaven is brought nigh to us, that hope acquires courage and strength to ascend to that pure and eternal state. It is possible, by the aid which these views of Christ can give, to obtain a conviction of the future glory of human nature, altogether different from that vague and cold be- lief which the multitude possess, — a conviction which partakes of the vividness of immediate perception." 1816. The kingdom of heaven. " Christ came to establish an empire of benevolence, peace, charity, on the ruins of malice, war, and discord. The work of diffusing good-will through a world of free and voluntary agents must of necessity be gi-adual, and, like all the great purposes of God, must advance with a slow and silent progress. But this work has been in a degree accomplished by Jesus ; and what is more, there is a very remarkable adaptation in his whole character to this office of spreading peace on earth, — such an adaptation as proves him to be the predicted Pacificator of the World "At the thought of this reign of benevolence, the whole earth seems to me to burst forth into rejoicing. I see the arts and civil- ization spreading gladness over deserted regions, and clothing the wilderness with beauty. Nations united in a league of philan- thropy advance with constantly accelerating steps in knowledge and power. I see stupendous plans accomplished, oceans united, distant regions connected, and every climate contributing its pro- 1814-1822] DANGERS OF FREE INSTITUTIONS. 257 ductions and treasures to the improvement and happiness of the race. In private life, I see every labor lightened by mutual confi- dence and aid. Indigence is unknown. Sickness and pain are mitigated, and almost disarmed, by the disinterestedness of those who suffer, and by the s^nnpathy which suffering awakens. Every blessing is heightened and diffused by participation. Every family, vmited, peaceful, and knowing no contention but for pre-eminence in doing good, is a consecrated and happ}' retreat, the image of heaven. The necessary ills of life shrink into nothing. The hu- man countenance puts on a new and brighter expression. Human nature with its selfishness loses its base deformit}', and is clothed with the glory of God, whose designs it embraces, with whose spirit it is imbued. "Let us, then, welcome Jesus, the Prince of Peace, who came with this spirit from heaven. Let us welcome Jesus, whose gospel has already obtained so many conquests over selfishness and ma- lignity, and brought to reign in so many hearts the principle of charity." SECTION FOURTH. SOCIETY. 1814. Dangers of free institutions. " One of the great ben- efits of a republican government is, that it admits the elevation of the best men to power. In hereditary governments, the people have no pledge that the crown will not be worn by the worst and weakest men in society. But ' a republic,' we are told, ' opens wide the door of honor and oflfice to merit, — no artificial distinc- tions are there employed to depress virtue and wisdom, and supe- rior talent has at once the means of development and reward. How great, then, is the prospect that, in a republic, the power of the state will be confided to the wise and good !'.... " The privilege of electing rulers is indeed invaluable ; but who does not see, in a moment, that this privilege will be a blessing or a curse, according to the character of the community? Let a people be corrupt, and who will be their favorite, — the uncor- rupted patriot, the man of inflexible principle, too upright to flatter bad passions and to promise subservience to unworthy views, or the subtle, specious demagogue, who pants for power, and dis- dains no art by which it may be acquired? Bad men, of all others, are most greedy of political power, for they see in power, not only the gratification of ambition, but food for their avarice, and all their passions ; and in a corrupt state of the community, what can 17 258 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 34-42. preserve the reins of government from their imhol}' gi'asp? De- praved themselves, they understand the depraved feehngs of others, and can bend every popular passion to their service. To the mercenary they exhibit the allurements of office ; to the envious they promise a triumph over their superiors ; to the discontented and restless, a removal of fancied or exaggerated grievances. A corrupt state of society is the very element for the artful and as- piring. Unfettered by principle and inflamed b}' the prospect of success, the}' pursue power with an energ}' which no labor can exhaust, no disappointment repress, and on which better men look with astonishment. Better men are too much inclined to shrink in despair from a conflict with these unscrupulous spirits. They cannot stoop, they sa}-, to artifice and falsehood. The}' cannot purchase office by the sacrifice of uprightness, by communion with the worst members and worst feelings of societ}'. What have the}', then, to hope from this desperate struggle with the depraved, but envenomed and unceasing abuse, and a final defeat, more fatal the longer it has been deferred? Such reflections too often paralyze the efforts of the wise and upright, and the place of honor which is their due is usurped by the unworthy. "Is it said, that, under free institutions of society, men of talents, if not of virtue, Avill rise, — that a republican country will at least escape a government contemptible by its folly and weak- ness? Yes! men of talent will rise; but they may be those who have a talent to wield a mob, rather than to govern a state, — to build up a party, rather than to strengthen the foundations of national greatness ; it may be cunning, not wisdom, the power of managing vulgar passions, which men of vulgar minds often possess in the highest degree, that will triumph. In some corrupt states of society, not even this miserable talent will be requisite to obtain promotion. Let a people yield themselves to their passions, and especially to envy, the besetting sin of republics, and they will sometimes advance men of gross and narrow minds, in preference to men of distinguishi'd ability, for the very purpose of humbling their superiors. In a republic, eminence in talent is sometimes a crime, and rude and clamorous ignorance may be raised above it. From these causes it may happen again, as it has happened before, that the rulers of a republic will be more weak and wicked than the spoilt child of royalty. Of what use, then, is the privilege of elect- ing rulers to a depraved peoi)le ? "These remarks naturally lead to the consideration of another advantage peculiar to repul)lican institutions, — I mean, the power they confer of removing without violence rulers who abuse their 1814-1822.] DANGERS OF FREE INSTITUTIONS. 259 trust. This, is indeed a great privilege ; but again I sa}^ that its benefits depend on tlie character of the community. Let bad men rise to power by flattering the passions of a depraved people, and how are thej' to be displaced, except by the arts of men more subtle than themselves? The influence which their elevation gives is all directed to perpetuate their swa}'. They wield the power of the state for the great and almost exclusive purpose of strengthening the part}' to which they owe their greatness. For this end, pat- ronage and office are emploj'ed to reward past services, and to attract new adherents from the ranks of their opponents. Venal presses are kept in perpetual action to increase the perversity of public sentiment, and especiall}- to feed the spirit of party. There is no passion in our nature more headstrong, unrelenting, un- bending, and unwilling to be convinced, than party spirit, and on this the artful and aspiring chiefly rel}' for the preservation of their power. Let this be kindled, and a corrupt administration has little to fear. To the thorough partisan no conduct of his leaders gives offence. His conscience is in their keeping. Self-will, pride, ma- lignity, prompt him to uphold their worst measures. He would rather see the republic perish by their crimes, than owe its safety to the virtues and elevation of their opponents. I need not tell you that a corrupt republic is the very soil for party spirit. Here it grows without culture, and shoots up into deadly luxuriance, even when left to its native vigor. Let its growth be aided by human art, and it overspreads the fairest plants of social life, and darkens a nation with its poisonous branches. With these means of support, bad rulers have nothing to fear. "Especially if the republic be extensive, as well as corrupt, is the prospect of removing from power those who abuse it almost sure of disappointment. The rulers of such a communit}', seated as the}' are in the centre, sending forth their patronage to the re- motest extremities, and guiding to one end the exertions of their supporters, have every advantage for perpetuating their power. Their opponents, scattered over a wide extent of countr}', having different interests, wanting bonds of union, offer a divided and feeble resistance. They complain of the oppression under which the nation groans ; but the credulous and malignant spirit of party is instructed to la}' to their charge the very evils which they are struggling to avert, and a guilty administration contrives to direct upon their heads the indignation which its own crimes and follies have awakened. Thus we see how little benefit is to be expected in a corrupt republic from the power of removing unfaithful rulers." 260 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^t. 34-42. 1817. Justice to the poor. "For what end are civil societ}', government, and propert}' instituted ? Not to build up a favored few, but for the general welfare of mankind. No vahd reason, no justification, can be offered for the present order of things, for the division of the earth into distinct possessions, for the great inequali- ties of property which exist, but this, that the improvement and happiness of men in general are protected by these establishments. The rich derive their title to their wealth from this consideration, that the general welfare is advanced by the institution of property-. Society was not instituted, as they are too apt to think, for them alone ; but the}' belong to society. The true end of the social union demands that they live for the general as well as individual good, and the fact that the}^ derive the highest benefits from ci\il institutions imposes on them a. peculiar obligation to promote the public weal. " Societ}' is instituted for the good of all ranks of men. No single rank is made merel}' for the rest, but all are to exist for each other. It is a sentiment, abstractly true, though it can never be applied to practice, that a man forfeits his right to property just as far as he fails to contribute, according to his abilit}', to the common well-being. He breaks, in so doing, the tacit compact which every man is supposed to make who becomes or remains a member of society. According to these principles, there is a moral obligation on the rich to benefit the other ranks of society. This the}' neces- sarily do, in a measure, by employing the poor and recompensing them for their labor. Such service is a very important one. But when we consider their abilit}', and consider, too, the immense benefits which they receive from the labors of the poorer classes, the}' surely ought not to restrict their aid to this limit "The present state of the world seems to me to demand of the rich a peculiar regard to the poorer orders of society. The time has come, when the security of civil institutions depends in no small degree on the prevalence of a conviction among the mass of the people, that these institutions are beneficial, that property with all its inequalities is a useful establishment, and that the rich are their benefactors and friends. Human nature is not formed to look patiently on superiors. A spirit of discontent generally lurks in the breasts of those to whom the humble offices of life are assigned. This spirit is at this moment peculiarly excited, and it is to be coun- teracted only by tlie dilfiision of good principles through the great mass of society, and by a deportment in the rich which will engage the confidence of the poor " The consequence of the progress of knowledge and of all im- 1814-1822.] EDUCATION OF THE POOR. 261 proveraents, in these later ages, undoubtedly has been to arouse a restless and revolutionary spirit through society. This spirit is not to be condemned, as if it were altogether evil. Whilst it is in part quickened by bad passions, it is in part the natural and proper movement of the mind in pursuit of a better state of things. It is traced up to the fact, that the human mind has outgrown old insti- tutions. It is an impulse which we cannot but hope is to result in a more just and happy social order. " But still this spirit threatens evil, and it needs to be regulated and checked by the diffusion of sound principles of religion and morality. We must not imagine that this revolutionary spirit has exhausted itself. Its violence has been stayed by late events. But events cannot withstand the principles of human nature, and the powerful causes which are now exciting the activity of the human mind. The press, we must remember, is at work, — the mightiest engine ever set in motion by man. A freer intercourse, a more intimate connection, a more rapid communication of thoughts and feehngs than was ever known before, subsists between men of the same class, and between different classes of society. We must not expect that society, under these influences, is to return to its former state. It cannot rest as much on prejudice as it has done. It must rest more on reflection and on principle. In this country in par- ticular, where the majority govern, where all ranks have an equal agency in the election of rulers, the chief support of social order is to be found, not in an outward power of government, but in the internal conviction and moral and religious sentiments of the com- munity. Never did such strong motives, even of a worldly nature, exist as among ourselves, for the improvement of the poorer classes of society." 1817. Address before the Association for the Education OF Indigent Boys. "The strongest argument for education is found in the nobleness of the human faculties, and the poor bring with them into being the same faculties with the opulent. Nature knows none of our arbitraiy distinctions. The child in the hum- blest walks of Ufe is as richly gifted, as largely endowed, as in the highest. He has within the same inexhaustible mine of power and affection, the same resources of heart and intellect. A flame is kindled in his breast which is never to die. Such a being is not to be viewed as an inferior animal, or as important onl}' because he can perform certain labors for the community. He is valuable when considered as an individual, as well as when considered in relation to society. He has a nature which, for its own sake. 262 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^Et. 34-42. deserves to be developed, and which God gave for the very end that it should be improved. "Among the poor are not only all the essential qualities of mind and capacities of improvement which belong to all men, but all the varieties of intellect which are found in other ranks of life. It is, I believe, a fact, that a large proportion of that heaven-inspired energy which is ordinaril}- called genius, and which has done so much to advance the human mind, to open new regions of thought and action, and to give a new impulse to society, has been fur- nished by the inferior orders of society. There is the same chance, to speak in human language, that the sublime faculties of a Locke and Newton are wrapped up in the child of the poor man as in the titled descendant of nobles. As many great minds have dawned in hovels as in palaces. And the poor have not onl}' their proportion of superior intellect, but they carry within them seeds of the highest and noblest virtues, of capacities of elevated devotion, of disinter- estedness, of heroism, of those properties which raise our nature from the dust and mark out its immortal destin}'. The possession of such a nature as this by the poor is certainl}- an unanswerable argument for opening to them, as far as possible, all those advantages which call forth the mind and heart, which give elevation of character, and render the whole of life a state of improvement " Of all our benevolent institutions, those which regard children seem to me to hold the first rank. Let charity, indeed, extend itself with a divine activity to all the varieties of human want ; let it multiply its forms of action in proportion to the forms of guilt and suffering ; let its channels be everywhere widened and deep- ened ; let it erect hospitals, establish dispensaries and provident institutions, watch over almshouses, open receptacles for the refor- mation of the vicious, and administer comfort to the aged and dying. The aged and dying, however, will soon cease to suffer ; their journey is almost finished ; and the poor of middle age have formed characters which yield slowly and reluctantly to the hifiu- ence of any means of improvement. But the child has just begun to live, with a mind pliant and tender, with habits not now rigid and unyielding, with a heart not now tainted and hardened, yet with propensities which, if unchecked, will probably issue in guilt and misery. Abandon him to ignorance, and his youth, if he struggle through its hardships. Mill train him to crimes for which society has reared the prison and the gallows "The children of poor families too often inherit the vices and miseries of their parents. Brought up in filth, seeing constantly- the worst examples, hearing licentious and profane conversation, 1814-1822.1 ALMS-GIVING. 263 malfse a tbm,sand frauds, -from such cbikUen what cau you w »ut one moral or religious principle, or one 1^°"- ™'''°'^°f acuiriug ^^^-^IJ^ r^er^iJZr'rS ;re'S ,;a::;:ra.r.^*ttnBf? or cheerful and useful labor^ and to tte f2iUes of a belter world. Do not, do not let bmr per.sh. 1819 Our duties to the poor. "Formerly, the task of a ChrttL minlter in pleading for the poor was comparat.vely easy^ He bad tto plain precepts of his Master to support bnn and he Sntrorars^Sat^tu'lhe can es and remedies of :" xls to the selfish and avaricious for shutting "-r hearts and hands We h.ave been told that poverty grows by chai i y , that the nro tct of relief begets improvidence, that our giving bnbes men toirake labor, that the way to cheek beggary is to make .t an ^tokrable condition ; - from all which the inference seems natural t^l the less we give, the better. If this doctrine has not been set f„Hl, n so many words, yet I think there has been an approach to tt, It ulat givhrg tithe poor is by some thought a less binding duty "'u'/m"n'not to deny that much useful truth has been brought hpfore the Dublic by the late discussions on the subject of poverty. I Im far fom denying that injudicious, indiscriminate chanty has swebed he evil which it hoped to alleviate. The ChnsUan precept T' live alms,- has sometimes done injury, and chiefly because it t. Tot been imited, as it should be, by another precept, namely. 'hc ttt will not work, neither shall be eat,' that .s, ^e suppo.ted bv charity. In the Dark Ages, alms-giving was though an expia tton to sin and a passport to heaven. The dying left legacies U, coments to be doled out to daily mendieauts without regard to hreharalr or state, so that society lost the labor of many of 264 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^x. 34-42. its strongest and healthiest members. And this evil has not been confined to the Cathohcs. Protestant sloth has been as injurious as Romish superstition. Too man}- among us give from a vague sense of duty, but forget the obligation of giving vigilantly, care- full}', in the manner most suited to do good. It is easier to give mone}' than time and personal attention. Hence, charit}' nourishes idleness instead of solacing want, and is a bount}' on improvidence. Alms-giving, I freel}' allow, has caused much evil. I am also pre- IDared to go farther and say, that, let us give ever so judiciously, we shall occasionally do evil, as well as good. The objections made to the most cautious charity are not wholl}- without foundation. But this is no reason for ceasing to give. In making these admissions, we are only saying that charity partakes of the imperfection of all human things. The truth is, we seldom or never receive or com- municate an unmixed good. Ever}' virtue produces occasional evil. "•It is sometimes objected to alms-giving, as I have intimated, that to prevent poverty is better than to relieve it ; and that there is but one way of prevention, which is, to take from men all expec- tation of relief if the}' become poor. They will then, it is thought, have motives which can hardly fail to keep them from want. But, unluckily for such reasoning, there is one way only of cutting off this expectation, and God forbid that we should ever resort to it. That only way is, to drive all human feeling from our breasts ; for as long as any kindness exists in a community, so long there will be resources open to the poor, let their poverty come how it may, and so long relief will be expected by the improvident. I repeat it, there is but one way of suppressing this hope of relief. We must cast from us all kind feeling. We must turn our hearts to stone. We must bring ourselves to see unmoved the beggar die at our doors. We must make up our minds sternly, inflexibly, to give nothing, let misery assail us with ever so piercing a cry, with ever so haggard, and worn, and famished a look ; for nothing but this will prevent the improper dependence which is said to generate poverty. Let any s}mpathy survive, and it will act and be a hope to the improvident ; and can any man seriously think that the evils of tills h()i)c are so great, that to avoid them we should turn our- selves into brutes, dry up the fountains of humanity within us, part with all that is tender and generous in our nature ? I am free to say that the most injudicious alms-giving is an infinitely less evil to society than this extinction of sympathy. Better multiply beggars, than make ourselves monsters. Kind affection is the life of a coni- V munity, and the excesses of these affections are to be chosen before a frozen selfishness 1814-1822.] CHARITY A TEST OF RELIGION. 265 " These remarks will not, I hope, be misunderstood. I am not pleading for injudicious alms-giving. It is a great evil. But there is an opposite evil which I think greater, and that is, making use of the bad consequences of charit}' as arguments for banishing charity from society ; and to this point man}' late speculations on poverty have seemed to me to tend. Christ's precept to give to the poor is not a blemish in his system, but an important and noble part of it. The occasional abuses of charity are not to discourage us in exercising this virtue. We must feel, however, that we but half do this duty when we do it carelessly. We must strive to give so that the least evil and the greatest good may result from our beneficence " Does an}' one ask, ' Why shall I pity and help the poor man?' I answer, because he is a man ; because povert}^ does not blot out his humanity ; because he has your nature, your sensibilities, your wants, your fears ; because the winter wind pierces him, and hunger gnaws him, and disease racks and weakens him, as truly as they do you. Place yourself, m}' friend, in his state ; make yourself, by a strong effort of thought, the inhabitant of his unfurnished and cold abode, and then ask why you should help him. He is a man, though rags cover him, though his unshorn hair may cover his human features, — a member of your family, a child of the same Father, and, what is most important, he not only has your wants and feelings, but shares with you in the highest powers and hopes of human nature. He is a man in the noblest sense, created in God's image, with a mind to think, a conscience to guide, a heart which ma}' grow warm with sentiments as pure and generous as your own. To some this may seem declamation. There are some who seldom think of or value rnan as man. It is man born in a particular rank, clad by the hand of fashion and munificence, moving in a certain sphere, whom they respect. Poverty separates a fellow-being from them, and severs the golden chain of humanity. But this is a gross and vulgar way of thinking, and religion and reason cry out against it. The true glory of man is something deeper and more real than outward condition. A human being, created in God's image, and, even when impoverished by vice, retaining power essentially the same with angels, has a mysterious importance, and his good, where it can be promoted, is worthy the care of the proudest of his race " Next to the great doctrine of immortal life, we may say that the most characteristic element of our religion is that of universal CHARITY. And the doctrine of immortality and the duty of charity are not so separate as many may think ; for love of benevolence is 2G6 SPIRITUAL GROWTH. [^x. 34-42. the spirit of tlie eternal world, the temper which is to make us blest beyond the grave, and to give us hereafter the highest enjoyment of the character and works of our Creator. There is another view by which it appears that the Christian doctrine of immortality blends with and sustains charity ; — for, according to this doctrine, all men are to live forever, Christ died for all, all are essentially equal, and the distinctions of their lives are trifles. Thus it is seen that the poor are recommended with an infinite power to the love and aid of their brethren. No man can read the New Testament hon- estly, and not learn to measure his religion chiefly by his benevo- lence. If the spirit, and example, and precepts of Jesus Christ have not taught us to love our fellow-creatures, we have no title whatever to the name and the hope of Christians. If we have not learned this lesson, we have learned nothing from our Master. About other things Christians may disjiute, but here there can be no controversy. Charit}' is a dut^' placed before us with a sunlike brightness. It comes to us from the lips, the life, the cross, of our Master ; and if charit}' be not in us, then Christ does in no degree live within us, then our profession of his religion is a mockery, then he will say to us in the last day : ' I was hungrj^ and ye gave me no meat, thirsty and ye gave me no drink. I know you not. Depart. ' " 1820. The glory of a state. "It is plain, that, to promote the good of our country, we must know what that good is, and as misapprehensions on this subject have done infinite injur}', so just views will show us that every man in everj^ class may contribute to it. The honor and happiness of a community' consist not so much in the ability- and acts of its public men, as in the character, spirit, and condition of its citizens ; and whatever or whoever advances these builds up the public welfare. " If I were to express in a line what constitutes the glory of a state, I should say, it is the free and fall development of Human Nature. That country is the happiest and noblest, whose institu- tions and circumstances give the largest range of action to the human powers and art'ections, and call forth man in all the variety of his faculties and feelings. That is the happiest country, where there is most intelligence and freedom of thought, most afl!'ection and love, most imagination and taste, most industry' and enterprise, most public si)ii'it, most domestic virtue, most conscience, most piet}'. Wealth is a good only as it is the production and proof of the vigorous exercise of man's powers, and is a means of bringing out his affections and enlarging his faculties. Man is the only 1814-1822.] THE GLORY OF A STATE. 267 glory of a countr}^ and it is tlie advancement and unfolding of human nature which is the true interest of a state. " If this be true, we learn what is the great end of government, the highest good of civil polity. It is liberty. I am almost tempted to say that this is the onl}- political blessing, and the only good gift, which law and order can confer on a country. By liberty I do not mean what anciently bore the name, for anciently they had little but the name. I mean the protection of every individual in his rights, and an exemption from all restraints but such as the public good requires. We do not want government to confer on us positive blessings, but simply to secure to us the unobstructed exercise of our powers in working out blessings for ourselves. The spring of happiness is in man's own breast, not in his government ; and the best office of government is to remove ol)structions to this inex- haustible energ}' of the living spirit within us. Liberty, then, is the greatest political blessing, the distinction of a well-governed country. It is a good which cannot be measured. The glory of a country-, then, consists in the free character of its institutions, in the security the}' give to every man's rights " Ever}- man may promote the glory of his country, for every man, whatever be his sphere, ma}' put forth his powers in useful pursuits, and express and give some extension to right principles and virtuous affections. Let none imagine that they can do no good to the community because they are in private stations. The error has alwa3-s been to ascribe to public men and public institu- tions an undue share in the prosperity of a nation. The great powers in the natural world, on which its motion, life, beauty, hap- piness, depend, are subtile, and ever^'where diffused ; and so the most effectual springs of a nation's felicit}' are very different from the cumbrous machiner}- which works at the seat of government. They are silent as the principle of life in the animal frame. They consist in what we call the spirit of a people., in a general respect for rights, which is the sole foundation of civil liberty, in industr}', temperance, intelligence, humanit}', and piety. These are the ele- ments of a country's life, and he who multiplies and invigorates these is a public benefactor. " The sentiment, that a countrj^'s happiness consists chiefly in its virtue, is, I know, a trite one ; but, if I mistake not, its truth is at this moment receiving some new illustrations, and the time seems to be coming, when it will be felt as it has never been felt before. Whoever looks at Europe will see, I think, that a new spirit has gone forth among the nations ; that the human mind is unusuall}'- shaken ; that societ}' demands some new organization, and that 268 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. new powers, and those of a moral nature, must be set at work to sustain its institutions. The old methods of keeping men in order — I mean military force, state religions, and the show and pomp of courts — have lost much of their efficac}', and lost them, not merely through temporar}- causes, but through the very progress of the human mind. There is an accumulation of intelligence and energy-, a consciousness of power, in the mass of the people, never pos- sessed before ; and such a state of society' seems to me to demand a stronger influence and wider diffusion of moral and religious prin- ciple than formerlj-. The old arts of restraining a people b}- super- stition and ignorance will no longer avail. A purer religion and a purer morality must take their place, or the prospects of the world are dark indeed. Governments are certainl}' weakened ; the}- have lost in an unprecedented degree the confidence of the governed ; the people are more intelligent and combined ; and unless an inward principle of order be substituted for outward restraint, unless gov- ernments reform themselves and aid in reforming society', we maj' find that we have but entered upon the horrors of the revolutionar}' period. These speculations ma}- be founded on imperfect knowl- edge of the state of the world ; but of one great principle I have no doubt, that we are passing through a process which will give new eflficacy to the conviction, that the stability of governments is their justice, and that the prosperity of states rests on moral improve- ments, on a Pure, Rational Religion, on a Spirit of Humanity, within every nation of Chiistendom, and toward all mankind." Chapter V. —MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. Mt. 34-42. 1814-1822. We have traced Mr. Channing's course through the irksome years of the Unitarian controversy, and have watched his spiritual growth as manifested in the sermons preached to his people. And now we would observe him in his social, pastoral, and home relations during this period of his middle-age ministry. But before describing this portion of his life, it may serve yet further to illustrate his character as a controversialist and a theologian, to make a few remarks, which are naturally suggested by the preceding chapters. The first point to be noticed, and it is an important one, is, that it was his sense of duty to the cause of Free Inquiry, endangered U V 1814-1822.] UNITY IN VARIETY. 269 as he thought by a bigoted conservatism, which led Mr. Charming into controversy. The individualizing tendency of Protestantism was then, in New England as elsewhere, swelling like the waters of a freshet, which threaten to sweep away dikes and cultivated acres, as well as ic}' fetters. But though he saw the risks to which Chris- tendom was exposed, through the rashness produced by rationalism in the self-willed and superficial, Mr. Channing at once recognized that it was as wrong as it was vain to attempt to dam up the liberal spirit which, on all sides, was seeking a larger form of thought and life. He welcomed the spring-time, and accepted cheerfull}^ the in- conveniences of a transition age. The unity in uniformity^ enforced by the decrees of infallible councils, and by the creeds of Protestant synods, had passed forever ; and in the future was foreshadowed a unity in variety^ arising spontaneously among the body of believ- ers bound into one by the consciousness of limitation and error, the desire of concert and mutual reverence. He rejoiced to think that the sj'mbol was thus to give place to the reality, that the con- strained catholicity of a dominant clergy was to make room for the universal communion of Christians, filled with one spirit of holy love. Meanwhile, a period was to be passed through of sectarian division, wherein each party, in its wish to be faithful to its own convictions, would be tempted to treat rival denominations with in- justice. This era of debate he saw to be inevitable. It was folly to fear it. It was mere waste of time to oppose or to mourn over it. Duty urged him to follow the providential leading, with confidence to seek plearer views, with candor to listen to all who uttered their sincere opinions, never to <;over up doubt by make-belief or half- belief, without dogmatism to be decided, and patientl}' to wait for the time when glimpses should be enlarged to complete vision. As faith ascends into knowledge, it becomes ever more apparent that according to Divine design the multiplicity of minds is a means of harmony, that the most bitterly opposed partisans are each other's necessary complements, and that the church cannot afford to spare a single sect till the truth which it embodies has attained its right- ful place. The principle b}' which Mr. Channing was governed he has thus distinctl}^ expressed, and the passage throws much light upon his views of his own position and duties : — " It is due to myself to say, that the controversial character of a part of my writings is to be ascribed, not to the love of disputation, but to the circumstances in which I was called to write. It was my lot to enter on pubhc life at a time when this part of the country 270 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [Mr. 34-42. was visited b}' what I esteem one of its sorest scourges ; I mean, a revival of tlie spirit of intolerance and persecution. I saw the commencement of those- systematic efforts, which have been since developed, for fastening on the community a particular creed. Opinions which I thought true and purifying were not only assailed as errors, but branded as crimes. Then began what seems to me one of the gross immoralities of our times, the practice of aspersing the characters of exemplaiy men, on the ground of differences of opinion as to the most mysterious articles of faith. Then began those assaults on freedom of thought and speech, which, had the}' succeeded, would have left us onlj' the name of religious liberty. Then it grew perilous to search the Scriptures for ourselves, and to speak freely according to the convictions of our own minds. I saw that penalties, as serious in this country as fine and imprisonment, were, if possible, to be attached to the profession of liberal views of Christianity, — the penalties of general hatred and scorn; and that a degrading uniformity of opinion was to be imposed by the severest persecution which the spirit of the age would allow. At such a period, I dared not be silent. To oppose what I deemed error was to me a secondary consideration. My first duty, as I believed, was, to maintain practically and resolutely the rights of the human mind ; to live and to suffer, if to suffer were necessary', for that intellectual and religious liberty which I prize incomparable- more than my civil rights. I felt myself called, not merely to plead in general for freedom of thought and speech, but, what was more important and trying, to assert this freedom b}- action. I should have felt m)'self dislo3'al to truth and freedom, had I confined mj'- self to vague commoni)laces about our rights, and forborne to bear my testimony expressly and specially to proscribed and persecuted opinions. The times required that a voice of strength and courage should be lifted up, and I rejoice that I was found among those by whom it was uttered and sent far and wide. The timid, sensitive, diffident, and doubting needed this voice ; and without it, would have been overborne hy the clamor of intolerance. If in any re- spect I have rendered a service to humanity and religion, which may deserve to be remembered when I shall be taken away, it is in this. I believe, that, had not the spirit of religious tyranny been met, as it was, by unyielding opposition in this region, it would have fastened an iron yoke on the necks of this people. The cause of religious freedom owes its present strength to nothing so much as to the constancy and resolution of its friends in this quarter. Here its chief battle has been fought, and not fought in vain. The spirit of intolerance is not, indeed, crushed ; but its tones are sub- V. 1814-1822.] TREATMENT OF OPPONENTS. 271 clued, and its menaces impotent, compared witli what they would have been, had it prospered in its efforts here." ^ But though thus ready to defend freedom of conscience against every form of oppression, however plausible, Mr. Channing enter- tained no personal ill-will towards those whose course he was called upon to resist. He had genuine dignity, indeed, and a high sense of honor, and was capable of feehng deep indignation ; but he had been for years too chastened in spirit to indulge anger or to cherish unkindness. And as he was considered by some of his Ortliodox adversaries to have been quite too stern in his mode of conducting controversy, it is but right to mention one or two facts, and to give some extracts from his correspondence, which may serve to set forth his character in its true colors. In relation to his letters to Dr. Worcester, one of his brothers thus writes : — " I was living in his house at this period, and when he had fin- ished the letter, he read it to the Rev. Mr. and myself. We both at once made complaints at its mildness, and insisted that it had the tone of a timid man begging for mercy, rather than of a brave one who was supporting a righteous cause. By our importunity he was persuaded to modify it. He expressed the kindest feelings, but, on the other hand, was unwilling to seem lukewarm in what he regarded as a very serious matter. Many parts were altered accordingly ; and when the letter was finally sent to the press, its original gentleness was merged in the more emphatic passages which he had inserted in consideration of our urgent requests. Years afterwards, I beheve in 1832, I was reading a tract of his, while sitting with him in his study. Its vehemence pained me so much, that I could not but remonstrate against its spirit. He lis- tened patiently, hesitated for a moment, and then, looking up with the sweetest smile, said : ' The sins of earlier days arise against me. I followed the judgment of friends in printing that. I deeply regret that there is a word there which strikes you as being bitter. Surely I never felt an unkind emotion towards any person for a difference of opinion.' As he spoke, the whole history of the tract • Preface to Reviews, Discourses, and Miscellanies, 1830. — Tlie statements and arguments presented on the Orthodox side may be found in " A Letter on Religious Liberty, by Moses Stuart, Professor of Sacred Literature in tlie The- ological Seminary, Andover." Boston, I80O. Professor Stuart therein avers that the accusations of Dr. Channing are " not true," page 37. This letter was replied to in " Two Letters on Religious Liberty, by Bernard Whitman." Bos- ton, 1830. The reply called out a rejoinder in the Spirit of the Pilgrims, which Mr. Whitman answered in a " Third Letter." 272 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [Mt. 34-42. flashed upon me. It was the ver}- letter to Dr. Worcester to which I had been instrumental in giA^ing its present form. This was by no means the first or last occasion when he heard his own mildness reproved, and when he was induced, by fear of betraying the cause in which he was engaged, to use a warmth of expression that was really in discord with his own temper. "In all differences of opinion with others, I never heard him utter a harsh word, and there were alwa3's marked expressions of disapproval, whenever he saw acrimon}- or unfairness manifested, however obnoxious the person might be against whom they were directed. When Dr. Griffin, who was the head of the Orthodox party, and bitterly opposed to Liberalism, was officiating at Park Street Church, a slanderous report was raised against him, as ma- levolent as it was false. I was walking with ni}- brother one day in the Mall, when, Dr. Griffin having passed us, he was led to speak of this base stor}'. He declared how deeply he was shocked to see a smile of triumph on the countenances of the Doctor's oppo- nents,— man}' of them being of course his own supporters. His language on this occasion was the strongest which I ever heard fall from his lips. As he spoke of the spirit manifested by these men, made mad b}- theological hostility, he characterized it as exhibiting the basest elements in human nature, and as truly diabolical. " I will give one more example to illustrate his habitual generos- ity toward opponents. A clerg3-man from a distant part of the State preached some sermons in Boston, in 1817, in which he severely criticised, and indeed actuall}' vilified, the character of the Liberal clergy in the most wholesale manner. I, in company with several acquaintances, was present. In the evening the dis- course became naturally the topic of conversation among us. Much indignation was expressed. But m}- brother directed all his re- marks to softening the feelings of those who were aggrieved b^- the abuse of honored friends. ' I cannot blame this stranger so severely,' said he ; ' these harsh judgments never originated from himself; he was led b^- others into false impressions. How sad is controversy, that it should thus tempt our opponents to misrep- resent men whom they might and should know better ! ' Thus did he endeavor to find extenuating circumstances whereby to explain, if not excuse, the conduct of his adversaries. These slight recollections are of worth onl}- as proving the essential dis- position and uniform behavior of the man. He was thoroughly magnanimous and just." The view thus given of Mr. Channing's character, by one who 1814-1822.] THEOLOGICAL OPINIONS. 273 was an eyewitness of his course, will be confirmed by the following extracts from his letters. 1820. " I have read enough of Dr. Carpenter's work to learn its object, and I lament that the state of things among you has laid on him the duty of exposing so much at length the misrepresentations of Bishop kagee I am too far from you to judge what is best, and since this work has been thought necessary, I cannot but rejoice that it has been undertaken by a man so imbued with the Christian spirit as Dr. Carpenter. The time has been, when it would have been thought good policy to oppose to the Bishop a controversial bully, able to meet him on his own ground and to fight him with his own weapons, and as little scrupulous about the m^eans of humbling an adversary. But I trust the times of this ignorance are past, and that we have learned the wisdom as well a's virtue of defending truth with moderation and benevolence. That party, especially, which makes its appeal to reason, and looks for success to the extension of deliberate and impartial inquiry, has an interest in banishing passion and violence from controversy, and giving the example of forbearance and candor." 1821. " The death of Dr. Worcester aff'ected me not a little, for you remember that he was one of my opponents in the Unitarian controversy, and certainly not the most forbearing. I trust that I learned from that experience a new lesson of tenderness and charity towards those who differ from me, and who may seem to be injuri- ous. When I see how fast my theological adversaries and myself are passing -away, and how soon our motives are to be laid open at a higher tribunal, I cannot but hope, as I look back to the time of our controversy, that I have cherished towards them no unchristian feelings. " I have understood that Dr. Worcester fell a victim to his zeal in the cause of missions, and for this every Christian will honor his memory." Of the three grand classes into which Christians may be grouped, the Trinitarians, the Naturalists, and the Mediatorialists, Mr. Chanuing undoubtedly belonged at this period to the last. He did not look upon man as utterly corrupt in sin, and see in Christ the incarnate God, descended upon earth to bear the burden of our guilt and woe, and by self-inflicted penalty to provide the means of our justification and pardon. But neither did he regard man as in a normal state, advancing by natural progress, and see in Jesus only a person of religious genius, who, under the impulse of a fine temperament, and the stimulant of enthusiasm in his nation, had 18 V 274 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. attained to a union with God which was equall}' accessible to every human being. Undoubted!}' he recognized a portion of tmth in each of these S3'stems, although dissenting from both. But he agreed rather with those, scattered among all sects, and forming, probabl}', in all ages, the majorit}' of believers, who consider man- kind neither totally depraved, nor yet merely undeveloped, but actual!}- degenerate, through an abuse of free will. And in Jesus Christ he reverently acknowledged a sublime being, who, b}' his coming upon earth, had brought about a crisis in the condition of humanit}', had touched with healing power the vital springs of goodness in our race, and had opened the heavens through which evermore flow in full influxes of spiritual life. With no impatience to invent satisfactory answers to mysteries which he saw to be unsolved, and especially' anxious not to divert men's regards from the goodness of God's beloved Sou b}- speculations upon his rank in the scale of being, he yet for himself was inchned to believe in Christ's pre-existence, and his continued mediatorial power over \/ human aflTairs. In a word, he was then an Arian. And any one who has read the extracts already given from his sermons will have perceived that passages in his published writings, which have often been interpreted as merely eloquent rhetoric, were reall}- the calm suggestion of thoughts, which, though lie forced them upon none, he j-et inwardly cherished as of profoundest interest. Hereafter, perhaps, more than at present, it will be recognized as Mr. Channing's distinguishing peculiarity, that he blended so harmoniously in his theology views of Christianit}- which are usually held as irreconcilable. Then, possibl}', the deliberateness with which he kept l)efore his mind, as open questions, doctrines which those around him on all sides dogmaticall}^ settled, may be con- sidered a higlior title to honor than the decision with which he stepped forward to uphold the right of free thought and speech. However this may prove to be, the fact undeniabl}- was, that, while he formed the most free and generous estimate of human nature, he held opinions in regard to the Divine government, spiritual in- fluences, a mediator, and the kingdom of heaven, which by most Liberal Christians would be considered rather mystical than rational. Has it been observed how closety he connected his confidence in the essential dignity of man, his aspirations after perfect union of the human will with the Divine, his hope for the future greatness of mankind, with the fact of the life of Josus Christ? In this com- plex theology of ls\\. Channing shall Ave fmd a proof that he was a man of imagination and sentiment more than a philosopher, or shall we rather admire the wisdom which, while it made him bold 1814-1822.] SYMPATHY WITH WORDSWORTH. 275 and frank where he was convuiced, kept him humbly guarded before the unveiled wonders of the eternal world ? It certainly was not owing to unwillingness to abandon wonted habits of thought, to sluggish indifference, or to any form of selfish fear, that Mr. Channing chose to occupy the middle ground in theology ; for nothing characterized him more than the youthful eagerness with which he greeted the advent of every newly dis- covered truth. He was " not a watcher by the tomb, but a man of the resurrection." He lived in the mountain air of hope. And at this period of his life he was breathing in the freshness with which the whole intellect of Christendom seemed inspired, as it pressed onward across the wide prairie which the science, philosoph}^, po- etry, and revolutionar}' tendencies of the age had opened. It was with intense delight that he made acquaintance with the master minds of Germany, through the medium, first, of Madame de Stael, and afterward of Coleridge. He recognized in them his leaders. In Kant's doctrine of the Reason he found confirmation of the views which, in early 3ears received from Price, had quickened him to ever deeper reverence of the essential powers of man. To Schelling's sublime intimations of the Divine Life everywhere manifested through nature and humanit}', his heart, devoutl}- conscious of the universal agenc}- of God, gladly responded. But above all did the heroic stoicism of Fichte charm him bj' its full assertion of the grandeur of the human will. Without adopting the systems of either of these philosophers, and, fortunately^ perhaps for him, with- out being full}' acquainted with these systems, he 3'et received from their example the most animating incentives to follow out the paths of speculation into which his own mind had entered. In the extracts given from his sermons, there is nothing more striking than his increasing spirituahty, his high ideal of human nature, his lofty enthusiasm, and glowing hope. In thought, act, speech, he was a poet, though his chosen position was the pulpit, and the sermon his chief medium of expression. But it was to an English writer that he was indebted for yet higher pleasure, and perhaps as efficient aid. This was Words- worth, of whom he always spoke with the most respectful affection, as of a benefactor by whom he felt that his heart and mind had been equally enriched. Shortly after the "Excursion" appeared, he obtained a copy of it, which was sent over by a London house to a publisher who knew httle of its worth. It had been heralded by the ridicule of the Edinburgh Review, which then was a dic- tator to the literary world of America yet more than of Great Brit- ain. But to Mr. Channing it came like a revelation. He kept it 276 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY, [^x. 34-42. constant!}' by him; and, as he once said, had "never read any- thing but Shakespeare more." He saw a beaut}" even in its prosaic passages, admired the rare felicit}' of its language, and was inclined to consider it the most elaborate and finished production of the age. But it was the spirit of the man, rather than the skill of the author, that attracted him. Wordsworth's mingled reverence and freedom, loyalty and independence, manly simplicit}' and heroism, — his piety, trust, lumiility, profound conscience, and earnest aspiration, — his respectful, tender, appreciative love of man, recognizing greatness luider lowliest disguises, and spreading sweet sanctions around every charity of social life, — his intense love of beaut}, all-vivifying imagination, and mystical adoration of the Universe as the shadow of the Infinite Being, — his subjective habits of thought, metnphysi- cally refined mode of observation, power of looking beneath all surfaces to the life, and beneath all forms to the spirit, — his high idealism, humanity, and hearty naturalness, in a word, combined to form a chai'acter with which Mr. Channing's was in full harmony. The following extract from a letter to Mrs. Cappe illustrates at once the influence of Wordsworth over his mind, and indicates the direction which his thoughts were taking. 1820. " I occasionally see the Monthly Repository, and among the rational, sensible, and matter-of-fact communications which fill that work I have met now and then with pieces from a writer who seems to have made the discovery that Unitarianism and imagina- tion and poetry are not irreconcilable foes. The author is one of Wordsworth's school. When I tell you that I incline to the heresy of this writer, and that I wish to see among Unitarians a develop- ment of imagination and poetical enthusiasm, as well as of the rational and critical power, you will not wonder at my curiosity in wishing to learn who this writer is. I have before told you how much I think Unitarianism has suflfered from union with a heart- withering philosophy. I will now add, that it has suffered also from a too exc^lusive application of its advocates to biblical criticism and theological controversy, in other words, from a too partial culture of the mind. I fear that we must look to other schools for the thoughts which thrill us, which touch the most inward springs, and disclose to us the depths of our own souls. Pardon me for finding so much fault. It is not owing, I hope, to censoriousness. I only wish that tiuth may be so presented as to be friendly to our whole nature ; that it may develop, not chill, those powers which have always exercised the mightiest sway among men, and which seem most akiu to inspiration." 1814-1822.] THE SOLEMN FESTIVAL. " 277 The mood in which Wordsworth looked upon nature, man, and the course of Divine Providence, was for the most part quite con- genial to Mr. Channing. But, from temperament and position, lie was inclined to take a far more active part in the stirring scenes of the time than the poet seemed to encourage. To a great extent, indeed, their views of the P^rench Revolution, and of Napoleon's career, were the same. Together they had stood upon the mountain peaks of rehgious faitli, while the tornado of atheism, charged with the red lightnings of militar}'^ power, and the destructive hail of radicalism, had swept across the civilized world ; together thej' had seen the storm subside beneath the mild airs of humanity, and had looked down over valleys and lowlands serenely smiling in the sun- shine of Divine love. But the lesson which Mr. Channing had learned from this tremendous experience was a conviction of the need and opportunity of peaceful reform. His gaze was bent upon tlie future, not the past. In full justice practically rendered to the nature of man, — in opportunities for culture, refinement, social position, wealth, and free intercourse opened to all classes equally, — in a spirit of brotherhood embodied in honorable and humane rehitions, — he foresaw the means, the only means, of re-establish- ing reverence, loyalty, courtesy, and contentment. Thus are we brought to consider the position whicli he held in political and philanthropic movements. And we shall find that the earnest liu- nianitj' of his youth and early manliood had not wasted itself, but rather gained de[)th and volume in its onward course. Hxtracts alread}' given from his sermons have sufficiently in- dicated Mr. Channing's feelings in regard to tlie military despot- ism of FVance under the stern sway of Bonaparte. We are now to witness the J03- and hope with wliich he greeted the news of the overthrow of the man whom he then, and through life, regarded as an atrocious tyrant. On the 8th of June, 1814, a number of the citizens of Boston and Massachusetts assembled at the house of the Hon. William Phillips, the Lieutenant-Governor of the State, — " To consult upon the propriet}^ of noticing the event of the entire subversion of the military despotism which had so long desolated the Christian and civilized world, in a manner suited to its character and importance, and to the sentiments whicli it was calculated to inspire. Deeply impressed with the magnitude and the beneficial and lasting influences of this revolution upon the best and dearest interests of society, the}^ had no hesitation in recommending to their fellow-citizens the observance of a solemn religious festival, in commemoration of the goodness of God in humbling unprincipled ambition, in crushing wicked and unjust power, in delivering the 278 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [JEt. 34-42. world from cruel and disgraceful bondage, in restoring to mankind the enjoyment of their just riglits under the protection of legitimate government, and in giving to nations the cheering prospect of per- manent tranquillity. For that purpose a large and respectable committee was chosen to make the necessary arrangements, com- posed of the following gentlemen : — Hon. C. Gore, Hon. T. H. Perkins, " George Cabot, " E. H. Mills, " John Warren, " John Lowell, " B. I'lCKMAN, Jr., " Samuel Putnam, " George Bllss, " Wm. Sullivan, " John Phillips, Kev. Wm. E. Channing, " H. G. Otis, " Joshua Huntington." i Mr. Channing was elected to deliver the sermon. On the 15th of June, the day appointed, a large assembl}-, composed of the most intelligent and influential persons in the community*, filled the Stone Chapel. Never since the time of the adoption of the Con- stitution had there been in that city a meeting of a political charac- ter animated with a deeper joy ; and no speaker could have been better fitted to give voice to the latent enthusiasm of the crowd. On no public occasion of his life was he so carried awa}' by sym- pathy with the profound and passionate emotions which swelled in the popular mind. He gave full vent to his feelings, — with free and bold strokes jiainted the past degradation of Europe, — poured out the vial of indignant censure upon the ambitious despot who had made Christendom his prey, — reawakened the memory of the awful ai)prchensions with which men had watched his destructive career, — and when the audience were swept along in prospect to the verge of ruin, then he drew aside the dark cloud-curtain, and showed the benignant promises of peace spread out in mere}' before the exhausted nations. As he uttered the words, "The oppressor is fallen and the world is free," the pent-up feelings of the assem- bly burst forth in acclamation. It is said that the preacher paused, and calmly reminded his hearers that they were in the presence of God, to whose providential aid their humble gratitude was due. This sermon was rather an extenii)oraneous overflow, than a stud- ied address ; but it may be desirable to extract a few sentences. They prove that Mr. Channing drew encouragement from scenes which had turned many a fervent reformer into a timid conservative, and that he looked forward with confiding hope to better times. ' Ajipcndix to a Discourse dclivi'ied in Boston at tlie Solemn Festival in Com- inoinoration of the Goodness of God in delivering the Christian World from Military Despotism, June 15, 1814. 1814-1822.] THE NEW ERA. 279 " From the events which we this clay celebrate, we are especiall}' to learn that most important lesson, to hold fast our confidence in God, and never to despair of the cause of human nature, however gloom}' and threatening VQ.a,y he the prospects which spread before us. How many of us have yielded to criminal despondency ! . . . . But now we are taught, as men, perhaps, never were taught before, to place an unwavering ti'ust in Providence, to hope well for the world, to hold fast our principles, to cling to the cause of justice, truth, humanity, and to frown on guilt and oppression, however dark are the scenes around us, and however dangerous or deserted may seem the path of duty " A most solemn experiment has been making on societ}'. The nations of Europe, which had all in a measure been corrupted by infidel principles, have been called to witness the effect of those principles on the character and happiness of nations and individu- als. The experiment is now completed, and Europe and the world are satisfied. Never, I believe, was there a deeper conviction than at the present moment, that Christianity is most friendly to the peace, order, liberty, and prosperity of mankind, and that its sub- version would be the ruin of whatever secures, adorns, and blesses social life. Europe, mangled, desolated Europe, now exclaims with one voice against the rule of atheism and infidelity, and flies for shelter and peace to the pure and mild principles of Christianit}'. Already the marks of an improved state of public sentiment may be discerned. We are at length permitted to anticipate the long lost and long desired blessing of general and permanent peace. A new era seems opening on the world. It is our hope that the storm which has shaken so many thrones will teach wisdom to rulers, will correct the arrogance of power, will awaken the great from selfish and sensual indolence, and give stability to govern- ments by giving elevation of sentiment to those who administer them. It is our hope, that calamities so awful, deliverances so stupendous, will direct the minds of men to an almighty and right- eous Providence, and inspire seriousness and gratitude, and a deeper attachment to the religion of Christ, that only refuge in calamity, that only sure pledge of unchanging felicity. Am I told that these anticipations are too ardent? Perhaps I have indulged the hopes of philanthropj^ where experienced wisdom would have dictated melancholy predictions. I am not forgetful of the solemn uncertaint}' of futurity. But amidst all uncertainties which sur- round us, one truth we know, that God governs, and that his most holy and benevolent purposes will be accomplished." ^ 1 Discourse at the Solemn Festival, &c., pp. 11-15. 280 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [JEt. 34-42. The joy of this festival was sobered, however, b}' the reflection, that, tliough peace had settled upon Europe, the United States and Great Britain were still at war. New England was at this period utterl}' prostrated, her commerce paralyzed, her people bowed down witli taxation, and to such an extent had dissatisfaction with the measiues of the general government spread, that in December, 1814, delegates selected from her most eminent citizens assembled in convention at Hartford, Connecticut, with the view of securing their endangered lights, and consulting upon measures suitable to the exigencies of the time. Doubtless there were some who, in their disgust at the war, were inclined to urge a separation of the New England States from the Union ; but it is now well understood that the object of that Convention was to open a vent to the popu- lar excitement, to allay passion, to give a safe direction to the in- dignation of the community, and thus to avert the threatening danger of secession. Mr. Channing was among those who thought that everything should be sacrificed, except essential principles, for the preservation of the Nation. Then, as through life, he was devotedly attached to the Union, and though, as we have seen, opposed to the war with his whole soul, as utterl}^ unjustifiable and inexpedient, he yet never allowed himself to despair. He would not abandon the hope, that the promise given to the world in this republic should be fulfilled. His views are well shown by a few extracts from a sermon preached to his people immediately' after the news of the Treaty of Ghent arrived, and repeated on the day of thanksgiving for the peace. " I have said, that the single consideration that war is at an end is enough to fill our hearts with gratitude. But how should this gratitude be heightened, when we consider the state from which peace has rescued our country ! The continuance of the war must, I fear, have destroyed us as a people. We had poured out our resources with a profusion which had emptied the treasury of the nation, and destroyed the credit of the government. Increasing taxes, imposed on an impoverished people, would have fomented discontent and insurrection. In this broken state of society, our best institutions would have been shaken to the foundation and subverted. The obligation of contracts would have been violated. General bankruptcy would have spread general distress, and de- stroyed the moral jjrinciples of the community. A spirit of in- subordination, intlamed by hopeless suflf'ering, would have anni- hilated tlie authority of law. The bonds of society would have been dissolved. These, at least, were the solemn forebodings 1814-1822.] THE BLESSINGS OF PEACE. 281 of our most reflecting men. Peace has saved us from these convul- sions " Peace is snatching us, too, from the brink of civil dissensions. We seemed to be approaching a solemn crisis. To the evils of a foreign, might soon liave been added the sorer evils of internal war. Thank God ! the union of these States will at least be prolonged. The day which is to witness the dissolution of our political fabric is at least deferred. May we not trust that its great ends will in a measure be accomplished ? Peace has placed the present rulers of this nation on a new ground. Without endangering their power, they may now consult the good of the whole countrj". Ever}' motive incites them to encourage industry', enterprise, the development of resources, in every division of our wide land. Let everj' aid be given them in the establishment of a generous polic}'. It is very unimportant in whose hands is the power of the state, if it be but honorably and wisely' emplo3'ed. Most ardentl}' do I hope that the men who have plunged this country into ruin may expiate their error b}' embracing, at this auspicious moment, a magnanimous course, and that their success may find its reward in the support of all parties into which we are unhappily divided. Prosperity such as our nation never yet experienced is brought within our reach. Nothing now is wanting but an impartial administration of the government, and a spirit of mutual forbearance among our citizens, to fulfil the bright anticipations which patriots of better days cherished for this favored people. " May we not hope that the lessons of experience will not be lost, that a better spirit will pervade our communities, that we shall learrt the value of a broad scheme of action, embracing at once the interests of all sections of this extended republic? May we not hope that the spirit of enterprise and improvement will now be unchecked, that new cities and towns will ever3'where arise on our shores and in the wilderness, that arts and science will be widely diffused, that institutions sacred to humanity' and virtue will meliorate the tone of social relations, that civil and religious liberty will be guarded and cherished as our best possession and most honorable distinction ? Let us rejoice that we are once more to be bound in amity and profitable intercourse to every nation under heaven. God grant us perpetual peace ! God grant us the honor of contributing b}' our commerce, by the light of our intelli- gence, by the example of a free, virtuous, and contented people, to the happiness and advancement of the human race ! " Thus liberal and magnanimous were Mr. Channing's political 282 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. sentiments at the close of the troubled j^ears through which the humanit}' of Europe and America had been called to pass. But the sermon whence the above extracts have been made is interest- ing also as manifesting his views in relation to peace. The hor- rible cruelties b}' which Christendom had been blasted, as b}' lava-floods and ashes from the open crater of hell, had taught him, in common with thousands in all lands, to look upon war as the most awful and wasteful crime of which nations and men can be guilty. And he takes this occasion to deepen in his people's minds a conviction of the honorableness and blessedness of peace. "I rejoice with j'ou that the groans of the wounded and d3ing are no more to be heard on our shores, that the ocean is no longer to be stained with our own or hostile blood, that the skies are not again to grow red with the portentous glare of flaming towns, that we are no more to swell the crowd of widows and orphans, whose hopes have perished on the field of battle. I rejoice with 3'ou that the soldier is to return to his home from the depraving influences of a camp, and to earn subsistence b}' better means than slaughter and plunder. I rejoice with you that the resources of our country are no longer to be exhausted in carrying fire and death to neigh- boring provinces, that we are no longer to cast away our own bless- ings by attempting to destroy* the blessings which God bestows on our bretln-en, no longer to ruin ourselves bj' seeking the ruin of another civilized and Christian nation. I know that to many war is a matter of course, that it seems to them a trifling aflTair to shed man's l)lood, to desolate fruitful regions, to scatter terror, want, and misery over once happy lands. But, thank God ! I speak to some not thus liardened by savage customs and the calculations of inhuman polic}', and who regard an unjust and unnecessary'' war as concentrating the guilt of multiplied murders. For one, I do re- joice that this war is to be terminated without the erection of a single monument of triumph upon the soil of this Commonwealth. What compensation could have been found in the most splendid victor}' for the loss of distinguished citizens, of men made noble by character and intellect, for the anguish of parents, widows, chil- dren, mourning the slain, for the wretchedness of bereaved, dis- persed, imi)ovorislicd families? It is not Christianity, certainl}', that would teach us to forget the loss of friends in brutal exul- tation over the slaughter of enemies, — enemies who yet are men of ihe same nature with ourselves, children of the same Heavenly Father, commended by the same Redeemer to our good- will 1814-1822.] DEFENSIVE WAR. 283 " With what jo}' ma\- we look on our venerable metropolis, — jo3' heightened b}^ the solicitude with which we have watched the decline of her prosperity ! Had the war been but for a few 3-ears protracted, its ancient honors must have been humbled ; its inhab- itants would have been dispersed, its schools shut up, its churches deserted, its institutions of piety and benevolence struck with de- ca}'. But now the fetters which have bound our energies are broken. Our silent streets are once more sounding with the roll and hum of business. Our grass-grown wharves once more are to swarm with loaded dra3-s, and to be filled with heaps of merchan- dise. Our dismantled ships once again are to spread their wings, and bind us by ties of harmonious intercourse with every region of the earth. Once more our beloved metropolis is to become the home of honorable usefulness, the nursery of public spirit, knowl- edge, charity, and ever}' institution which embelhshes and exalts human nature. "Wealth is again to flow in upon us through all the circulations of industry', not to feed luxurious indolence, but to give employment to the poor, to quicken ingenuity, to awaken the spirit of beneficence, to encourage science and the elegant arts, to nurture genius, to endow seats of learning, and, above all, to dif- fuse the knowledge and power of Christianit3\ My friends, I re- joice with j-ou in these cheering prospects. Enter again on the labors which make the true glory of nations. God send j'ou success ! " Thus earnesth' bent was Mr. Channing to discourage the infernal custom of war, and especially to alia}' " the proud, vaunting, irri- table, contentious, aspiring temper, more disposed to honor cour- age than humanit}', more restless the more it is successful, more devoted to part}- than to public weal, more open to the influence of parasites and intriguers than of wise and impartial men," which he pronounces to be the bane of republics. But while thus longing for the era which he believed Christ had come to introduce, and which he was assured would in the fulness of time knit our long- sundered race into one, he was not then prepared to take the ground of condemning defensive war. Whether it is to be traced to natural temperament, to earl}' training, to historical studies, to the habits of thought of the age, or to principle, it is certain that he had the spirit which, though frail in ph3-sical structure, and de- voted to his pastoral office, would have prompted him to fight in defence of his country in an extreme emergenc3\ Incapable of personal fear, chivalric in the tone of his character, and predis- posed to the love of heroic deeds, he was nowise disposed to aban- don the freedom of his native land to the mercies of an invading foe 284 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. without a struggle. Throughout this period, in private and from the pulpit, he maintained that it is the duty of the citizen to die, if need be, in protecting the religious and civil institutions of his nation and the inviolability of home. In this very discourse on Peace we find him saying : — "We feared that the approaching spring would invite hostility to our very doors, that our families would be dispersed, and that the stillness of suspended business would be broken by the tumult of battle. Had this lot befallen us, I trust that we should have done our dut}'. We should have fought for the city of our fathers, for our altars and our firesides, with the spirit of freemen and of Christians, relying on the justice of the right of self-defence. But how should we bless God, that we have been saved from this sad necessity ! " ^ In unreserved adherence to the cause of peace, Mr. Channing was surpassed by his honored friend, the Rev. Noah AVorcester, who was at this time residing in the neighborhood of Boston, and editing the Christian Disciple, and who may justly be called the father of the Peace movement in this country, by his " Solemn Review of the Custom of War." From the first, however, Mr. Channing gave him the support of respectful sympath}- and active co-oi)eration. In the spring of 1816, he preached a discourse on War before the Convention of the Congregational Ministers of Massachusetts,^ which was immediately printed and widely circu- lated, deepening in many minds the convictions already taught by the terrible history of the times. This discourse prepared the wa}' for the formation of the Peace Society of Massachusetts, the first meeting of which was held in his study in the parsonage-house of the parish. From this society sprang all the kindred ones in our country, and its influence was felt abroad. Mr. AVorcester was its corresponding secretary, and the editor of its periodical; but he relied in all his measures ui)on the advice of Mr. Channing, who was one of the society's ccjunsellors, and, according to the au- thority of the Rev. Dr. Pierce, " its life and soul." For years he devoted himself to the work of extending its influence with un- wavering zeal, as many of his papers of that period attest ; and from among these we select two, as bearing upon important pub- lic (lucstions. The first is the following memorial, which was pre- pared by him. ' Sec also " Duties of tlie Citizen in Times of Trial and Danger," Works, Vol. V. pj). 411-42'2. One Volume Kdition, pp. G70-688 ■^ Works, Vol. ill. pp. 2y-58. One Volume Edition, pp. 6-12-653. 1814-1822.] PEACE MEMORIAL. 285 " To the Honorable the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States in Congress assembled. The memorial of the members of the Peace Society of Massachusetts respectfully represents, — " That the society which now solicits the attention of our national rulers was instituted for the single purpose of diffusing pacific and benevolent sentiments through this countrj- , and through the world. Impressed with a deep and sorrowful conviction that the spirit of Christianit}', which is a spirit of mercy, peace, and kind affection, is imperfectl}^ understood ; afflicted by the accumulated miseries and extensive desolations which war has lately spread over the fairest, most fruitful, and most enlightened regions of the earth ; and at the same time encouraged by many decisive proofs of the revival of purer and more benevolent principles among Christian nations ; your memorialists have formed this association with the solemn and deliberate purpose of co-operating with the philanthro- pists of ever}' country in promoting the cause of peace and charit}^, in stripping war of its false glory, and in uniting different com- munities in the bonds of amitj' and mutual good-will. "We are sensible, that, from the nature of our object, it is chiefly to be ac- complished by a silent and gradual influence on the minds of men, and accordingly we have limited our operations to the circulation of useful treatises, in which the pacific spirit of our rehgion has been exhibited with clearness, and we hope with success. We believe, however, that the present moment demands a departure from our usual course, and we cherish the hope, that, by an application to the government under which we live, important service ma}' be rendered to the cause of humanity, in which we are engaged. " The present memorial is founded on two occurrences, which we hail as auspicious to the pacification of the world. The first occur- rence to which we refer is the well-known and unprecedented union of several of the most illustrious powers of Europe, in declaring before ' the universe their unwavering determination to adopt for the onl}' rule of their conduct, both in the administration of their respective states, and in their political relations with ever}^ other government, the precepts of Christianit}', the precepts of justice, of charit}', and of peace.' "The second occurrence to which we refer is the decided ex- pression of pacific sentiments and anticipations in the conclusion of the late message of the President of the United States, in which his parting wishes for his countrj' are expressed with tenderness and power. In this remarkable passage, worthy the chief magistrate of a Christian community, he expresses his conviction, that the 286 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [JEt. 34^2. ' destined career of his country will exhibit a government which, whilst it refines its domestic code from every ingredient not conge- nial with the precepts of an enlightened age, and the sentiments of a virtuous people, Avill seek b}' appeals to reason, and b}- its liberal examples, to infuse into the law which governs the civilized world a spirit which ma}' diminish the frequency, or circumscribe the calam- ities of war, and meliorate the social and benevolent relations of peace ; a government, in a word, which may bespeak the noblest of all ambitions, that of promoting peace on earth and good- will to man.' "On the occurrences now stated your memorialists respectfully beg leave to found the following suggestions and solicitations. " First. We respectfuU}- solicit, if it be consistent with the prin- ciples of the constitution, that the solemn profession of pacific principles, lately made by several distinguished sovereigns of Eu- rope, ma}' be met b}' corresponding professions on the part of our own government. Whilst we are sensible that a melancholy dis- cordance has often existed between the language and the conduct of rulers, we still believe that the solemn assertion of great and im- portant principles, by men of distinguished rank and influence, has a beneficial operation on society, by giving to these principles an increased authority over the consciences of those b}' whom the}' are professed ; by reviving and diffusing a reverence for them in the community ; and by thus exalting the standard of public opinion, that invisible sovereign, to whose power the most absolute prince is often compelled to bow, and to which the measures of a free govern- ment are entirely subjected. When we consider the support which is now derived to war from the perversion of public sentiment, we are desirous that our government should unite with the governments of Europe in a distinct and religious acknowledgment of those principles of peace and charity on which the prosperity of states and the happiness of families and individuals are alike suspended. " Secondly. We respectfully solicit that Congress will institute a deliberate inquiry, for the purpose of ascertaining the methods by which this government may exert on human affairs that hapj)}' in- fluence which is anticipated by the President of the United States, the mefhods by which it ' may infuse into the law which governs the civilized world a pacific spirit,' ' may diminish the frequency or cir- cumscribe the calamities of war,' and may express the ' most noble of all ambitions, that of promoting peace on earth and good-will to man.' We are [)ersuaded that a government sincerely disposed to sustain the august and sublime character which is here described, of the pacificator of the world, will not want means of promoting its ends. AVe trust, that, under the persevering and well-directed 1814-1822.J THE SEMINOLE WAR. 287 efforts of such a government, milder principles would be introduced into the conduct of national hostilities ; that the reference of na- tional controversies to an impartial umpire would gradually be es- tablished as the law of the Christian world ; and that national compacts would be formed, for the express purpose of reducing the enormous and ruinous extent of military establishments, and of abolishing that outward splendor which has so long been thrown around war, and wliich has contributed so largely to corrupt the moral sentiments of mankind. "When we represent to ourselves a Christian government sus- taining this beneficent relation to the world, mediating between contending states, recommending peaceful methods of deciding the jarring claims of nations, laboring to strip war of its pernicious glare, and to diminish the number of those who are interested in its support, diffusing new and generous sentiments in regard to the mutual duties and oliligations of different communities, and incul- cating by its own example a frank and benevolent polic}', and a sincere regard to the interests of the world, — when we represent to ourselves such a government, we want language to express our con- ceptions of the happ3' and magnificent results of its operations. It would form a new and illustrious era in human affairs, whilst, by the blessings which it would spread, and by the honor and confidence which it would enjoy, it would obtain a moral empire more enviable than the widest dominion ever founded on violence and crime. "■Loving our country with tenderness and zeal, accustomed to regard her as destined to an exalted rank and to great purposes, and desirous to behold in her institutions and polic}' increasing claims tO'Our reverence and affection, we are solicitous that she should enter first on the career of glor^' which has now been de- scribed, and that all her connections with foreign states should be employed to diffuse the spirit of philanthropy, and to diminish the occasions and miseries of war. Of such a country we shall exult to be the children, and we pledge to it an attachment, veneration, and support which can be accorded onlj' to a virtuous communit}'." The second paper is a letter to Mr. "Worcester, in which he refers to the war against the Seminoles, — a war that, undertaken, as it was, by a strong and professedl}' Christian and civilized nation against a scattered remnant of Indians, because the}^ offered a re- treat to slaves who had escaped from our oppression, and with an ulterior desire of robbing them of their lands, was certainly a con- centration of all mean cruelties. " The Seminole business has been disposed of bj- Congress, and 288 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. I liave no wish that our societ}' should enter the hsts with govern- ment. But may not the subject be treated usefully in this way? Let us allow, for the sake of the argument, that the majority are right in construing the laws of war. Let us then state distinctly, and without an}' exaggeration, the acts of General Jackson, which the}' sa}' are justified b}' these laws. May we not then bring home to men's minds the question, whether the time has not come for repealing such horrible laws. If war demands such regulations or outrages to accomplish its ends, can war too soon be abolished? We may say, that Congress have authorized all future commanders to exercise the same dreadful discretion in war. If so, is it not time to exert ourselves to prevent the recurrence of this infernal state of things? It seems to me, you ma}' turn to good account the decision in Congress, without combating it. I wish this occasion to be made use of. The recital of the transactions of this ' justifiable war,' and comments upon it, may furnish matter for the number, — and I believe the public have not these facts before them in a con- nected series." We have already seen the strong detestation with which Mr. Channing regarded one of the basest outrages of war, — if, indeed, any degree of more or less can be found in the guilt of its inhuman practices, — namely, privateering. But so much had he at heart the extinction of this barbarous custom, that it is but just to him, by a yet further quotation, to make his sentiments known. In the ser- mon on the peace, from which extracts have been given, he thus speaks : — " Ma}' we not hope that mercantile transactions will no longer fly the day, and that the lip of perjury will be closed ? Let us espe- cially bless God that peace will sweep the legalized plunderer from the ocean, that privateering will no longer violate all the better feelings of our nature, that the ocean will be the pathway of upright and honorable enterprise instead of depraving warfare, and that we shall bear our part in dispensing over the earth the bounties of Providence." In addition to the promotion of peace and a reform in peni- tentiary discipline and i)unishments, other philanthopic move- ments also engaged INIr. Chnnning's sympathy and aid. As early as 1810, he preached a discourse upon Temperance, which his society urgently requested him to print as a tract for general cir- culation. In the missionary enterprise, too, he was much inter- ested, and brought the demands of this cause impressively before his people. Indeed, so much did he feel the importance of this 1814-1822.] BIBLE SOCIETY. 289 sublime effort to link the race of man into one whole, of which Christendom should be the heart, — b}^ streams of piety, intelli- gence, and love sent out to circulate through the bodj^ of material intercourse which commerce was forming, — that, according to a declaration once made to a friend, he was on the point of breaking all his social ties and devoting himself to the work. Infirm health, however, and the pressure of the immediate duties in which he was engaged forbade. But through life he cherished a strong conviction of the high claims of missionary labors, while at the same time he was ever becoming more earnest to cleanse the fountain, by mak- ing the whole life of Christendom, national, commercial, domestic, individual, more trul}' Christian. This desire of evangelizing mankind was closel}' connected with another movement, just rising into notice, which we now pro- ceed to mention. The era of peace then dawning on the world interested Mr. Channing, b}' the opportunitj- which it afforded for uniting Christians more closeh' in common labors of beneficence. He saw everywhere, as he thought, the signs of a revival of a life of holiness and love. In his sermon at the •' Solemn Festival " he had said : — ' ' This reaction in favor of religion and virtue will, we trust, continue and increase. Amidst the sufferings and privations of war, a generous spirit for the diffusion of the Scripticres has broken forth ; and at this moment that sacred volume, which infidelity hoped to bury in forgetfulness with the mouldering records of an- cient superstition, is more widel}^ opened than in an}' former age to the nations of the earth." Thus are we brought to consider his connection with the world- wide movement for the distribution of the Bible. In 1811 he had deli\-ered the first anniversary address before the Bible Society of Massachusetts, and from 1812 to 1820 he filled the most important office in the societ}-, that of Chairman of the Executive Committee. The annual reports prepared by him were ample. The}^ were reg- ularly printed, and became an important auxiliarj' in promoting the objects of the societ}-. A few extracts from these reports will show the position which this movement occupied in his regards. 1813. " No sincere Christian can need arguments to convince him that he is bound to contribute to the diffusion of Christianity through the world. This is a religion designed for all nations. Jesus Christ commanded his disciples to preach it to ever}' creature under heaven, and shall we do nothing in aid of this great design? Is the gospel the appointed instrument of God for restoring the 19 290 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. world to pui-ity and peace? Has the Son of God died to impart this iiivahiable blessing to our race ? Have holy men of all ages toiled and suffered to spread it tln-ough the earth, and to perpetuate it to unborn generations ; and shall we do nothing to extend the knowledge and power of the word of eternal life ? . . . . " In the present convulsed and disordered state of the world, it is most consoling and cheering to see so man}' Christians, of different countries and different denominations, forgetting their divisions, and uniting in one great effort for making known the Scriptures to every nation under heaven. Like the rainbow in a dark and storm}' sky, this is a promise of a brighter and happier da}'. It is suited to carry forward our thoughts to that predicted period, when the knowledge of God shall fill the earth, and all nations be joined in love to their common Father and Redeemer, and to one another. We should rejoice that it is the design of Providence to effect this revolution by the instrumentality of Christians, and we should esteem it our privilege and happiness that we may bear a part in this inexpressibly sublime and merciful work of God." 1815. " Another cause of congi'atulation remains to be men- tioned. We refer to the encouraging intelligence from so many parts of this country and of Europe, of the multiplication, activity, and success of institutions for the distribution of the Scriptures. The spirit of Christian charity seems to gather strength from ex- ertion. Never, perhaps, since the first age of Christianity, has a holier zeal existed than at the present moment for the moral and religious improvement of mankind. The British and Foreign Bible Society, that full and living fountain, is still sending forth its streams of truth and consolation ; and distant nations, whom once no bond but interest connected, are now uniting in prayers and labors for the connnunication of the gospel to every creature under heaven. "At such a period the excitements to Christian exertion are peculiarly strong. A voice seems to reach us from every part of Christendom, calling us to strengthen the hands and to share the honor of our brethren in extending that truth which has been the object of affection and hope to the pious and benevolent of past ages, and which we are assured is appointed to have free course and to be glorified, until it shall fill the earth, and all flesh shall see the salvation of (^od." 1(S1G. "Never before was so generous an impulse communi- cated to so many hearts. Never, since the first promulgation of 1814-1822.] THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL. 291 Christianity, has so sublime a spectacle been exhibited as that which we now witness of Christians in both hemispheres, separated by language, climate, manners, and oceans, forgetting their dis- tinctions, and conspiring as brethren in the work of Uluminating the world. Perhaps human history affords no example of such extensive co-operation for the good of mankind. "From such institutions, founded by the most illustrious men, patronized by sovereigns, endowed by opulence, and inspired and sanctified by ardent love of God and mankind, are we not author- ized to hope a melioration of the moral and religious condition of society ? May we not anticipate a more wide and glorious mani- festation" of the power of Christianity on the hearts of men? May we not especially hope, that Christian nations, being thus united under the peaceful standard of the cross, and laboring and triumph- ing together in the cause of their common Lord, will drink more laro-ely into his spirit, will exchange their animosities for love, and wilt shrink with horror from the thought of devoting each other to slaughter and desolation ? " Mr. Channing was interested, not only in extending the cir- culation of the Bible, but in promoting a rational and consistent interpretation of it. During this and the later portion of his life he gave much time and thought to the elevation of theological learning. This will appear more fully hereafter ; but a few hints come liere in place, which may indicate his progressive career of thought, and show his ready faithfulness to every call upon his ener- gies.° Immediately after the death of Buckminster, who for his age was undoubtedly the best read and most accomplished theological scholar in the country, and who had been chosen the first lecturer on the Dexter Foundation in the Divinity School at Cambridge, Mr. Channing was selected to fill that office. This was in 1812. He accepted'' the appointment, bought a portion of the very valuable library which his lamented friend had with great care and expense collected, sent abroad for various books from Germany and Eng- land, and began to make preparations for these new and difficult duties. He was pleased with the prospect of usefulness thus opened, though diffident of his fitness for the work. But he soon found that his health was entirely inadequate for the efforts to which he saw that a conscientious professor was summoned, who in the unsettled state of theological science undertook to be a guide, and in 1813 he resigned his trust. He retained a close relation, however, to the Divinity School, and became thence- forward one of its most active guardians, as is conclusively shown 292 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [TEt. 34-42. in man}- letters and manuscripts. The careful meditation which he habitually turned upon an institution so important in ever}' view to the well-being of the churches will appear by a few extracts from his private papers.^ " It is essential to a good institution that one spirit should per- vade it, and that all its parts should harmonize. The balance between the intellect and the affections, or rather their joint action, should be most sedulously provided for. The Christian character, the spirit of Christ, as the ultimate in religion^ should be presented in all its brightness. Whatever draws the mind from this is inju- rious. Zeal, self-denial, devotion to God and Humanity is lUe essential. The general course of instruction should tend to i)i()diice these. Speculations awakening scepticism, or undue exercise of intellect, should be avoided. Great principles., on which religious sentiment and practice rest, should be strongl}-, frequently offered to attention. The mind needs progress. Difficult}' is its stimulus. But should it not be active chiefl}- in analyzing the true, in working on what is substantial, in building on a foundation, in develop- ing the causes and connections of what is known to be real ? To determine what proportion of time should be given to points which have mocked the efforts of the wisest men in all ages, and which are 3'et agitated. and under debate, requires great judgment." "■ The eno? of the ministr}' should be set before them with great plainness, the vastness of the change which it is intended to work in society and individuals. They should be affected deeply with the condition of society, with the conviction that its state is exceed- ingly remote from that which Christianity is designed to bring in. Their minds should be quickened by the faith that a great change is practicable. Tameness grows from the thought of going on for- ever in the steps of the past. The attention of theological students should be turned more on the state of the world, less on abstract subjects ; a lively interest in its progress should be aroused. They should feel as men set apart to produce a reform in the moral condition of mankind. The miseries of the mass of men., their toils, ignorance, sufferings, temptations, should touch them. Study should be seen to be a means onl}'. How can a theological insti- tution be made to give to its students the advantage, which students in law and medicine have, of seeing the actual application of prin- ciples, the profession illustrated in practice ? Study conducted under the influence of sympathy with men would be vastly more cflicient." 1 See also the Tract " On Increasing the Means of Theological Education," &c., 1816, Works, Vol. V. pp. 363-371. One Volume Edition, pp. 279-282. 1814-1822.] HARVARD UNIVERSITY. 293 " The present course of training is too technical. It does not communicate a Uving spirit. A tone of feeling should pervade tlie institution, so tliat new students ma}' at once imbibe it. Fer- vor should be a primary object. The intellect would gain force and largeness from such spiritual excitement. The first lesson to the students should be, that, in order to communicate, the}' must receive and be filled with the spirit of Christianity. Living Christianity should be the end. It is true that this spirit cannot be poured into them. They must be excited to seek it for themselves. But this must be presented as their most indispensable acquisition. The understanding of religion is exceedingly important ; but moral and religious truth is best understood by the moral and religious culture of the soul. The true spirit of study is needed, an earnest desire to look into the deep things of religion from accordance of heart with its sublime realities." "Fixed meditation must be encouraged, — a deep pervading sense of the presence and perfection of God, — a wakeful spirit of prayer, — a strong conviction of the reality of the future life, — a devotion to the cause of Christ, identification of all their plans, purposes, and hopes with it, and a sense of the infinite importance of Christianity, — a reverence for the human soul, its greatness, worth, perils, prospects, — a vivid perception of the high spiritual purpose of our religion, — a distinct conception of the celestial virtue which it is designed to cherish, — a love deep and disin- terested for elevation of soul and the zeal which personal expe- rience of the power of religion gives, — courage, hardihood, and a martyr's patience, — a correspondence to the most earnest spirit of the age ; ' — these habits of mind and heart will form men of the sacred character which we need, and fit them to be sources of spiritual life to society." But it was not alone by his desire to give a pure, large, and practical tone to theological studies, that Mr. Channing was brought into active co-operation with the educational movements of the day. In 1813, he had been chosen a member of the Cor- poration of Harvard University, the duties of which office he con- tinued to discliarge for thirteen years. During this period he took an efficient part in all plans for the improvement of the course of instruction and discipline in the college. Voluminous notes remain to prove with what comprehensive and minute attention he made himself acquainted with the condition, wants, dangers, oppor- tunities of the students, and with what discriminating sympathy he lent his aid to every proposed reform. An extract from these papers may be of interest, as showing his general views. 294 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. "Cannot religious and moral means of influence be made to enter more largelj' into the college system, and give it character? Religion should be professedly and conspicuously a main end of education. Piet}^ should be held forth as an essential element of high character in ever}' 3'oiing man. Literary' emulation cannot supply sufficient motive. We corrupt the young, and weaken their best })rinciples, by exclusive use of so low a principle. Knowledge should always be presented as valuable only when inspired with and controlled by high principle. The mind should be turned to God as the fountain of intelligence, and all growth in wisdom should be seen to be an approach toward him, and a preparation for the fulfilment of his designs of good. Religion must be exhibited as the glory of our nature. An ingenuous, magnanimous, heroic form of piety must be inculcated, such as is fitted to win the gener- ous hearts of youth. Religion still has a monkish, gloom}', formal, superstitious air. It is made a master, not a friend, in the eyes of the young. It is presented to them in the aspect of debasing terror, not of elevating and enlarging hope. They should be made to feel that it is the source of all lofty, honorable, manly sentiment. Its connection should be shown with harmonious and balanced character, with noble aspiration, self-devotedness, grand endeavor, courage, independence. There should be a religious teacher, who can present broad and generous views of religion in accordance with our whole nature, who can converse freely with the young- men, visit them, attract them to him, and meet the deep wants which spring up in some minds at this season of life " Religious character, profound moral feelings, a strong spirit of Christian piety and love, are all-important qualifications in the governors and instructors of college, so that they may be per- vaded l»y an earnest conviction of the supreme importance of culti- vating religion and virtue in their pupils, and may constantly show that religion is not a mechanical thing with them, not a means of discipline, but a grand and living reality. Without this, intellect will be too exclusively the object, and the great end of intellectual power and wealth will not be sulFieiently brought into view. Virtue should be seen by the students to be the paramount object. No amount of talent or acquisition should be allowed to be a substitute for want of morality. Character should be regarded as the primary interest. There should be a kind but inflexible demand for purity and goodness. A student should be made to feel that every moral taint is disgraceful, base, abhorrent." The sympathy thus forever radiating to the interests of society at laro-e did not exhaust Mr. Channing's love, which shone only 1814-1822.] BENEVOLENCE. 295 brighter and warmer, the nearer the sphere of its action to its central source. He was still a practical philanthropist. Physical debility had gradually warned him, it is true, to confine his per- sonal activit}' within narrower limits than he had marked out in his earlier ministr}', and the whole tendency of events had been to teach him, that his more peculiar and appropriate function was to be a discoverer and announcer of spiritual principles. But proof enough remains, that the benevolence which we have noticed in his spring-time had become the confirmed and unconscious habit of his summer. Thus writes a recipient of his bounty : — ' ' I ought to see the good hand of God continually stretched out, but some such special providences strike my mind with peculiar power. Were I to tell 3'ou ni}' situation, your conviction would brighten, that the hearts of all men are in the hand of the Lord. For a number of days previous to receiving your letter, our barrel of meal and cruse were reduced to nothing, and I had called on a number for help, but could not obtain it. I borrowed a horse, and set out with a determination to procure some necessaries for my famil}', even if by increasing my debts. On looking into my desk, I found only three cents, which I took with me. In passing through the town, I stopped at the post-oflSce to put in a letter, when the postmaster informed me that there was a letter there for me. I thought within myself, ' How shall I pay for it with three cents?' when, lo ! a letter is handed me post-paid. 'Generous friend ! ' said I. I opened it, and was at first surprised by the bill. But after reflection, I said to my companion, ' See what the Lord can do ! '• Though the money gave us jo}', when thinking of the unknown benefactor, whom God had enabled and disposed thus to contribute to unworthy strangers, yet the matter of the letter, distilled from the heart of the writer, gave us much higher joy. When paying m}' debts, which I was thus enabled to do, and pro- curing some necessaries, we could not refrain from mentioning this kind providence. I hope there was nothing wrong in this, as we read that what a certain woman did for Christ was to be told as a memorial of her." To ever}' form of public charity Mr. Channing lent his ready counsel and encouragement ; but it was chiefl}' within his own con- gregation that he was earnest to secure efficient union for purposes of mutual culture and co-operative usefulness. With this view, he, in 1817, addressed the following letter to the Committee of the Society in Federal Street. " Gentlemen: — It has pleased a kind Providence to smile on 296 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. the religious society with which we are connected. The present ought to be gratefull}' acknowledged b}' us as a period of pros- perity, and it seems to me a peculiarly' proper one for accomplishing some valuable objects, b}' which both we and our children may be improved. "I have for some time thought that a vestrj'-hall, or small building belonging to the society, and placed as near the church as may be, would be a great accommodation and benefit. The uses of it are as follows : — " 1 . It would be a convenient place for catechising and instruct- ing the children of the society, — a service for which the church furnishes ver}' poor accommodations, especially in winter. "2. It would give us a place for a singing -school^ which is very much needed. Though our singing is ver^- much improved, we all of us feel that it might be rendered a more intei-esting part of public worship. If we had a vestry attached to the church, I think that several persons might meet in it to receive instruc- tion, who would not attend a public school. Besides, there might be weekl}' or monthly meetings of those of the societj' who are acquainted with singing, for purposes of improvement and gratifi- cation. "3. It is known to the committee, I presume, that a charity school has been supported by contributions from our society and the New South Church, an admirable institution, and conducted in part by .young ladies of our church. I am very desirous of giving perpetuity to this truly Christian establishment, and I conceive that this will be effected, if we provide a building in which the school may be kept. " 4. There is also a Sunday school, }\xsi commenced, for which a vestry would be highly desirable. "5. If this plan is adopted, a place will be provided for meetings of the church, or of other parts of the society, for which the com- mon place of worship is too large. The young ladies of the society have been accustomed to meet for the purpose of being instructed by their pastor. I should wish, if a suitable place were provided, to meet the young men also for the same purpose. " 6. I have a strong impression that a collection of the most ap- proved booh on moral and religious subjects would be a great and lasting benefit to our societ}'. Such books, it is well known, have an important influence on the character, especially of the young, and yet they are far from being common among us. Perhai)s the extent of the deficiency would surprise you. There are some fami- lies of our number, in which individuals may be found with a 1814-1822.] BERRY-STREET VESTRY. 297 strong taste for reading, but who cannot afford to purchase any but the most necessar}' books. In the families of the opulent, too, there are often but few books suited to illustrate the Scriptures, and to furnish religious instruction, and these few are often far from being the best. This deficiency is not to be supplied by circulating libraries, for the}^ contain hardl}' anything but works of an amusing nature. Even where a disposition exists to purchase useful publi- cations on moral and religious subjects, the wish is sometimes frustrated, either by mistakes as to the merits of books, or by the inability of obtaining the best in this country. Some of the most valuable works must be sent for to Europe, because the demand is not sufficient to justify booksellers in importing or reprinting them. These considerations persuade me that we cannot easily render greater service to the society than by laying the foundation of a library to which all classes shall have access. I believe that read- ing on religious subjects will be very much increased by it ; that the attention of the young, which is now too often wasted on unprofit- able books, will be drawn to the best authors ; that a spirit of inquiry will be excited ; that the Scriptures will be much better understood ; that the minds of many will be enlarged ; that Sunday will be spent with greater pleasure and profit ; and that the instructions of the pulpit, aided by books which the preacher will recommend, will be more efficacious. " These are important benefits, but these are not all. I would recommend, as a part of the plan, that the minister should be the Hbrarian. The consequence of this will be, that his intercourse with all classes and ages of the society will be increased, and his knowledge of the books which they are reading will furnish useful topics of conversation and advice. This effect, a closer union be- tween the minister and people, seems to me very valuable. I beUeve, too, that a valuable collection of books, to which all the members of the society may repair, as to a common fountain of instruction, will increase their interest in the society and be a bond of union to each other. May I add, that to the present, and especially to future ministers, this collection will be of great use. Our salaries do not permit us to furnish ourselves, but very imperfectly, with books ; and the liberty of using freely such a library as I propose will enable us to unfold many subjects more fully than at present to our hearers. " Your friend and pastor." In this project he had the cordial support of his wise and warm- hearted friend, the Hon. Judge Davis, who for so many years was 298 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [JEt. 34-42. the deacon of his society and his invaluable counsellor, and the society liberally contributed to fulfil the plan. The building was finished and opened in the autumn of 1818, on which occasion he made an address, from which a few sentences may be selected. " This building has already done good by the exercise which it has given to j-our liberality and to many pure sentiments. It is now doing good ; for it is bringing us together as brethren, as members of the same Christian community. Yet more is it, we trust, to do good ; for we have reared it for the advancement of Christianity, a religion which meets all our wants, sorrows, guilt, and fear, — which opens its arms to infancy, and directs the ardent miud of youth to its Creator, which furnishes to our riper years moti\es to uprightness, which goes with us to the grave, and strengthens the sight to discern a brighter world beyond. " One leading object of this building was, to provide for the re- ligious instruction of children. I need not observe to you, that in our i)ublic services our children hear much which they cannot under- stand, and that they need more simple and direct instruction. If strength shall be given me, I shall engage in this work, I hope, with more earnestness than I have been able to do, though not with- out diffidence. The task is not as eas}' a one as many suppose. It is easier to convey- knowledge to minds as ripe as our own, than to adapt ourselves to an age of which we preserve only indistinct recollections. There is, indeed, no labor in teaching children to repeat words ; but to proportion our communications to their ca- pacities, to bring the invisible God near to them, to excite them to thought, to touch their hearts, — these are objects which have not sufficiently been proposed in education, and we must advance to- wards them by a path of our own discover}'. In this part of m\- duty, I hope that some of you will have the leisure and disposition to assist. I could wish that we might consider the religious educa- tion of the children of the society a common end, to be talked of when we meet, and to be advanced by each other's observations and experiments. I dare not pledge myself for great exertion, but, if health permit. I should delight in making the trial, how far i)aro- chial may aid domestic instruction, in saving children from tempta- tions, imbuing them with Christian principle, and, while they are yet tender and unfettered bj' habit, confirming their choice of a pious and virtuous life. " It is also my hope to meet here the ladies of the society whom I have been accustomed to assemble for the stud}' of the Scriptures ; and nothing would gratify me more than to meet occasionally the 1814-1822. GROWING CELEBRITY. 299 young men for free conversation, or more regular instruction, on the subject of religion." The meetings of ladies which are here referred to had been held by Mr. Chaniiing for many years. One who was at this period his parishioner, and thenceforward to the end of his life an intimate and valued friend, Mrs. George Lee,^ thus records her recollections of them : — " These meetings were usually held at the house of Mrs. Codman. They were intended for religious instruction and for awakening a just comprehension of religious duty. Mr. Channing opened the services by reading portions of the New Testament, which he com- mented upon in his lucid manner, throwing light upon obscure pas- sages, and rousing his hearers' minds to their highest capacity of retiection. His observations were eminently fitted to inspire a de- votional feeling, and shed abroad a spirit of prayer. The subjects selected were those which the whole tenor of his Ufe and preaching inculcated, —unreserved love of our Heavenly Father, uncompro- mising obedience to his will, the surrender of the whole soul to his servicfe, the unspeakable benefits received through the mission of his Son, the wisdom as well as beauty of holiness. It was by his fervent and exalted manner, that he prepared his auditors for the closing prayer ; and when he arose, — for he addressed us seated, — and said with his solemn and impressive voice, ' Let us pray,' I am sure there was not a wandering heart amongst us. ^^The meeting might be called one for social worship, a gather- ing round a domestic altar. The eff^ect could not but be salutary. A^few hours were redeemed from the cares and anxieties, the frivolities and conventional forms of hfe, and the mind called home and directed to its highest destination. The number of worshippers varied ; but I should^think there were usually fifty or more present. The meeting was designed for the females of his own society, though otheT-s often requested the privilege of attending. I am happy to recall those pleasant days, and cannot be grateful enough that to the last I enjoyed the conversation of our beloved friend, and felt the influence of his Ufe. Can I ever forget his calm, im- pressive tone?" Thus it appears that Mr. Channing was still an active pastor. But it was chiefly through his sermons that he exerted influence. His power in the pulpit had from the first been constantly increas- ing, and his full congregation was now often crowded by strangers, 1 Author of " Three Experiments of Living," " The Huguenots in France and America," &c. 300 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. who gathered from various motives to hear one who was everywhere recognized as the most eloquent and effective preacher in Boston. His discourses occasioned bj' the great pohtical crisis through whicli the country had been called to pass, from 1812 onwards, — the bold, original, and discriminating address on war in 1816, — his able publications in the Unitarian controversy', and especiallj' his Baltimore sermon, delivered in 1819, of which several editions were at once printed, and which was circulated through the length and breadth of the land, — and, finall}-, the masterly Dudleian Lecture in 1821, in which so succinctl^^ and glowingly he presented the evidences of Revealed Religion, — had gradually' established his position in the very first rank of the thinkers and scholars of the country ; and at this time he was experiencing the incentives and temptations of celebrity'. That he was painfull}' conscious of the ensnaring power of the ambition which a position of such eminence naturally engenders, appears from the care with which in his jour- nals he guards himself against its charms and strives to maintain the purest singleness of purpose. His private papers of this whole period are most affecting from their moral beaut}' ; but the reader turns his e3'e awa}' from secrets which a mortal scarcel}' whispers to his own heart, and a feeling comes over him of the awful sanctity of that temple of the soul whereinto God's guardian angels only have befitting innocence to enter. It is enough to sa}', that con- science sat ever vigilant at the portal of his heart, like a father confessor listening to hear the faintest breathings of remorse, to prescribe the needed penance, to give the blessed sign and word of absolution. Yet from the piles of these documents, in which the writer's Inmost experience is laid bare, as if he stood transparent in the very light of the all-penetrating eye, it seems but right to select a few of the less personal expressions of feeling and thought ; for there is no other wa}' of showing the essential character of the man. The most striking intellectual peculiarity of these papers is their minute exhauHive analysis, — their spirit is devoutness. The writer takes up some disposition of which lie is conscious, some branch of dut}', some relation in life, some grand principle, some reality, and, holding it tenaciously before him, not onl}- for a day or week, but, as dates clearly prove, for months and years, slowly elaborates a consistent and complete view. It is very interesting to compare the hints scattered in these loose sheets with the com- pact, finished form in which many of the thoughts finally appeared in the author's published works. One gains thereby some insight of the mode whereby in the moral as in the natural world gems are 1814-1822.] CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 301 formed, and precious metals deposited in the rocks. The pro- found conscientiousness, patience, earnest soleranit}', concentrated strength, unity, of this good man thus become apparent ; it is seen how weight}' to his own mind was the meaning of his words, how sedulously he simphfied the statement of his opinions, how through much struggle he attained to calm, even, equable utterance, how carefull}' he reserved what was most fresh, brilliant, novel, until assured of its substantial truth, — from what depth of experience he drew. From beginning to end, the}' mark the progress by which an earth-born creature is through willing faith transfigured into an image, faint though it be, of divine disinterestedness. In the frag- ments which we select, suggestions as to the ministerial profession, the special calls of the times, his relations to his people, and his own peculiar duties, are so intermingled, that it would be useless to attempt to cast them anew into anj- formal mould. Evidently, to his own mind, his outward life and his inward thoughts were one. ' ' I should desire that knowledge which will conduce most to the salvation of my people. This sentiment is most favorable to en- larged views, and free and vigorous action of mind. A general loftiness of sentiment, independence on men, consciousness of good intentions, self-oblivion in great objects, clear views of futuritj', thoughts of the blessed companionship with saints and angels, trust in God, as the friend of truth and virtue, — these are the states of mind in which I should live." " Let me be verj^ definite in the ends which I propose, when I converse, write, or preach, and let me keep them in view, and press forward to them. Let me appeal to God for the truth and importance of ever}- sentiment, and for m}' own sincere conviction, and my desire to impress it. Let me write with praj'er, as on my knees, sensible of m}' dependence on the Divine Spirit for every good exercise, every right aim, ever}' disinterested affection. Let me be satisfied with plain, serious, important truth, expressed per- spicuously." " Let me purpose, before I begin to write, some definite, serious impression which I wish to make, and pray for direction and sincerit}'. Let me lead a whole life of religion, humility, faith, devotion ; for unless there be this general frame of character, no particular acts will be religious in spirit. The heart is alwaj's active, and builds up unawares the discourse of the speaker, turns his thoughts, fashions his expression. Let me in writing and re- viewing hold intercourse with God, refer every word to his appro- bation, and consider whether I bear his message." 302 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [JEt. 34-42. " Let me cultivate love, be continually setting before ni}- mind views which will lead to disinterestedness, be continually- engaged in some definite benevolent object. Let me labor through the week to keep alive a devotional sentiment, which may thus show itself unforced, and communicate itself to others on the Sabbath." "Is m}' preaching attended with encouraging results? Do m}^ people come to hear me to be pleased, or to be made better? Are they not rather attached to the man, than to the cause? Let me be more plain, urgent, importunate, tender. I am more and more sensible to the importance of an earnest, unaffected manner. I should lead my hearers home to their own hearts and lives, and preach searching sermons. I am not plain and forcible enough. I appeal too much to the ingenuous feelings. Men need also sol- emn, stern warnings. Religion must be presented to them as the end of life, the grand realit}'. Let me begin to write early enough in the week, so that I may throw m^' whole soul into the close of my sermons. M3' work should be all in all. I should visit my people more freelj', become a member of their families, know them, be known by them, win their confidence. The sight of every parishioner, and indeed of every human being, should be accom- panied with the thought of the grandeur of a human soul, of the beaut}', excellence, happiness, to which ever}' soul may attain, and the degradation and misery into which it may fall." "A minister should feel that he is dispensing the truths of a religion introduced by a long line of pro[)hets, sealed by the blood of Jesus Christ, designed to conduct men to all glor}' and excellence, to introduce a stupendous change in human affairs, to fill earth with the happiness of heaven. The idea of this grand change should be ever present to him. Nothing low should content him. To inspire elevated, disinterested piety should be his aim. He should _yt/^ his mind with the thought that man is destined to be- come the glorious image of God. He should live in a region of hope, he is to be distinguished b}' grandeur of aim, he should rise above human opinion and ever}' influence which now bows down the faculties with solicitude, despondency, agitation, fear. Zeal to advance the great felicity to which Christ came to raise all men should animate him forever. He should never think of rest, till this sublime end is accomplished. His whole intercourse should tend to exalt and animate men's conceptions and desires. All his influence should terminate in this central point, — that Christ came to call us to a true regeneration, to a celestial virtue ; that much, very much, is to be sought, is to be gained. A diffusive philan- thropy should be his habitual temper. He should view his people 1814-1822.J PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 303 as a part of mankind speciall}' intrusted to liim, whom he is to arouse to oo-operation in the great common work of promoting holiness and liappiness througliout the eartli. He must be warm, bold, efficient. The ends before him are infinite." "Good preaching never enraptures an audience b}- beauties of st^^le, elocution, or gesture. An eas}', unbalanced, unlabored st3'le should be the common mode of expression. This will give relief and prominence to more important parts, and insure A'ariety. Composition should resemble nature. DazzUng objects soon fatigue the eye. Simple truth, in plain, perspicuous words, should form the bod}- of the discourse, and all appeals of peculiarl}- solemnizing, melting, invigorating character should be introduced in the waj' of transition. B}' simple truth, staleness and tameness are not meant, for there should alwaj^s be richness of thought. A sermon should never be a barren sand-level of commonplaces, but a fresh, fertile field, verdant and well watered. In style, as in music, there should be a key, which should change with the topic. Let clearness, dig- nit}-, unstrained vigor, elevation without turgidness, purity without primness, pathos without whining, characterize m_y style. Let me stud}- to be filled with the spirit of the truth I am to utter, and I shall speak as I ought. A slow, distinct, and rather low enuncia- tion should form the ground of deliver}'. It is better to require exertion on the part of the hearer, than to stun him with clamor." "That is the best preaching, which leads the audience to lose sight of the speaker in the sublimit}- of his themes, when the words and tones are forgotten, and the minds of all are awakened to the contemplation of grand realities. I wish to bring the kingdom of heaven near to men, to persuade them to lead devoted, pure, loving lives. How shall I thus persuade them? Not by violence, irrita- tion, self-exaltation, enthusiasm, excess, — not by prejudicing my hearers against me as a fanatic, and exciting their opposition, — but by manifesting a calm, kind, humble, sincere, dispassionate state of heart, with clear views and direct purposes. Let me preach the whole truth plainly, earnestly, tenderly, but with self-posses- sion. We should labor to undeceive men, Avho are deluded by self-love and by fashion, satisfied by a hollow outside, decency of manners, ensnared by subtle temptations, and make them feel to the quick the need of a radical change, of nitegrity, purity, heavenly- mindedness. To do this, we must have the power to search the heart. We must be at once full of feeling, argumentative, com- prehensive, particular. I ought to make every sermon practical by applying it to my own state in a continuous process of self-exami- nation. Permanent impression is the test of good preaching. Hence 304 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [iEx. 34-42. individualit}', united with large principles, is an essential requisite in a good sermon. Every hearer should feel that he is immediateh' interested in the truths which are taught, that then and there the}' appl}- directly to him." " That which is often called pulpit eloquence is a mode of address calculated chiefly to warm the imagination and agitate the passions. But in preaching, the true end is not so much to produce some sud- den effect, as to make impressions which will abide through life, to plant seeds which shall grow and ripen forever. An impulse com- municated to a popular assembly is short-lived. No change of char- acter is produced by it. A preacher who habituall}^ adopts this so-called eloquent manner ma}' be a boast to his people and a wonder to strangers, but his real influence will be constantly les- sening. He will be heard, admired, criticised, as an actor is, for the excitement he causes. And as he has not the advantage of a political declaimer, who can find read}' stimulants for his audience in the national and local topic of the day, he will be forced to seek his charm in brilliant ornament and striking delivery, and will finally fall into verboseness, afl!ectation, puerility, mysticism, ex- travagance. On the other hand, a preacher who wishes to interest his people for life must attract and fasten their regards upon the sacred subjects which he brings before them, and not upon his manner. He must awaken in them a love of truth, of religious instruction, of spiritual improvement, of holiness. Then will their attention be unwearied and ever deepening. A minister who is listened to, at the very time when he has conspicuous defects in style and elocution, has a much fairer prospect of usefulness than many a brilliant orator, whom a congregation first hear with rap- ture, and then grow cold to. Attention, deep attention, is what is wanted in an audience ; and the mode to excite it and keep it alive is to present great truths which fill their minds, and motives which inwardly prompt them to vigorous and constant action. A minister must himself, then, be engaged, alive, absorbed in great interests, profoundly convinced of the infinite importance of receiv- ing Divine truth, and manifesting it in his whole life." " I must urge that repentance wliich consists in realizing the entire obligation of the law of right, in feeling bound to render perfect obedience, in regarding all sin as inexcusable, in longing for a total deliverance from evil. Men must be made to abhor their sins, to be prostrated before the long-suffering benignity of God, to be humbled, melted, filled with shame at the thought of disobeying such an infinitely wise as well as merciful Being. It is important to set forth the law of God in all its sanctity, largeness, 1814-1822.] TRUE ELOQUENCE 305 strictness, beaut}', glory. It must be shown that the only satis- faction, peace, jo}', is in being conformed by Divine love to the image of God. This must be urged until men see and feel that all selfishness is a miserable, hopeless exile, till they love spiritual life as it is in God and angels, as the highest good, to be joyfully chosen above all things." " When I propose a subject for a discourse, the question should be, How can I bring my mind into the state most favorable to clear understanding, deep impression, strong representation of it? But I should not labor while I write, nor work myself up into a fever inconsistent with calm, humble dependence upon the Divine Spirit, and thoughtful, affectionate regard for those whom I am to address. There should be nothing strained or excessive, while seeking to place a subject in a light which will bring out new con- nections, and array it in attractive beauty. My whole mode of life should be a preparation for treating interesting themes in a fresh and animating way. In choosing a topic, I should first view it in its connections, relations, position, as compared with other truths. I should then let it expand fulh' in my mind into all its branches and applications. From among these I should select the views most suited to the special end I have before me. Next, I should consider careful!}' the best method of arrangement ; and in treating every head, my mind should be active to unfold the general thoughts involved in it in their relations to the main subject of the discourse. Every passage should be tested by its tendency to advance the end proposed. During the whole composition, I should be elevated by the greatness of truth, an ardent love of excellence, an active desire for the purity and salvation of man, a glowing piety, a conscious communion with God." " In the regular course of the ministry, we have most to fear from mechanical sluggishness. Monotonous lameness is the sand-bar on which so many are stranded. The safety is in keeping the heart ever alive. The preacher must draw from his own full experience ; he must never write as if writing was his business. The wish to be correct and elegant should never enter his thoughts. He has to penetrate men with great convictions. The Greeks wrote well, be- cause the whole world of thought lay fresh and untouched before them. This should teach us not to form ourselves on models, not to use materials furnished by others, but to be enterprising in the exercise of our own minds, and in exploring the great sources of truth, — nature, man, revelation. There is a free, bold, vigorous tone of thought, the easy action of a generous spirit, which is most desirable for every one to attain. All timidity of character, exces- 20 306 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^Et. 34-42. sive accuracy, anxious observance of rules, desire to finish minute parts, love of glitter and polish, fondness of conceits, is fatal to this freedom. It is the natural movement of a sincere, ardent, inde- pendent mind. The preacher should never give his hearers leisure to admire ; he should never permit them to doze. He should write with the ardor of strong conviction, trust himself to the flow of thoughts, and be unconstrained and unreserved." " True eloquence springs from living perception of the truth, and from intimate communion with the hearts of men. We must not lean on opinion, must not fear the judgment of hearers. Depend- ence upon an audience is a charmed circle, which represses all generous thought. Love of truth sets the writer free. The vigor- ous character of composition depends on the decision with which the mind grasps a truth. Eloquence is to be attained b}' the full culture, the general enriching, of the heart and mind. An enlarged spirit, which has reached grand convictions, will utter itself with a commanding st3'le. There is never true eloquence, except when great principles and sentiments have entered into the substance of the soul, and become incorporated with the whole being. The way to be eloquent is to be possessed with truth. Good writing, good speaking, is that which grows directl}' from the heart, when expres- sion becomes necessary from the fulness of the soul, when religion is a living principle within us, and the discourse is the spontaneous putting forth of this germinating seed. What is wanted is genuine feeling, inward life." " M}^ object should be, to contribute to that great work which God is promoting in the world. Every faithful effort has its influ- ence. Let me never despair. Local, temporar}' objects should be comparatively unimportant. An expanded interest in humanity should govern me. I am connected with the church universal, with all future ages ; and let no devotion to a party lead me for an instant to overlook its defects, or to forget the high claims of truth and right. The religion which is to open heaven in the human heart is as far away from heated bigotry, as from the lowness of a worldly temper. To breathe warmth into the cold, generous piet}^ into the abject and servile, honorable views of God and man into the dejected, timid, and superstitious, should be my end. Let me live to exhibit the paternal character of God, the quickening influ- ence of his spirit, his willingness to raise us to perfection, the glori- ous capacities and destination of man, the filial nature of religion, the beauty of benevolence, of self-denial and suffering in a generous cause, the union formed by a spirit of humanit^y between God and the soul, the joy of high moral sentiment, the possibility of attain- 1814-1822.J THE END OF THE MINISTRY. 307 ing to sublime greatness of character and habitual largeness of sen- timent and action. Men are to be regenerated, not so much by a sense of the blessedness of goodness in the abstract, as by coming to understand that disinterestedness, that union with God and his whole spiritual family, in whicli goodness consists. The glory and nobleness of a soul self-surrendered to God, joined to him in pur- poses of beneficence, swallowed up in a pure, overflowing love, must be made manifest." " It is essential in a minister, that his mind should be habitually under religious influences, so that his whole character and life shall diffuse an animating spiritual power. All should feel that his soul is in communion with God, that he lives under the guidance of His w///, and by His spiritual influences. He should unite with devo- tional fervor an harmonious, full development of human nature. His end is to flash upon the dormant minds of men a consciousness of the Divine life, to touch the spring of spiritual affection. He should enable them to see how religion works within his own soul, he should make his own mind visible, and show religious truth, not abstractly, but warm and living, clothed with the light and glow of his own conscious experience. Let the perfection of the Christian life, its high, holy, humane spirit, its communion with God, its ele- vation, disinterestedness, hope, jo}-, be my habitual state, so that in all ray thoughts, actions, studies, I may be a guide to my Dcople."' "Unit}' of impression should be an object to a minister. He '1 not undo one da}' the work of another. All his instructions -lave a common bearing, and this implies enlarged views of jn. >He must not waste the zeal of men on points of second- , importance. His efforts should be systematic, not desultory, and be governed, not by sudden impressions, but by extensive plans. His whole life and influence should have one tendenc3\ Nothing demands such lucidness, breadth, depth, completeness, harmon\- of exposition, as the religious life. Foundations must be planted firml}'. Seeds of great, enduring, ever-growing principles must be sown. People are injured and made dull and dispropor- tioned by laying excessive stress upon every point. Preaching should call into action the whole spiritual being of hearers. It should not address one faculty onl}', but manifest religion to the reason, conscience, imagination, heart. A minister should strive to unfold harmoniousl}' the souls of his people, just as he sees Provi- dence unfold the bod}' in a plant or animal. His whole inward life should be brought into activity. His preaching and intercourse with men should be the result of a joint and vigorous co-operation 308 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. of all his spiritual powers, quickened bj- a Divine influence. To excite to universal groivth should be his end." " In proportion to the difficult}' of the times should be m}- desire to exhibit solemn and ennobling views. The long religious torpor which has rested on the world has prepared men for an opposite excess. Religious sensibility is an essential element in man, and, however smothered for a time, it must and will break forth again with power. Is it not the error of those who oppose the prevalent S3'stems of Orthodox}^, that they do not substitute interesting views for those which the}' would remove? They insist that Christ came to restore human nature, that moral good is his end. But do tliey present this end in its dignity and grandeur? Must we not stiongly conceive and represent the glorious change which he came to bring in men and nations? A divine life^ a heavenly life^ this is the end for which he came. In exhil^iting religion as this universal regen- eration of all human interests^ tlie present degradation of societ}'^ must be exposed. Here is the need of earnest remonstrance. Great ex- plicitness, fearlessness, is demanded. Jesus Christ must be taken as the standard and rule ; the highest, purest principles of his re- ligion must be plainly proposed as the guide to individual and social practice. The world waits for a new exhibition of Christianity in all its sublime encouragements, its solemn warnings, its glorious assurances. With what entire devotedness should I consecrate ni}'- self to this great end ! " " Let it be m}' ol)ject to conceive and express the gospel worthily^ in life and word to exhibit the religion of Christ in its purity, its sublimity, its divine beaut}'. Let it be my desire to raise men's thoughts to the great end of the being and mission of Christ, to show the exalted, perfected, heavenly state of man which he came to in- troduce, to exhibit the glorious relations into which he desires to bring us. Let it be my aim to raise to this lofty height the moral sensibility, the ambition, the aspirations, the generosity of men, to animate them to see brightly and vividly this grand destiny which opens before them, to carry their thoughts forward to the future greatness of virtuous humanity, to shed the light of heaven on their nature and present state. The end to be set before them is a thirst for nearness to God, love of him, bright views of him, sympathy with him, desire of his friendship, disinterested self-surrender to his designs, heavenl}' goodness, heavenly joy, conformity to the spirit of his beloved Son, — a perfect oneness, in a word, with the Heavenly Father. May not this exhibition of Christianity, as an all-ennobling system of Divine influences, be the ojie great end to which my life and labors may tend?" 1814-1822.] DEVOUTNESS. 309 "Let us not linger at the threshold of Christianity; conduct us into its inmost depths of life. Help us to break through the obstacles, the doubts, despondency, lethargy, weakness, which hinder us. Open in us an unquenchable aspiration for truth and virtue. Give us a spirit of rational, filial, strong, unreserved, tri- umphant, glad obedience. Give us perfect confidence in Thee, wliose laws are the dictates of fatherly wisdom and love, and who dost delight in the purity and glory of thy children. Dispose us to see thy goodness everywhere, not onl}' when descending uj^on us, but when diffused abroad, so that we may discern the love which pervades tlie universe and quickens all spirits. "Make us sensible of our inward wants, indigence, destitution, weakness. Lay open to us our corrupt motives. Expose to us our hidden vices in all tlieir deformit}'. Teach us to look steadily into ourselves, till we shall see with something of thine own abhorrence ever}' evil affection. Lead us awa}' from false resources to a sure dependence on thy perfect will, and ma}' this reign supreme within us. Help us to look through the disguises of self-love, to judge ourselves trul}', to anticipate the revelations of the last day ; and let not this knowledge of our deficiencies and deformities fill us with dejection, but rather endear to us tliy mere}', and lead us to thy grace, while rousing us to vigilance and to firm and faithful conflict with every irregular desire. " Dispose us to a sincere sympathy with all men, not onl}' to see extraordinary' excellence with jo}', but to take pleasure in the hum- blest improvements of our fellow-creatures, in the beginning of everlasting life within them. Incline us to respect the feelings of others, so 'that we may never wound, nor tempt, nor depress a human being. Maj' we understand the sublime heights of benevo- lence to which we are called b}- the gospel, and aim at perfection in all social relations. Assist us to express with power and unaflfected simplicity the beauty of virtue, so that we may attract all around us to the heavenl}' life. Inspire us with an active, diffusive benefi- cence, and ma}' we have the witnesses of our good-will in the im- proved virtues and happiness of our friends, associates, and all within the sphere of our influence. Affect our hearts with the love- liness, beauty, and joy of that mild, condescending, affectionate spirit which our Master breathed, and may we imbibe it till our lives overflow with usefulness and bounty. Assist us in enlarging our benevolence, in diffusing our affections, so that we may embrace in kind regards all beings capable of happiness ; and give us wisdom to design and vigor to execute noble and extensive schemes of pub- lic and private good. May we learn to lose ourselves in disinter- 310 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. estcrl services from generous ardor, and to delight in imitating Thee, and in promoting the great ends of thy providence and the blessed- ness of creation. " We pra}' for the fulness of thy spirit. We beseech Thee to ani- mate with new life our languid affections. Give us the fervor of devotion, the glow of philanthrop}'. Awaken us to a \\o\y zeal, a joy in thy service, a promptness to do and to suffer whatever thou dost ai)point. May the labors of life become acts of religion and offerings to Thee, b}- the conscientiousness, purity of motive, and devotedness to thy will of perfect good, from which they are per- formed. Ma}- our sense of thy presence be ever more clear, our conceptions of thy character more Ijright, our gratitude more ten- der, our love of exalted virtue more generous, our good-will more overflowing. May a Divine life be ever growing within us," This series of autobiographical papers cannot be more satisfacto- rily closed than by the following extracts from a discourse, in which he thus sums up the results of his ministerial experience. May 26, 1822. " In reviewing my preaching, I cannot hope that I have taught you truth unmixed with error, but I have a calm and cheerful conviction that I have taught the great and essential prin- ciples of our religion. I have particularly labored to set before you a just view of God's all-benignant character, as the spring and mo- tive of filial love and affectionate obedience. In regard to Jesus Christ, I have continuall}' labored to impress j-ou with the proofs of his Divine mission, the venerableness and loveliness of his spirit, the excellence of his religion, the benevolent purposes of his life and death, and your personal need of the aids which his gospel of grace and mercy gives " In regard to the person or rank of Christ, you well know that a controversy- has pre^-ailed during my ministry, in which every minister has been compelled to take a part. My views on this subject have varied but little since my first connection with j-ou, and have been made known to you with entire frankness. The great fundamental principle of Christian belief is, that Jesus Christ was anointed, sent, commissioned by God, that he derived all his authority and offices and power from God, so that (iod who sent him is always to be adored as the first cause, the original, of what- ever Christ communicates, and is to be our ultimate hope and confidence. I know nothing which appears to be more plainly a departure from this fundamental principle of Christian belief than the doctrine that Christ is God himself, equally entitled with the Father who sent him to the glory of originating our redemption, 1814-1822.J REVIEW OF HIS MINISTRY. 311 equally saving us by his own underived, infinite power. To teach this is to resist the current of Scripture language and Scripture pre- cepts, to withstand Christ's great purpose, which was to glorify his Father, and to shake the fundamental principle of natural as well as revealed religion, the Unity of God. "My ministry on this point I look back upon with unmixed pleasure ; nor have I any consciousness of having thus degraded Jesus Christ. His glory consists in the love with which God re- garded him, in the offices with which God has invested him, in the likeness which he bears to God's purity and goodness, — not in being God himself; and they are the last to consult Christ's glory, whor instead of making him the brightest representative and the most exalted minister of his Father, throw a mist and doubtfulness over his whole nature, by making him the same being with his Fa- ther. I make these remarks with no disposition to bring reproach on any class of Christians ; for I would not breathe a single word which might even seem to be unkind. But the circumstances of my ministi-y compel me, in reviewing it, to refer to the controversy which has shaken this church, and in which I have been charged with conducting my people into ruinous error. That I have not erred I ought not to affirm with the decision and confidence too common in controversy, and therefore I would only say that I have inquired earnestly, and that inquiry has given me a calm, stable conviction of the gi'eat principle, that Jesus Christ is a distinct being from God, a derived, dependent being, not the self-existent and infinite Creator. " Still, I have not been accustomed to preach Christ as a mere man. I have spoken of him as a peculiar being. He existed in a state of glory before his birth. Nor was his agency for our salva- tion confined to his teaching, and example, and suffering, and res- urrection, while on the earth ; but he is now a glorified, powerful ao-ent in human affairs, our friend, benefactor, intercessor, and strengthener, and hereafter he will be our judge. These views I have urged, not because the mere belief of them is to save, but be- cause they have seemed to me fitted to create a more earnest, aflfec- tionate, reverent, and obedient regard to Jesus Christ, — such a regard as will lead us to form ourselves upon the model of his pre- cepts and example. This, this is the essential point, and he who is faithful here has a saving faith, be his views of Jesus whatever they may. The greatest and most dangerous error of the age is the substitution of opinion, speculation, controversy, of noise and bustle about religion, for the practice of Christ's precepts, especially of those precepts which peculiarly characterize his religion, — filial 312 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. love towards God, and self-denying, all-forgiving, disinterested, mild, humble, patient charity towards men. This love^ this char- ity, — which is the end of the Christian commandment, which is greater than faith and hope, which is the ver}^ spirit of Christ, which is God dwelling in us, — I have made supreme in m^' minis- tr}' ; and I trust that I have not labored wholl}' in vain " What 1 deplore in the state of this society and of the commu- nit3' is a languid, depressed tone of religious feeling, and the want of decision, energ}', strong purpose, in applying Christianity to con- duct. Religion slumbers under the embers, when it should be a quickening flame. It is my consolation, that on this topic I have preached plainl}', faithfull}', and not without earnestness, admon- ishing you of the perils of a state of society like ours, where a par- tial Christianity is enjoined b}- public sentiment and habit, and of course is easily adopted, whilst the spirit of Christiauit}' is sadly wanting." It will be readily understood that in the private papers, from which the foregoing extracts have been made, are many passages of deeper interest than an3' which we have felt at liberty' to publish ; and it is chiefly the number, variety, minuteness, long continuance, of his observations upon his duty and his own character, which re- veal Mr. Channing's conscientiousness. But probably even these specimens will serve to show with what wakeful hospitality^ he greeted all new suggestions, which came like strangers to his tent- door, and how he made them his familiar guests, conversed with them, listened humbly to their message, and found by glad experi- ence that he had thus entertained angels unawares. More and more the sublime opportunities of the age were opening upon him, and he gave himself with ever fresher zeal to the work of advancing what he saw to be a new era of humanit}'. His usefulness among his own people, and in his immediate com- munity, as well as his wide celebrit}', suggested at this time to a small compan}^ of Unitarians in New York the thought of inviting Mr. Channing to remove to that cit}'. On his return from Balti- more, in 1819, he had preached to them, and communicated an impulse which had continued to grow, and now, having formed themselves into the "First Congregational Society of the City of New York," they wrote to him in 1820, saying, "We are con- vinced that your aid is indispensabl}' necessary to the rapid and permanent success of the cause of uneorrupted Christianity in this quarter of the Union," and urging him, if possible, to enter upon this new field of labor. " The church which yuu have so essentially contributed to found," the}' conclude, " would be immediately built 1814-1822.] INVITATION TO NEW YORK. 313 up, and we confidently anticipate that otlier societies would be formed, united in the same faith and hope." In a letter to a friend who had consulted him in relation to this project, he uses this lan- guage : "Were I a young man, and unfettered by any engagements, I should prefer the situation you propose to any other within my hopes." But to the committee he made the following reply : — " I cannot for a moment hesitate as to the answer which I should give to your application. I regard the situation to which 3'ou in- vite me as honorable and important. But Providence has appointed me another lot. Public, domestic, and private considerations, which I need not enlarge upon, leave me no liberty of forsaking the post which I now occupy. Its duties and responsibilities are, in- deed, above my strength, and I believe that no selfish regards attach me to it. But I think that I distinctly read in a variety of circumstances the will of God that I should continue here ; and un- less these change in a very unexpected manner, I shall remain whilst I have strength to labor." Most fortunate was it for himself and for others, that he felt him- self thus bound by dut}^ to the city which had adopted him among her most honored sons. For no sphere in the country could for a moment compare with Boston in its fitness to call out all the best powers of head and heart in a man so constituted. Its unit}' of character, high moral and intellectual activity', benevolent earnest- ness, social compactness, as well as its religious, literary, and philanthropic institutions, formed an atmosphere suflflciently stimu- lating, without dissipating his attention and wasting his energy. The public considerations to which he refers in the foregoing letter, as forbidding him to leave his post, are sufl3ciently obvious. One of the " private" ones undoubtedl}' was, that he knew his own pe- culiarities thoroughly, and was more fully aware than any one else could be of his unfitness, at once from native dispositions and from confirmed habits, to be a polemic or a proselyter. A situation like that to which he was invited in New York would have demanded continual efforts of mind in a controversial direction, and required a zeal for Unitarian?sm quite foreign to his unsectarian feelings. But his "domestic" ties also detained him in Boston, and to a notice of these we now pass. When we last saw Mr. Channing in his home, the bright ring of brothers and sisters, clasped by a mother's love, was unbroken ; and we purposely left untouched that image of the happy family, of which his own pure, gentle, heavenl}- affection was the guardian angel. But long before the period at which our narrative has now 314 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [iEx. 34-42. ari'ived, link after link had been removed by the various chances and changes of life, — b}' marriage, death, and inevitable disper- sion. The eldest son, Francis, had earl^' married, as we have alread}' seen ; and the eldest daughter, whose gentle heart was from girlhood interhnked in destinies with Washington Allston, had been united to him on his return to America after his studies in Italy, and had gone to P^ngland to share the uncertain fortunes of an artist and a man of genius ; the third sister had also removed with her husband to New York. Of the four younger brothers, two had entered into the learned professions, two into mercantile pur- suits ; and thus the once large household had dwindled away. In relation to his sister Ann's marriage, he had thus written to his grandfather EUer^' : — "A few hours ago, Washington and Ann, after their long and patient courtship, were united in marriage. We consider this a happy event ; but Ann is too important a member of our familj- to be resigned without sometliing like sorrow. The ceremou}' made us rather solemn. I do not wonder at this effect. The obligations of the marriage covenant are so extensive, and the consequences of the union so vast and uncertain, that I should pronounce a person thoughtless in the extreme, who should exhibit no seriousness on such an occasion. "Your granddaughter has found, I believe, an excellent hus- band, one who, from principle and affection, will make her happi- ness his constant object. 1 hope that she will settle at no great distance from us ; but we have not yet sufficient taste for. the arts to give Mr. Allston the encouragement he deserves. We have, indeed, money enough to spend on cumbrous furniture, which another generation will throw into the garret as antiquated and ab- surd, but we cannot afford to adorn our walls with the productions of genius, which delineate the unchanging beauties of nature or the grandeur of man, and to which the lapse of time will impart only new value." But sadder separations followed. In the spring of 1810, Fran- cis, from the effects of fatigue while engaged in the laborious discharge of his duties as a lawyer, was seized with violent hemor- rhage, and sank rapidly into a decline. He retired to Newport, where he lingered for a time amid the beautiful scener}- of his native island, receiving every kindness which the assiduous care of anxious friends could lavish, and in the autumn sailed with his wife and a favorite cousin for Rio Janeiro, with the hope of finding benefit in a change of climate. But his strength had been too 1814-1822.] DEATH OF HIS BROTHER. 315 much exhausted, and on the nineteenth day of the voyage he died. Months passed over, and the spring had opened before tlie intelli- gence reached Boston. It was on a Sunday, between the morning and the afternoon services, that a friend called to bear tlie tidings to those in whose hearts hope and anxiety had so long alternated. Mr. Channing was alone as he entered, and instantly read in his countenance a confirmation of their worst forebodings. He silent- I3' pressed his hand, requested him to mention it to no one else, and then retired to his study, to gain in prayer the calmness which he felt he needed, before he could tell his mother that her first-born had first entered into the spiritual world. But when at last he summoned the family, his own face was a.s* serene as if he had been a messenger of jo}'. The next week was one of prolbundest mourn- ing, not merely because death had for the first time, after so long a period, entered their circle, nor merely because he who was taken had been a second father, but because they had parted from one who had made life rich b}' sweetness, affection, cheerful wisdom, incorruptible honor, high hope, and confiding piet}'. To William this l)ereavement caused a grief as deep and poignant as a disci- plined spirit, devoted to ends of universal good, could feel, for Francis was his bosom friend. But on the Sunday following he preached two appropriate discourses, in which, while not attempt- ing to hide the sense of his own loss, he showed his people that an ascended angel had opened to him bright glimpses of heaven. A few broken sentences, given as the}^ stand in his journals, will best show his state of feeling. "A brother, — a friend, — a nurse in sickness, — a counsellor. One who so often and so tenderl}^ thought of me, — of us all, — who was a guardian of our happiness. One who grew up with n\e. One who has engaged so man3- of m}^ thoughts and feeUngs. The first-born, the staj' of his famil}' "The first of our number taken from a circle which before was complete, — how grateful should we be that so many of us have been so long spared to each other, so large a family and so few breaches! — taken from the midst of us, never again to be seen and embraced on earth "God has made a melancholy breach in our number. May we feel that this is only the beginning of bereavement. Let us love each other more, and live prepared to resign each other. Let this separation be to survivors a bond of tender union "Taken at a distance from us, bejond the reach of our kind offices. liis remains committed to the deep, never to be collected by us 316 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [/Et. 34-42. ** Taken in the midst of life, — a son, — a husband, — a father. In the full vigor of his powers, when most able to bless and to do good " Let me prize more highl}' the character of m}' friends, be sen- sible to their excellences, be grateful to them, and labor to improve them. Let me with frankness and mildness reprove their faults and errors. Let me consider the excellence for which they were made, and be animated from God's love to seek their welfare. Have 1 done them justice? The duties of my dear brother have now devolved whoUj- upon me. Let this awaken me to all m}^ social relations " ' Thou Shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart.' Do I understand this? Let affliction lead me to this divine intercourse, to this fixed thought upon God. He has taken awa}' one object of hope and love, and thus taught us our dependence. Let us look to Him, live upon Him, live for Him. He is our Father, and loves us. It is to refine us, to bring us together again in happier cir- cumstances, that he thus afflicts us. Let every feeling like selfish- ness be extinguished. This separates me from God "God has wide connections in this affliction. He made our friend not for us onlj', but for the creation, — for himself. His infinite purposes deserve our disinterested reverence. Let us sub- rait. We are not overlooked. God loves us. We must not im- agine that God thinks only of us or our family. We must view him in his relations to the infinity of beings. There are infinite beings, dearer and purer, who deserve far more of his regards. He seeks the universal interests of all his creatures. Abba ! Father ! how slowly, how faintly, do we realize this relation ! How happy should we be that His will is done ! It is our privilege to acqui- esce "This dear sister, these dear children, are left to us as a legacy, — and our kindness and care for them must never be remitted. How do they call for all our attachment ! These children require from me more than affection, — much watchfulness, forethought, study of their characters and propensiti(!S ; — I must help to form them. What a new motive for self-improvement, disinterested- ness, clearness of mind, temperance ! " The laf.t of these extracts indicates the generous feelings of their writer, bi.t onl^- they who exi)erienced the faithfulness with which, through every after year, he fulfilled the trust which he thus ac- knowledged, can appreciate the depth and delicacy of his affection. Thencefortli he was like a lather to his brother's orphans, an ever- wise and ready counsellor to their widowed mother. Immediately 1814-1822.] HIS SISTER'S DEATH. 317 after his sister's return from South America, he took her and her children home to hve for a time with his mother at the parsonage, and a few Unes, written b}' her to a friend, will show, more brightly than an}' second-hand picture could, how he then appeared in his family. "While I am cheered and consoled by AVilliam's presence and conversation, I can bear everything cheerfully. It would be impos- sible to give you a full impression of the happy influence which he exerts. At his approach, all trials and perplexities disappear, every feeling but that of kindness vanishes, nothing is seen but smiles, nothing heard but conciliating and loving words. We not only seem, but feel, as human beings should ; and I verily believe that, if I was always in his presence, I should never say or do or think anything inconsistent with the purest principles of Christian- ity, lie is constantly occupied ; but his few leisure moments are devoted to us, and you would be pleased to see how the children love him. They are fond of all their uncles, but William is the decided favorite. They run to him the moment he opens the door, and he can seldom get away except by stealth. Their highest reward for good conduct is a visit to his study, and their great- est punishment the denial of a game of romps or of a story from Uncle William." But another of the family was now to be summoned to join Fran- cis in the "Father's house." Under date of May 6th, 1815, are entered in Mr. Channing's journal the following brief fragments, which record his high sense of his sister's character, and his warm affection for one, who until her marriage had been his confidante. "Yesterday brought us the sad tidings of Ann's death. She is gone, — that beloved and excellent sister, — removed after so long an absence. We were not permitted to minister to her last suffer- ings. The hands of strangers closed her eyes, — a foreign land holds her remains." [She had died in London, Feb. 2, 1815.] "How tender she was! — how unwearied her kindness! Asa child, how faithful ! As a wife, how constant ! In friendship how unalterable ! . . . . "Can I ever forget the offices of a nurse which she proffered with so much affection in my last sickness ? Can I ever forget her, the last by my bedside at night, the first in the morning, giving me her strength, watching over me as a parent? .... " She lived to be useful. At home she toiled without weariness, and sacrificed herself without a complaint " How silent, unostentatious, were her virtues I As a Christian, 318 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. her principles were strong, her sense of duty deep, her heart hum- ble, her professions sincere. She seemed to have acquired in early life the consideration of mature 3-ears. Cheerful and animated, she was still governed b}- the most delicate sense of propriety. How beloved she was by all who knew her ! — she could not have had an enemy. Home was her sphere, her happiness. Bound to it by strong affection, she sighed for no pleasures beyond it. She was a stranger to the world "Her character particularly inspired confidence. Her heart spoke in her actions " Her singular disinterestedness ! In her sufferings abroad, what cheerfulness did her letters express ! She was too kind to draw on our sympath}'. God gave her man}- blessings ; and now he has taken her to himself. .... " How she comes to me in her affectionateness ! How kind she was to all around her ! How silent were her careful assiduities ! Under her calm exterior what deep, strong love ! How did she bless us, even when least happy herself ! .... " God multiplies bereavements. Our family is falling to pieces. Is there no bond of union? Are we to be lost to each other? Let not dear Ann depart, without bearing me with her into futurit}'. Let us think only of following our friends. Let them lead us to heaven. Let the dead be in our hearts. Let us think and talk more as immortals " She is gone, not lost. Let me rejoice in her joy. Is she not mindful of us ? Did God form such ties that they might be broken? She may be near me. Let her witness in me only sincere affection and piet}' "My mother is more than ever to be my care. I am now her oldest child ; she leans on me "Let her humility and disinterestedness be my pattern. Let me live to be more useful to m}- family, friends, people. Let m}' heart be the seat of every humane and devout affection. Let me be always emplo3ed in doing good to others, in denying myself, in rendering offices of kindness, especiall}' of spiritual kindness." The following extract from a letter to a friend will serve yet furtlier to show how deep and tender was his affection lor this most gentle and loving woman. i '^Boston, M(ty 9, 1815. You can easily conceive the feelings which tins intelligence has awakened. Ann was no common friend. Her heart, which was, perhaps, the most constant in its affections that I have ever known, clung to her family with peculiar tender- 1814-1822.] HIS MARRIAGE. 319 ness. The circumstances of her earl}' life, particularly her attach- ment to Mr. Allston, separated her from the world, and seemed to extinguish all relish for its ordinary pleasures ; and her whole life was given to her family. In her domestic relations I have hardly known one so faithful ; and the impression she has left on our hearts is one which time will never obliterate. One of her last acts, before leaving this countiy, was to unite herself to our church, an act which nothing but the diffidence and humility of her character had led her to defer so long. Since leaving us, we have not been able to observe her course, but the singular consistency and uni- formity of her character is a pledge that she was found walking humbly in the path of her duty, and that her end was peace. " I find that events of this kind disturb my mind much less than formerl}'. My increasing conviction of the perfect goodness of God, of his paternal character, of his minute and tender care, and of the riches of his mercy in Jesus Christ, the last truth in religion which V men trul}' believe and feel, enables me more cheerfull}' to resign all things to his disposal. The thought, that God has made our souls immortal, with capacities of angelic purity- and glory, and for the ver}' end that we should ascend to heaven, to the society of angels, to moral perfection, to the most intimate union with Himself and his Son, — this thought, when it is felt by us, gives a new aspect to nature, to society, to all our present relations and connections. I have found m^'self of late inclined to regard the future state of the blessed iii a more affecting, and I think attractive, light than formerly, as a state of mutual dependence, of useful services, of the teijderest affections. Our friends, in leaving the bod}', do not put off humanit}', they do not lose their affection for those the}"- leave behind ; and I would ask. Do they lose their concern, their pity? Are those sympathies which are so virtuous in our friends on earth, which Jesus felt, unworthy of heaven? An unfeeling heaven, a heaven where the good forget their friends, or are for- bidden to feel deeply for them, is certainl}' not very interesting. Have you never felt, in listening to some descriptions of heaven, that they wanted sensibility? Can we bear that tliis bond of union between us sufferers on earth and the good in heaven should be dissolved ? " But this faithful son and brother was now himself to leave the roof which his own generous devotedness had made his mother's. In the summer of 1814, he had married his cousin, Ruth Gibbs, and, after passing the winter in the parsonage, he was, by the earnest request of Mrs. Gibbs, to become for a time a member of her family. Here opened upon him a life most rich in gentle happiness and 320 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [Mr. 34-42. beautiful affection. His mother-in-law, who was the sister of his father, had much of the character of her brother, and nothing could have been more benignant than her whole aspect and manner. Diffidence blended with dignity surrounded her with an atmos- phere of sweet refinement, and, self-forgetful as a child, she found her joy in making all about her bright and content. The ample means which her husband had left enabled her also to gratif}- every hospitable impulse and elegant taste. In relation to his marriage, one of Mr. Channing's sisters thus writes : — " You need not that I should tell you of the respect and tender- ness which he always felt for woman ; but you, perhaps, are not aware, that, with all his admiration of the gentler sex, he lived to the age of thirt3-four or five, ignorant of the warmest affection of the heart. He had a great respect for woman's rights ; and one of my last conversations with him was on the necessity of a law to secure to a married woman her property, the interest of which he thought should be always paid to her, without her husband's having any claim to control her in its expenditure." It may be said, in a word, that the principle here expressed was the one by which Mr. Channing governed himself, with the most scrupulous delicacy and fastidious honor, throughout his married life. We must leave the reader to infer, from the ever-widening cheer- fulness of his later years, the fitness of this union. Inwardly and outwardly his lot henceforth was singularly serene. From about this time commenced, too, his summer visits to Rhode Island, where Mrs. Gibbs, who resided in Boston during the winter, re- tained a country-seat; and how much the few months annually passed amid the quiet charms of "Oakland" attuned and harmon- ized his spirit will hereafter abundantly appear. In this connection it may be agreeable to those who desire to form a full acquaintance with Mr. Channing, to learn his views of the marriage relation. They are thus presented in a sermon to his people in 1816. "In this country, perhaps, the state of woman, the modes of life, and the moral sentiments which pervade the community, are more favorable to conjugal and domestic happiness than in any other part of the world. The culture which is bestowed on the female mind, and which distinguishes modern times from the most refined periods of antiquity, — the respect which is accorded to woman, and which Christianity has done so much to inspire, — the reverence which prevails for the marriage vow, and the indignation 1814-1822.1 VIEWS OF MARRIAGE. 321 TvliicU falls on conjugal infidelit}-, — the habit b}- which we are marked, of looking to our homes for the greatest part of our happi- ness, and the mixture of freedom and duUcacy with wliich our gen- eral intercourse is conducted, — all contribute to elevate among us the female character, to render woman the associate of man's most refined pleasures and pursuits, and to confer on the conjugal connection a tenderness and dignity which have rarely distin- guished it. "Women! in proportion as 3-ou contemplate the condition of 3-our sex in other countries and other ages, whether in the rude scenes of savage life, or in the confinements of Eastern voluptuous- ness, whether in the ages of Grecian and Roman splendor, when female culture extended but little bej'ond the distaflJ'or the loom, or even in the highest ranks of life on the other side of the Atlantic, — I am persuaded that you will find reason to bless that Providence which has appointed you this goodly heritage ; and I would call npon you to express your gratitude to God, and to vindicate the female character "The indissolubleness of marriage should be distinctly and seri- ously weighed by those who have to form this connection. Let not the most solemn engagement of life be an act of rashness and unreflecting passion. Let the heart take counsel of the understand- ing. Let the future as well as the present be brought into the account. Let not the eye or the imagination be trusted. Let the young man or the young woman inquire, Is this a friend with whom I would wish to spend, not only my youth, but my age, not only my health, but my sickness, on whom I can lean in my griefs, to whom I can confide my trials, to whom I am willing to resign my character, — who, if reverses should befall me, would help me to sustani hardship and distress, who will reciprocate my best feelings, who will walk with me to heaven ? . . . . "The different qualities by which man and woman are distin- guished and contrasted prepare them for a peculiarly tender and beneficial union,— prepare them to supply each other's deficiencies, to perfect each other's character, and to bear distinct, yet equally necessary, parts in that most important work of the present state, the support and rearing of a family. Marriage, then, ought to be regarded as instituted for a very noble end, — to awaken the heart, to exercise and strengthen its sensibilities and charities, to train it to the perfection of social virtue, to confer the highest enjoyments of friendship, to secure to each party the benefit of the other's strengtli, intelligence, and virtues, and to unite both in forming useful and virtuous members for the community. 21 822 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. " Were our views of the connection tluis elevated, did we alwa3's regard it as the great refiner of the heart, with what new cheerful- ness would its duties be performed, its sacrifices be endured ! Mar- riage is not viewed as it should be ; the dignity- of its end is overlooked. Too man}' rush into it without understanding its proper happiness and design, and of course without weighing its obligations. Can we wonder that its duties are so often neg- lected? .... " There should be an habitual flow of minute and kind attentions. There are a thousand nameless, indescribable offices by which the heart expresses its interest, and which serve as a continual nourish- ment to the aflfections. There is danger that the familiarit}- of constant intercourse may produce a negligence of manners, a want of mutual respect, a carelessness as to pleasing. It is not, I fear, uncommon to see the fervor of jouthful affection cooling into indif- ference. There may be no positive unkindness ; there ma}- be enough of decorum ; but there is nothing of that love which over- flows in minute and ceaseless kindness. Every day brings with it oi)portunities of mutual services, which to a stranger may seem imimportant, but which have their value when prompted by the heart. Accustom yourselves to multiply expressions of aff"ection ; aim to give pleasure ; abstain from what will give pain ; make little sacrifices. The atmosphere which feeds the flame is an invisible and silent agent, and in this respect it is an emblem of the minute and gentle offices by which conjugal afl"ection is sustained. "Another duty belonging to husbands and wives, included in what I have just stated, is this, — they should cultivate each other's society. Tliey should avoid long and unnecessar}' separations, for these generate unconcern and produce an independence on each other which marks a declining attachment. As far as is consistent with their duties, they should include each other in all tlicir i)lans. Tliey should, in particular, share the same pleasures. There should be few solitary joys. The more of couunon objects, of common tastes, of common resources the}' possess, the more tender and beneficial will be their union. They should often read together the same books, view together the same scenes of nature, enjoy the same societ}'. It is a bad symptom, when these nearest friends seem weary of each other's society, wlicn their plans of life seem to have few points of contact, when their happiness is derived from different springs " Let me mention one more dut}* belonging to husbands and wives. They should labor to improve each other's characters, Tliis is the noblest puri)ose and use of the connection. They wlio 1814-1822.] VIEWS OF CHILDREN. 323 sustain this near relation, and have consequently great power over each other's minds, should regard one another in the light which the gospel throws on our nature as immortal beings, capable of great improvement, and whose highest interests are in a future state. Whilst mindful of each other's present happiness, their great solici- tude should be that eternit}' should be secured. Let them watch over each other's hearts and minds witli affectionate concern, mutually inviting honest and friendly admonition, and aiding and strengthening religious and benevolent sentiments "This is the noblest use of the conjugal relation ; and when mar- riage is thus employed, when it becomes a refiner of our nature, uniting the mind with God, and elevating it to heaven, — when they wlio sustain it prove to each other sources and cherishers of virtuous sentiment, and see in their present union a preparation for indissoluble friendship after death, — when marriage assumes this high and holj- character, it is a felicity almost too pure for earth, it is a foretaste of the attachments of a better world." In Mr. Channing's journals, under date of October, 1816, is found the following affecting passage, in relation to his first-born child. Its simple stor}' needs no word of explanation. " I remembered the love of Jesus to little children. I remem- bered the kindness of Him who has called himself our Father, and whose love must be infinitely purer than mine. Still my heart clung to her ; and when I saw the last struggle on Wednesday afternoon, about twent3--four hours after her birth, I wept over her as if I had been deprived of a long-possessed blessing. After death her Countenance became composed, and to me seemed the most beautiful, soft, gentle, and expressive, which I had ever seen at so earl}' an age. Tlmrsday afternoon I carried her to the tomb, in the full and certain hope of a blessed resurrection. I feel as if my prayers for this little one, and ni}' baptismal and funeral services, had formed a connection between us. I feel as if I had a child in a happier world, who will know her past history, who will know how earnest were my wishes to bless her, to guide her to all virtue and felicity ; and I hope yet to meet her, and to know that my pra3-ers were not in vain, and to see that my child is more excellent, more happy, than I could have rendered her." But in 1818 he had the privilege of writing to his sister in a hap- pier strain, on the occasion of the birth of a daughter. " Had I not learned so many lessons of tliis world's mutableness, I might be in danger of dreaming of a perfect J03' on earth. But I do not forget where I am. I hope to remember wh}' I am placed 324 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^Et. 34-42. here, and to consider my new relation cliiefly as an enlargement of my means of usefulness, and as giving me an object for the heart and for Christian care and exertion. I have not, as 3'ou ma}' readily suppose, thought much about education as yet ! I have a general persuasion, however, that cliildren are educated chiefly by example, by a continual, insensible influence of those around them, and that the surest way to improve our children is to improve ourselves. I do not mean that this motive is as poweiful as it should be. I hope, however, tliat we shall in some degree be governed by it, and shall labor to express no feeling or principle before our little girl which we should not wish her to adopt." A few extracts from his papers will show the feelings with which he welcomed this young being intrusted to his care. "What dignity Christianity sheds round the event of birth! How unimportant are the rise and fall of empires, in comparison with the entrance of an immortal soul into existence ! Here is a new agent introduced into the universe, — a being now so frail, yet to grow to vast, to inconceivable influence, — a lioing now so depend- ent, yet to sustain immense, all-important relations. This child is to survive the changes of nature ! We think only of the present. God has formed it for high and unknown purposes " May this child never have cause to reproach us for evil ex- ample, neglect, ruinous indulgence. Through its whole everlasting being, may it remember us, as, under God, its earliest, best friends, by whose kind care it learned to form itself upon the principles which are the foundation of eternal peace. Here is a mind to labor for, which is to live forever. Our influence on it is to be perpetual. What a claim this little being brings with it ! What latent capaci- ties ! — yet not one developed. Here is a being whom I may taint or raise to immortal glory. Is this child given to us to become ours? What a possession, to keep the heart alive, not for a day or year, but for life, for ages upon ages ! " And to his people, on the Sunday following, he said : — " We have heard of a barbarous nation where the child was received with weeping. But this is not nature. There is instinc- tive, irresistible joy, when we look on the little being brought into a new world, with a form so perfect, a structure so delicate, a coun- tenance so winning, — who comes a stranger to all our solicitudes, who sinks so securely into slumber, as if it were lodged in paradise, who has no resource in its own power for all the wants to which it is exposed, but finds supply beyond its needs in the affection that welcomes it 1814-1822] VIEWS OF CHILDREN. 325 "We were made to love. This is the end of God in all social relations. It is his purpose that no man should live for himself. He has made life to be a succession of labors and sacrifices for the happiness of others. It is for tliis that children are made so help- less. The}' are born weak, that they should rest upon our strength. Their limbs cannot sustain their weight, that they may be folded in our arms and warmed upon our breasts. It is for this that God gives them such sweetness, innocence, beauty. His purpose is to enlaro-e our hearts by generous toils and self-denials. The hardest heart°melts at the sight of infancy. In every home, however rude, however splendid, one being is embraced with sincere love, and that is the new-born child. The young woman of fashion, whose affec- tions have been dissipated by false pleasures, becomes another person as she clasps her infant in her arms. New tenderness fills her bosom, new solicitudes and hopes spring up. She learns to live in the happiness of this little dependent creature. And in the house of the poor laborer, what overflowing tenderness is poured out to welcome, what toils are cheerfully borne to rear, the child whose birth imposes a perpetual burden ! Children call forth a tenderness which softens the whole character in all relations. We enter a warmer region, when we approach a home gladdened by their art- lessness, simplicity, confiding affection, playful gladness. The heart awakes to healthier action, and becomes more susceptible to all good impressions. Home is the nursery of the heart ; children are really our teachers, and the lessons which they communicate are love, self-forgetfulness, interest in the welfare of others, I am per- suaded that just in proportion as the domestic affections have oppor- tunity to expand in any community, is general kindness, sympathy, philanthropy diffused " A Christian parent, on the birth of a child, has sentiments like these brouglit with power to his mind : — ' Here is a being com- mitted to me worth more than the world. I am now honored with an infinite trust. This cradle contains a life, the issues of which are shrouded in the solemn uncertainties of the everlasting future. Here is not only a helpless being to be loved, but a growing being to be trained. It is to be influenced in its growth by every one around it. It is to learn the language Avhicli falls upon its ear, to catch the manners which pass before its eye, to receive impressions so easily made and so indelible that they will seem like nature. It is to reflect not only the countenances, but the characters, of those who have given it existence. It is a creature of sympathy and im- itation, which will receive traces never to be erased. What a trust ! God's noblest work is put into my hands. I may do much to in- 326 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [^t. 34-42. scribe God's image on this immortal mind. I ma}' do much to form a friend for society, a source of good for mankind. I may do mudi to give a new inliabitant to heaven, a new member to the companies of the blessed. Thanks to thee, O God, for the relation I sustain ! By tliy grace I will fulfil its duties.' .... "■ It is, indeed, a most merciful appointment of God, that children, by needing so much care, impose such responsibility. Man}', many parents would have wasted life, neglected and destro3ed themselves, had not the parental relation awakened them to reflection. The solemn thought, that the immortal mind intrusted to them might perish through their neglect, has called multitudes home to their own hearts and to God. They have been brought to feel the im- portance of their own future interests, in thinking of those of their children. The consideration that their own characters would be communicated to those whom the}' loved more than themselves, that their children would receive from them principles, habits, and feelings, has induced a watchfulness, a regularity of speech and conduct, and an application to duty, by which their own souls have been purified. Perhaps we little suspect how much of the virtue of a community is to be traced to the strong feeling of responsibilit}' which is awakened in the mind by the parental relation. I repeat it, children are inestimable blessings, b}' calling forth the con- sciences of their parents. The instructions we impart come back upon ourselves ' ' Let me add one more thought, most familiar, yet most affecting. In a child we gain a being who can return as well as receive kind- ness. The love of a good child, — does earth hold as rich a blessing? Its smiles and cheerful obedience repay our toils during its youth ; and who can express the value of its affectionate attentions as we advance into age? Who can smooth the pillow of sickness like the hand of the daughter whose sensibility we nurtured in her tender years? Who can sustain our infirm steps like the son whose manly virtues we helped to form? Who would not have his eyes closed, ills remaius committed to the dust, by filial affection? A good child is a blessing through life, and a blessing after death. I cannot think that in another world we shall forget the kindness which guided and watched over us in this. If any earthly sentiment survive beyond the grave, surely it will be the gratitude of the child and the joy of the parent, when they meet in heaven." On the occasion of the baptism of one of his children, Mr. Chan- ning thus expressed his views of that rite, which some of the read- ers of this biography may be glad to know. 1814-1822.] HIS SICKNESS. 327 " The question is asked, 'Why apply a religious institution to a child before he can comprehend or desire its benefits ? ' Such a ques- tion overlooks the great fact of man's existence, tliat we are born into various human relations, that by birth we enter into a society, into a religious community, as well as into a family. It is in vain to say that children should be left to choose a form of religion for them- selves. They cannot escape the influence of family, of country. If Christian principles do not restrain and elevate them, other princi- ples will usurp control over their susceptible years. Such is man's nature and condition. From these considerations it follows, that Christianity must stoop to the cradle, and take the infant into its arms from the hour of birth. It must make the first claim to chil- dren, and set its seal upon them from their earliest breath. It is wise and fit that by some visible sign our religion should lay its hand of benediction upon the young beings who are to be trained by its discipline. The child is, indeed, unconscious of the meaning of our act in baptism ; but at that moment it is an intelligent and immortal being, having within itself the seeds of affections and capacities which are to unfold forever. It soon is to become conscious of that filial feeling which is the simplest element of piety. And how ex- pressive is the rite by which it is given up to Jesus Christ to receive the influences of his religion ! " Two sons were in a few years also born to Mr. Channing ; and, settled in a delightful home in the vicinity of his mother and of his wife's family, surrounded by a society which listened to his every word with interest and lent a ready aid to all his plans, esteemed and loved by the whole community in which he lived, and every year becoming more widely influential, he felt, as he said to a friend, that "his condition was as prosperous as he could well bear; and that, were it not for almost daily debility and suffering, he sliould fail of the discipline of pain whicli every being needs to purif^y away his self-love." In reference to his constant and increasing infirmity, he writes thus in his journals : — " Let me gratefully accept the affliction of sickness, and chiefly desire that God's ends shall be answered. I^et not one sinking, repining thought come over me." "Sickness has temptations. Let me not pamper self, but with / distinct purpose employ all means to health, as fitting me for use- v fulness and for the service of God and man." So enfeebled had he become in the winter and spring of 1822, that it was determined, at length, that he should try the effect of a voyage and a year's journey abroad. In consequence of this neces- 328 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [JEt. 34-42. sity, the Society in Federal Street, with the alacrity which they had alwa\'s shown to promote his comfort, passed, at a full meeting, the following votes : — " 1 . That tlie Standing Committee be authorized to engage some person, with the concurrence of the Rev. Dr. Channing, to supply his pulpit for one year. "2. That the Rev. Dr. Channing be released from all services for his parish for one 3'ear, and that Deacon Davis be requested to express to hiin the earnest wish of this meeting to do all in their power to conduce to the restoration of his healtii. "3. That the Standing Committee be authorized to raise by subscription the sum of one thousand dollars to defray the additional expense of the year. D. D. Rogers, Chairman. Benj. Guild, Clerk." On May 26, the Sunday before he sailed, he thus communicated to his people his reasons for going abroad : — "The circumstance which has decided me to leave you is the apprehension, which experience has almost made a certainty, that, if I remain, I shall linger through life in a condition unfavorable to my own improvement and to public usefulness, in that middle state between sickness and health, that alternation of animation and languor, that liability to sink under any considerable exertion, which I have exi)ericnced to a groat degree ever since my connection with 3^ou, and which my late indisposition has sensibly increased. More than a year has now elapsed since the interruption of my professional labors, and when I look back on this period, my spirit droops at the thought of continuing to drag on existence inactively and unprofitably, nursing a frail body, seeking relaxation as a task, now gaining and now relapsing, and not only put to silence on Sundays, but compelled through the week to forego the books and means of improvement which from early years have been to me as daily bread. The reflec- tions, which, in these circumstances, are apt to fasten on a minister's mind, are such as others cannot easily- understand. Conscious of past deficiencies, he is solicitous to repair them, whilst, for aught he knows, the Lord of the vine^'ard may have alread}' dismissed him as an unprofitable laborer. I mean not to speak of the past year as of one of great suflj^ring, but, in the inactivity to which I have been reduced, an effort has been often needed to sustain my spirits, and m}' feelings, as well as my sense of duty, strongly urge me to make a decided effort for healtli. If I fail, I shall at least have the satis- faction of knowing that I have declined no labor for recovering the capacity of serving God and my fellow-men." 1822-1823.1 JOURNEY IN NEW HAMPSHIRE AND VERMONT. 329 Chapter VI.— EUROPEAN JOURNEY. iET. 42-43. 1822-1823. Before following Mr. Channing in his travels abroad, it may be well, for the end of showing the delight with which he looked on nature and his capacity for enjoying beauty, to present some sketches of scenery from letters written during a journey through New Hampshire and Vermont, in the summer of 1821. " Centre Harbor^ N. H.^ July 31, 1821. From the east windows, at which I now sit, and out of which my eye often steals, I look down immediatel}' on the lake, but not on such a sheet of water as 3-our imagination probably represents to you. I learned, before I reached it, that the AVinnipiseogee was studded with islands of considerable extent, and in great number, so that you can take in but a small part of it from the shores. But whilst this detracts from its unity and grandeur, 30U find beauties of another kind. The channels which divide the islands, the numerous points and projections, the shores fringed with trees, b}- multiplying the lights and casting shadows on the water, give great interest to the scene. The shore opposite to me is covered with pines, stretching to some distance, and beyond them rises the noble Ossipee, which, covered with the light mist that now floats over it, I have, more than once, when accidentally glancing up, taken for a vast mass of clouds. My eye rests upon it with increasing pleasure, and 1 feel, that, wei-e I neighbor to a mountain, I should establish a friendship with it, perhaps more intimate than I have formed with any part of nature. My mind seems to enlarge, to swell with these majestic forms, which claim kindred with the skies." " White Hirer, Vt., Aug. 6. As I ascended towards its source, its animating characteristics grew more and more striking, and I felt its power. It is, indeed, a peculiar stream, and forms a remarka- ble contrast with the Connecticut, into which it empties. The moment you leave the point ^vhere they meet, — I may say, the very first step 3'ou take on White River, — you feel that 30U are forming a new acquaintance, that 3'ou have found a river of differ- ent features and habits, not contented to Avind slowly and silently through fertile and smooth banks, but full of spirit and 3-outhful sportiveness ; loAing solitudes, not for meditation, but that it may leap and dance without restraint, and listen to its own brisk murmurs, multiplying its quick turns, as if eager for change, — 330 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [^Et. 42-43. rushing against the stones and rocks, like youth engaging in mock contests. " The whole stream has an exhilarating character from its begin- ning; but it was not until the afternoon, under a glorious sky, that I felt its power. In a short time, the banks began to rise more precipitously and to a greater height, and the turns of the river were more sudden, and the bank on which we rode steeper, so that we found ourselves in the midst of the wildest scenery which I remember. Before, behind, all around us, were heights thrown together in a confused manner, sometimes quite hemming us in, sometimes opening into views of wide extent, and receiving from the sun a most various, shilling light. Indeed, such confu- sion of lights and shades, of eflulgence and fainter illumination, you cannot easily conceive. I found the effect on my own mind quite different from that of former scenery. It Avas not as exalting as the mountain grandeur of New Hampshire, but it exhilarated me more, and gave me the very excitement which an invalid needs. " This very striking scenery continues but a few miles. Then the banks recede more gradually, the hills slope more gently ; the stream seems willing to refresh itself, amidst its brisk movements, with spots of quiet beauty. Still it keeps up its consistenc3'. It slumbers nowhere; and when its surface is smoothest, you- will here and there see a rock or stone breaking its uniformity, and making its motion visible by a httle eddy or a hue of depression on the water." " Sandy HilU New York, Aug. 7. On Tuesday morning, we began to follow again the Onion River, which wound among hills less bold than those we had seen the day before ; but, viewed through the misty light of the morning, they gave us continual pleasure, until we reached a spot which had power to efface for a time all other impressions. Nobody had whisi)ered to us that we were to meet anything extraordinary. You will judge, then, of our astonishment and delight, when, after hearing for a few min- utes an unusual tumult, we found ourselves on a bridge, which dis- covered to us, on both sides, a deep, rocky, perpendicular ravine, througli which the river, contracted to a few yards, was rushing, raging, foaming, as if it had reserved all its might and passion for this single spot. The ravine or cleft seemed to me a quarter or sixth of a mile in length, and so straight, that from two or three points the eye could ccminiand nearly its whole extent. The clitis rose perpendicnlai'ly to the height, I should think, of forty to sixty feet, in parallel lines of solid rock. That so remarkable a rapid should not even have been named to us was matter of wonder, and 1822-1823.] GREEN MOUNTAINS. 331 proved how little impression is made by the might}' works of God. We clambered to the highest point of the banks, and looked down the giddy steep with an emotion which had hardly been surpassed at Glen's Falls " We soon found ourselves entering a region which drew from us exclamations of increasing delight and admiration. We had heard that the pass through which our road lay was called ' The Gulf,' and that we were to pass the range which is eminently called the Green Mountains, not b}' scaling them, as before, but by threading a valle\' at their feet. Still, so little was said, that we expected little. How can I express our feelings when the true glory of this spot was revealed to us ? Instead of ascending, as on our former route, a long and steep cleft, hemmed in on each side b}' precipices of forests, we now followed a road of easy ascents and descents. On one side the bank rose suddenly, so that its height could not easily be seen ; but on the other rushed the branch of the White River, removing to a sufficient distance the mountains from which it separated us, so as to enable us to see distinctl}' their declivities, and outlines, and forests. In our former passage, we left our carriage from necessity, — here, from choice, — and we walked perhaps a mile through this deep valley, lifting our aston- ished eyes to the towering and beautiful summits, which seemed worthy of the region the}' inhabited. " Represent to yourself a succession of mountains through more than a mile's extent, rising almost perpendicularly from their bases, sometimes stretching before us in a line, sometimes forming a majestic .sweep, opening as we advanced, so as to discover their outlines and distinct masses, and clothed to the A'ery top with the freshest, richest, most luxuriant foliage. 1 was astonished to see such perpendicular heights, in which it seemed scarcely possible that trees should take root, so closely wooded that the eye could not discover a speck of dark earth amidst their boundless verdure. To say that the woods were green would give 3'ou no idea of them. They had the brightness and tenderness of spring, with the fulness of summer ; and, instead of presenting a confused mass of verdure, their tops were so distinct, that the grace and majesty of particular trees might easily be traced. The light and temperature favored us, and we lingered, most unwilhng to take the last look." In a letter, written soon after his return, and which is of addi- tional interest, as showing how solemn were his associations with the scenery of Newport, he thus refers to the influence of natural beauty. 332 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [JEt. 42-43. ^^ Portsmouth, Rhode Island, Sept. 6, 1821. M}' journey was not lost ; and this I should say, even had I returned without one addi- tional particle of strength ; for it left impressions and recollections which will make me richer and happier for life. This magnificent creation has been to me, even from my boyhood, a principal source of happiness ; but I never entered into its si)irit, felt its power and glories, as on this journe}'. I should liardl}' dare to travel over the same ground again, lest the bright images which are treasured up in memory should be dimmed by a second sight. " But nature was not my chief enjoyment. I owed much to my companions, who gave more than they received. Perhaps, if I were to name the circumstance in which I consider myself most enviably distinguished, I should say, it is the intimacy which I have enjoyed, and still enjo}', with so many of the first and best of your sex. I could not have ended m}'^ journey with as unre- pining a spirit as I did, had I not had a home to receive me, which I am weak enough to think the best home on earth, and which had gone with me and secretly mixed with all my joys among the mountains, lakes, and rivers, which seemed to divide me from it " I was powerfully reminded of the early years of my life, when these shores were my favorite and almost constant haunts. Then, before I knew you, I had not ' found rest to my soul,' for I was very much a stranger to true religion. My spirit, consumed with passionate fires, thirsted for some unknown good, and my body pined away to a shadow under the workings of a troubled mind. Then I spent almost whole days on the sea-shore, where the majesty and power of nature, absorbing, exalting me, and transporting me beyond myself, ministered most happily to the diseased soul. Strange as it may seem, I can recollect that I became buoyant and exhilarated in proportion to the wildness and sublimity around me, and I leaped for joy when a wave, which seemed to menace ruin, broke on the rock where I stood, and mounted in clouds to the skies. Thanks to God, those days of tumult are past, and an existence, the beginning of which is still a mystery to me, and which was wrapt in many clouds, has opened into blessings which I should not have dared to anticipate." It was at the close of the month of May, 1822, that Mr. Chan- ning bade farewell to his three blooming children, to his parent, family, friends, society, and, in company with his wife, sailed for England. On the eve of departure, he thus wrote to his mother : — 1822-1823.] PARTING WORDS. 333 " May 27, 1822. "My dear Mother, — I cannot go without leaving you a line. At this moment, when I think of my approaching separation from you, I recall, with more than usual tenderness, your affection and 3-our claims, and I pray God to reward and crown you with his best blessings. " It is one of my greatest griefs, that I do not leave you in better health, and I beg you to neglect no means of building it up. I en- close a hundred dollars, which I wish you to spend very much for this object. " I cannot but believe that you would be happier, if you would relinquish housekeeping ; and you will see, in my letter from Lucy, how entirely she agrees with me. Ruth joins with me in assuring you, that, if j-ou could be happy at our house on our return, we should rejoice to receive you. " I hope you will not be anxious about us. We sail under every advantage, and I have a cheering hope that I shall return to be more to my family and people than I have been. You will often hear from us, either immediately or through other friends ; and should auA'thing prevent free communication, j'ou will remember that we are always under the care of Him who alone makes home a place of safet}-, and who can make every place equalh' secure. My spirits are wonderfully- sustained. I go with a cheerful, con- fiding mind, and hope that, whilst I am remembered with affection, I shall not be with sorrow. " My dear mother, ma}^ many years be added to 3'our life, and may they be brightened by the increasing affection, usefulness, and virtues of your children. You will be the object of my daily praj'crs, and I know I shall not be forgotten in yours. " Your grateful and affectionate son." With the aid of extracts selected from his journals and corre- spondence, let us now rapidly follow Mr. Channing during a year which, with all its rich experiences, was to him one of exile, rather than of enjoyment. And first, from the notes of his vo^'age, we will take a few passages which manifest the buoyant, fresh joy with which he watched the changes of ocean. ^^ June 25. On this day I was exhilarated b}' a truly magnifi- cent scene. The wind was strong and fair, and had called the ocean, after its long repose, into new life. The sky, obscured with clouds, gave to the waves that dark, polished hue, for which I can find no name, and which is one of their most beautiful colors. Exceedingly minute ripples hurried, swept, flew over the surface, 334 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [iEx. 42-43. and marked the flectncss of the wind as distinctly as if that subtile element had become the object of sight. Eveiy sail was expanded and swelled into a gTaceful form, as if eager to enjoy the favoring breeze. The ship seemed to have caught the life and spirit of the elements, rushing forward, as for a prize, cleaving the waves, and dashing them from her sides in an azure sparkling brine and a foam of snow}' whiteness, as if to brighten and deck her triumphant flight. In such moments, the soul seems to add to its own energies the power which is vivifying nature and exults in the consciousness of a more intense existence "The sight of the sea-bird struck me with its loneliness. I thought of its spending the night on the ocean. But I remembered that it had no home to forget, and considered what a bed it must find on the waves. The sea-bird is rocked in nature's cradle, and enjoys a sleep which few find on shore. How man}-, torn with passion or remorse, might envy it ! There is a striking contrast in the rough, mighty ocean being thus the chosen dwelling of re- pose " The soul and nature are attuned together. Something within answers to all we witness without. When I look on the ocean in its might and tumult, my spirit is stirred, swelled. When it spreads out in peaceful blue waves, under a bright sky, it is dilated, yet composed. I enter into the spirit of the earth, and this is alwa3-s good. Nature breathes notliing unkind. It expands, or calms, or softens us. Let us open our souls to its influences " The ocean is said to rage, but never so to me. I see life, joy, in its wild billows, rather than rage. It is full of spirit, eagerness. In a storm, we are not free to look at the ocean as an obje(;t of sentiment. Danger then locks up the soul to its true inducnce. At a distance from it, we might contemplate it as a solemn minister of Divine justice, and witness of God's power to a thoughtless world ; but we could associate with it only moral ideas, — not a blind rage. At least, I have seen nothing which gives nature an unkind expression "We talk of old ocean, hoary ocean; I cannot associate age with it. It is too buo3'ant, animated, living. Its crest of loam is not hoariness, but the breaking forth of life. Ocean is perpetual youth "In a gale, 3-ou are struck Avith the tumultuous restlessness of the ocean. Instead of lengthened waves, it mounts and swells irregularly, as if too full of life, too impatient, to submit to any rule. The waves chase one another eagerly, and with an intrac- tiible vehemence, and break and whiten through excess of spirit. 1822-1823.] GALE AT SEA. 335 They do not seem to rise by a foreign impulse, but spontaneously, exnltingly. You are reminded of the agenc}^ of the wind, not by the large, precipitous masses of water which are tossed so con- fusedly around 3'ou, for these seem instinct with their own life ; 3'OU see the wind in their torn, and ruffled, and swept surfaces, and in the spra}' which flashes and is whirled and scattered from their tops. It is truly an animating scene. You feel yourself in the midst of life and power, and hear air and ocean joining their voices of might to inspire a kindred energ}-. The/e is awe, — not a de- pressing, but triumphant awe. Our spirits mix with the elements, and partake the fulness of their power. "There is constant variet}' in such a scene. The ' trough,' as the sailor calls it, is, in fact, a valley in the ocean, and, on each side, waves higher than the ship bound 3'our view. In a moment, you ride on these mountains, and a wide horizon opens on A'Ou, the distinct line of which is broken l\y heaps of ocean, sometimes rising into peaks, which break as soon as formed, and give place to new creations. Vast structures thus grow and vanish almost in an in- stant, and the eye finds no resting-place in the perpetual revolutions. The waves, swelling above, and approaching, as if to overwhelm you, tliough they do not alarm, sliow a power so akin to destruc- tion, as to give a momentary sensation of danger, and the spirit feels something of the pleasure of escape, when the ship is seen to triumph over its invaders. " There is, too, a feeling of elevation, when, in such a scene, where nature is in uproar, and putting forth around us her mightiest energies, we are conscious of inward serenity, feel ourselves un- shaken in the tumult and alive to adoration and joy. The soul has a consciousness of greatness, in possessing itself, and in converting into the nourishment of its noblest emotions the might and majesty of the universe "There is great beauty joined with this majest}', as through all nature. We seldom see more power. The awful mountain top delights to bathe its grandeur in the richest, softest beams of the rising or setting sun ; sweet flowers wave and smile in tlie chasms of the precipice : and so the mountain billow often breaks into sparkling spray, and the transparent arch beneath shines with an emerald brightness, which has haixlly a rival in the richest hues of the vegetable creation. " After witnessing a gale, I was shut up for several days in the cabin, and did not return to the deck until a remarkable change had taken place. A calm had succeeded. It M'as hard to connect what 1 now saw with my last view of the ocean, — to feel that I 336 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [iEx. 42-43. was looking on the same element. The irre2:nlar, broken, wildly- tossing, tumultuous billows had vanished, and lengthened, continu- ous, slowly-advancing swells followed one another, not as in pursuit, but as if fnuling pleasure in gentle motion. " Instead of bursting into foam, or being tossed into infinite in- equalities by the sweeping, hurrying winds, their polished, molten surface, whilst varied by soft flowing lines, was unruffled by a single breath. They seemed, as they rolled in regular intervals towards us, like the gentle heaving of a sleeping infant's breast. I did not feel as if the ocean was exhausted by its late efforts, but as if, having accomplished its manifestations of awe-inspiring might, it was now executing a more benignant ministr}', speaking of the mere}' and the blissful rest of God. Perhaps no image of repose is so perfect as the tranquillity of an element so powerful, and so easily wrought into tumult. I looked, and was at peace." On landing at Liverpool, Mr. Channing met with the warmest welcome from many liberal-minded friends, whose hearts had been already prepared, by his writings and reputation, to receive him. But he found himself utterly unfitted, by weakness and depression, to bear the pleasing excitement of forming acquaintances ; and, hastily bidding farewell to the intelligent, humane, refined, and mu- nificent circle which opened to him their hospitable homes, he departed upon his journey to the Lakes. A few extracts from his journals will show what refreshment he found amidst the exquisite scenery of Westmoreland and Cumberland. " Lancaster^ July 11. The castle at Lancaster is, to a stranger, singularly interesting. It Avas the first noble monument I had seen of times which, however fierce and lawless, must still be regarded as rich to overflowing in generous feeling, and as containing, in a rude state, the principles of the great social changes which have since been developed. It is now a heterogeneous mass, — the mod- ern additions seeming to be in fine taste, when viewed in detached parts, but having no unity, and wlioUy ft\iling in correspondence with the remains of the ancient fabric. The chief of these is a gateway, protected by two towers, the battlements overhanging the base, and bearing record to the violence of an age when lordly power felt the want of a security that is now enjoyed equally by the higli and low. "This castle, of which Edward the Third was the founder, once the seat of strength and magnificence of the dukes of Lancaster, is now crowded with felons, debtors, lunatics, and has become a workshop for convicts, an asylum for madness, a court-house, with 1822-1823.] THE LAKES. 337 its jury-rooms, crown and county halls, and the lalminth of offices in which justice so often loses her way. What a monument this singular building is of the spirit and condition of past and present times ! The hammer once sounded here, riveting arms ; the cul- prit now wields it in forging the most vulgar utensils for the cook or ploughboy. Once it set at defiance the authority of the state, and the owner measured all rights by the sword ; now the judge, with no signs of power but an enormous wig and robe, administers, we hope impartially, equal laws, to which the lives and property of all orders are subject. Once it resounded with shouts, the neigh of steeds, the clang of armor, the joyful tumult of a boundless hos- pitality ; now the taskmaster metes out cheerless labors to the guilty or unfortunate prisoners, and the high orders of society enter it only to break its silence with the jargon of law or the sentence of death. That was an age of wild, unrestrained action of our nature, when society was now shaken by the whirlwinds of passion, now brightened by flashes of heroic, generous feeling, — when man was a terror or a glory in his sphere, — when stronger dependencies and more relentless passions, more devoted attachments and more des- olating feuds, gave societ}' at once a more delightful and yet a more fearful interest than at present. How various is our nature ! How shall we unite into one social state the virtues, principles, joys, which have marked its different stages ? " July V6th to I8tk. " I am now at Pooley's Bridge, UUes Water, and have to look back on daj-s of activity, enjoyment, and various perceptions and sensations which can hardly be recalled. Scenes of grandeur, and wildness, and beauty have passed before m}' e^'es and through m}' mind so rapidly, that I shrink from the task of separating them. My pleasure has been greatly impaired by the state of m}' health, fettering me amidst most alluring objects, check- ing m^' ascent of hills, forbidding me to penetrate depths and moist places, to expose myself to the damp winds of the lakes, &c. Still I have enjoyed much. " Saturday I spent on Windermere, a lake of great beauty, the most cheerful of this glorious company, spreading into wider ex- panses, seeming less desirous of privacy' and solitude, and encircled with banks less high and precipitous, as if it wished greater com- munion with nature. It has more beauty than an}- I have seen. It is twelve miles long, and perhaps three miles in its greatest breadth ; but its width generall}' is less, so that the opposite banks may be comprehended in one view, and their projections made to combine with the islands to give almost an infinite variety to its mild surface. Its distinguishing charm lies in its finelj^ marked 22 338 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [JEt. 42-43. and varied outline. Here the land gently swells into the lake, and there the water seeks a more deep repose in bays or coves which it has formed by a kindly soliciting influence from the shore. There are occasionally points of some boldness, enough to prevent tame- ness. But the land and water seem never to have contended for empire. Where the former advances, it is gradual!}', not by sharp, angular projections, but graceful curves, and it clothes itself with a richer, fresher verdure, as if to shed new glor}' over the lake ; and when the water encroaches, 30U might easily imagine that it was only that it might spread a calm surface beneath the hills, to reflect more vividly their forms and hues " The day was peculiarl}' favorable, and, though I sailed at noon, the prospect was not injured by a glaring or monotonous light. The clouds veiled the sky, but occasionall}- parted to throw gleams of lustre on island, shore, or lake ; whilst a gentle intermitting breeze now drew transient, slowly-moving ripi)les on the surface of the water, and now left the element unbroken, as if to fulfil its oflSce of responding in perfect harmony to the heavens "' The effect of stations depends ver}' much on the light, and the condition of the atmosphere. The same prospect is an entirel}' different thing at sunrise or sunset, — under a warm or a cold sky. I feel that I have done little justice to the lakes, and the scenery round them, in my hasty view. To see a fine prospect under one light is like looking at a countenance in a single attitude and with one expression. No wonder that man}' are disappointed, and that descriptions are given of this country which seem, to travellers who see it at different seasons, wholly fictitious. Beaut}' depends on connection and harmou}'. A feature of a prospect, which, when thrown into shade or softened by mist, gives to its whole a great charm, may become a deformity, when seen through a clear atmos- phere under a bright sun. 1 know, as yet, little of this country's powers and resources in relation to the imagination, althougli I have seen enough to delight me, and make me wish to spend a season here "Next we visited Grassmere Water, a sacred spot, a seclusion from all that is turbulent and unholy in life. It was near sunset as we approached this water. We found ourselves descending a mount called Lougiuigg into a valley, in which reposed this sweet lake, uni-ufricd, smooth, hemmed in by sheltering mountains. The solemn heights towards the setting sun showed to us their dark sides re- flected with wonderful distinctness in the still bosom of the lake, within whose waters tliey seemed to find even a quieter al)ode than in the tranquil heavens into which their tops ascended. This repe- 1822-1823.] GRASSMERE. 339 tition of the dark sides of the mountains threw a solemn shade over the part of the lake to whicli the reflection was confined, whilst beyond this line a mild light, answering to that of the heavens, and of other mountains, gleamed from the water, investing it at one moment with various, but not inharmonious, forms of beaut^'. " The effect of this lalve on the spirit was immediate, deep, pen- etrating the inmost soul, and awakening a feeling of something pro- found in one's own nature. Windermere was tranquil, but it had a cheerful tranquillity. Its genius was peace, but peace with a smil- ing aspect, wooing society and s^'mpathy. Grassmere seemed to be spread out in the mountain recesses as an abode for lonely, silent, pensive meditation, — for the inspired imagination, which, in still abstraction from vulgar realities, would give itself up to ideal beauty, — for the spirit of love, which, wearied with man's strifes and passions, would meet and commune with a kindred spirit in nature, — for piety to approach God without distraction, to see him in the harmony, to hear him in the silence of his crea- tion. The character of this place is that of seclusion, but not of stern or sorrowful seclusion, congenial with the mind which injur)' or disappointment has made impatient or sick of the world. It invites rather the mild enthusiast, who, amidst the deformities of life, still sees what is lovely in human nature, and at a distance from the tumults of society would resign himself to visions of moral beauty, of perfect loveliness, and of sublime virtue, unknown on earth, — who is conscious of the capacities of human nature for what is good and great, and desires, under the kindliest influences of the universe, to call forth into new life these high principles in his own soul. " On descending to this sweet lake, I felt my spirit stilled, as if I were throwing off" the robe of this world's cares and passions, and escaping into a region of more than human purity and peace, with- out, however, losing m}^ human sympathies. "The lake has not left, perhaps, very definite traces of figure, &c., on my mind, for in such a scene the mind is not stimulated to an- alyze. The heart and imagination are too absorbed for curious ob- servation. It is rather circular, and wants the multiplied diversities of outline, the points, bays, recesses of Windermere, and this, perhaps, aids its effect, for the eye is not excited to wander in search of beauties half hid in maz)' openings. The soul is free to receive an unmixed impression from the simple, harmonious scene. When it is said that the surrounding mountains are bold, some pre- cipitous, and one of them a rugged steep, seamed with storms and strewed with rock)' fragments, it may seem strange that the lake 840 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [^t. 42-43. can liave the character of mild repose which has been ascribed to it ; but, spreading as it does in a circle, it so parts the surrounding mountains, that they cannot be grouped as if they bordered a nar- rower stream, and thus they become subordinate accompaniments to, instead of being the cliief features of, the prospect. Tlien the immediate shore of the lake is level and verdant, and blends singu- larly with the peaceful water. This is particularly true with respect to the vale, properly so called, which spreads between the head of Grassmere and Helm's Crag, whose surface is almost as unbroken as tlie lake, and which, clothed as it is with the freshest verdure, varied b}- hedgerows, and combining with its natural beaut}' the most affecting tokens of humanity b}- its simple cottages and Gothic churches, communicates an inexpressible character of peace and benignity, and of gentle and holj' sweetness, to the whole scene. The mountains thus severed from one another, and rising from so peaceful a foundation, seem exalted onl}' to guard the sacred seclusion of the lake from the profanation of worldly pas- sions, that it may hold i)ure intercourse with the mild and pure sky, which it reflects so tranquill}", with the glorious sun, and the genial breezes. In such spots we can hardly help believing in a better existence than this, for we seem to have entered its confines. A faith springs up, not the less sincere or unreal because the growth of sentiment, a faith in the high purposes of our being, and our capacity of purer jojs than we experience in our ordinary modes of life. " There is a melancholy in visiting such scenes as I have now described ; but is this their direct and natural effect, or does it spring from a silent consciousness of the difference between our perturbed state and the intense quiet of soul breathed into us by such a spot? We feel Grassmere to be a shelter ; but a shelter in- cludes the idea of the storms of passion. Thus a sad sense of our actual being mingles with aspirations for a higher existence ; but this sadness is so tempered and sul)dued by the power of the beautiful scene, that it becomes a tender, grateful, melancholy feeling. A more delicious state of heart and mind than comes from those blended emotions is, perhaps, unknown to human nature " I was not so deeply impressed by any mountain as by Skid- daw, which is the more remarkable, as having nothing of the wild character that I have noticed in the other mountains. Its distinc- tion is tranquil majesty. It rises gradually and with extensive sweeps from the vallc}', and its outline is more flowing than that of any of its numberless associates. Yet, so bold are the swells on its 1822-1823.] WORDSWORTH. 341 surface ; its valleys, if we may so call them, open such broad ex- panses to the eye ; its summits stretch along the horizon with such generous freedom ; and it towers with an expression of such spon- taneous energy, that, whilst we rest on its mildness with delight, the mind is dilated with a feeling of its grandeur. No sublimity is so real as that which makes itself deeply felt in union with beauty ; just as the highest moral greatness is that which, whilst it awes by unshaken constancy of principle, at the same time attracts us by the gentleness of love. Wild scenes, where power is manifested in desolation, act at first with great force on the mind, especially on the least refined ; but power and goodness are congenial, and" the highest manifestations of power are benignant. The power which reveals itself solemnly amidst beauty, by this very circumstance shows its grandeur, and acquires a more enduring sway over the soul. I found myself never wearied with Skiddaw. It lifted ray spirit. Scenes of ruin are apt to subdue us ; but the highest forms of sublimity exalt us, by inspiring a consciousness of kindred might. And such was the influence of tliis mountain. It made the lake and all surrounding objects its ministers. The mists were rolling tran- quilly over its summits, partial lights were wandering across its face, and it seemed in full harmony with the noblest agents and elements of nature "There is one most happy effect, which should be particularly noticed. Distance, the atmosphere, fogs, and various lights, give to the tops of mountains a visionary, sometimes a mysterious character, better felt than described, which forms a most interesting contrast with the general massiveness of their foundations. These awful forms seem to be spiritualized as they ascend, till they blend with the pure heavens, and sometimes through the thin mist almost melt into air. This union of the firmness of earth with the ethereal brightness of the skies gives a peculiar charm' to mountains. In fact, they unite remarkably opposite expressions. By their founda- tions they seem to sink into the earth, and our thoughts are carried to its gloomiest depths, whilst their tops aspire to heaven, and dwell in a region of peace and splendor. AVhilst we are impressed by the huge bulk and weight of tlieir inert forms, their visionary tops give them the appearance of belonging to the pure element in which they live, of possessing a congenial spirit with the free and buoyant air, and of having risen through their own life and energy to hold communion with the sun." We have already seen the reverent affection with which Mr. Channing regarded Wordsworth, and it will be readily understood, therefore, that he joyfully availed himself of this opportunity to 342 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [^t. 42-43. seek an interview with the poet. In a letter to a sister he thus describes his visit : — •' I could not but think of the amusement I shoukl liave afforded you, could you have taken a peep at me. I had spent Sunday morning at Grassmere, — one of the sweetest and most peace- breathing spots under the skies, — and in the afternoon, being unable to attend church, I resolved to visit Mr. Wordsworth, who resides two miles and a half from the inn. Unluckily, Grassmere, whilst it supplied the wants of the imagination and heart most abundantly', could not supply me with any vehicle for the body more eas}' or dignified than a cart, dragged by a horse who had caught nothing of the grace of the surrounding scene. "After an interview of great pleasure and interest, I set out to return, and, unwilling to lose Mr. Wordsworth's society, I accepted his proposition that we should walk together until I was fatigued. At the end of half a mile my strength began to fail, and finding my companion still earnest in conversation, I invited iiim to take a seat with me, which he did ; and in this state we re-entered the delight- ful valley. Happily the air was mild, and I began to think that Providence, in distributing lots, had not been so severe as one might at first be inclined to feel, in limiting multitudes to such a mode of conveyance ; for I enjoyed the fine prospects of Ilydal and Grassmere as I could not have done in a covered carriage. " You, perhaps, might have promised me the honor of being in- troduced with the cart and horse into a ' lyrical ballad.' But to me, who, as you know, profess to be greatly in debt to Mr. Words- worth's genius, and whose respect and affection were heightened by personal intercourse, there seemed a peculiar felicity in riding through this scene of surpassing tenderness with a man of genius and sensibility, who had caught inspiration from the lakes and mountains, in whose beauty I too had been r(\joicing. "Mr. Wordsworth's conversation was free, various, animated. We talked so eagerly as often to interrupt one another. And as I descended into Grassmere near sunset, with the placid lake before me, and Wordsworth talking and reciting poetry with a poet's spirit by my side, I felt that the combination of circumstances was such as my highest hopes could never have anticipated." Twenty years after this sunset ride, an American traveller was visiting Wordsworth, when the poet incidentally mentioned this in- terview, and said that one remark then made by Dr. Channing had remained fixed in his memory, and all the more deeply from the impressive tone of sincere feeling with which it was uttered. It was 1822-1823.] COLERIDGE. 343 to this effect, — "that one great evidence of the Divine origin of Christianity was, that it contained nothing which rendered it un- adapted to a progressive state of societ}', that it put no cliecks upon the activity of the human mind, and did not compel it to tread always blindly in a beaten path." From Wordsworth our thoughts are led by an association, which time and change can never break, to his great compeer, Coleridge, whom Mr. Channing saw while in London during the following summer. And as there is nothing in the few notes of his rapid journey through England of especial interest, we will pass at once to a brief notice of this visit. Most fortunatel}-, we are enabled to enrich our pages with Coleridge's own record of it, as given in the following letter to Washington AUston. " HiGHGATE, 13th June, 1823. " My Friend, — It was more than a gratification, it was a great comfort, to all of us, to see, sit, walk, and converse with two such dear and dearly respected friends of j'ours as Mr. and Mrs. Clianning. " Mr. Channing I could not be said not to have known in part before. It is enough to add, that the reality- differed from m^' pre- vious conception of it only by being more amiable, more discrimi- nating, and more free from prejudices, than my experience had permitted me to anticipate. His affection for the good as the good, and his earnestness for the true as the true, — with that harmonious subordination of the latter to the former, without encroachment on the absplute wortli of either, — present in him a character which, in my heart's heart, I believe to be the \Qvy rarest in earth. If you will excuse a plaj' on words in speaking of such a man, I will say that Mr. Channing is a philosopher in both the possible renderings of the word. He has the love of wisdom and the wisdom of love. " I was unfortunately absent the first evening. Had the}' been prevented from repeating their visit, I should have been vexed in- deed, and yet not as much vexed as I now know I should have had reason to be. I feel convinced that the few differences in opinion between Mr. Channing and myself not onl}' are, but would by him be found to be, apparent, not real, — the same truth seen in differ- ent relations. Perhaps I have been more absorbed in the depth of the myster}' of the spiritual life, he more engrossed by the loveli- ness of its manifestations." Mr. Clianning had long been an admiring reader of what Cole- ridge had printed, and no words are needed to describe the pleasure 344 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [^t. 42-43. with which, in common with all auditors, he listened to the fasci- nating monologue of the poet-philosopher, who had then entered upon certainly the most serene, and probably the most brilliant, period of his life. It seems, however, from the foregoing letter, that he conversed enough to leave a distinct image of himself. From P^ngland Mr. Channing went to Paris, where he passed but a few weeks, and then, journeying leisurely through France, entered Switzerland by the Jura. He was too unwell to avail himself freely of the rich opportunities for enjoyment so amply afforded by that most picturesque and romantic country ; but a few extracts from his letters will show that bodily weakness could not deaden his spiritual energy. '^ Geneva, Sept. 28, 1822. I find that I hardly knew the power of mountain scenery until I came hither, although I have not seen the noblest of the Alps, for I have not yet visited Mont Blanc, but only caught glimpses of his snowy top at a distance, half wrapt in clouds. You probably know that the mountains of Switzerland are not distinguished by beauty of form, when taken separately. The storms have dealt with them too fiercely and too long, to leave them the fine outline which I have seen in our own country and in Eng- land. Their summits generally are rugged, naked, shattered crags ; and you sometimes see the perpendicular, sharp rocks towering into the skies, above the everlasting snows which rest on the projecting surfaces beneath. It is not their harmonious proportion, then, but the air of awful power impressed upon them, — the perilous preci- pices by which they are bounded, the boldness with which they send up to heaven their wild tops, the prodigality and confusion with which they are scattered around, and the immense glaciers shining, without apparent change or dissolution, under tlie summer's snow, — which subdue the traveller creeping at their foot. These constitute the deep, solemn, mysterious charm that attracts the eye to gaze upon these giant forms " Do you not envy me tlie beautiful, magnificent scenery which is now stretching around me? I shall never forget the day I spent at Berne. It was Sunday, and in tlie afternoon, under a most bril- liant sky, I walked on the ramparts, and hailed with joy, as old friends, the mountains in the horizon which I had visited a few days before. All that nature can do to lift us above the sordid and self- ish is done in Switzerland ; and who can doubt that, where there is a deep purpose in the soul to elevate itself, much aid may be dei-i\ed from the sublimity of the external world? But without this puri)ose and inward effort, it can do little for us. Switzerland has bencdted my health more than any other country. The air has been exhila- 1822-1823.] EEFLECTIONS ON SOCIETY. 345 rating, and I have looked on the mountains with a delight which almost gave me strength to climb them "It is worth no little suffering to cross the Wengern Alp, and scale the Grimsel. I had strength for neither. With what desire did I look to the Jungfrau ! If I revisit Switzerland, one of my great pleasures will be to approach its base. Tliis country has in- spired me. I grew better almost as soon as I entered it." The winter months were passed by Mr. and Mrs. Channing at Florence, Rome, and Naples. But as his letters and journals — written in haste, debilit}', and, as we shall presently see, in affliction — contain no descriptions of scener}' or places which are particularly notewortliy, we will proceed at once to extract from his papers some general reflections upon society, which he seems to have pre- served as hints for future thouglit. It is scarcely' necessary to suggest, that, to one of his humane spirit, men and manners, the condition of the masses of the people, the tendency of governments, the influence of institutions, presented objects of interest far sur- passing all that beautv in nature and art could offer. "Has not every state of society a spirit, a unity '^ Do not its parts cohere? Can we judge of one habit, one trait of manners, one institution alone? Must not the system be understood, the cen- tral principles, the great ends to which the communit}- is working? Are not a nation's whole tone of manners and cast of institutions the workings and manifestations of some law of lite, combining the whole ? Must there not be a secret accordance between the different parts of a nation's character and modes of living ? Is there as much of an arbitrary character in these as we are apt to imagine? Is not the interior life the great thing to be inspected, the form of human nature whicli is presented in tlie given case ? . . . . " The art of travelling is, to unite minute observation with large comparison, with penetrating insight into the spirit of which visible modes of life are the bod3\ The traveller should have the power of recognizing the common bond, principle, spring, aim, of the infi- nitely multifarious agencies composing what we call a nation "We must not depend on a people to show us what is most worth}' of our attention ; for they are actually unconscious of what is most important, their own spirit^ and the influences by and from which it has been formed and is kept alive " A great object in travelling is to discover b}' comparison what is primary and universal in our nature, to separate the adventitious, secondary, temporar}', to learn the deep principles on which all permanent improvements are to rest, to behold and to love what is 346 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [^Et. 42-43. human, to shake off our prejudices in favor of the unessential modi- fications of our nature, and to recognize the esse?itial through these modifications "■ To go abroad that we may see the unessential, — new modes of dressing, eating, bowing, the exterior of man and life, — is a mere wasting of time. We should go to enlarge our views of human nature, to learn what it can do and suffer, to what it is equal, under what influences its powers are most developed, by what most crushed. Tlie noblest use of travelling is, to discern more of the godlike in the human ; and are there not marks, in the most de- graded condition of society, of man's true glory ? We may see at least some evil influences withstood, resisted, which shows an in- ward power not subdued, nor capable of subjection, b}' the most adverse circumstances. This power of seeing vital good is the true eye for a traveller. To visit distant countries only to collect me- mentos of the deformities of human nature, to fill our memory with images of the misshapen exterior under which humanity lies almost hidden, is worse than useless. We should strive to perceive, be- neath the distortions of our nature, its real shape, its primitive ten- dencies towards good. He who travels without learning to love his race more, would do far better to stay at home. It is a poor business to rake into the corruptions of human nature, unless one believes in its capacity for restoration, and approaches its defilements only to cleanse them. A good man should turn from irremediable evils. To love, is our work " Civil society abounds in restraints on our nature, where develop- ment should be the great aim. How little is now done to remove barriers to human powers and affections ! The order of society has been thought to demand subordination, subjection, force, artificial manners, badges of different castes, — all cramping the soul " Fashion is a chain on the soul. It is a yoke laid by superiors on inferiors, through opinion. It disposes of our time, attention, powers. It puts the stamp of worth, dignit}^ happiness, on actions and conditions, and prevents us from judging for ourselves. Origi- nating with those who are raised above natural wants, and in whom the spirit of self-sacrifice is lost in self-indulgence, it gives currency to factitious, selfish pursuits and enjoj'ments. Thus the mind is perverted, contracted, filled with false views, and grows mechanical, torpid, lifeless. A society is improved in i)roportion as individuals judge for themselves, and from their own experience and feeling, and not according to general opinion. A man should look to his own soul to learn what makes him happiest, and to decide when he 1822-1823.] REFLECTIONS ON SOCIETY. 347 is conscious of acting most in harmony with his lohole nature. But liow few do so ! . . . . " Genius is a liberating power. It accords with nature, detects natural feeling in the artificial arrangements of society, and discerns and enjoys the beautiful and lovely in our natural affections and moral sentiments. Thus a literature of genius witlistands corrup- tion, brings back higher minds to nature, counteracts fashion " A society is advanced in proportion as human nature is respected. It is the miser}' of tlie present state, that man, as tnan, is counted of so little worth. It is man clothed in purple, dressed in a little brief authority, high-born, rich, »S:c., who is now considered as de- serving power. A just estimate of human nature, of its purposes, powers, destiny, leading to general courtesy, respect, and effort for the advancement of this nature, in each and all, — this is the measure of the progress of society. When manners, and especially the intercourse betiveen different classes, express this, society is truly flourishing " The existence of a large class, cut off from the rest of the com- munity-, trained up to ignorance and vice, gross in manners, in no degree acted upon b}' other classes, and repressed onlj' by brute force, is a sad feature of civilized societ}', and a reproach on more favored orders. The true organization of society is that in which all improvements of the higher are communicated to the lower classes, and in which intellect and virtue descend and are diffused. And will anytliing but Christianity', moulding anew the whole spirit of the higher classes, bring about this end? .... " The influence of government is of great importance in judging of the state of society'. A good government is that which, by man- ifesting a common, wide, universal care, diffuses a generous, im- partial, disinterested spirit. A society is well organized, whose government recognizes the claims and rights of all, has no favor- ites, respects humanity in all its forms, and aims to direct the pur- suits of each to the general good. Such a government implies the existence of a disinterested spirit in the community, and greatly strengthens it. This reaction is the most interesting view in public affairs. A society makes progress just as far as a disinterested spirit, influencing the members, is embodied and manifested in in- stitutions, laws, tribunals, and through these flows back with new energy to individuals. This is the highest end of government, its sublime, moral end " Liberty is the great social good, — exemption from unjust re- straints, — freedom to act, to exert powers of usefulness. Does a government advance this simply by estabUshing equal laws ? The 348 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [Mr. 42-43. very protection of property may crush a large mass of the commu- nity, may give the rich a monopoly in land, ma^' take from the poor all means of action. Libert^' is a blessing only by setting man's powers at large, exciting, quickening them. A poor man, in the present state of society, may be a slave, by his entire dependence. Is it not the true end of government, to aim at securing for all the widest field of useful action? This is to estal)lish libertij. How far more important is this than to protect any single class ! . . . . "The poor, weak, helpless, suffering, are the first objects for the care of government. Society improves in proportion as they are protected in the exercise of their rights. These high views of government, as a sacred institution for elevating all classes of men, are essential to an exalted community. AVliere government is considered as a prize for selfish ambition, society becomes de- graded " The best condition of society is that in which all ranks, classes, orders, are intimately connected and associated. The deformit}' of present society is the separation of ranks, the immense disparity', the inhuman distance of different orders. All men cannot be equal in all respects ; but the high should feel their elevation to be a mo- tive and obligation to labor for inferiors. "There must be a body of enlightened, studious men. Let not these form a party, a faction, but consider their light as a good given to be difiTused, and as a means to maintain an improving in- tercourse among all orders. So there will be rich men ; but the rich, instead of herding together, and linking themselves to one another by common pleasures, privileges, refinements, ought to re- gard propert}' as a trust for the good of those who are in want. Let there be no literary class^ no doss of rich. The learned, when ibrm- ing a distinct class, become jealous, exacting, domineering, and seek to maintain their sway, even at the exi)ense of truth. Schol- ars already begin to find the benefit of quitting tlieir pedantic cells and mingling with general society ; but still they associate loo much with rich and refined, — still the}' seek honor and power. Their high office, of being lights to society, is overlooked. How the rich injure themselves by a clannish spirit, corrupting one anotlicr by rivalry in show and expense ! Christianity breaks down all these walls of division between man and man." But the scenery, works of art, institutions, and social tendencies of the Old World could not wean Mr. Channing's anVctioiis from his home ; and the following extract from one of his letters mani- fests the tender solicitude with which he sought, while far awa}-, to exert a scood influence over his children : — 1822-1823] CARE FOR HIS CHILDREN. 349 " London, Aug. 8, 1822. In the first place, I wish my children to be simple, natural, without affectation. Children are often in- jured for life b}^ the notice taken of their movements, tones, saj-- ings, which leads them to repeat what draws attention, and to act from love of observation, instead of following the impulses of na- ture. A child should never be tempted to put on prett}- airs, or to think of itself and its looks. I have wished m^- children always to act in a free, natural, unstudied wa}', without the idea or desire of being observed, and, on this account, have been very willing to keep them out of society, where the}- might have been taught, by injudicious notice, to turn tlieir thoughts upon themselves, and to assume the manners which they would have seen to attract atten- tion. Tlie charm of infanc}' is its perfect artlessness, and the im- mediate communication between its feelings and actions. I would prefer that ni}' children should have any degree of awkwardness, rather than form an artificial style of conduct ; for the first evil may be outgrown, but affectation is seldom or never cured. "The next particular to be mentioned is closely connected with this. I wish my children to be honest, sincere, and vnidisguised, to tell the truth at all perils and under all circumstances. I have always kept this in sight, endeavoring, in m}' whole intercourse witli them, to avoid the slightest appearance of art or disguise. Children must never be deceived I am persuaded that the arti- fices of children, which we charge on nature, are ver}- often imita- tions of the cunning practices of those about them. I would have an intercourse of entire frankness established witii children. They should never have reason to suspect that there is the least disagree- ment between our feelings and outward signs. If we are unwilling to disclose anything, we should say so, and not use indirect means to hide it ; and we should encourage them to the same explicitness. We should never invite them to express more affection than they reall}' feel, or to lavish marks of fondness, when they wish to em- plo}' themselves about something else. It is better that they should seem cold than be insincere. Nor should they be taught, as a part of politeness, to use Ughtl}' the language of affection. Whenever the}- give their opinion, they should be encouraged to do it full}', freely, and not be tempted to soften or color it because it may hap- pen to differ from our own or that of others. They should talk always from their own minds, and not from other people's. This transparency in children is undoubtedl}' sometimes unpleasant. Yet when connected, as it always should be, with the culture of the kind affections, it gradually ripens into an ingenuous, considerate frankness, which expresses the real convictions of the mind, with- 850 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [^t. 42-43. out inflicting unnecessary pain, and becomes one of the chief beau- ties of our social nature." Such was the watchful care with which he endeavored to surround his little girl and boys with gentle and purifying influences. But one of them was never to learn on earth the riches of a parent's love. Almost while he was writing the last lines, his youngest son had died. He received the intelligence of this calamity on liis arri- val at Rome, and nothing could have been more beautiful than his acquiescence in this irreparable loss. The same letters whicli con- veyed the sad tidings announced also that a beloved sister-in-law had been taken away ; and, in his reply, he thus touchiugly speaks of the twofold bereavement : — "^o/ne, Dec. 18, 1822. I reached this place 3'esterday, and found here the package of letters containing the melancholy accounts of Walter's loss and of my own. I am afflicted indeed. God has visited me with the heaviest loss I can experience, save one. My sweet, lovely boy ! Is he indeed gone ? and am I no more to see that smile which to me and to his mother was like a beam from heaven? He was a most gentle creature. I can remember his oc- casional cries of distress, but never one of passion. My health did not allow me to carry and play with him, as I had been in the habit of doing with my other infants ; but when I was amusing m3-self with Mary and William, he would creep to me and climb up into my lap, and win from me, by his benignant smile, the notice which I was giving to them. The accounts we had received of him before this last sad news were most encouraging, and we were anticipating the happy moment when we should take him to our arms and press him to our hearts with a deliglit he had never given us before. And he is gone ! and when we return, if that blessing is in store for us, we shall look for him in vain ! O, the void in a par- ent's heart, when a child is taken, you do not know ! and may you never know it I You are a mother ; and, to a mother, the pang is what a father seldom feels. I think much more of my wife than of myself, her feelings on the subject of our children have been so keen " Do not think, my dear, from what I have written, that I am in danger of dejection. I suffer; but I have never forgotten that m}' child belonged to another and better parent, and was made for a higher state than tliis. I am sure that he was equally the care of God in death as in life. I cannot believe that the necessary- means of educating an immortal spirit are confined to this world. I remember that comforting scripture, ' Of such is the kingdom of 1822-1823.] DEATH OF HIS SON. 3.51 Heaven' ; and my hope is, that m}'- child has gone to live under a more intimate connection than we can now conceive with Him who took little children into his arms and blessed them. Nor do I believe that the relation of parent and child is dissolved b}' death. In the whole progress of our future being, we must always, I think, look back with peculiar interest on the moment when we began to be, and must, I think, distinguish with some pecuUar emotion those who, under Providence, brought us into life, and who welcomed and loved and cherished us in our first helplessness with intense and unwearied affection. Death is not that wide gulf between us and the departed which we are apt to imagine Francis, Ann, my child, and our beloved Barbara, are gone from us, but are not lost to us. " At the mention of Barbara's name, I feel as if I had been un- just in dwelling so long on my more immediate affliction. I know no greater bereavement than Walter's. I would speak of my own loss in Barbara's death, but that his so much surpasses it. She was one of the loveliest of women and best of wives. All the graces and virtues were joined in her so harmoniously, her excellence was so singularlj' unalloyed, so far from the mixtures and defects which we have to lament in most of our friends, that I dwell on her with a peculiar complacency. Seldom does a gentler, purer, more benig- nant, more disinterested spirit take its flight from earth to heaven. Her countenance, conversation, life, sent forth a sweet and blessed influence. And she, too, is gone, and I am to see this lovely and beloved sister no more on earth ! " And'again to his mother he thus writes, under date of January 2d, 1823: — " Of our dear boy we had heard nothing but good, and his loss was a blow as unexpected as it was heavy. He was a treasure worth more to us than the world. His sweet, gentle temper not only made him a present blessing, but encouraged us to hope that he would need only the mildest influences to sway him to goodness, and that he would make us the happiest returns of love for our parental care. To part with this lovely, smiling, innocent boy, to whom we hoped to do so much good, and whose attachment and progress we imagined were to brighten our future lives, this is in- deed to be bereaved " expressed a fear that I should suffer in health by the sad news from home. No! even had I not the supports of Christian pnnciple, I should find motives enough in my situation and affec- tions for watching over my health. I feel my distance fi-om home 352 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. [JEt. 42-43. more deeply than ever, and have hardh^ a thought or a T\ish, as regards this world, but of returning to it ; and knowing, as I do, that this depends on recovering my strength, I am almost too solicitous in using the means to this end "You and my mother Gibbs have suffered much by our late domestic trials. Our absence seems to us a great evil, by depriv- ing us of the opportunities of rendering those offices of filiSl love of which we never knew the full value until we were parents our- selves. It is our constant pra3er, that God would preserve you both, and would increase our power of contributing to ^^our happi- ness. Absence has endeared all our friends to us, but none more than our parents. I sometimes wonder, now, that we were capable of tearing ourselves from you all. In a world so transient and un- certain, a jear seems too much time to be spent at a distance from one's home. Do give the assurances of my love to all our dear circle. I cannot begin to name the friends to whom I wish to send affectionate remembrance. I am too rich in these blessings to be able to count them, and distance onl}' makes them more precious. '• Your affectionate son." And, finally, in his journals, he thus communes with his own spirit and with God : — " Rome, Jan, 1823. How unavailing is foresight in the most important transactions of life ! We would lengthen life for our children, and they are taken before us " In the moment of affliction, the thought sometimes comes to us with an almost overwhelming vividness of our entire dependence. The hour which has taken one blessing can take more. All our possessions begin to tremble, when one very dear is taken. The loss of one child makes prominent the frailty of all. The bloom of health fades as we look upon it. O, how desolate we may be made in a moment ! and how wretched would be our condition, if the Power which disposes of us were not benevolent ! " When I think of my child, of its beauty and sweetness, of the tenderness he awakened, of the spirit wliich God had breathed into him, and which had begun to develop itself, I cannot doubt that he was the care of God in death, as in life. He was made for God ; had he lived, my chief duty would have been to direct him to that Infinite Good, — and has he not now gone to Him from whom he came? Is it not a most interesting view of death, that it removes in a gi'eat degree the intermediate provisions, the external means by which God communicates benefits, and thus places us in a more immediate and visible connection with Him ? Is it not the happi- 1822-1823.1 BIRTHDAY THOUGHTS. 353 ness of heaven, that spirits see God, not only as reflected in his works, but face to face? God used our arms to sustain our child ; has he not taken him to a world where he will lean more immedi- ately on His own f "When I consider how interesting a moment the beginning of existence is to a reasonable being, how infinite the abyss between non-existence and existence, I feel that we must always look back to the moment and circumstances of our birth with peculiar emotions, and that the beings to whom, under God. we owed our life, who were the instruments of Providence in giving us bodily existence and watching over the feeble spark, who were the first to welcome and to love us. must always seem to be among our chief benefac- tors. Will not the parental relation thus be a bond of union, a source of happiness, forever? The foundhng sighs to know his parents with eager and burning desire. Is not this filial affection an instinct of the rational and moral nature which will act through all the future ? " Our child is lost to our sight, but not to our faith and hope, — perhaps not to our beneficent influence. Is there no means of grati- fving our desire of promoting his happiness? The hving and dead make one communion. ' Why bom only to die ? ' Birth establishes a connection with the human race. His birth made our boy one of a great spiritual family, and intimately united him with a few. Will not his eternal being be influenced by this connection ? . . . . " The loss of a child is, indeed, one of the greatest which a mor- tal can experience. — the loss of an object of such tender love, of a being possessing the noblest powers, which we had hoped to see unfolding beneath our care, to whom we had longed to do more good than to any other being, and from whom we had anticipated receiving the most consoling and rejoicing returns of love. Surely the affections excited by the parental relation bear a resemblance to those by which God is united to his creatures." How much the vivid sense of his own loss, and the depth of love thus opened in his heart towards his children, added warmth to the reverent gratitude by which he was bound to his mother, appears by the following letter. " Florence. April 7. 1S23. When you look at the date of my letter, you will see that I am writing you on my birthday : and. on this day, to whom could I write with so much reason as to you ? — for to you. as well as to me. it is a memorable period. When I think of the beginning of my existence, how natural is it that my thoughts should turn to one whose kindness towards me then com- 23 354 EUROPEAN JOURNEY [Mr. 42-43. menced, and who has given me through m}^ whole life proofs of increasing love ! I can hardly suppress mj' tears, as I feel the tender relation which my birth establislied between us ; and now that I am so far from 3'ou, while I remember your declining years, it is consoling to me to reflect, that, amidst many de- ficiencies, I have not proved wholly insensible to the claims of 3'our affection. " On this da}-, I feel that I have cause to give God thanks for the blessing of existence. My life, though no exception to the common lot, though checkered with good and evil, has, on the whole, been singular!}' favored. Without an}' care or forethought of my own, my outward condition has been almost too favorable, and the comforts of life have been multiplied upon me, not only beyond my hopes, but beyond my wishes. As to those best bless- ings of this work\, friends worthy of love, I know not who has been richer than I ; and as to the chief crowning good, not only of this, but of the life to come, I mean relic/ion, 1 seem to myself to have been placed in circumstances highly favorable, at least, to the understanding of the Christian faith in its greatest purity. How far I have practised it, with what feelings I review my conduct, and the progress of my character, — these are topics on which silence is wisdom. To another Being I have to render my account ; and our poor, weak, sinful nature can hardly look back on a life as long as my own without emotions which can be fitly uttered to Him alone." The wanderer's face was now turned again to his native land. He had faithfully sought renewed health by rest, and travel amidst interesting scenes ; he had enjoyed and learned as much of good as, in his bodily and mental condition, he was capable of receiving ; and now he was free to return ; and he thus alludes to the deep satisfaction with which he looked forward to a reunion with his friends : — " Need I say with what pleasure I write to you from this place? Florence is on my way home, and though I am still very, very far from you, the thought of making some progress towards you is an inexpressible consolation Return seems almost too great a happiness to be anticipated " I have said nothing of the feelings with which I turn towards home. My heart swells within me as I approach this subject. And why should I speak of it? Need I say where ray affections cling? — how my heart yearns for the native land I have left? — how you are remembered in my prayers by night and by day? 1822-1823.] RETURN HOME. 355 O, no ! My clear mother, once more, farewell ! May your life and health be spared ! May we meet again ! " On the last day of his voyage to America, he made these entries in his journal : — " I have just seen land. Blessed be God ! In a few hours I hope to meet my friends. What thanks are due ! Let me now, on approaching shore, humbly purpose, in God's strength, that I will strive to do his will more perseveringly, to be more useful, watchful, temperate, kind, devout, than ever before." ' ' I am returned to my friends ; let me be more to them than I have yet been, more attentive, thoughtful, social, seeking their cheerfulness, interesting myself in their concerns. Especially let me be more to my mother." The following letter to a sister will best show his feelings after his return : — " My dear L., — How happy I am to write to you again from my beloved home ! Join with me in gratitude to our merciful Father, who has guarded me and our dear R by sea and land, and brought us back to you all. We did, indeed, see and feel, on our return, that we had been visited by an irreparable calamity, and for a moment our loss almost made us forget the blessings which are spared to us. But I am now awake as I never was before to their number and value. My happiness has been almost overpowering, too great to endure in a world made up of changes, and too great, I know, for the purposes of Providence towards me. My health is very luuch improved ; and the voyage, from which I anticipated the prostration of m}' whole sj'stem, proved verj- bene- ficial. Among my many blessings was the good account I received of you and yours." And on the Sunday after his arrival, he thus poured out the fulness of his heart : — "Those of you, my hearers, who have travelled abroad, and left far behind, and for a long time, home, friends, familiar haunts, spheres of usefulness, and employments congenial to your tastes, — you can understand the fervent gratitude which glows in my heart to-day. True, the moment of return to one's native land does not bring unmixed happiness ; for too often we re-enter our long-for- saken dwellings only to miss cherished objects of affection, to see the hand of time pressing heavily on our earliest, oldest friends, to receive sad answers respecting acquaintances, to revive griefs in those who have been called to mourn in our absence, and thus to 356 EUROPEAN JOURNEY. \JEt. 42-43. have the solemn lesson of life's changes brought with new power to our minds. Still, the moment of return after a long and distant separation is, though not without tears, most blessed. To set foot once again on our native shore, where we, grew up, and where our best affections have taken root, — to re-enter the abodes where the tenderest ties were formed, and have gathered strength, — to feel ourselves once more at home, that spot over which tlie heart throws a light such as shines nowhere else upon earth, — to see again the countenances of friends whose forms have gone with us in memory through distant regions, — to feel the embrace of those arms on which we have leaned in our past hours of sorrow and pleasure, — to read in the e3'es of those around us a lo\e, which no kindness of strangers can ever express, — to exchange the constraints, re- serves, suspicions, which can hardl}- be shaken off in foreign lands, for the sweet confidence, the free and full communion, the opening of the heart, which belong to domestic life, — to know that the lives for which we have trembled, the beings in whose existence our chief earthlj- happiness is centred, are safe, — O, this is joy! joj' such as blooms rarely in this imperfect state. To this hour of return my mind has pressed forward ever since I left you. Amid the new and glorious scenes through which God has led me, amid matchless beauties of nature and wonders of art, my own dear country has risen before me with undiminished interest and bright- ness. And invisible ties have reached across the ocean, growing stronger by distance, and welcoming me back to the loves, the friendships, the joys, the duties, the opportunities of home." PART THIRD. I Chapter I.— THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. T was in August, 1823, that Dr. Channing^ had the joy of once _ more standing amid the circle of loving friends, parishioners, acquaintances, who waited to welcome him. For a short season he retired into the country, and then recommenced liis public labors with a freshness and fervor that showed the new spiritual energy with which he was consciously quickened. Among the animating scenes presented by Europe, so various and rich in suggestion, and especially in the long night-watches and perfect repose of his liome- ward voyage, during which he experienced an unwonted exaltation and transparency of mind, he had found leisure to review the past, to cast off many shackles of custom and prejudice, to learn distinctly his own function, to comprehend the spirit and tendencies of mod- ern society, and, above all, to commune more nearly than ever before with God. This year of absence had been, unawares to himself, perhaps, a transition period. Thenceforward was to open a new era of life, — an era freer and brighter, more buoyant in hope, more large in love, than even his enthusiastic youth at Richmond, and far more beautiful in its serene confidence, its tempered wisdom, its all-pervading holiness and humanity. The thick-clustered blos- soms of his early asi)iration had given a promise, truly kept, of branches bending to the ground beneath the mellow fruit of ripened goodness. , ^ We are now to trace the widening influence of Dr. Channing s later life ; and there is no better way of forming a true conception of the diffusive sympathy, the careful and capacious thouglit, the ready and exuberant, yet calm and equable, energy which char- acterized it, than to follow him in turn through each of the great spheres of interest in which he was called to act. Commencing, then, with his more special function as a preacher and a writer, we 1 He had received the title of Doctor of Divinity from Harvard University in 1820. 358 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. will contemplate his course progressively in relation to social reform, to the anti-slavery movement, and to politics ; finally-, we will look in upon tlie quiet beauty of his daily life in the Boston and New- port home, wliich he had re-entered, as we have seen, with such overflowiug affection. His first address to his people, after his return from Europe, will exhibit the high and solemn views which he cherished in relation to the ministr}'. August^ 1823. "Through the mercy of our Heavenly Father, I am allowed once again to address you ; and let me open this new period of \ny ministerial life by paying my tribute of gratitude to Him in whom all our works should begin and end. To God, my creator and preserver, my guide through the pathless seas, my friend among strangers, my guardian in peril, my strength in sick- ness, who has permitted me to see his glorious works, and has brought me back in safet}' to a beloved home, — to God, who has chastened and comforted me, who has spoken peace to my wounded spirit, and has spared to me so many friends, — to God, who has heard my prayers, who has placed me once more in the midst of an aflfectionate people, and restored me to tlie church which he has intrusted to my care, — to God, whose undeserved, unwearied, unfailing goodness passeth all understanding, whose love is the sweetness of all blessings, whose providence is our continual stay, whose grace is our unfailing hope, — I would make the only return which a creature can render, by bearing witness to his goodness, and gi\ing myself up to his service with joyful, trustful, thankful, perfect devotion. " In this house, consecrated to his honor, in the presence of his people, I now renew the dedication of myself to God, of ni}' whole being, life, thought, powers, faculties, affections, influence, of all which he has given and upholds. Let these lips si)eak his praise, this heart glow with his love, this strength be spent in doing his will ! May I serve him better than I have done, with purer aims, with simpler purposes, with a soul more penetrated by his pcn-fec- tion, and with success worthy of his cause ! I know my infirmity, and cannot forget the lifeless services which have too frequently been offered by me. But I would hope that the recent ordinations of his providence, that the lessons of dependence which have been learned in sickness and affliction, and that his preserving and re- storing goodness, will produce some better fruit tlian a transient sensibility, will issue in a profound, tender sense of obligation, and in a firm purpose of duty. We know that one great end of the ADDRESS TO HIS PEOPLE. 359 mysterious mixture of evil and good in our present lot is, to draw us to God, to break our spiritual slumber, to soften our obdurac}', and to change, through the blended influences of penitence and thankfulness, of sorrow and jo}-, our faint convictions into powerful prniciples. My friends, join witli me in prayer to God, that to all his other gifts he will add the highest gift of his hol^' spirit, — so that, strengthened to resist the selfish propensities which enslave the bad, and make good men groan, I may show forth in mj' whole life a fervent spirit, and thus communicate awakening influences to my people. For it is not as a private individual, and not to relieve a burdened heart, that I speak here so largely of God's goodness. Were I alone concerned, I should not thus lay open my soul. But conscious that my chief work in life is to act upon other minds, and to act tlirough sympatliy as well as instruction, I feel that you have an interest in the utterance and in the increase of my devout affections. God grant, for your sake as well as my own, that they may be living and growing ! . . . . " On this occasion, you will not expect from me a review of what I have seen and heard during my absence ; but this I will say, that I have discovered nothing to obscure the claims of Christianity. I have learned no name miglitier than that of Jesus, have found no new system of religion, no new institution for improving the char- v acter, no new method of salvation, among the schools of philosophy or the estal)lisliments of policy, to shake my persuasion of the para- mount excellence of the gospel. On this point I return unchanged, unless to be more deeply convinced of the unspeakable worth of our r(?ligion be a change. I have seen human nature in new cir- cumstances, but everywhere the same in its essential principles, and everywhere needing the same encouragements, consolations, Inspiring and redeeming influences. Whilst, on other subjects, early impressions were corrected or effaced, I never for a moment have suspected that Christianity was an hereditary, local preju- dice, — never have found that it was passing out of sight in propor- tion as I changed the sk}' under which I was born. Like the sun, I have seen it shining above all lands, undiminished in brightness, and everywhere it has beamed forth as the true, the only light of the world "I return with views of societ}' which make me rejoice, as I never did before, in the promise held out b}- revealed religion of a moral renovation of the world. I expect less and less from revolu- tions, political changes, violent struggles, — from public men or pubhc measures, — in a word, from any outward modification of society. Corrupt institutions will be succeeded by others equallj^, 860 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. if not more, corrupt, whilst the root or principle lives in the heart of individuals and nations ; and the onl}^ remedy is to be found in a moral change, to which Christianity, and the Divine power that accompanies it, are alone adequate. The voice of prophecy, an- nouncing a purer, happier state of the world, under the hoi}- and peaceful influences of Jesus, never sounded on m}- ear so sweetl}', never breathed so cheermg a power, as after a larger observation of mankind ; and I turn to it, from the boasts of re- formers, as to the authentic annunciation of a brighter da}' for humanity "I return, my friends, as I hope, with an increased sense of the weight and worth of my office. I am not merel}' using what may be called the language of my profession, but I speak from deepest conviction, in pronouncing the duties of the Christian ministr}- to be the most important which can be imposed on human beings. And in saying this, I am far from setting up any exclusive preten- sions, for in these duties all men share. All are called, in their various relations, and according to their power, to advance the cause of pure religion and of divine morality, to which the ministrj' is dedicated ; and the function of the minister differs onl}' in this, that he is appointed to give a more immediate, concentrated care to this primary interest of mankind. The ministry has grown more grand and solemn in my estimation, because I have a growing persuasion of the excellence of the religion to whose service it is devoted, and a growing conviction that on the ministrj' chiefly depends this cause of God. Whilst other means of advancing it are essential and efficient, still, the views of Christianit}- which pre- vail in a community', the form in which it is embraced, the influ- ences it exerts on private character and happiness, on domestic life, on public opinion, on social institutions, depend upon nothing so much as the spirit, example, doctrine, zeal, fidelity of ministers. Man is used b}' God as his mightiest agent in operating on man. I feel that it is no ordinary work to which I am called, and that it were better never to have returned to it than to bring a cold and divided mind." The ver}' earnest feeling of responsibility and privilege, with which he renewed his ministerial labors, j'et more plainly appears ni the two following extracts from his letters of that period : — " Boston, Sept. 22, 1.S23. I rejoice to tell yon, and I do it with livel}' gratitude to God, that I bore the exertions of yesterday ver}', very well. I took the whole morning services, was as long as usual, gave some freedom to my feelings, and spoke, though not loudl}'. INTEREST IN HIS DUTIES. 861 3'et with excitement. I was wearied, but not exhausted, and by silence and abstinence kept off feverishness. This morning I am as well as usual. I cannot easil}' make even you feel what a relief this success has given me. I will not sa}' that the happiness of my life depends on m\- abilit}' to perform pastoral dut}', for I hope I should feel and enjo}- God's goodness in any situation ; but the Christian ministry, with all its trials, and thej' are not small, is the work on which m}- heart is set, and my spirit almost faints at the thought of resigning it." " October 27, 1823. I know that it will make 3'ou happy to hear that I have borne my return to m}' duties far better than I antici- pated. I have, perhaps, been imprudent, and preached even longer and more earnestly than formerly ; but, although I have suffered a little, I have received no serious injury. For this my heart overflows with gratitude. I sometimes think m3'self happier than I ever have been before. To meet my family once more was an inexpressi- ble good, — so great, that I hardl}^ dared to anticipate it when abroad. But the privilege of preaching again that gospel which my sufferings have made more dear to me, and the hope that I may be allowed to continue to preach it, and ma}- labor with more singleness of mind, fervenc}', devotion, and success, — this com- pletes m}' joy. "I have returned to my duties with an interest which, perhaps, nothing but long inability to perform them, and many trials, could have awakened. And thus, my dear, we are often able to see that it is good for us to have been afflicted. The inward process, which goes on amidst sufferings, often explains God's discipline, and we learn to bless the hand which chastens, for we see that it is stretched out in parental wisdom and merc3\ I do not mean that I have derived great improvement from affliction, for I am aware that the satisfaction I find in returning to long-suspended duties is to be accounted for b}- natural as well as religious principles. But, be the cause what it may. the effect is a good, and will, I trust, give greater power to my ministr}^ I have talked of myself; for your love, I know, gives you an interest in the subject." In order to show more fully his views of the profession which he so unfeiguedly thought to be the highest office in modern society, far transcending, in the depth and extent of its influence, the sphere of the statesman or of the literary man, we will proceed to give some further extracts from his sermons ; and, in doing so, shall avail ourselves of addresses which he made to his people annually, on the occasion of his return from Rhode Island, at which beautiful 362 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. retreat he began regularly to pass the summer months during this period of his life. In these discourses, he endeavored to break through the precise and ceremonious style of preaching which is usually thought necessary to preserve the decorum of the pulpit, and to speak in the more direct and simple language which friend uses to friend. These sermons are thus, to a great degree, auto- biographical. THE RESPONSIBILITY OF THE MINISTER. 1828. " In describing the ministrj^ as a highly responsible office, I beg not to be misunderstood. I sometimes hear language em- plo3'ed on this point which offends me b}' its extravagance, and which can do only harm to the teacher and the tauglit. Tlie min- ister is sometimes spoken of as if on him depended the salvation of his people, — as if to him it belonged to decide the eternal condi- tion of his congregation, — as if by his neglect his hearers would be plunged into irremedialjle woe. I certainl}^ do not feel as if any such tremendous power were in my hands. I would not wield it for the universe. I assume no such trust. I, indeed, offer myself to you as 3'our spiritual friend and teacher ; but I do it in the full knowledge that God has given you better aids than 3'Our minister, that I am but one out of many means of your instruction, and that, after all, the chief responsibilit}' falls upon yourselves. Regard the ministry as important to you, — I will add, as essential to the Christian cause, — but do not lay upon it a burden which no con- scientious or benevolent man for worlds would sustain. "The minister is not alone intrusted with the salvation of the human race. True, the gospel is connnitted to him ; but not to him onl}', nor to him chiefl}'. It is intrusted to all who receive it, for the benefit of their fellow-creatures. It is committed especially to the parent for the child, — to the private Christian for his fiimily and friends, — to the Sunday-school teacher for the young, — to the more enlightened for the less privileged classes of societ}'. The minister alone is not to preach the religion. It is to be preached in the nursery, in the household, in the place of business, in friendly intercourse, in public assemblies, as trnl^' as in the pulpit ; and we cannot doubt that often Christian truth is more eflectually carried to the conscience and the understanding by the casual teaching of every day than by more regular and stated ministrations." EACH SOUL MUST SAVE ITSELF. 1827. " The great work is to be done by the soul itself. I can- not, by preaching, even were I to speak with the tongues of angels, L^ TRUE ELOQUENCE. 363 make one of j'ou a Christian ; nor, were I able, ought I to attempt such a work. You are to be made Christians by ^our own faithful use of all the means of religious improvement. Could I, my friends, by a word change your minds, expel all error from your understand- ings, subdue your passions, take from the irritable man every impulse of anger, from the worldl}' man every thought of accumu- lation, from the proud man ever}' stirring of self-elation, I should undoubtedl}' deliver you from sources of trouble ; but j'our deliv- erance, thus passively acquired, would have no more virtue than would belong to you, were death, by extinguishing all conscious- ness, by striking you from existence, to work the same deliverance. Nothing is morally- good in man but what he is active in producing, but what is the growth of his own free agenc3\ Were I, by an irresistible influence, to implant in you a right faith and kind affec- tions, I should not aid, but injure you, by taking from you the opportunities of virtue. You would come from my hand well-pro- portioned machines ; but machines you still would be. The glory of a free agent would be gone. I come not to exert such a swa}^ not to rule your minds or your hearts, but to urge you to establish within yourselves the sovereignt}- of reason and conscience, by your ^ own reverential culture of these high principles of your nature." TRUE ELOQUENCE. 1827. " To rule over passive minds, to dictate to those who will not inquire and judge, seems to me a low ambition, a poor dominion. But the power of convincing, persuading, improving free and active and self-relying minds is a noble endowment. This is the only^' power over men which I covet. So desirous am I to dissuade you from putting 3ourselyes passively into other men's hands, that I would advise you to distrust much of what is called eloquence in the pulpit. There is a true eloquence, which you cannot too much honor, and it is characterized chiefly by tiiis mark : it calls into vigorous exercise both the understanding and the heart of the hearer. It has no design upon men's minds, does not desire to bear them away as by a torrent, does not hurry them to rash conclusions, does not appeal to prejudices, but treats the understanding fairly, gener- ously, invites it to weigh proofs, and aims to inspire it with a supreme love of truth. This is the highest characteristic of genuine eloquence, that it gives tone and energy to the hearer's mind, givesf him a consciousness of his own powers, and enables him to act from his own will and from his own judgment. Against such eloquence, of course, I would not warn you. But there is another kind, and one far more commonly met with, — because requiring little talent 3G4 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. and no elevation of soul, — which deals chiefly with men's fears, which palsies and enslaves the intellect, which makes the hearer distrustful of his own faculties, which overwhelms him with appalling images, and brings him into dependence upon the speaker. This, I have said, requires little talent ; though, in the present state of societ3', it exerts great sway. A man of common sagacity may blindfold and lead behind him his fellow-creatures. A much higher and nobler skill is required to heal and strengthen men's intellectual sight, and to open before them large and glorious prospects." THE END OF THE MINISTRY. 1830. " I have been called to aid 30U in that inward work on which the happiness of your present and future being depends, — the work of subduing evil, sin, the power of temptation, and of strengthening and building up in yourselves Christian faith and virtue. It has been my duty to urge on you the need of continual improvement in character^ as the onl}^ thing worth living for, — with- out which life would be worse than lost. I have aimed, you will bear me witness, to excite 3'ou to the most earnest culture of your own minds, as that without which nothing uttered here, and nothing befalling 30U in God's providence, would do you good. I have aimed to raise your thoughts to that perfection, that dignit}', that likeness to God, that height of virtue and happiness, to which Jesus Christ came to exalt us, and to which we may all rise by fidelity to his religion. And I have exhibited to you the depth of guilt, shame, and misery, into which, by self- neglect, by abandoning ourselves to low and evil passions, we may all be plunged. It has been my aim to win you to an unreserved devotedness to God, — to set before you such views of the Infinite Being, in his character, designs, and modes of action, as were suited to attract to him the whole strength of your love and trust and obedience. In a word, it has been my office to dispense to 3'ou the religion of Jesus Christ. I have especially sought to teach you the great, I may say the single, purpose of tliis religion, which is to form you after the spirit and likeness of its Divine Author, and thus to give ^'ou the first fruits of heaven wliile you live on earth, as well as to prepare 3-ou for that perfect and immortal state. " Such has been my work. Its greatness fills my mind the more I contemplate it. Time, wliich shows us the emptiness of most eartlily pursuits, only magnifies, in my regard, this glorious office. On what sublime and heart-thrilling themes have I been called, been permitted, to speak ! It seems to me, that, through the uni- verse, no words of more solemn import than God, Imjioktalitv, CHANGE OF TONE. 365 Perfection, can be uttered, — that no higher themes can absorb the most exalted intelligences through eternity." HIS OWN AIMS. 1830. "That I have performed this work imperfectly, I feel. No one can be more penetrated with a sense of my deficiencies than myself; and my consciousness of these increases, because the re- ligion which I am called to preach continually rises before me in greater beauty and dignity, with surer promises of liappiness, more widely reacliing claims, more animating motives, and more solemn sanctions. Still, my heart bears me witness that I have sincerely labored to carry home to the souls of my fellow-beings the divine truth which I have been privileged to impart. This truth has been my meditation and study by night and by day. I have given to it the strength of my body and mind. It has absorbed me, almost consumed me. Every new or brighter view of it has seemed to me a recompense and happiness which I would not have exchanged for any outward good. The hope of doing something to rescue this divine religion from the corruptions which so mournfully disfigure and darken it, — the hope of bringing out more clearly some of its divine features, and thus of contributing to extend and establish its empire on the earth, — has been the dearest, the most cherished hope of my life. So far, I trust, I have been loyal to the cause of my Master. Whether I have not confined myself too exclusively to this intellectual labor, whether I have not spent my strength too much in solitary reflection, whether a more active life and more frequent intercourse with my hearers might not have been more useful, — these are questions which I cannot determine. I may have erred ; some, perhaps, may think I have. I may have been self-indulgent in the path I have taken, and you might have been more aided by services which I have withheld. I am not anxious to justify myself. I pray God that my error — if it has been one — may be forgiven, and that his providence may avert from you the evils of my want of wisdom or fidelity." An appreciating reader of the foregoing extracts will be conscious of a gradual change of tone in Dr. Channing's mode of address, — a change more readily felt than characterized, but which, by way of suggestion, we will denote by saving that it was constantly becoming less ministerial and more manly. He more and more regarded the religious teacher as the ideal of what all men should be, an inspirer of life. Universal sanctification of the whole char- acter and conduct was the end which he aimed to present vividly to his hearers, as the only true object for a human being's aspira- 366 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. tion. And force of good-will — not sentimentalit}', not imaginative enthnsiasin, not merely kindly affectionateness, but a brave, hopeful, conscientious, confiding love — was the spirit which flowed out from him in ever3' word and look. This expansive feeling, in relation to the animating influence which a religious teacher should exert, appears very fully in his letters. '-'•Newport, Aug. 28, 1828. I consider ni}" profession as almost infinitely raised above all others, when its true nature is under- stood and its true spirit imbibed. But as it is too often viewed and followed, it seems to me of little worth to him who exercises it, or to those on whom it ought to act. It requires moral elevation of sentiment, that the [)urposes of Christianity may be understood, and moral energy, a spirit of self-sacrifice, that those purposes may be pursued with resolution and power. I do not mean that a young man is to possess these requisites in a great degree, at first, — but he must have the seeds, and give some promise of them. To one who has this generous style of character, this capacity of de- votedness and disinterestedness, I consider my calling as leaving all others ver^', very far behind. But when taken up for its respecta- bility, for reputation, for a support, and followed mechanically, drudgingly, with little or no heartiness and devotion, or when seized upon fanatically and with a blind and bigoted zeal, I think as poorly of it as men of the world do, who, 1 grieve to say, have had too much reason for setting us ministers down among the drones of the hive of society." " Portsmouth, July 7, 1828.^ In our profession, as in every other, success depends chiefly on the heartiness with which a man enters into it. lie must throw his soul into his work. I am the more encouraged about your success, from the proof you have given of zeal in a good cause. You think nobh' of the object to which 3'ou are about to devote yourself, and this is no small part of a min- ister's preparation. You may meet, at the outset, some disheart- ening circumstances. I suspect most ministers can tell you of their liours of despondency, especially at the beginning of their course. But true courage fights the enemy within, as well as abroad ; and I shall be disappointed indeed if you are wanting in this generous virtue. "Your friend and brother." '■'■ Portsmouth, Rhode Tshnrl, June 18, 1828.2 The people here want to be awakened, certainly ; but they have passed through the 1 To Dr. Charles Follcn. - To Orville Dewey, D.D. THEOLOGY MADE A MONOPOLY. 867 ordinary process of revivals without mncli apparent benefit. I feel, more and more, that the people at large need to be protected against these modes of assault, by having some more distinct and thorough notions presented to them of what religion or virtue is, than perhaps an}' of us have j'et given. The identity of religion and universal goodness is what the}' have hardly dreamed of. You have expressed some of the best views on the subject which I have heard ; and, if 3'our intellect will work, in spite of 3'our plans of re- pose, perhaps it could not find a more useful topic. "My mind turns much on the general question. What can be done for the scattering of the present darkness? I think I see, more and more, that the ministry, as at present exercised, though, on the whole, a good, is sadl}' defective. What would be the re- sult of a superior man, not of the clergy, giving a course of lectures on the teaching of Jesus, just as he would give one on the philosophy of Socrates or Plato? Cannot this subject be taken out of the hands of ministers? Cannot the higher minds be made to feel that Christianity belongs to them as truly as to the priest, and that they disgrace and degrade themselves b}' getting their ideas of it from 'our order' so exclusively? Cannot learned men come to Chris- tianity, just as to any other system, for the purpose of ascertaining what it is ? " " Dec. 9, 1829.^ Is the time never coming when Christians will be less dependent on ministers than they now are? I feel deeply the defects of the present organization of the Christian church. ' Ever}' JQint of the body should work effectually' for the common growth ; and now a few men have a monopoly of the work." '•'■ Feb. 22, 1840. The ministry need not continue what it has been, and the time is coming when it will be found to be the most effectual mode of getting near to our fellow-creatures. It demands great energy of thought and purpose ; and, when so followed, promises unspeakable good." " Newport, Rhode Island, Sept. 5, 1837.^ One of the discouraging symptoms of the da}' is, that so few persons, except of the clerical profession, make morals and religion the subject of investigation and serious inquiry. To most, religion is a tradition or a feeling. The noblest subjects of human thought, and those in which all men have an equal interest, are given up to a small body of professional men. The effects of this making theology a monopoly of a few are disastrous alike to the many and the few. Theology has become 1 To Josepli Tuckcrman, D. D. ■•* To Win. Plunier, Jun., Esq., Eppiiig, New Hampshire. S68 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. technical, a trade, a means of power. It has taken a monastic character, been severed from common Hfe, and thus been turned into an instrument of superstition. The multitude, in their igno- rance, have easily fallen under the dominion of fear, and have bowed their understandings to irrational and degrading doctrines. It always cheers me when I find a man, not of my profession, who understands the dignity of moral and religious truth, and seeks it as inestimabl}' precious. These remarks will explain the pleasure your letter gave me. So far from feeling that 3'ou used an undue freedom in your suggestions, I was truly grateful for them. We ministers need the freest communication with our intelligent breth- ren of the laity. I use this word for want of a better, though I dis- like it. They often understand the moral wants of the comminiity better than we can. They know, as we cannot, when we beat the air or waste our strength on unimportant matters, and where the main obstacles to human improvement lie. What volume could be laid open to a minister so useful as the secret conviction of his thinking hearers, in regard to the character and effects of his labors? For want of such communication, we work much in the dark." The dislike of spiritual dictatorship,, sanctimonious dignity, and pompous arrogance, which appears more or less through these pa- pers, was exceedingly strong in Dr. Channing. The designation of " Reverend," even, was most disagreeable to him. He had no taste for being set up as a saint or an oracle, and wished no influ- ence but that which arose from perfect naturalness, lie thought it was time for much of the superstitious homage to the clergy to van- ish. His only reason, indeed, for wishing the ministry to be pre- served as a distinct function in society was his belief that, amidst the anxieties incident to existing social relations, only the very strong could keep their spirits free, only the very tall in moral stat- ure so raise their heads above the dust of the caravan as to see the horizon and the heavens and the direction of the march. But the very motive which prompted Dr. Channing's desire to see the artificial eminence broken down on which fear and policy have isolated the clergy, and the props of conventional decencies swept away by which even the stupid and selfish feel themselves upheld in a position of power, and to have every minister left to stand firm or to fall, according to his manhood, was an ever- deepening reverence for the function of the prophet, — the real communicator of si)iritual light. Amidst crowds of business-men, energetically turning the vast resources of modern science to the increase and accumulation of wealth, — amidst strugghng political MORAL GREATNESS NEEDED. 869 parties, made restless by the spirit of libert}^ and the half-recog- nized rights of all men, rights possessed so partially even by the privileged, — amidst the growing multitude of teachers, literary, scientific, philosophical, plying the countless means of ditfusing in- telligence, — he longed to see a body of men step forward, fitted by the universality at once and the unity of their aim, their elevation above selfish meanness, their unfaltering hope for humanity, their joyful devotedness to God, to be the conscience of communities and nations. He felt that the age was really inspired with a divine power of love, and he looked for a ministry pure and fervent enough to be the medium through which this new life might find a voice of command, and make itself felt with a miraculous, renovating touch. He consecrated himself to the work of being, according to the needs and opportunities of his age and land, a mediator of this heavenly influence, and thus trul}^ a minister of religion, — of reunion be- tween man and man, and man and God. And largely as we have alread\' quoted from his sermons and letters, in illustration of his views, justice to him demands that we should now give further ex- tracts from his private papers. In these he expresses himself with yet more freedom and energy of feeling. We shall copy man}- pas- sages, even at the risk of repetition, because they will open to us the ver}' heart of the writer. Without attempting an}' methodical arrangement of these fragments, we may, for the sake of conven- ience, group them under distinct heads. THE MORAL GREATNESS NEEDED IN THE MINISTER. "The minister needs an heroic mould of mind, a sustained and habitual grandeur of conception, the energy of which may breathe itself into all around. He is not to have the brightness of his con- viction crossed hy a single shadow of the fear of man. A lofty, ever-present consciousness of being consecrated to the highest possible work on earth — the aw^akening and strengthening of what is divinest in human nature — is to possess him. He is to move among his fellows in the majesty and serenit}' which befit devoted- ness to heavenl}' ends. The sublime thought of the divine luve, which it is Christ's end to awaken, must lift his mind above all transient interests and fortify him against allurement. He who sees this as a reality beholds a light that dims all outward glory. This firm and loftj' tone of mind is what we need. We should adopt perfection as our own good, with a deep comprehension of its commanding beaut}'. AVe should speak of it with the language which it would itself adopt, could it reveal in words its divinity. We should announce this likeness to God as the end to be sought, 24 370 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. not as if teaching a proposition into wbicli we Iiad reasoned our- selves, but as if declaring a profound, radiant, all-penetrating intuition, — as if speaking from experience." " Positiveness, assumption, is an entirely different state of feel- ing from the elevation of soul wrought in us by the presence of great thoughts. The devotion of the whole heart to the pursuit of celestial goodness, the consciousness of such an aim, produces no dogmatism, no conceit of infallibilit}'. A minister should have the authority of high virtue. His tone should be that of irrecon- cilable war against the peculiar evils of his times, and of resolute resistance to the influences of ease, opinion, epicurism, which bribe him to surrender principle. But this moral energy is not to be wasted on what is exterior and superficial ; it is to be concentrated in opposition to the very heart and hfe of what is evil in the societ}' around him and in the age. He is to feel that he is called to with- stand the turbulence of the passions, deep-rooted prejudices, the insidious influence of public institutions and of social customs, and that his only reliance, under God, is on that mightiest power in the human soul, the moral power." "We want singleness of purpose^ to have the whole soul pos- sessed b}' a calm, deep-swelling admiration for the divine beaut}' of goodness, to be resolved to promote this b}- every energy of our nature. We should be filled with a divine fervor of soul, an ex- panding warmtli of love. This living love has been the power of all true friends and teachers of mankind. It dissolves all restraints, ceremonies, barriers, opens to us the hearts of our fellow-men, and gives to the tone and countenance a winning charm. How should we feel ourselves to be acting in concert witli God, in the fulfil- ment of the grand design to which Jesus and all good beings are devoted, and which comprehends the infinite happiness and glory of all spirits ! How should the inefl'able sublimity of this end en- largo, invigorate, purify us ! The thought of man's possible com- munion with God, and of his capacity of unbounded participation in the Divine goodness, should give a loftiness and energy of pur- pose to the preacher which should never for an instant forsake him, but make him unaffectedly superior to all outward dignities, un- daunted amidst the opposition of the great, and tenderly sympa- thizing and respectful to the most debased." " What we need is a spiritual force that will not take the form and hue of tlie conditions or persons among wliich we live, but will resist debasing influences, and mould all around us after the pattern of great ideas. We need such an unfaltering faith in Christian virtue, its supremacy, its sure triumph, as will enable us DEVOTEDNESS AND SELF-SUPPORT. 371 to assert its claims in speech and action, even in the most discour- aging circumstances. With all mildness, there must be in us an uncompromising spirit. Having found the true good, we cannot 3'ield to public opinion, to private friendship, or to any kind or measure of opposition. We must pay no heed to capricious esti- mates. Censure should not cost us a moment of anxiet}', but only turn our regards more deci)ly inward to the Divine Oracle, the Voice of God, the Spirit of Christ. The fetters of worldly com- promise must be shaken off, or we cannot take one free step." " A bold, free tone in conversation, the decided expression of pure and lofty sentiment, may be influential to change the whole temper and cast of thinking of societj' around us. Are we not traitors to great truths, when we suppress the utterance of them, and let the opposite errors pass unrebuked ? Ought not the spirit of the world to be continually met with mildness, yet unfaltering firmness? It cannot be opposed too steadily and uncompromisingly. To bring out a noble spirit into daily intercourse is a more precious offer- ing to truth than retired speculation and writing. He who leaves a hol^' life behind him, to bless and guide his fellows, bequeaths to the world a richer legacy than any book. The true, simple view of right should be presented without disguise. High principles are to be advanced as real laws ; the vague uncertaint3' wrapped round them by unmeaning professions and practical renunciation is to be stripped away, and thej' are to be firmly set up as standards for the judgment of all men, pubhc and private. No air of superiority, contempt, auger, no fault-finding, cynicism, no thought of self, should niingle with this testimony to right ; but a true love of man- kind, a reverence of virtue, a desire to elevate all men to the noble- ness for which the}' are destined, should manifest the depth and purity of our moral convictions." " An all-pervading devotion to goodness should stamp the whole character, conduct, conversation. But wisdom should guide this frankness. The mind should not be borne away by a fervor which it cannot restrain. There should be manifest self-direction and dignified self-command. Let there be no whining sentimentality about virtue, but a maul}' consciousness of the greatness of char- acter to which every child of God should attain, — a calm elevation of thouglit and aim, — a cordial s^unpathy with all that is generous in society and individuals, — a deep sense of the reality and prac- ticableness of heavenly excellence, — a rational, 3^et glowing, con- sciousness of the true glory of a spu'itual being. The presence of our fellow-men should not rob us of self-respect, should not restrain us, — restrain the will from energ}', the intellect from bold and 372 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. freest thought, the conscience from prescribing highest duties. We must be palsied by no fear to offend, no desire to please, no dependence upon the judgment of others. The consciousness of self-subsistence, of disinterested conformity to high principle, must communicate an open unreserve to our manners. We should never distrust the power of a great truth fairly uttered. To act on others, there must be decision of intellect as well as of affection, — a resolute energy of the whole man." "What a privilege it is to awaken in the souls of men a con- sciousness of their moral relationship to God ! This truly is a creative work. In proportion as the spiritual gains predominance over the material in our nature, does not the soul take possession of the body, shine through its features, attitude, looks, and reveal itself to those whom words cannot reach? What faith in God and virtue may a tone express ! Do we comprehend the power of love, when it truly reigns in us, how it encircles us with an atmosphere, pervades those around us, melts down resistance, soothes excite- ment? A mighty love, diffusing itself through eye, voice, form, what can it not accomplish? Should we not raise ourselves to this state of calm intenseness of love? No man knows the measure of his influence till this force abides in him. How many all around us are really dead ! But who can lie inert and torpid before the presence of an absorbing, overflowing affection ? Christ's life was a revelation of the spiritual love which filled him. Such a love, and such a life, should be sought by us." " The minister is to speak as did Christ, listening to the Divine Oracle, and ready to suffer, and to die, if need be, for the truth. A superiority to all outward considerations is the first qualification for the rightful pursuit of his profession. If he desires to stand fair with men, he will be a traitor to his Lord. If he asks himself what will please his hearers, rather than what will benefit them, he desecrates his calling. Is he whose very work is to reform society to take societ}^ as his rule ? The Christian minister is not sent to preach cold abstractions, to talk of virtue and vice in general terms, to weave moral essays for his hearers to admire and to sleep on ; but he is sent to quicken men's consciences, and to show them to themselves as they are. On all subjects, where his convictions are in conflict with prevailing usages, he is bound to speak frankly, though calmly. Not that he is to deal in vague and passionate denunciation, to be a common scold, a meddlesome fault-finder. But if he thinks the manufacture and sale of ardent spirits a sin against society, he is to say so ; if he believes that the sending of rum and opium to savage nations, to spread among them the worst TEMPTATIONS OF THE TIMES. 373 evils of civilization, is a wanton crime, he is to declare his opinion ; if he considers the maxims of the business-world hostile to integrity and benevolence, he is to expose their falseness." "At the present da}', there is little need of cautioning ministers against rashness in reproving evil. The danger is all on the other side. As a class, they are most slow to give offence. Their temptation is to sacrifice much to win the affections of their people. Too many satisfy- themselves with holding together a congregation by amenity of manners, and by such compromises with prevalent evils as do not involve open criminality. They live by the means of those whose vices the}' should reprove, and thus are continually ensnared by a selfish prudence. Is it said, that the}' have families dependent upon them, who may suffer for their fidelity? I answer, Let no minister marry, then, unless the wife he chooses have such a spirit of martyrdom as would make her prefer to be stinted in daily bread rather than see her husband sacrifice one jot or tittle of his moral independence. Is it said, that congregations would be broken up by perfect freedom in the ministers ? Better far would it be to preach to empty pews, or in the meanest halls, and there to be a fearless, disinterested witness to the truth, than to hold forth to crowds in gorgeous cathedrals, honored and courted, but not daring to speak one's honest convictions, and awed by the world." " How shall the minister quicken and preserve a heavenly tone of spirit? Let him cherish an habitual consciousness of God's infinitely tender, paternal love for every human being, and of the infinite capacity of goodness in all spirits. Let him accustom him- self to regard each individual with whom he holds intercourse as made and designed for wisdom, love, power, happiness, without hmits. Let him learn to regard all men as now related to God and good spirits, and as welcomed to an endless participation in the ever-unfolding, infinitely bene\'olent designs of God. Let him joy- fully and unreservedly consecrate himself to this work of elevating souls, concentrate his whole being upon it, forget comparatively everything but this divine end of human development, esteem all power and opportunity as of worth in proportion as they are appli- cable to this great purpose, and resolve to live and die in advancing GdcTs plan of spiritual perfection. Let him not permit himself to be distracted by little interests, inconveniences, engagements, but secure such outward accommodations as favor health, and think no more of circumstances ; thus will he avoid frittering away his strength in petty details, and keep his soul whole for great objects. Let him abstain from living in his own past deeds, and waste no 374 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. energy of thought or will in self-complacent recollections or idle regrets, but use success, praise, reputation, position, as a ground of nobler efforts and larger hopes, as an incentive and encourage- ment to wider usefulness. Let him be wise in labor, so as not to exhaust the elastic force of mind and thought, and be habitually calm, so as to maintain that clearness of purpose on which enduring strength of wiU depends. Let him put all his powers in tune, and make his whole life harmonious by inward unit}-. Above all, let him constantly look up to God as the all-communicating Father, from whom pour down into the faithful soul unfailing streams of spiritual life." CENTRAL TRUTHS TO BE TAUGHT. — THE TRUE REVIVAL. " Are there not seasons of spring in the moral world, and is not the present age one of them? Is not a new power now making itself felt? Are we not all asleep? Is there any just sensibility to our connection with God and the eternal world ? Is it an improve- ment of the existing forms of religion which is wanted, or a new form of religion at once more intimate and more universal? Is a nobler manifestation of religion to be given, independent of and superior to preceding modes of manifesting it, and comi)reliending and reconciling all? Can a nobler life be revealed to men, which the}' will feel to be nobler, as placed in contrast with i)resent evils? Can a new condition of society be presented in a spirit raised above actual degradations, so that the brightness of the Divine Life may be seen to dim all other interests, and draw to itself the entire energy of human thougiit and feeling ? " " Is God seen to be a Parent? Is not the intercourse with him too formal? Do we not need an exhibition of his near relations to us, which will awaken a more filial, rejoicing, confiding piety? Do we believe that he loves us, loves us injiuitehj^ that a stream of good- ness is forever flowing down upon us, that he delights in forgiving, that he joyfully welcomes his returning children? Is this the great view to be presented, that God is desirous to impart liimseJf to us, to unite us to him in perfect love? An}' view of God, of wiiich love is not the centre, is injurious to the soul wliich receives it. Is not religion to be unfolded as a profound, serene lo\e of a IMoral Parent, who calls us to immortal glory, who by duty is guiding us to a nearer perception of his own glory, to resemblance to himself, to communion with him forever? Is not this faith in the perfect love of God the grand, commanding, centi'al view which is to fill the thouglits, to take strong hold on the will, to excite a calm, full, concentrated enthusiasm ? " DIVINE BENIGNITY. 375 " Are we not to aim chiefl}' at calling forth in men a conscious- ness of their capacity for embracing God and the universe in a pure love, — a love unfolding without limit in strength and vastness? Is not this perfection of soul to be brought before men as a great reality ? Are the}' not to be taught to see the germs of it in the common affections which move them, in the moral principle, and, above all, in their capacity' of communion with the Infinite Foun- tain of all goodness, joy, beauty, life? Is it not the main design of Christianity- to give a revelation of this love as the end of man, and as God's ever-fresh inspiration? Is not the world within thus to be laid open, and the spiritual glory of which all outward splen- dor is the faint emblem made clear, until men are taught to feel a divine joy in their own nature ? Should not the great aim be to awaken the consciousness of the greatness of the soul, and a rever- ence for the moral element in man as an emanation from the Infi- nite Being, as God's image, voice, life within us? He who would promote this great reformation, for which the religious world is now ready, should live with a vivid, absorbing compreliension of the Divine Life. It should each day revive him, be a perpetual light to him, determine his views of society, and give a tone to every word and action." " A new voice is needed, a voice of the deepest, calmest, most quickening conviction, in which the whole soul speaks, in which every affection and facultj- is concentrated. The divinity of good- ness must burn within us, — must awaken all our sensibility, call the whole being into action, come forth irresistibly as from an exhaustless, overflowing fountain, — must give to tlie voice a pene- trating power, and infuse through the whole manner an inspiring animation. What is this new spirit which is striving to utter itself, to give a new manifestation of the soul in individuals, a new form to society, and to awaken enthusiasm in overcoming evil? The knowledge of the Perfect God as Infinite Goodness, Infinite Energy of Good-Will, All-communicating, All-inspiring Love, — is not this the great truth ? Must not religion be presented habitually as such an exercise of the moral power in pure, enlarging charity as will bring us within the near and constant influence of Infinite Goodness, till the whole being is penetrated with this spirit of disinterestedness, and filled witli trust, gratitude, sympathj', hope, joyful co-operation? Philanthropy, a noble, victorious benevolence, like that of Christ, is to be the great end, — not a precise, defined virtue, but an expansive, ever-enlarging action of goodness. And this love must not be vague, abstract, spiritual merely, but wise, practical, specific, efficient, just, tender, vigorous, in all relations, — 876 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. of home, of friendship, of society at large, of patriotism, of hu- manity." " A profound conviction of God's moral purposes to men, of his design to exalt the soul infinitely, must kindle a purpose in us vast and enduring as his own, give us faith in the possibilit}' of redeem- ing mankind, give us a respect for every individual, make us feel our unity with all. God must be regarded as enjoining this unlim- ited love, as calling us to universal brotherhood, and forbidding all that separates us from our kind. He is to be looked up to as the ever-quickening source of life to all men, as the all-embracing, all- communicating spiritual Father of every human being. Love is to be cherished as the fountain of spiritual life within us ; we are to feel an adoring, grateful sympath}' with the Divine Love, which will prompt us to breathe it in, and to be renewed by its power in the image of God. Man is to be loved as God's child, as God's temple, as the being in whom God reveals himself, and presents himself to us for our love. A confidence in the Divine benig- nity is to show itself in our unfaltering efl['orts to lift up the race, to awaken all that is generous and noble in the soul, to remove obstructions to human elevation, to breathe into all men a con- sciousness of their greatness and a reverence for their fellows. We are to be animated with this new life of love, — of love for man as man^ — a love which embraces all, of ever}' rank and character, — which forgets divisions and outward distinctions, — breaks down the old partition walls, — sees a divine spark in every intelligence, — longs to redress the existing inequalities of societ}*, to elevate all conditions of men to true dignity, to use wealth only as a means of extensive union, not of separation, — which substitutes generous motives for force, — which sees nothing degrading in labor, but honors all useful occupation, — which everywhere is conscious of the just claims and rights of all, resisting the idolatry of tiie few, ceasing to worship the gj-eat, calling upon the mighty to save, not crush, the weak, from reverence for our common nature, — and which, in a word, recognizes the infinite worth of every human spirit. This is the true spirit for the minister, a love like that of Jesus on the cross, which sacrifices all to the well-being of man, and tlie glory and infinite designs of God." " 'J'o raise up the fallen world, the minister needs some sublime objects which can fire the imagination, stir the whole souls of men, and waken them from their selfishness, — some principles suited to human nature, — some truths fitted to work penetratingly, with mighty renewing power. How much is lost by adulterating the truth, by bringing it down to the condition of existing society- ! THE GREATNESS OF MAN'S DESTINY. 377 Christ stood alone. True Christianity still stands in contrast with the spirit of the world. Its ministers should be more uncompro- mising, searching, pungent in their preaching. Men need some- thing which will take a strong hold of them, rouse them up to earnest, resolute action on themselves. What are these great truths, principles, objects? What are the central truths to be taught? Is not the character of God as a Moral Parent, an Infi- nite Fulness and Fountain of Perfection, — who gives moral powers to his children for infinite development, who desires to communi- cate his own life, who has no other end in creation, who is alwa^'s present with infinite, parental interest in the soul, — is not this the truth of truths which is to quicken us, and to reveal the ineffably glorious end within our reach ? Cannot this spiritual perfection, in all its excellence, beauty, power, be made a visible reality to men, and be set forth to them as the supreme good, the condition of all other good, — as that in which all other good is contained, and in giving which God gives all things." " What a quickening thought is it, what a ground of infinite hope, that God has given us a nature like his own ! — that the whole universe is formed as a field for its nutriment and growth ! — that all our relations with nature, society', family, are designed to call out this hoi}- love ! Should not heaven be presented as essen- tially consisting in goodness, in a joyful communion with God, with good spirits, with the universe, b}' an all-pervading love? Cannot the practical errors, means, and processes of spiritual growth be explained? Moral perfection, of which all particular virtues are the gern)s, — is not this the grand thought which shows the true glory of the soul, which reveals to us the infinite love of God and the immensity of his designs of benevolence, wdiich gives such pro- found and awful interest to our relations with him? God's infinity, — does it not make all things possible to us? — does it not open before us an infinite future of progress? — does it not offer to us a Being of exhaustless love, with w-hom we may commune moi-e inti- mately for ever? What will he not be to us, if we heartily adopt and obey his law? What will he not communicate from his fulness to those who use their moral power to avail themselves of his om- nipotence ? " " The distinguishing glory of Christ's character is to be brought out and unfolded with new power. Is he viewed enough as a whole? Is it seen that his virtue was a perfect, harmonious one? The blessedness of the spirit of Christ, as a universal love wliich can choose, at all sacrifices, the highest good, and give self wdiolly up in disinterested service, — this is to be shown in all its quickening 378 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. realit}- ; it is to be exhibited as God's own spirit, tlie inspiration of tlie Holy Gliost, the principle of heavenl}' life, the bond of vital union with the Divine Being, the germ of infinite and eternal virtue. God is the source, object, model, of this perfect love. His infinite excellence gives infinite glorj- to the soul which is fixed on him as its object. This goodness is his delight ; he nourishes it in us, renews it from himself, makes it one with him. The true good, to which the soul should turn, is moral likeness to God, being perfect as he is perfect. This union with him, this devotion to the cause of spreading his kingdom through the universe, is the spirit of Christ. This makes Christ's character the image of the Infinite Beaut}-. This is to be taught as the onh- true life. Christ taught an abandonment of all objects which men delight in, from a profound and earnest aspiration after perfect goodness. Shall the ministers of Christ make compromises with lower principles? Shall they bring Christianit}' down to the standard of the world?" " Nothing will be done by the minister till he arouses in men a fervent energy of the moral principle. Decenc}', prudence, self- interest, regard to comfort, respectability, are nothing. Men must be made to thirst for perfect goodness, to see its eternal beauty, to long for it with the full force of their spiritual affections. Will not the heart respond to the claims of God and Christ and celestial virtue, when plainl}- urged? Is there not an inward ten- dency of our spiritual being to moral perfection, which insures a joyful acquiescence in the highest appeals? May not men be made to see the rudiments of these heavenly capacities in them- selves,— to feel that they have experienced a peculiar joy in love, ■ — that they have gained new life by sacrifices to uprightness ? Un- bounded progress in virtue, in love, light, power, — all-embracing philanthroi)y, — the absorption of selfishness in universal good- will,— victory over debasing influences, — spiritual Uberation from all low impulses, — the ever-near influences of the Holy Sjjirit, — the divine love manifested in Christ, — the almighty design of God to redeem men from all iniquity, — the prospect of immortality, of never-ending api)roach to God, of ever-growing participation in his life, and ever-widening co-operation with his beneficence, — these ai-e the great truths which come home with irresistible power to the divine principle within us. Ought any views but these to be pre- sented? He alone can speak of sin as an infinite evil, and con- centrate against it the whole energy of the soul's aversion, dread, displeasure, who has risen into the Divine light, who Las faith in the unlimited capacities of our spiritual nature, who perceives the reality of heavenl}' goodness, who knows that by love man has attinit}- to God." TRUE PREACHING. 379 TRUE PREACHING. "lean conceive of a style of preaching seldom heard as yet. It will spring from the conviction of a higher state of humanity as possible now, and must come from the souls of teachers who have reached to that new state themselves. Would not a preacher, really inspired with the grandeur of Christian virtue, come into so vivify- ing a union with the minds of his hearers as to raise them to an intensity of intellectual and moral action of which they were inca- pable before? In proportion as the minister attains to this eleva- tion, he will speak with plainness and without evasion. There is a certain fastidious way of treating subjects, as if they would be tar- nished by direct speech, which destroys the power of preachers. The minister has other work than to amuse men. Grace, harmony, energy, should be blended and merged in the unity of the sublime end to which they all conspire. No poetical, imaginative air should color his discourse ; but divine goodness should be spoken of as the great practical reality. He must arouse the conscience to its sol- emn claims ; he must waken the will to the earnest and resolute pursuit of it. He should speak with urgency, — not that urgency which belongs to personal and narrow interests, but that which befits a mind exalted by the living knowledge of an infinite good." " We ought to stand up before men so filled with the greatness and beneficence of our function, as to be wholly unconscious of self, and utterly superior to frowns or favor, — strong, serene, free, in- spired. For true eloquence there is but one preparation ; it is to make the thought of spiritual perfection, of God's life within the soul, real to ourselves by habitual experience. We need calm, collected, fearless minds, elevated by the contemplation of spiritual truth, and brought near to men by a most earnest feeling of brother- hood. O the unspeakable littleness of a soul which, intrusted with Christianity, speaking in God's name to immortal beings, with infinite excitements to the most enlarged and fervent love, sinks down into narrow self-regard, and is chiefly solicitous of its own honor ! The pulpit should be to the minister an altar, upon which he may offer himself up as a living sacrifice, pure, spotless." "The minister is to speak with the same conviction of spiritual life that filled Jesus Christ. He is to be truly an inspired, Heaven- ordained prophet. What sanctity, what separation from selfish views, what entire dedication of his whole being to the recovery, freedom, growth, perfection of the immortal spirit should ciiarac- terize him ! His whole life should be a discipline of purification from earthly influences. He should be a perpetual testimony of godlike goodness to the world which he would raise. He should 380 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. so live, that the Spirit may shine out through him, and quicken all! around him. Wliat an office, — to awaken the divine in man ! The glorious form of humanity set before us in Christ should be ever before the minister. The preacher can never preach as he ought, never write or speak with the power belonging to his office, unless he feels ever present the deep conviction of union with God and Christ and all good spirits. He is not alone. The mightiest energies in the universe are co-operating with him. He must blend himself with God's grand reconciling agencies. The Roman, the Spartan, could merge his own individual good in the national well- being. In a far higher tone of feeling, the minister should enter into, and be absorbed by, the Spiritual Community of which God is the Life." The fervent enthusiasm with which Dr. Channing regarded the privileges and responsibilities of his profession, and his vivid sense of the grand tendencies of the age towards an embodiment in social life of the spirit of love, made him most anxiously desire to see a body of young men entering the ministr}', who could rise above sectarian enthralments and worldlj' hindrances, and give themselves up unreservedly to the work of advancing a revival of practical goodness. This state of mind appears in all his printed sermons of this period,* as well as in his private papers, from which we select the two following. The first is a letter to Henr}^ Ware, Jun., who had just been appointed Professor of Pastoral Care in tlie Cambridge Divinity School, and was about entering upon the otHcc in which, for so many years, he oi)ened his pure and earnest spirit as a fountain of living watei's for his younger brethren. Humble as he was wise, Mr. Ware had sought counsel from Dr. Channing as to the best modes of performing his duties, and the following is the reply to his letter : — "St. Croi.x, January 29, 1831. "Mv DEAR Sir, — .... I will begin with answering the end of 3'our letter. You ask my views respecting your vvorlc. The discourse which 30U have thought fit to publish from my volume shows 3-ou the spirit which, as I think, should characterize the institution. I wish the young men to be more and more imbued with the ' s[)irit of truth,' the supreme love of truth, the least understood, least honored, least cherished of the virtues, and yet the cardinal virtue of a religious teacher. It is not hard to stir up young men to seek distinction by pai-adoxes and startling novelties ; but to inspire 1 Works, Vol. III., pp. 137, 207, 227, 257. One Volume Edition, pp. 2G9, 246, 291, 257. SPIRIT OF MARTYRDOM. 381 that love of truth which makes the young fear their own errors as much as those of others, opens the mind to every new ray of Ught, and quickens it to improvement in all known virtue, as the best preparation for knowing higlier, — this is no easy task. And yet, until a new thirst for truth, such, I fear, as is not now felt, takes possession of some gifted minds, we shall make little progress. I apprehend that there is but one way of putting an end to our present dissensions ; and that is, not the triumph of any existing system over all others, but the acquisition of something better than tiie best we now have. The way to reconcile men who are quar- relling in a fog is to let in some new and brighter light. It seems to me that we are fighting now in a low, misty valley. A man who should gain some elevated position, overlooking our imagined heights of thought, and who v,ould lead us after him, would set us all right in a short time. "Another idea expressed in my discourse impresses me more; and that is, the importance of a spii'it of martyrdom. No man is fitted to preach or promote Christianity who is not fitted to die for it. He in whom the pure and sublime virtue of Christianity has not wrought the conviction of its own unrivalled worth and glory, so that he can ' count all things loss for it,' cannot go forth with the power which is necessary for one who is to be its minister in this crooked and perverse generation. "I think, in my discourse, that I did not attach suflScient im- portance to the spirit of humility. I am satisfied that, when Jesus said, ' He that shall humble himself as a little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven,' he meant by greatness singular efficiency and eminence in promoting his religion. By humility, in this place, we are to understand the triumph of love over the passion for superiority, and a deep sympathy with the w^eakest and lowest of our brethren. All our institutions — domestic, political, and religious — are feeding the passion for distinction and superiority; and yet nothing, I believe, is so hostile to the poiver which a min- ister should covet above all things, — the power of approaching the souls of men, and of communicating to them what is best in his own soul. If I could, I would blot out from the minds of our j'oung men the ideas of distinction and superiority. I would have them venerate the Divine image in their poorest fellow-creatures too much to think of making them subservient to their own glory. I would have them specially concerned for the poor, ignorant, and suffering ; and, for this end, I wish they would work with Dr. Tuckerman in the ministry at large." The second is a brief essay on Public Prayer, which Dr. Chan- 382 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. ning wrote out, at INIr. Ware's request, for the use of the students in the Divmity School. " Public praj'er answers its end in proportion as it makes the hearer pra}'. To excite the spirit of prayer in the congregation is the test of true public devotion. " Prayer is the expression of deep want to a Being of Infinite Fulness and Goodness. "The spirit of prayer, therefore, consists in consciousness of deep want, and in faith in God's infinite power and willingness to supply. '•The minister, to excite this spirit in others, must possess it himself, that is, must cherish this consciousness and this faith. "The want which prayer breathes is spiritual, or the want of spiritual life, of moral perfection, of godlike love, of redemption from moral evil, of spotless purit}', of union with God, of universal charit}', «&;c. " No minister can pray aright in whom this want is not deeply felt. It should be intense, — the 3'carning of his soul. To excite it, his mind should turn often to its object, — that is, to moral per- fection, as manifested in God, in Christ, in great and hoi}' men, — to virtue, in its most lovely and inspiring forms, to the workings of the spiritual life in himself and others, and to all the motives by which moral excellence will become to him the supreme good, ab- sorbing all others. " Another means of exciting this consciousness is this. When the bright idea of moral, Christian excellence is awakening strong aspiration, he should look into himself and see his deep deliciency, and learn the greatness of his want, the vastness of the change required to realize his conception of excellence. " But faith is as needful as consciousness of want; and to cher- ish this, nothing is so important as to view God in the peculiar light in which he is placed by Christianity. The minister must habitually look up to him as a Spiritual Fatlier and Fountain, as having an infinite interest in the human soul, as desiring its re- covery and perfection, as ever present to give his S[)irit, and as having sent his Son to manifest him in this character, and to awaken this faith in his si)iritual love. Until this view of God takes the place of all others, becomes habitual, becomes associated with his name and every thought of him, we shall not know the full worth and i)ower of Christianity, and shall pray imperfectly. Christianity has no liigher end than to awaken faith in God, as the Spiritual, Celestial Father, as the Friend of the soul, as desiring to impart to it a celestial life. DR. CHANNING AS A PREACHER. 383 " If these views of prayer be just, then the form of public pra^-er is easily settled. " It must be simple. Deep want is ambitious of no ornaments. " It must avoid diffusiveness. Earnest want gives directness and condensation to language. It must overflow with natural expres- sions of love, of Christian virtue, and of delight in God as its source. A spiritual tone must pervade it. "This naturalness, this expression of spiritual .sensibilities as if they formed the soul's essence and life, is the chief power of public prayer." And now that we have learned, in these various waj's, how high was Dr. Channing's estimate of his vocation, let us, for a few moments, regard him in the active discharge of his ministerial duties. No description, indeed, can convey an adequate impression of the peculiar charm of his presence and manner as a preacher ; yet a few outlines may awaken grateful memories in those who en- jo^'ed the privilege of listening to him, and, b^' the power of sym- pathy', may call up some not unworthy image in the minds of others who never breathed in his influence by personal communion. In the following familiar letter to a friend, a frequent hearer has rapidly sketched the effect of his preaching, and therein justly delineated one source of its power, — its pervading humanity. Without a trace of sentimentalism. Dr. Channing overflowed with genuine feeling, which was all the more affecting because he never purposely manifested, but rather restrained, his sensibility. " Notwithstanding Dr. Channing's varied talents, benignity is the most conspicuous feature of his character. He is fervently devout ; and when the saint extends his arms to implore a blessing on his beloved people, we flmcy his God smiles upon his request, and silently respond, ' Whom t/iou blessest is blessed.' Me prays ; — we hear the patriot intercede for his country, and the philan- thropist for mankind. His prayers are not preaching. He returns thanks for natural afl^ection and family attachments, and we see the dutiful son, the affectionate brother and husband. Before he read the apostolic precept, ' Rejoice with those who do rejoice, and weep with those that weep,' nature had written upon his heart the law of sympathy, and he never could mock the ear of grief by piti- less recited consolation. Does he plead the cause of the poor? We shudder while ' the unkind blast of winter pierces the walls of the decayed cottage, and while the half-covered bed yields no refuge from the cold.' His words reach the heart, when he warns us not to repeat, ' Our Father who art in heaven,' unless we are really 384 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. brethren to the poor and afflicted. An attentive observer of life, he deUneates the operations of the passions, and his hearers wliis- per, ' Who has betrayed our secrets ? wliat penetrating eye has pierced our hearts ? liovv knows he so to describe tlie tortures of envy, ambition, and sliame?' He shows us tlie vicious youth, ' irritable and desponding,' a prey to the agonies of remorse, and ready forcibly to stop the rapid pulses of his lieart, and we exclaim, ' Forbear ! ibrbear ! the picture is too faithful ! ' Yet admiration at his skill almost makes us pleased to be pained. The passions obey his voice. He excites at will hope, fear, and pity," Another source of Dr. Channing's power was his sincerit}'. He was transparent in simple earnestness. The personal limitations of the speaker and writer disappeared, and he seemed to be only a pure medium through which truth was uttering itself. The style of composition, so clear, graceful, and strong, — the rich variet}'^ of manner, so fervent and beautiful, and so doubly affecting from the contrast it presented of physical infirmity witli spiritual force, were forgotten, and the hearer found himself translated to the mount of vision, upon which the prophet was standing face to face with heaven and Deit3\ He was whoUj" unartificial, unconscious, and absorbed in his subject. He stood awed, 3'et animated, be- tween God above and his listening brethren. " On no account," he once said to a young brother in the ministry, "on no account, — in your public services, try to exhibit by look or tone an}- emotion which 3"ou do not feel. If 3'ou feel coldl}', appear so. The sermon may be lost, but your own truthfulness will be preserved." By this rule he invariably governed himself. The effect which he pro- duced was deep and indelible, because his eloquence was so lost sight of and swallowed up m the glory of his theme. And tliis leads us to a recognition of the chief source of his power, which we have already noticed as characterizing his .youth, — his living sense of spiritual realities. The pulpit was to him the grandest position upon earth, and he entered it with a most exalt- ing, yet disinterested, sense of its dignified and solemn trusts. In standing up before a congregation as a minister of God, he was conscious that he assumed responsibilities as much vaster than those of the judge upon the bench, of the legislator in the halls of council, of the executive officer upon his seat of power, as con- science is higher than intellect, common social affection, or natural desires. He voluntarily became a mediator between the Infinite Being and finite spirits. It has been well said: " There was no power of mind, however lofty, that his function did not to him appear to bring into urgent requisition. Preaching never seemed DR. CHANNING AS A PREACHER. 385 to him for an instant the discharge of a mere professional clut}', the fulfUment of a formal task. It was the great action of his life. It was the greatest action that could be demanded of any life. He felt that never Demosthenes nor Cicero, that never Burke nor Chatham, had a greater work to do tlian he had every Sunday. He poured into his office his whole mind and heart. The prepara- tion for it was a work of consecrated genius ; it was as if ever}' week he had made a poem or an oration."^ It was more ; for he considered the sermon, in our day, as the highest possible mode of expression, combining oration, poetry-, and prophecy in one. We cannot better sum up these general views of Dr. Channing as a preacher, than by continuing our extracts from the notice just quoted : — "No preacher, perhaps, had ever at command the stores of a richer imagination. But all was sober, in his administration of religion. To utter the truth, the naked truth, was his higliest aim and ambition. The effect he was willing to leave with God and with the heart of the hearer. He never seemed to labor so much to enforce truth as to utter it ; but this kind of utterance, this swelling and almost bursting of the inmost heart to express itself, was the most powerful enforcement. There was alwa3's, however, a chastening and restraining hand laid upon the strong nature Avithin ; and this manner has led some, I believe, to deny to Channing the gift of the highest eloquence. I know not what they call eloquence ; but this restrained emotion always seems to me one of its most touching demonstrations ; surel}' that which reaches the heart and unlocks the fountain of tears is its very essence ; and that whicli^ penetrates to the still depths of the conscience, that lie beneath tears, is its very awfulness and grandeur. Such was the eloquence of Channing. I shall never forget the effect upon me of the first sermon I ever heard from him. Shall I confess, too, that, holding then a faith somewhat different from his, I listened to him with a certain degree of distrust and prejudice? These barriers, however, soon gave wa}' ; and such was the effect of the simple and heart-touching truths and tones which fell from his lips, that it would have l.>een a relief to me to have bowed my head, and to have wept without restraint through the whole service. And yet I did not weep ; for there was something in that imin-ession too solemn and deep for tears. I claim perfection for nothing human ; .... but certainly no preaching that I have heard has come so near, in this respect, to the model in m^' mind, — I say, not irrev- erently, the Great Model, — as the preaching of Channing 1 Dr. Dewey's Discourse on tlie Character and "Writings of Clianning, pp. 7, 8. 25 386 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. In most men's religious feeling, there is something singularly gen- eral and vague ; . . . . they do not meditate their religion deeply in their hearts But it was not so with the remarkable and venerable person of whom I speak. His thoughts on this theme, the deep and living verities of his own experience, had an original impress, a marked individuality-, a heart-felt truth, and a singular power to penetrate the heart. His words had a strange and heart-stirring vitality-. Some living power within seemed to preside over the selection and tone of ever}- word, and to gi\'e it more than the force and weight of a whole discourse from other men." ^ And now let us go, on some Sunday morning, to the meeting- house in Federal Street, and hear for ourselves this wonderful preacher. The doors are crowded ; and, as we enter, we see that there are but few vacant seats, and that the owners of the pews are hospitably welcoming strangers, whom the sexton is conducting up the aisles. There is no excitement in the audience, but deep, calm expectation. With a somewhat rapid and an elastic step, a person small in stature, thin and pale, and carefully enveloped, ascends the pulpit stair. It is he. For a moment, he deliberately and benignantl_y surve3-s the large congregation, as if drinking in the influence of so many human beings ; and then, la3"ing aside his outer garments, and putting on the black silk gown, he selects the hymn and passage from Scripture, and, taking his seat, awaits in quiet contemplation the time for commencing the service. What impresses us now, in his appearance, is its exceeding delicacy, refinement, and spiritualized beauty. In the hollow eye, the sunken cheeks, and the deep lines around the mouth, the chronic debilit}'' of many years has left an ineffaceable impress. But on the pol- ished brow, with its rounded temples, shadowed by one falling lock, and on the beaming countenance, there hovers a serenity which seems to brighten the whole head with a halo. The voluntary on the oi-gan has been played, the opening invo- cation has been offered by the assistant in the pulpit, and the choir and congregation have joined in singing the first hymn ; — and now he rises, and, spreading out his arms, says, " Let us unite in prayer." What a welcome to near communion with the Heavenly Father is there in the tremulous tenderness of that invitation ! Tliis is a solenm reality, and no formal rite, to him. Tlie Infinite is hero, around all, within all. What awful, yet confiding reverence, what relying afi'ection, wliat profound gratitude, what unutterable longing, ' Dr. Dewey's Diseourse on the Character ami Writings of Clianning, pp. 9-11. DR. CHANNING'S PREACHING. 387 what consciousness of intimate spiritual relationship, what vast an- ticipations of progressive destinj', inspire these few, simple, meas- ured, most variously' modulated words ! How the very peace of heaven seems to enter and settle down upon the hushed assembl}^ ! There follows a pause and perfect silence for a few moments, which the spirit feels its need of, that it may reassume its self-con- trol and power of active thought. And now the Bible is opened ; the chai)ter to be read is the fifteenth of the Gosi)el of John. The grand announcement is spoken, the majestic claim is made, — "I am the true vine, and my Father is tlie husbandman." How often we have hoard these sentences ! and yet did we ever before begin to know their exhaustless wealth of meaning? What depth, volume, expressiveness, in those intonations ! '' That my joy miglit remain in you, and that your joy might be fall." Yes, O most honored brother, now we have gained a glimpse of the rich life of thy god- like disinterestedness. AVe shall be indeed tli}' '-'■ friends " " when we love one another as thou didst love us." It is enough. No mere rhetorician, however trained and skilful, could have made these words so penetrating in pathetic sweetness, so invigorating in un- bounded hope. The very smile and hand of the Saviour seem to have been upon us in blessing and power. Every emphasis and inflection of the reader was fraught with his own experience. The sa^'ing is no longer a m^'stical metaphor to us, — " If a man love me, m}' Father will love him, and we will come unto him and make our abode with him " ; for the fact is illustrated before our eyes. The liymn is read. What melod^y ! what cadence ! The tone may be too prolonged, and too undulating the accent ; but we can never, never again forget those lines. In many a distant scene of doubt and fear, of trial and temptation, their music will come vibrating through the inner chambers of our hearts, and, at the sound, our bosom-sins will disappear, " awed by the presence" of the "Great Invisible." The singing is over. The hearts of the hearers are attuned. The spirit of tlie preacher has already pervaded them, and softened them to harmony. It is the " new commandment" of which he is to discourse. He begins by portraying the overflowing sympatliy with wliich Jesus forgot his own impending sufferings, in his desire to cheer the little band so soon to be scattered. We are there with them in tlie upper chamber ; we are bathed in that flood of benig- nity ; can we ever be faithless to this most lovely and all-loving friend? Thence, passing outwards, he lays open before us the universal humanity of tlie Son of Man made Son of God, till we see that the fulness of the Spirit in him, his oneness with tlie Father, 388 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. was his pure and perfect benevolence, — till we begin to apprehend how such a sublime self-sacrifice might fit the Christ to be the abiding mediator between heaven and earth, the ruler over the ages to introduce among mankind the kingdom of God. Wliat affec- tionate devotion, what adoring reverence, what quick discrimination, what delicate perception, what vividness, characterized this sketch of the Master ! Thus ends the first branch of the sermon. And now he is to assure us, all selfish, immersed in the bus}' anxieties of life, halMtually incased in prejudices and conventionalit}-, as we may be, that this spirit of unlimited brotherly kindness is the only befit- ting spirit for an}' man, for every man, — that we are encouraged to aspire after it, that we can attain to it, that we are Christians only in the measure in which it sanctifies us. How carefull}' he meets and disarms objections ! how calmly he removes all fear of undue enthusiasm ! how deliberate and definite does he make the statement of his propositions ! The sound sense and judgment of the preacher strike us now as much as his devout earnestness did before. There is nothing vague, dream}', extravagant, in this cool reasoner. Gradually he awakens the meraor}- and conscience of his hearers, and reveals to them, from their own observation and experience, with a terrible distinctness of contrast, what the pro- fessed Christians of Christendom actually are. There are no ex- pletives, no fuhninations, no fanatical outpourings. But the small figure dilates, — the luminous gray eye now flashes witli indignation, now softens in pit}^ — and the outstretched arm and clenched hand are lifted in sign of protest and warning, as the wrongs which man inflicts on man are presented with brief but glowing outlines. How the accidental honors of the so-called great flutter like filthy rags, and crumble into dust, as the meanness of arbitrar}' power and worldly ambition is exposed ! How the down-trodden outcasts rise up in more than royal dignity, as the intrinsic grandeur of man reveals itself through their badges of ignominious servitude ! The preacher now enlarges upon the greatness of man ; he sliows how worthy ever}' human being is of love, for his nature, if not for his character. Sin and degradation are made to appear unspeakably mournful, when measured by the majestic innate powers, the celes- tial destiny, appointed to the most debased ; every spirit becomes venerable to us, as heir of God and co-heir of Christ, as the once lost but now found, the once dead but now living, the prodigal yet dearly loved child of the Heavenly Father. And as our gaze wanders over the congregation, in kindling or tearful e3'es, in pallid or flushed cheeks, in smiling or firm-set lips of many a hearer, is displayed the new resolve just registered in the will, to lead a truly manly life, by CONTINUED DEBILITY. 389 consecrating one's self to the divine work of raising all men upright in the image of God. A brief petition and benediction end the service ; and after a few warm pressures of the hand, and mutual congratulations that such a sermon has been heard, the congregation disperses. If this is the first time we have listened to the preacher, we walk home through the thronged streets, we look upon our fellow-men, we treaxl the earth, we breathe the air, we feel the sunshine, with a new con- sciousness of life. This hour has been an era in existence. Never again can we doubt God's love, disbelieve in Christ, despond for ourselves, despise our fellows, — never again sigh over the drudg- er}', the tamencss, the tantalizing disappointments of this work-day world. How solemn in grandeur, how unspeakably magnificent, how wonderful, how fresh with beauty and joy, open now before us the present lot, the future career, of man ! This sketch may seem to some readers extravagant, but it will be thought, on the other hand, tame and cold by those who in memory recall the reality which it so faintl}' resembles. It was doubtless owing to the energy with which Dr. Channing threw liis whole soul into his ministrations, that he found the usual pulpit services so exhausting. Full of conscientiousness and deep emotion, ideal and aspiring to a most rare degree, concentrated and intense in all his mental and moral processes, unhabituated to re- laxation and variety of employment, he constantly experienced extreme nervous prostration after preaching. Though benefited by the rest and refreshment of foreign travel, he immediately found, upon his return, that he should be entirely broken down, if he at- tempted to resume the whole of his duties. And so, with the sense of duty to his parish which was conspicuous throughout his minis- try, he determined at once to lay before them his condition and the exact measure of his ability. His own wish was to have a colleague settled with him ; but he chose to leave the society free to make the first movement, and addressed them, therefore, as follows : — " Portsmouth, R. L, Sept. 4, 1823. "Christian Friends : — My much esteemed assistant, Mr. Dewey, having made known to me his desire to be released from his present engagement, I am compelled to solicit again your atten- tion to the subject of obtaining for me such aid as circumstances may render necessary. I have already stated to you, and I beg to repeat it, that the improvement of my health, though very encour- aging, is not such as to warrant me to take on myself all the duties and services ordinarily expected from ministers; nor ought I to 390 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. make the attempt, until the strength which I have gained is not onl^' confirmed, but increased. Without undue solicitude for life, I desire earnestly to be capable, whilst I live, of some exertion which may be useful to m}' people and family ; and this object de- mands, especially' at the present moment, great care in proportion- ing ni}' labors to m^^ strength. The thought of being reduced again to the inactivity and uselessness to which 1 have been condemned for some time past almost overwhelms me ; and although I trust, that, should God appoint me this trial, he would strengthen me to bear it, still I feel that I am not onl^' permitted, but required, to use whatever means of averting it he may atford. I have no right, by laboring beyond my strength, to throw away the degree of health which I have gained b^' so many sacrifices ; nor should I, in this wa}', consult your interests an}^ more than my own comfort. Under these impressions, I have endeavored to judge to what extent I may now resume m\' labors. I have a strong confidence that 1 can take half the services on Sunday without injury. More than this I cannot attempt with safet}^, and the experience of several years makes me fearful that it will occasionally be prudent for me to ab- stain from preaching on both parts of the day. How long I may require these indulgences I cannot even conjecture ; for the effect of returning to labors which have been so long discontinued is very doubtful. I am compelled, however, to say, that, as debility- has oppressed me for years, I am authorized to anticipate only a grad- ual and slow increase of strength, and that there is no probability^ of my resuming speedily all the duties of my oflice. Under these circumstances, I am exceedingly desirous that such provisions should be made for the pulpit as will secure to mj people the most edifying and acceptable services ; and I feel as if this would prove a medicine to the body, b}' the relief and joy it would give to my mind. For this end, I have thought proper to make this free com- munication in regard to my state, prospects, hopes, and fears, and to assure you of my disposition to concur with you in whatever measures the welfare and religious improvement of the church may be thought to require. " I cannot close this communication without renewing my thanks- givings to Almighty God for restoring me to you with some ability to serve you. Longer experience, and more extensive observation of human affairs, have only served to recommend to me the Chris- tian ministr}', and to strengthen my wish to live and die in the dis- charge of its duties. Imploring for you every blessing in this world and in the world to come, I subscribe myself " Your affectionate friend and grateful pastor." DESIRE FOR A COLLEAGUE. 391 At a meeting of the proprietors of the meeting-house in Federal Street, September 22, this letter was read, and the vote unani- mously passed, " That it is expedient to settle a colleague with the Rev. Dr. Chauning, provided it will meet with his concurrence, and provided that an arrangement can be made in relation to salaries satisfactor}- to the society and the pastors." A committee was also appointed to confer with Dr. Channing. His wishes were thus ex- pressed in consequence : — " Boston, Sept. 26, 1823. "Gentlemen: — The votes of the proprietors of the church in Federal Street, at their meeting on September 22, 1823, having been communicated to me, I take an early opportunity to express m}' views and feelings in relation to the subjects to wliicli they re- fer, and I shall aim to do this with all possible simplicity. " The first question suggested by the votes is, whether I wish a colleague. On this point I have not spoken freelj', because I have not wished to influence the opinion of my parishioners. 1 have chosen that i\\Q.y should act from their own deliberate and indepen- dent convictions in an affair so important as the settlement of another minister, — one of the most important in life, — the effects of which will extend beyond themselves to their children, and be felt in the society perhaps long after I am separated from it. But now that m}- opinion is requested, I have no hesitation in saying that I shall jeceive a colleague with pleasure ; not merely because I shall find the greatest relief in such an arrangement, but chiefly because I hope from it the greatest good to the society. I should be most grateful to God, had I strength equal to the whole duties of the ministry, p'or these duties are my happiness, and I am aware that there are strong motives for having them discharged by a single pastor. " But conscious as I am that I have at no period had sufficient health to perform them thoroughly, and persuaded that I must now be assisted in them, the question offers itself, whether aid shall be sought for me in a variety and succession of young unsettled preachers, or in a permanent assistant ; and the last mode seems to me to possess decided advantages, provided the parish can secure an individual, whose piety, ability, and general acceptableness shall afford pledges of a useful ministry. From such a man they will receive instructions more adapted to their wants, character, and state, more matured by experience, and more imbued with a deep, affectionate interest in their welfare, than can be expected from young men and strangers ; and they will receive pastoral aids, not only from the pulpit, but of a more private and perhaps not less 392 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. useful nature. His instructions, too, will be heard with less of that curiosity and spirit of criticism b^- which the efflcac}' of preaching is weakened, and with more of that personal regard which adds weight to truth. " Under such a man, I should hope to see an improvement of the condition of our society, — not of its outward condition, for this is Bufficiently prosperous, but of its interior, religious, spiritual state. I should hope to see the marks and evidences of profounder venera- tion for Christianity, of more faithful application of it to the char- acter, of a more living and fruitful piety, and of a stronger interest in the cause and diffusion of our religion. I feel that greater im- provements are needed among us. Not that I have ground to complain of deficiency of attachment to myself. But Avhat I desire is, a greater attachment to that cause, that religion, of which I am merely the instrument, and in comparison with which I am nothing, and deserve no consideration. A¥ith God's blessing on the labor of another, joined to my own, I trust that the purposes of our connec- tion would be answered more effectually than the}' have yet been ; and this is my great motive for concurring, as I candidly do, in the opinion of the society on the subject of a colleague, as expressed in their vote " I cannot close this communication without imploring Divine guidance for m}^ people and myself, that we ma}' adopt such meas- ures as will strengthen our union, and build us up in the faith and hope, in the spirit and most exalted virtues, of our religion. "With great affection and respect, your friend and pastor." On September 29th, the foregoing letter was read to the proprie- tors, who voted, " That the letter of the Rev. Dr. Channing to the Committee is highl}' acceptable to the proprietors of the Federal Street meeting-house," and that the propositions of the letter and of the Committee be accepted. The Committee, in their report, had said that the proposed salary' of Dr. Channing "is the result of his voluntary relinquishment, in the event of the settlement of a colleague, of a portion of his present income, the continuance of which he is entitled to claim. The motives and views on this head, expressed in his letter, are entirelj^ satisfactory to the Committee. .... They believe it to be unnecessary to enlarge on such a topic, and in relation to a connection so highly and justly valued b}^ every member of the society." In the spring of 1824, the Rev. Ezra Stiles Gannett w^as invited and ordained to be the Associate Pastor of the Federal Street Society. The relations between Dr. Channing and his colleague were, for the long period of eighteen years, most intimate, cordial, REV. E. S. GANNETT. 393 and mutually beneficial. Dr. Gannett has expressed, for himself, in his address at the funeral services of his spiritual father, his tender and reverential atfection "for one whom he honored not less because he may have loved him more than others who beheld him at a greater distance," and has thus borne his testimony' to Dr. Channing's faithfulness in the delicate and difficult duties of their official intercourse: — "After my connection with this society, he encouraged me in ever^' plan I undertook, welcomed ever}' sign of increasing S3'mpathy and energy among us, and cheered me under ever}' occasion of despondenc}-. How often would my spirit have wholl}' sunk within me, if he had not animated me to new struggle with the discouragement of ni}- own heart ! " And, on the other hand, Dr. Channing paid the following warm tribute to Mr. Gan- nett, on the occasion when that conscientious and indefatigable minister was for a time worn out b}' his excessive labors, and was compelled to seek, in foreign travel, a renewal of his powers of use- fulness: — "Of the faithfulness of our friend to this congregation I need not speak. He toiled da}' and night for the cause to which he had given himself, until, at length, he sunk under his labors. Of his connection with myself, let me say that it has never for a moment been disturbed by a word, I may add, by a thought, which friendship would wish to recall. Mutual confidence, a disposition in each to concede to the other unrestricted freedom of opinion and operation, and, I trust, a disposition to rejoice in one another's success, have given us the benefits of this relation, unmixed with the evils to which it is thought to be liable. I rejoice, my friends, in the proofs you have given our friend of your interest in his welfare, of your gratitude for his services. I rejoice in the testi- mony you have borne to the worth of the Christian ministry. Our friend will carry with him, wherever he goes, the consoling, cheer- ing recollection of your sympathy and kindness. May he be fol- lowed by our prayers, as well as affections ! May he meet friends in sti-angers ! May a kind Providence infuse new life and strength into his debilitated frame ! May he return once again to instruct, comfort, improve, and bless this congregation ! " Throughout their long intercourse, from the time of his settle- ment to that of his death. Dr. Channing and the Federal Street Society vied with each other in liberality ; and, as the facts do honor to both parties, and reveal interesting points of character, it seems but just to give some indications of the mutual respect and kindness which bound them together. The resignation of a portion of his salary by Dr. Channing, as a means of better enabling the society to provide suitably for a colleague, has been noticed. But, 894 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. from period to period, as he found that his friend's labors and responsibiUties were multiplied, while his own were proportionately- lessened, he gradually gave up the remainder of his salary, until the pecuniary tie between himself and his congregation became almost nominal. A few letters and votes, taken from the records of the Federal Street Society, illustrate the generous spirit upon both sides. " My Christian Brethren : — Having reason to apprehend that I shall be obliged to diminish my exertions for a time, and feeling increased doubts as to the degree of service which I may be able to render hereafter, I have thought proper to relinquish five hun- dred dollars of my salary' after the present parish 3'ear, which will close with this month. I still hope to labor, and gradually to extend m}' labors among you, as a Christian minister. This object, however, requires that I should carefulh' abstain from ever}' effort which may threaten any injury to my health, and I trust that, in exercising m}' discretion on this point, I shall not be considered as consulting my ease rather than ni}- usefulness, or as deserting those great interests to which ni}' life has been devoted. I am happy to add, that I have found much relief and satisfaction in the zeal and cheerfulness with which my colleague has performed the duties which have multiplied upon him in consequence of my impaired health ; and I pray that his connection with 3'ou ma}- prove a con- tinually increasing good. " With Christian regards, I remain " Your atiectionate friend and pastor. " April 4, 1825." "Reverend and dear Sir: — We duly received your commu- nication of the 4th instant ; and we should immediately have acknowledged it, but for the hope we indulged that possibly a more speedy restoration to health and strength, than either your friends or yourself at that time anticipated, might atlbrd us a rea- sonable ground for urging you to delay for the present a step which seems to loosen, in some degree, your connection with our society. "It is with the most sincere pleasure we now learn that your disease has abated, and that your strength is returning to you, and we therefore take the liberty of making the suggestion, whether it may not consist as well with your own views on this subject, and with the views and wishes of your friends and connections, that the relinquislniient of salary proposed in your comnuniication to us should be deferred, or at least confined to a limited time, until a RELATIONS TO THE SOCIETY. 395 few months' relaxation should enable j'ou better to decide whether your liealth and comfort will render it impracticable for you to continue to perform so large a portion of the pastoral duties as you contemplated at the settlement of Mr. Gannett " With the most earnest praj-ers that your health may be com- pletely restored and confirmed to you, we are, dear Sir, " Your sincere friends and parishioners, "John Lee, &c. " Boston, April 19, 1825." Dr. Channing's letter was consequently withdrawn b}- him. In his note, he says : — " I made the proposition to relinquish a part of m}' salary, in the belief that I was consulting my own usefulness and the welfare of the society' I am persuaded, however, that you understand what the interests of the parish demand better than I do ; and if you ap- prehend that any injury will result from communicating m}- letter at the next i^arish meeting, or that greater good may be anticipated from withholding it, I am entirely willing that it should be passed over for the present. " Your friend. " April 28, 1825." " To the Committee of the Relicjious Society in Federal Street. "Gentlemen: — I have thought fit to relinquish four hundred dollars of my salaiy from the commencement of the present paro- chial year, so that the salaiy will be twelve hundred, instead of sixteen hmidred per annum. M}' intention was to communicate this to you before the day of the annual meeting ; but, through mistake, I have not done it. I have some views which I ma}' lay before you at a future time, and can only add, that I remain, with the best wishes for ^-ourselves and the society, " Your sincere friend. " May 2, 1827." "Dear Sir: — I believe that this is the evening on which the Committee of the Federal Street Church meet, and I will thank you to inform the gentlemen that it is ni}' wish to relinquish two hun- dred dollars of my salary alter this time. I presume that no objec- tions now exist to such an arrangement. " Veiy sincerely, 3'our friend. " May 4, 1829." "Dear Sir: — I believe that this is the evening on which the committee of our parish meet ; and if so, I will thank you to ex- 396 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. press my desire that mj' salary may be redaced to the sum of eight hundred dollars, and that I may be released at the same time from the tax I pa}' for ni}' pew. " With sincere regard, 3'our friend. " May 3, 1830." On Ma3' 5th, a vote was passed by the proprietors in accordance with his wish. The three deacons were appointed " a committee to wait upon Dr. Channing, and to express the gratitude of the society to him for this act of liberahty." " Dear Sir : — I learned from your letter j^esterday that a meet- ing of the proprietors of our church is to be held to-da}', to settle some of its pecuniary concerns. I will thank you to inform the meeting, that, as I was absent from the country' half of the last year, it is my wish and purpose to relinquish one half of a year's salar}'. " Verj- trul}' your friend. "October 24, 1831." October 24, it was voted unanimously, " That the clerk be directed to present tlie thanks of the proprietors to the Rev. Dr. Channing for his liberal offer, but respectfully to dechne accept- ing it." " To the Members of the Congregational Society in Federal Street. "Boston, Nov. 1, 1832. " My Christian Friends : — This day being the commencement of the last half of our parochial year, I have thought it a fit time for a communication which, perhaps, ought to have been made before. The uncertainty of my health, and consequent uncertainty of my ofllcial services, have led me to think that a change, in one respect, should be made in the relation subsisting between us. It seems to me that my salary should cease ; and, accordingly, I re- linquish it from the present time. In taking this step, I have no desire to dissolve my pastoral connection with you. I wish to con- tinue it, provided you shall believe that, in so doing, I may promote your best interests. I still hope that I may recover strength for oc- casional preacliing. To be wholly cut off from this means of use- fulness would be to me a great aOliction. I feel, however, more strongly than I have done, that I ought never to preach without a decided conviction that my health will not sutler from the eifort ; and I beUeve that, in relinquishing my salary, my judgment on this point will be more unembarrassed than at present. "■ 1 beg you to accept my thanks for the interest which you have RELATIONS TO THE SOCIETY. 397 SO long taken in me and m}' labors. No one of you can feel more than I do how broken and imperfect my sermons have been. Under my infirmities, however, 1 have found comfort in knowing that you were enjoying the faithful and able labors of my colleague. It is m}' earnest desire and prayer, that the religion of Christ may be preached to you in its purity, and with increasing success. This divine truth becomes more and more precious to me, under every new visitation of sickness and suffering. I can ask nothing better for my dearest friends than that they may know, by experience, its purifying influences and never-failing supports. " With great affection and respect, " Your friend and pastor." On November 19th, 1832, it was " Voted, That a committee of five persons be appointed to express the unabated respect and afl^'ec- tion of the society to the Rev. Dr. Channing, and their grateful sense of his past services, and to request that he will continue to act as their pastor on the same terms as at present, with the understanding that he shall not be expected to oflflciate, except when he can do it conveniently, and with perfect safety to his health." " To the Committee of the Federal Street Society. "Gentlemen: — ! will thank you to express, at some suitable time, to the members of our religious society my purpose of relin- quishing, at the end of the parochial year, the compensation which I now receive for my services. It is a deliberate act, and I beg them to acquiesce in it. I am not solicitous, however, to give up entirely my relation as one of their ministers, should they desire its continuance. My long connection with the society, the tender recollections which spring up when I look back on the many years devoted to the ministry among them, and the hope that I may still confer some benefit, however small, incline me to continue the re- lation as long as it shall seem to me not to interfere with hio-her means of usefulness. They will naturally expect that my labors among them will be diminished, and will not be surprised, if I should use tlie freedom which I shall enjoy in giving a somewhat different direction to my exertions in the cause of humanity and religion. It is my earnest prayer that their deliberations a nd efforts for securing to themselves and their children the means of relioious improvement may be blessed by God,— that their union maybe unbroken, — that they may be more and more established in Chris- tian faith and virtue, — and that, under the merciful discipline of 398 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. our Heavenly Father, we ma}' all prepare ourselves for the indis- soluble ties and everlasting happiness of the world to come. " Your sincere friend. " Jan. 9, 1838." This letter was written because the Society in Federal Street was desirous of settling a colleague to aid Mr. Gannett, at a period when he was very much enfeebled, and Dr. Channing considered the burden of three ministers altogether unnecessary. But as Mr. Gannett's health became restored, the plan was abandoned ; and, at the request of the society. Dr. Channing resumed his former relations. The series of these communications was closed by the two following letters, which seemed prophetically to announce the close of his earthly ministr}' : — " To the Standing Committee of the Proprietors of the Church in Federal Street. " Gentlemen : — This day being the beginning of our parochial year, I think it a fit season for a communication which I have for some time intended to make. I have, as }ou may recollect, pro- posed more than once to relinquish m}- salary, but have as often been requested by the societ}' to retain it. The last request was communicated to me by the Hon. J. Davis and the Hon. J. Welles, with a kindness which I shall always remember with gratitude. I observed to them, that one reason for relinquishing the salary was, that by receiving it I should excite expectations which I might not be able to fulfil. But I was assured, that I was to consider myself as wholly free, and to preach only when it might be convenient. I have never lost the hope of being strengthened for greater public labors ; but as yet it has not been realized. Under this experience, I have gradually reduced my salary, and have resolved definitely to relinquish it l^rom this day. It is also my wish and purpose that all my i)ul)lic functions should cease. 1 do not desire, however, that a formal dissolution of our connection should take place. Having sustained the relation of pastor nearly forty years, it will be gratifying to me that it should continue, whilst circumstances remain as Ihey are. I wish that the members of the society may feel that they have a right to seek friendly and spiritual counsel from me, when in need of such, and that I may have a right to communicate with them, when I can hope to do them good. I beg, however, that it may be understood, that the prosperity of the society is far dearer to me than any personal gratification of this nature ; and if it should be thought best that there should be a formal dissolution of the relation, I desire that this may immediately take place. RELATIONS TO THE SOCIETY. 399 " In thus bringing m}- public labors among 3'ou to an end, I can- not but acknowledge with gratitude that kind Providence which has sustained me so many years amidst much plwsical infirmity, and wdiich has made it the employment of mj- life to study and teach the religion of Jesus Christ. After a long experience, I feel that life could not have been devoted to a more worthy end. My time has been given chiefly to the work of acquiring juster, clearer, more quickening views of truth and dut}'. In this pursuit I have spent mj' strength, and cheerfull}^ surrendered most of what are called the pleasures of life. That in so doing I have obe^'ed a Divine im- pulse, I believe ; but I may have followed it too exclusively. The inquiries and contemplations which belong to m}' profession may have encroached on its more active duties. My studies, which would have been light to a man of ordinary strength, have produced almost daily an exhaustion which has left me little spirit for social intercourse. It might have been better for myself and for others, had I more frequently torn my mind from the subjects which have absorbed almost my whole intellectual energy. For this error, if such it be, I ask and hope a lenient judgment, because I have not given myself to intellectual indulgence, but have carried into my . seclusion a sincere, and I hope a growing, interest in my fellow- creatures, and in the Christian cause. Other and more serious deficiencies I might recall. Indeed, no one can feel more than I do the imperfections of my ministry. For these I desire forgive- ness of God and man. Still I do not feel as if I had labored in vain. My public services have been listened to with interest, and I have had proofs, for which I am most grateful, that deeper eflTects than transient interest have been produced by my ministry. Not that I have accomplished what I wished. As a people, I fear we are greatly wanting in that spiritual elevation, that superiority to the world, that love of God, of Jesus Christ, and of mankind, which is the end of religious institutions. In truth, all our churches need a new life, a new comprehension of the spirit and high purpose of Christianity. This I say for the truth's sake, and in sorrow of heart, and not from any wounded feelings, under the consciousness of having exerted no greater influence. As far as I am personally concerned, I ha\e nothing to complain of, no reproaches to utter. I have received for many years expressions of kindness, for which I oflTer my sincere thanks. It is, indeed, a gratifying consideration, that our long union has not been disturbed even by a word of conten- tion. I am not aware that a thought or emotion of uukindness has risen within me toAvaids one of my parishioners. Were I now to leave them, I could from the heart bid an affectionate farewell to all. 400 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. "I have spoken of the past. It is natural for me, at such a moment, to cast a look towards the future. It is possible that some sphere of action, not now anticipated, may open on me. It is more probable that my present sphere will he contracted. When I look round me, 1 see not one of the ministers who filled the pulpits of this city at my ordination. All have gone to their account ; and not a few, settled since, have also passed away. He, who seemed destined to go among the first, survives alone. Can I help apply- ing to myself the language of the Apostle, — ' The time of my departure is at hand ' ? Nor is the time very distant, when all to whom I have ministered will have entered the unknown world. It is ni}' fervent pra^'er that we ma}' meet in the temple ' not made with hands,' and that a holier worship than has united us here may bind us together for ever. " I may on another occasion express m}^ feelings more full}' to the society. I earnestly desire that they may continue to enjoy the labors of their devoted pastor, and that, through this and other means of religion, their harmony ma}' be perpetuated, and their spiritual improvement never cease. " With respect and affection, your friend. " May 1, 1840." " The Proprietors and Congregation of the Church in Berry Street to their Senior Pastor, the Rev. William Ellerij Channing, D. D. " Reverend and dear Sir : — We have received from the stand- ing committee of the proprietors the letter you addressed them on the first instant, announcing your purpose from that day to relin- quish the small remainder of salary, which, at our earnest request, you had till then consented to receive from us ; and expressing your desire, that, without formally dissolving the connection that has so long and so happily subsisted between us, your public functions as a minister of Christ to this society may cease. " We do not wish to conceal from you that we receive this de- cision with regret and pain. Perhaps we feel it the more sensibly, because it seemed to be our duty to acquiesce in it, and thus make it final. For several years, we have known that you considered such a separation as you now propose desirable, on account of the state of your health ; and if we have heretofore been unwilling to give it our concurrence, it has been from feelings of respect and at- tachment to yourself, that have grown old in many of our hearts, and sunk deep in all of them. We may, from these feelings, have resisted your wishes longer than we ought to have done, but we hope and trust we have not been unreasonable ; and now that the DUTIES OF THE MINISTER. 401 time has arrived when we are not permitted to hesitate in giving to them our full assent, it gi'atifies us that you do not seek to make the separation absohite and entire, but that ^-ou are desirous on 3'our part, as we are on ours, to retain some of the bonds that have united us during a connection tliat has been permitted to be so happ}- and to last so long " Our connection, as you intimate, has been continued through a longer period than could at first have been anticipated, — a period, indeed, so long, that few remain among us who bore witness to its beginning. You came to us thirty-seven ^ears ago, when our numbers were so few, and our circumstances so humble, that it was apparent 3'ou came only from a sense of duty, and from a dis- interested desire to serve your fellow-men. Under your care, how- ever, we soon prospered and grew numerous. But at every step of our progress, we felt, that, under God's good providence, we owed it chiefl}^ to you. We have, too, as we trust, been thankful for the ministrations we have enjoj'ed. We have certainly felt them to be a privilege, — a great privilege, — and we have greatly valued them. Nor has their influence been confined to ourselves. They have been felt and acknowledged bej'ond the limits of our own society, beyond the limits of our own countrj' ; and we trust that even yet neither their work nor ^-ours is wholly accomplished. We trust, that, long after both you and we are gone to render up our last account, your spirit, m the record of what you have here spoken, will be still active in the great cause of Christ and of human improvement, to which you have devoted your life. The only regret we feel, when looking back upon the period of your connection with us, is, that we have not profited as we ought to have done by the privileges we have enjoyed ; that we have not become spiritual, and superior to the world, devoted to duty, as you have labored to make us. We pray God to forgive us for our deficiencies, and to make your teachings more eff'ectual to the gen- erations that are to come after us than they have been to us and to our own "On behalf of the proprietors and the congregation of Berry Street Church, " Samuel Greele, Chairman. George S. Hillard, Proprietors' Clerk." In proportion as the ties were gradually loosened which bound Dr. Channing to the Federal Street Society, and as his indefatiga- ble colleague became, by well-earned influence, peculiarly the pas- tor of the congregation, he felt himself more free to devote his time 26 402 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. and thonghts to larger interests of trnth and philanthrop}'. In fact, for many years a change had been slowly taking place in his views of the relative importance of the different branches of ministerial labor. In his early professional life he had been, as we have seen, most devoted to his pastoral duties, and ill health, more than any otlier cause, had compelled him to limit his exertions in that direction. But experience at length suggested to liim the question, whether his enforced life of secluded meditation had not, on the whole, been more serviceable to his fellow-men than one of more constant social intercourse and practical activity' would have been. The course of his reflections may be partially indicated by giving the following extracts from one of his unfinished manuscripts : — "The several duties of the minister may be laid downi easily; but it is not so eas^' to establish the relative rank of his various offices. Some would make the minister a student, some a visiting pastor, some a pnblic speaker. Undoubtedly, the same rule can- not be applied to all. Different modes of labor are appropriate to different men, and to different conditions of society-. Still the great idea of the Christian minister is plain. He is to be a teacher ; and, in order that he may teach, he must learn. His peculiar work is, to quicken the community by the promulgation of exalting truth. The acquisition of this truth, and the clear, powerful expression of it, are, then, his chief labors ; and these imply much solitary thought. He is to be a thinker. To this severe toil his life is to be mainly given. Of course, he is to preach, converse, counsel. But the sermon which he preaches in an hour may be the result of months and years of meditation. The truth which he utters in a sentence may have cost him long, laborious, exhausting research Only private meditation can lead him up to worthy conceptions of the great realities of the spiritual life. His chief work he must do alone. He must live much in his study, and live there, not as a hypocrite and cheat, amusing himself with light reading, whilst the world considers him a student, but in good faith tasking his powers for the discovery and forcible exhibition of truth. The study is too often an idle place, and yet a faithful student is the most laborious man on earth. These views are important, because the age is so much an out-door age. There is little solitary thought an}' where. "Great stress is laid upon what is sometimes called pastoral duty, on the personal intercourse, that is to say, of the minister witli his congregation ; but much visiting may be to a minister, as to others, a species of dissipation. Profitable conversation is a fruit of meditation, the overflow of a full heart and mind. To do DUTIES OF THE MINISTER. 403 good, as lie goes from house to house, a minister should carry with him living thoughts, which have been matured by vigorous inquiry', which belong to a s^'stem of truth forever enlarging and gaining strength in his mind. No one believes more than I do in the bene- fits of free conference between the minister and his parishioners ; but their intercourse should be truly a conference, — the suggestion of awakening ideas, which open the inward experience. Such con- versation requires, above all things, that a minister should rid him- self of the technicalities and formal restraints of his profession, and exchange mere traditional notions of religion for fresh, clear, pro- found views. Where a minister does not lead a life of thought, it is to be feared that, as a visitor, he will become a gossip ; and a religious gossip is no more profitable than any other. To tell reli- gious news may do in its season and place, but to fill up an}' con- siderable portion of life with it is a sad waste of power ; and a minister should respect his function too highly to spend his hours in such enfeebling talk. " It is sometimes said, that a minister does more b}'' winning the love of his people than b}- hard study, because he thus secures an access to their hearts which no mere intellectual power could give. A minister should, indeed, be loved ; but this sentiment should be a moral, rather than a personal sentiment. It should be a respect for his high virtues, a trust in his uncompromising fidelit}^, a grateful sense of his devoted, conscientious labors for a glorious end, more than an attachment growing out of private sympathies. Respectful confidence, founded on the recognition of consistent principle,^ is better than affection. The minister must beware of an intercourse with his congregation which flatters their self-love, and endears him as a partial friend. The sympathetic minister may fail to be the faitliful spiritual guide. The onlj"^ sure ground for a man to stand upon is elevation and purity of character. Pop- ularity, founded on individual sympathies, has no certain perma- / nence ^ " These remarks are the more important, because, in this coun- try, the dependence of the minister on the good-will of his congre- gation strongly tempts him to make himself agreeable to his hearers. If he yield to this temptation, he is lost. If the desire of pleasing takes the place of aspiration after truth, the dignity of his mind is gone. We never should enter into communion with our fellow-men with the view of being agreeable as our chief end. We enter no circle without taking the chance of encountering opinions and feel- ings which we ought not to reciprocate, or of being called to utter what ma}- give pain or oflTence. Our first purpose should be, to 404 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. hold fast to truth and justice, however we maj^ fail of s3'Tnpathy ; and this is especially the duty of the minister, whose great function is to bear witness to the truth. The minister is only degraded by his profession, if he seeks transitory approbation, by accommodating truth to men's passions and prejudices. The whole power of his office lies in his moral self-subsistence ; j-et he is tempted to veer with every change of popular opinion. Let him, therefore, live much by himself, that he may learn to stand firm among his fellow- men ; let him dwell habitually in the region of everlasting truths, that he may not be the sport of the caprices of the day." The thoughts expressed in the foregoing extracts embody, though in a hasty and imperfect manner, Dr. Channing's views of his own special duties as a minister. This will appear from the following letter : — " January 23, 1828 ^ .... I have been refreshed to-day by a visit from our friend Tuckerman, who seems to be, and is, happier in visiting the hovels of the poor, than any spoiled child of fortune in haunting the saloons of taste, rank, and wealth. He enjoys his poor, and I enjoy his power of virtue in extracting from such material such rare happiness. Tims virtue is a spreading good indeed. Next to my own function, I am tempted to think his the best. "And what is my function? Striving humbly, and not impa- tiently striving, to penetrate the clouds which encompass us, and to catch some new glimpses of the Uncreated Light, the Infinite Beauty, the Perfection of the Parent Mind, and of the Human Soul ; and through this to understand myself and other beings, — to turn all things to their true and noblest ends. What I have lately published was meant to be a trial of the sympathy which I might hope for. " When I told you that my last sermon had not answered my hopes, I did not mean to say that it had not been talked of enough, but that it had not excited the kind of interest which I have wished. Still I do not complain, or for a moment waver in my hope. I blame as much, to say the least, the imperfection of the writer, as the want of susceptibility in the readers. I believe that the seed has been sown in some minds where it will take root, and this fully satisfies and recompenses me. But there has been no general response to the sentiments, or rather a general indifference ; so that to hear even of a few to whom they are living truths is a great encouragement; and my friends do me good, when they let me know of such cases. My own opinion of the value of what I pub- 1 To Orville Dewey, D. D. ESTIMATE OF HIS WRITINGS. 405 lish is not at all affected b}- the general reception it meets with ; but if no souls are reached, there is cause of distrust." The rare blending of conscientiousness and humilit}', indepen- dence and self-distrust, firm faith and aspiration, so simply mani- fested in this estimate of his intellectual function, pervaded the writer's character, and determined the course of his literary life. Without the addition of a word of comment, the following series of letters will open to the reader the hidden springs of Dr. Chan- ning's conduct as an author, and reveal, as no description could, the pure disinterestedness by which he was animated. " May 14, 1842.^ It is not unfrequent for an author to be praised, even admired, whilst he feels that the view of his work most interesting to himself has been seized by very few of his hearers. He is praised, but not understood. I remember a minis- ter who, on being deprived of a particular hearer, expressed great sorrow ; ' P'or,' said he, ' I alwajs felt, when he was present, that one of the congregation understood me.' I have had some sad proofs of the obtuseness of too many of my readers, in the kind of criticism passed on me. Some people have groaned at my deserting my profession, and becoming a politician. Some wise ones even intimated that I had an eye on a seat in Congress ! Things of this kind do not discourage me, but show what a dark- ness surrounds us on ever}' side. I thank 3-ou for understanding me. Not that 3-ou are the onl}- discerner of my spirit ; others have done me the same favor ; and, indeed, I am persuaded that there is an increasing tendency to see the application of moral and religious truths, of the highest principles of Christianit}', to politi- cal affairs, to the relations of nations, and to all civil and social arrangements and institutions." ^^ Boston, July 21, 1828.^ Dear Sir: — Your letter gave me great pleasure. Man}^ of your expressions of approbation I am compelled, b}^ my self-knowledge, to limit, perhaps I should say, to disclaim. But, whilst I question the soundness of the estimate which man}- make of my labors, I do not the less rejoice in the proofs which occasionally come to me, that what I have written has been quickening and exalting to some of my fellow-beings. I have a deep conviction that Christianity was intended to communicate energy and elevation far beyond what we yet witness, and that our nature was made, and is fitted, for the sublimest influences of this religion. If I have helped to spread this conviction, — if I have 1 To Ferris Pell, Esq. 2 To the Rev. George Armstrong. 406 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. awakened in any soul a consciousness of its powers and greatness, — if I have thrown any light on the grandeur of God's puiposes towards his rational creatures, — if I have done anything to expose the monstrous error, that curbs and chains are tlie indispensable and best means of educating the individual and the race, — or if I have vindicated for the mind that freedom which is the chief ele- ment and conditi6n of its growth, then I have accomplished the end to which I have devoted m}- powers. " I thank you most sincerely for encouraging me to hope that I have not been wholly unsuccessful. I feel my poor labors — for I can- not estimate them ver}^ highly — recompensed beyond measure by such language as 3'ou have used. You have given me a kind of a^jpro- bation which I ma^' enjoy without injury to my virtue, for your letter breathes sympathy much more than it expresses praise. I thank you, and I thank God, for this. Truth, though not responded to, is still truth; but how are we strengthened and encouraged, Avhen, having sent it abroad, it comes back to us in tones which show that it has penetrated the inmost souls of some, at least, who have heard it ! " " August 27, 1828.^ Your letters do not make me vain, but thankful, b}^ assuring me that I am not living for nothing, — that I even give strength and elevation to minds like jours. I am so tempted to think lightly of whatever 1 send forth, that 1 need such testimonies to sustain my courage." " Boston, March 30, 1829. ^ My dear Mrs. Baillie : — I thank you from the heart for 3'our letter. Expressions of interest in my writings, from the enlightened and virtuous, are a recompense ibr which I cannot be sufficientl}' grateful to Providence, and which I need as an encouragement. I am naturally' inclined to self-dis- trust. I do not know that vc\y case is singular; but, whilst I have the deepest conviction of the truth and greatness of m}' leading views, and look to them as powerful means of quickening and elevating the human mind, I am so dissatislicd with ni}' expression of them, that I sometimes hesitate about sending my writings to m}'^ friends, after they have gone through the press. My principal encouragement is, that the truths which I have pubUshed seem to have found their wa}' to the hearts of some 3'oung men of fine powers and a noble spirit, who, as I trust, are to do much more than myself. I have for manj' j-ears had a deep feeling of the present degraded state of moral and religious science. My desire and hope has been, to awaken in others the want of something purer and more ennobling. M3' success has certainly exceeded my expecta- 1 To Mrs. Felicia Hemans. - To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. HIS WRITINGS IN GERMANY. 407 tion, but has clone little to remove the consciousness of deficienc}'. I have written this that j'ou may understand the good which has been done me by s^'mpath}- on your side of the ocean." "'■Boston^ March 8, 1833.^ My dear Sir: — I smiled a little at your solicitude about the reception your article would find with me. It will be relieved, when I tell you that 1 have not read it.^ You will not infer from this that you have been neglected. I have felt, for some time, that the less I read about myself the better. The most laudatory article on my writings ever published, as I suppose, appeared in the Westminster Review, two or three years ago, and I did not read it, though the number containing it was more than once in my hands. The vindication of me, in the North American, from Hazlitt's abuse in the Edinburgh, I have never read. 1 am always gratified by a few lines in a letter or newspaper, showing me that my writings are spreading, and are producing their effects on one and another mind. I read such notices now and then ; for m}' tendenc}' is to discouragement, to depressing views of whatever 1 do. None are more grateful for a word of heart-felt approbation ; but I can dispense with anything more. So much for my interest in laudatory criticisms. As to those which expose m^' defects, I am glad to receive them from fair-minded men. Accordingij-, I desired , when reading 3'our article, to extract the fault-finding passages ; and 3'ou can judge how they aflfected me, when I tell 3-ou, that, on finishing the extracts, I asked, ' Is this all?' " " Boston^ May 5, 1834.^ The truth is, I have been an author by accident, not by profession or of set purpose. Most that I have published was written without a thought of publication, and noth- ing was w^ritten to api)ear in my own name ; so that I have not been exposed, in a great degree, to the sensitiveness which cleaves to authorship. I never could attach much importance to these almost fortuitous productions. The truths which I have insisted on seem to me, indeed, infinitely important, — more so than to anybody else. But I am conscious of having done no justice to them ; so that I am little disposed to blame those who differ from me." " March, 1836.* I was a little surprised by 3'our application in behalf of a good duchess in the heart of German}-. I did not sup- pose that my name had ever been heard in that countrj', and I can hardly conceive of m^' finding much favor among a people of such 1 To Orville Dewey, D. D. » To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. 2 Review of his writings, in the Christian Examiner. ■'■' * To George Ticknor, Esq., Dresden, Saxony. « '(' ' 408 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. different habits of thought, and whose learned men and men of genius leave me so very, ver^^ far behind. However, I will send my books with pleasure. I know they contain some great truths, written, not from tradition, but from deep conviction, from the depths of my soul, — ma}' I not say, from inspiration? I mean nothing miraculous ; — does not God speak in us all ? No one does, or can, see the imperfections of what I have written as I do myself. But in the ' earthen vessel ' there is still a heavenl}' ' treasure.' Of this I am sure. I will therefore send my books, with all their imperfections, to the duchess. They contain principles which it would be well for dukes and duchesses to learn, all the world over ; and who knows but that I may give to one in high station a new sympathy' with his or her fellow-creatures, a new reverence for humanity, a new perception of the nothingness of the outward com- pared with the inward? I live in hope ; for is it not the will of God that all men shall be brought to the knowledge of the truth ? " "William E. Channing respectfully requests the Duchess of to accept the books now forwarded. He has understood from an American friend residing at Dresden, who has communicated with Count , that the duchess had ex[)ressed a desire to see his writings, and he trusts that she will do him the honor to accept from him such as he can now collect. No one can be more aware than himself of the imperfect manner in which he has unfolded his views ; but, having entire and joyful faith in the great and life- giving truths which he feels himself called to teach, he takes pleas- ure in sending his writings to an}^ who may be disposed to read them, and especiall}' to those whose high station gives them peculiar influence over the minds of their fellow-beings. He begs the Duchess of to accept his assurances of respect, and his sincere wishes for her happiness." It thus appears how incidentally^ Dr. Channing entered the sphere of liter-ature. The ethical element was the predominant one in his nature ; and although his love of beauty- was too strong, independent of overmastering enthusiasm, ever to have permitted him to be a mere dilettante, it was not so active as to make him dissatisfied, until he had concentrated into a symmetric work of art his thought and emotion. He was too earnest as a prophet, to waste hours, which were only too swift in their flight for one so feelile, upon giving form to the inspiring truth which he knew he was called to communicate. Fully aware, as he was, too, that he had attained but to glimpses of most glorious realities, he could not be so presumptuous and irrevei'cnt as to attach high HABITS AS A WRITER. 409 value to what he humbly regarded as fragmentary suggestions ; and the conceptions struggling witliin him, over whicli he dcliglitedly brooded in meditative days and wakeful nights, were so sweet and majestic, that any portraiture of them would have seemed incomplete and unfinished. He could give, at the best, but a sketch of liis meaning, like a child's rough outline of some statue or landscape. His chief care, therefore, was to be true ; and he left his expression to take its liue and shape spontaneously. A glance at his manuscripts sliows how unlabored was his st^le. The corrections are, for the most part, erasures ; and where words are exchanged for others, in all cases, it is by substitution of a simple phrase for a composite one. Systematically, from even early 3'ears, he discipUned his fancy to severe soberness ; though any one who knew him intimately could not but see how riclily stored were his galleries of thought wath exquisite natural images. He feared that the sense of the hearer or reader would be lured from tlie aspect of trutli to tlie splendor of her robes by the use of meta- phor, and so habitually cliecked his instinctive propensity to present laws and principles b}' the medium of symbols. His etfort was, to utter himself plainly. The exercise of imagination, also, he re- strained, limiting its sphere to giving a fresh and vigorous embodi- ment to his ideas in the most obvious form, though he was apt and able for original creation, if he had seen it to be a befitting work. The very play of the affections he subdued, and constantly sought for a calm, attempered, equable tone of statement, though his fer- vent will necessarily infused a glow of eloquence through the whole texture of .his composition. And, finally, he would not allow him- self to be abstract or scientific in his method or vocabulary, for fear that the public would be deterred from listening to, or pre- vented from apprehending, the divine thoughts which he was empowei'ed to teach, unless won to attention by a familiar mode of treatment. In a word, he saw an immediate duty to be done, which was, to rouse lethargic fellow-beings to a consciousness of the grandeur of man's spiritual existence ; and he resolutelj' consecrated himself, by iteration and reiteration of one sublime lesson, now breathed softly in whispers, now rung out like an alarum, to break the dream of the world, and to sunuxion the mul- titude to the labors and joys of a brightening morning. The history of his various publications confirms this view of Dr. Channing as a literary man. He became an author unawares. When the "Anthology Club" commenced the course of labors which did so much to give an impulse to the intellect of New Eng- land, he was invited to be a contributor to their journal ; and, in 410 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. consequence, he communicated to its pages two or three essays, a few fragmentary tlioughts, and one or more short pieces in verse, which were probably the only attempts he ever made at poetical composition. But he could not enter cordially into what he felt to be, for himself, at least, but "busy idleness." His work was to preach. As great politi(;al occasions called from him sermons which contained declarations of sentiment and opinion adapted to the wants of the times, he reluctantly' 3'ielded to the demand for their publication, and allowed them to be printed, as first written, with scarcel}'^ a verbal amendment. In the Christian Disciple, he sought to do what he might to pour oil upon the storm}- waves which were then swelling beneath the tempest of controversy ; and only when he could in conscience no longer keep silence, addressed to his fellow-Christians his remonstrance against spiritual despotism in his letters to Mr. Thacher and Dr. Worcester. Thus, in the first era of his ministry, it is seen how accidentall}- he found himself sum- moned from his quiet study and round of parish duties, to modes of address for which he felt no taste. And in the last era of his life, until within a very few j'cars before his death, he had the same dis- inclination to make any special call upon the attention of his fellow- men. Apart from the restraints of his native modesty, and the influence of his lofty ideal, measured by whose standard most of the literature of the age appeared tame and frivolous he was so eager to climb to serener heights, that it satisfied him to send forth a cheering crj' to brethren struggling upwards through the shadows, as pros- pects of beauty opened amidst the fog. His publications were still occasional addresses, drawn from him by request. Friends urged him continually to embod}- his thoughts in a more permanent form, to which he replied, that they were not quite ripe. And when besought at least to j-evise, select, and print in a volume what he had already given to the public, he could not be prevailed upon to think it of sufficient importance to authorize his expending on such a work hours which he felt bound to consecrate to progressive inquiry. At length the desire to aid in giving a higher tone, and securing a wider sphere of influence, to the Christian Disciple, which in 1824 was enlarged, and took a new form under the name of the Christian Examiner, drew from him some essays, which attained a most unlooked-for celebrity, and made him universally known in the world of lettei's. The attention excited by these paijcrs was a great surprise to him, and he always considered the estimate placed upon them by the i)ublic exaggerated. To redeem his promise of communicating an impulse to the review which was the special PUBLICATIONS. 411 organ of Liberal Christianity, and to set an example of a bold, free, manly treatment of great subjects in literature, politics, education, science, &c., he poured out, with his usual rapidity of comi)osition, trains of thought which at all times interested him, and which were freshly recalled by the successive appearance of Milton's Christian Doctrine, Scott's Life of Bonaparte, and Selections from Fenelon ; but his chief aim was, to awaken his own immediate circle of believers to a more comprehensive, cordial, direct applica- tion of religion to life. The themes, however, were most interest- ing to him, and the ver}' spontaneousness with which he expressed himself was favorable to the true manifestation of his character and mind. These hast}' effusions, whicli, considered as literary models, he valued but little, let a sympathizing reader verj' deeply into the essential spirit of tlie man. His tender sensibility, delicacy of taste, chivalric heroism, loyal love of truth, high integrity, expansiveness, aspiration, pervade the notice of the sublime poet and stern repub- lican. His profound veneration for man, grand estimate of the end and method of life, and devout confidence in God's infinite purposes of benignity to his human family, give to his searcliing analysis of the springs of action in the military- despot an awful sincerity ; and as the culprit is brought before the piei'cing eyes of the congregated spiritual world, stripped of the tinsel rags of false glor}', pity prompts the reader to recall every good trait and deed, as a mantle to cover his shame. The uncompromising conscience of the writer here appears with the grave, firm aspect of an impartial judge upon the l)encli. The methodical habit of his mind is also shown, in the manner in which he passes from the condemnation of lawless power in an individual instance, to the discussion of the rightful function and scope of government, closing with an unreserved expression of reverence for the judiciary. The second part of the essay on Bona- parte— it may be said, in passing — was written with more care, probably, than any of the occasional pieces of that period. It is in the notice of Fenelon, however, that what was most characteristic of Dr. Clianning appeared. In countless little strokes and touches throughout tliat paper, he sketched his own likeness with a fidelity which no second hand will ever rival ; and the almost angelic ideal of piety there given was an unconscious portrait of the beauty of his own holiness. Soon after the publication of these essa^-s in the Examiner, the desire to aid a friend induced Dr. Channing to collect and revise what he thought worth preserving in his past writings, — a private feeling of kindness presenting a motive, which sense of duty as an author did not supply. And thus the volume of Miscellanies came 412 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. to be printed in 1830. In tlie Preface to the first edition, he thus indicates his own estimate of his literary labors : — " The reader cannot be more aware than I am, that these various tracts, called forth b}'^ particular occasions, and never intended to appear in their present form, need many and great changes ; but the}^ probably would never have been republished, had I waited for leisure to conform them to my ideas of what the}' should be, or to make them more worthy of the unexpected favor which the}- have received. They were written to meet the wants of the times, and to place what I deem great truths within reach of the multitude of men. If the reader will bear this in mind, some defects will more readily be excused. The second Review in particular should be referred to the date of its original publication " I esteem it a privilege that my writings have called forth many strictures and been subjected to an unsparing criticism. I know that in some things I must have erred. I cannot hope, that, even in my most successful efforts, I have done full justice to an}- great truth. Deeply conscious of my fallibleness, I wish none of my opinions to be taken on trust, nor would I screen any from the most rigorous examination. If my opponents have exposed my errors, I owe them a great debt ; and should I fail, through the force of prejudice, to see and acknowledge my obligation to them in this life, I hope to do so in the future world. " I have declined answering attacks made on my writings, not from contempt of my opponents, among whom are men of distin- guished ability and acknowledged virtue, but because I believed that I should do myself and others more good by seeking higher and wider views, than by defending what I had already offered. 1 feared that my mind might become stationary by lingering round my own writings. I never doubted, that, if an}'thing in these were worthy to live, it would survive all assaults, and I was not anxious to up- hold for a moment what was doomed, by its want of vital energy, to pass away." The publication of a second volume made up of Sermons was owing to a like motive of private benevolence. He had pledged a subscription of five hundred dollars to the Boston P^arm School ; and being at the time so situated pecuniarily that he could not otherwise well meet the claim, he resorted to this plan as a means of raising the sum. It so happened, however, that he was immedi- ately seized with severe illness, without having been able to correct and prepare more than one discourse for the press. The rest of the volume was selected and arranged by his friend Dr. Dewey, and the LORD BYRON. 413 sermons now appear as they were first written for the pulpit. And finally, it was a characteristic close of his literary career, that the chief niducement which led him to put forth the complete edition of his works, in six volumes, was a desire to make the publication serviceable to a brother, who was then turning his attention to printing and editing as a branch of business. From first to last authorship was the accident of Dr. Channing's life. With o-reater physical vigor, he would have been an evangelist, preaching far and wide, with the living voice, the exalting views which had been opened to his earnest, prayerful, patient seeking, or an active re- former, applying directly to the wants of the age the great principle of love with which he felt that Providence was inspiring mankind. Dr. Channing's publications were the means of introducino- him to a society of most refined and high-minded correspondents, and extracts from his letters to them will still further illustrate his lit- erary character. '' Newport, October 4, 1821. It wants massiveness, depth, ful- ness of thought, that is, it wants the essential properties of hioh poetry. I smile when I hear poetry called light readino-. The true poet has far-reaching thoughts, a perception of the hannonious and exquisite relations of the universe, an eye that pierces the depths and mysteries of the soul, placing him amidst the most gifted and exalted inteUigences." '^Jime 28, 1824.^ I can hardly express the feeling the news of Lord Byron s death has given me. That a mind so gifted should have beenjeft to devote its energies to the cause of impiety and vice, and should be so soon and suddenly taken, without makin- reparation to insulted truth and virtue, - that such a mind is to live lor ages in its writings only to degrade and corrupt, - in all this we see the mysterious character of God's providence. I alwavs hoped, that, after the fever of youthfLil passion, this unhappy mmi would reflect, repent, and prove that in genius there is something conge- nial with religion. Rut he is gone -where human praise a^id human reproaches cannot follow him. Such examples of perverted talent should reconcile the less gifted to their obscure lot "In his whole life he was by way of eminence a lawless man, spurning all restraint, whether divine or human, whether from his own conscience or from society; and he seems to have valued no power more than that of defying and resisting all wills which inter- fered with his own. That any talent, however stupendous, should have made such a man an idol to your sex, shows that you must * To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. 414 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. divide with us the reproach, too justly brought against our age, of great moral degradation " You ask me what I think of Moore's doctrine, that men of the first genius are naturally unfitted for friendship or domestic life. 1 have no faitli in it The highest genius, I believe, is a self- guiding, calm, comprehensive power. It creates in the spirit of the Author of the Universe, in the spirit of order. It worships truth and beaut^'. There is truth in its wildest inventions, and it tinges its darkest pictures with hues of beauty. As to JMoore's notion, that genins, because it delights in the ideal, is soon wearied and disgusted with the real, it is false. The contrary is rather true. He who conceives and loves beauty in its highest forms is most alive to it in its humblest manifestation. He loves it not by com- parison, or for its degree, but for its own sake ; and the same is true of beauty. The true worshipper of beauty sees it in the low- liest flower, meets it in every path, enjoys it everywhere. Fact is against Moore. The greatest men I have known have been the most beautiful examples of domestic virtue. Moore's doctrine makes genius a curse, and teaches that the Creator, the source of harmony, has sown discord between the noblest attributes of the soul. I shall not wonder if some half-witted pretenders to genius should, on the strength of Moore's assertion, prove their title by brutality in tlicir domestic and social relations." '' Portsmouth, R. /., June 16, 1828. ^ I received distinctly the impression that Shelley was a noble nature sadly perA-erted, and that, under happier influences, he might have proved the glory of his race " I should like to know something of Shelley from one worthy of beUef, and capable of estimating him. I am inclined to think him a man lost to religion through the folly, h3-pocrisy, and intolerance of its ' friends.' How many noble spirits have been ruined by iden- tifying religion with its loud professors ! But I mean not to make exc'use for such persons. They have no right to take their ideas of religion from the pulpit and vulgar cant. They have access to her true oracles and expounders, to the teachings of the universe and of Jesus Christ ; and these teachings it is their duty to lay open to their less gifted brethren, not to unsettle the foundations of human hope, and to precipitate weaker minds from the Rock of Ages into the gulf of doubt, darkness, and despair. I mean not, however, ' to shut the gates of mercy' against the sceptic. That he is some- times more virtuous than many a believer who condemns him, I doubt 1 To Miss Ruth P. Olney, Providence. MRS. HEMANS. 415 not. The mass of people who never think understand little the trials of a superior mind which must think, which cannot but ques- tion Nature and Providence, and which has been taught to associ- ate almost indissolubly with moral and religious principles opinions which it sees to be without foundation. "" On such a mind, when it seems to me to err, I dare not pro- nounce sentence, and I see with pleasure wliatever proofs it gives of principle, of respect for duty, amidst its aberrations." '■'■June, 1827. I have sometimes felt, in reading Mrs. Hemans's works, that her sense of the evils of life is too keen, and colors her views too much. I love to be touched, moved, but not depressed. No genius, no power of execution, can recompense me for what I suffer from the tones of sorrow coming to me from a highly gifted mind, in which the deepest impressions are those of suHering, and over whose brightest inventions there is a hue of sadness. My con- fidence in the great purposes of God towards us, m^' persuasion that all suffering is meant to purify and exalt the soul, to be the occasion of moral strength and victor3', leads me to feel that a deep peace and an unbroken resolution in all changes are due alike to ourselves and to our Creator. 1 may err. Perhaps a life of pros- perity' has made me incapable of understanding the sorrow-stricken spirit. But it seems to me one of the great purposes and blessed influences of Christian faith to reconcile intense sensibility with peace and energ}-." ''Boston, March 30, 1830. ^ You have not yet, I trust, fulfilled your mission on earth, though, were it now to end, you would leave behind 3'ou emanations of your spirit to act far and wide and in ages to come. I thank you for the last volume 3-ou sent me. The last two pieces but one were new to me, and seemed to me to ex- press with great truth and pathos that union of upward aspiration and earthly attachment, which I should call a just tribute to both worlds, and which shows the unity of our whole being " I know that the effort which you ask is a slight one ; but, to a man overburdened alread}-, a slight addition of labor is something serious. The motive which 3'ou suggest is a more powerful one with me than you can well imagine. I perhaps owe it to myself to say, that I know no one quite as anxious as I am to multiply nitel- lectual, moral, and religious bonds, between my own and other countries. Few estimate as humbly as I do the moral worth of what is called national spirit, compared with the spirit of Chris- tianity. I have hoped, b^- turning men's thoughts on their own na- 1 To Mrs. Felicia Ilemans. 416 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE. tiire, — a nature which all hold in common, — to do something toward sustituting a more generous and universal bond for those selfish and narrow ones which, as yet, have done more towards dividing than uniting the human family. Of course I have no de- sire to exclude national attachments, but I would have a new spirit of humanity, founded on respect for human nature, spread abroad, and if, by being a contributor to an}- literar}- work on your side of the ocean, I can strengthen a virtuous sympathy between our coun- tries, J will do so ver}' cheerfull}', when I have time and strength, both of which are now wanting." "Boston, May 4, 1838.^ I have read with great pleasure the first six volumes of Scott's Life, though sometimes wearied by letters which might as well have been omitted. The work lets the reader into the foi'mation of the subject's mind, or into the circum- stances which determined it, and this is no small merit. Not that J think the mind the creature of circumstances ; but some men are reflections of the outward more than others, and this I think was eminentl}' tlie case with Scott. His was not a mind to penetrate itself, haunted with its own m^'steries, and conscious of mightier conflic^ts and processes within than any abroad. He lived abroad. He was a keen, shrewd observer of whatever passed around him. No man ever understood more of what is called life, and of the more superficial workings of tlic human heart. Philosophy he had none, and he interpreted ver}^ poorly the passions which he painted, or suspected little what they indicate. Tluis he seems to me to have been formed from abroad, and hence he is a good subject for biography. The greatest minds admit no biograph}-. They are determined from within. Their works spring from unfathomed depths in their own souls, from silent, secret thoughts, inquisitions, aspirations, which come they know not whence, go they know not whither. ' ' You see I do not place Scott among the greatest ; and yet, when I think of his vast range of observation, of his power of ap- propriating all he saw to his purposes, of his inexhaustible invention, of his wide sympathy, and of the spirit of humanit}- pervading his writings, I feel something like self-rebuke, as I think that I may have spoken of him disparagingl}-. He discovered want of moral greatness in his want of reverence for his own mind, in his uncon- sciousness of the holy purpose to which genius may always be con- secrated, in his childish admiration of hereditary honors, and his incapacity of conceiving of a higher state of human nature and of 1 To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. PLANS OF AUTHORSHIP. 417 society than now exists. He was, as I have more than once said, tlie ideal of a man of the world, — the highest, most attractive man- ifestation of that character which I have known. Let me add, that in one thing I sympathize with him, and that is, the affectionate reverence which he bore to yourself." " The increasing reputation of Coleridge and Wordsworth I think a good omen, though I difler from them on so man3- points. They have not written for the multitude, and j-et live and grow, whilst the writers for the multitude are forgotten. I mean, by this phrase, those who write to please the multitude. I honor those who write for the multitude, in the true sense of the word, and should value little the highest labors of genius, did I not believe that the mass, the race, were to be the wiser and better for them." ^ Chapter II.— RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. Dr. Channing was, as we have seen, a prophet. But in propor- tion as his A'iews grew clear and complete to his own mind, and as he found his words of calm faith and earnest hope welcomed by the few, while rejected as visionary by too many, even of the good, he became desirous to give some fuller statement of the truth which he knew he was empowered to teach. He longed to justify' to sober good sense the thoughts which, uttered in a fragmentary way, might and did seem enthusiastic. For his aim was eminently practical, and he felt that his work would not be done, unless he succeeded in filling men with a fresh and profound reverence for human nature in themselves and their brethren, a reverence which should practically manifest itself in reformed modes of life, indi- vidual and collective. For many years he had been, by reading, observation, and patient thought, accumulating a large mass of materials ; and at length it seemed to him that the time had come when he was in some measure worthily fitted to write a work on Man, — his nature, relations, destiny, and duties. The first allu- sion to this purpose which we find in his correspondence appears in the following letter to the Rev. Dr. Carpenter. ^'-Boston, March 20, 1824. I wish I could send you, in return for your present, some of my own writings. But my state of health obliges me to be almost idle, I have long given up regular appli- 1 To Orville Dewey, D. D. 27 418 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. cation, and am obliged to spend the greatest part of life in nsing the means of living. Sometimes I hope that I shall be spared to execute a work of some extent, for which I have made preparation ; but time flies away, and nothing is done but the accumulation of more materials, and my plan continues to grow, whilst the space for accomplisliing it is contracted. But this is the history of a thousand students, — especially of our profession; and it is cer- tainly well for the world that so man}' schemes of authorship prove abortive." Other references to this proposed work appear in his letters, and we give a few passages, which will serve at once to illustrate his plan, and to show how his desire was constantly' baffled, alike by l^hysical infirmity and tlie constant drafts made upon his time and power b}' transient questions of immediate importance. '■'•Newport^ July 9, 1827.^ It will gratify you to know that all 3'our counsel has not been lost upon me, — whom you have probably thought more unimpressible than any of your new flock at the North End. I have begun to accomplish one of the works to which I have long looked. rejoices, and I feel, that, after having provoked you by my insensibility to exhortation, I ought to give you a share m her jo}'. What I shall do I am not sure. I sometimes hope that God may give me a place, however low, in the class of his most honored servants, — I mean, of those who throw some new light on the sul)jects in which human nature has the deepest interest. At the same time, I am not foi'getful that one of our infirmities is, to magnify the importance of our own views, and that greater intel- lectual toil than mine has often proved unprofitable." " Srpf,^ 1837.^ It has long been my purpose to give a connected, S3'stematic view of my most important convictions on the subjects to which m}' life has been devoted. I have made large accumu- lation of materials, but have wanted strength to labor on them effectually. I am now in better health, and have begun my work. What I shall be able to accomplish I know not. I cannot but fear that I shall disappoint my friends, not only in consequence of the want of physical energy, but from intellectual defects, of which I am deeply conscious. I am not, however, discouraged in the least by such thoughts. We must do what we can, and be grateful if we can do but little. The immediate reward of seeking tiie highest truth is inexpressible. It is a reward to know that even a few minds have received light and strength from our labors." ^ To Joseph Tiiokerman, D. D. 2 To William Pluincr, Esq., Epping, N. H. OPPORTUNITIES OF THE AGE. 419 '-'- Juhj 10, 1838.^ B3' the kindness of Providence I have now what is called tolerable health, yet for four months I have been dis- abled from labor. I long to write, for I feel as if I had delivered but a small part of my message. My whole life seems to me but a preparation for a work which I have not done, and which I ma}' not be able to do in this world. This is one of the corroborations of a higher life. I feel that I have not exhausted all m^- spiritual activity, — that there is an indefinite, I had almost said infinite, power and life within, which physical infirmity has not enabled me to bring out. Is this divine energy to perish? Is there nothing of prophecy' in these aspirations after higher spheres of action ? These anticipations are joyful, though I cannot say that they full}- satisfy me. I want to act now^ — to act in a world, the darkness, sins, and suffering of which weigh often as a heavy burden on my spirit. It seems to me that there never was so much to be done on earth as at this moment, — never so great a demand for clear and bold expositions of truth, and for manifestations of the pure spirit of Christianity. There never was more to contend with, and never more aids for the conflict. The authority of the past never was more unsettled, and the possibility of acting beneficently on the future never was greater. You and I, however, m}' dear sir, are too far advanced to do what we would, or to see the results of others' agency. No matter. The fountain of moral power is inex- haustible, and Providence will raise up mightier champions of truth and virtue." " Muy^ 1839. I look forward with pecuhar hope to this summer. I feel now' as if I had done my duty in regard to gi-eat immediate public interests, and my desire and hope is to give myself to what seems to me the work of my life, — the exposition of my views of truth and duty. I am not sanguine, yet hopeful. I have some- thing to say, yet I feel I may not be spared to do it ; — nor shall I count my life's labor lost if 1 fail ; for all our action here is but the child's preparation for the spiritual manhood which awaits us, and in ripening for this we live gloriously, though we produce no perceptible outward effect now." Before proceeding to a notice of this work on Man, however, let us first contemplate the position of thought which the author occu- pied, and breathe in the liberal, inspiring atmosphere in which he dwelt. We shall thus catch the tone of his mind, and be better prepared to understand, if not to sympathize with, his views. We will commence with some sketches given by himself, in an- 1 To J. Blanco White. 420 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. nual addresses to his people, of the discipline b}' which he had been trained to freedom and tolerance. 1827. "It has been m}' lot, as you well know, to perform among yon the dnties of a minister in a peculiarly trjing time, — in a day of angry passions, and of revived intolerance and bigotry. I was about to say that it had been m^' misfortune to live and preach in this storm}' season. But no ; I have learned that the great de- sign of the present life is to form the mind and character by diffi- culty- and conflict, and I doubt not that the all- wise God has assigned to me, as well as to others, the conflict which 1 need " Soon after coming into life, I saw that a new era was opening in this country and in this age, — that a violent struggle was com- mencing for the restoration of doctrines which had graduall}- fallen into neglect. The cr}' of Orthodoxy was opened, and a system of measures adopted for stifling free inquir}-. Vague apprehensions were industriously spread abroad of a secret conspiracy against what were called the ' Doctrines of the Reformation,' — the ' Essen- tial Doctrines of Christianit}' ; ' and the brand of heresy was affixed to doctrines which had been espoused by some of the wisest and greatest men in this country and Europe. It was not so much for the purpose of defending these opinions, as of encouraging fellow- Christians to use their own minds, and to examine freely the doc- trines of religion, that I entered the field of controA'crsy. I felt then, what I now more deeply feel, that the human mind is to make progress by freedom, by the deliberate, impartial, and independent exercise of its faculties. I could not submit to have m}' intellect chained by men whom I knew to have no warrant for their swa}-, and in some of whom I saw plain marks of inferiority, both as to understanding and heart. I could not endure to see chains fastened on others. I felt the ignomin}' which we of this en- lightened Commonwealth should incur, and with which we should be justly chargeable, if a few men — for few they were, and few they still are — should be permitted to dictate to us our opinions on the most important subjects in the whole range of thought, and should frown into silence the ingenuous lovers of truth. The attempt to fasten on us an antiquated faith, by excommunicating those who were seeking nobler views of Christianity, first sum- moned me to conflicts from which I have not j'et been released. The part which I have taken I have had no cause to regret. My love of freedom has grown with the growth of my mind. It is now interwoven with all my religious feelings, and with all my sympathies and benevolent sentiments ; for I am persuaded that f^ PURE CHRISTIANITY. 421 the glorj- of God, or just and ennobling conceptions of his charac- ter, and the happiness and progress of the human race, demand nothing so urgently as that our faculties should be unimpeded, and the widest range be given to thought. If we are to grow, it must be by a free use of our powers. If we are to attain brighter and more enlarged conceptions of Christianity, we must begin with feeling that past ages have not exhausted Christian truth, and that we ma}' make advances on the wisdom of our fathers. I know nothing which indicates greater ignorance of the histor}' of the church and of the history of mankind, nothing more fitted to re- duce the intellect to imbecility, and to carry back the race to bar- barism, than the idea that we have nothing more to learn, that Christianit}- has come down to us pure and perfect, and that our only duty is implicitly to receive the lessons of our catechisms. I am sure that this is not true. That Christianity has been dread- fully- disfigured, all true hearts must know. That it was purified from all corruptions by the first Reformers is to suppose them gifted with miraculous lights as bright as those which beamed on the Apostles. Christianit}' is not thus purified. None of us hold it in its purit^^ I feel deeply the imperfections of all classes and denominations ; and the hopes of Christianit}' rest on the courage and piety of men who, disclaiming all human authorit}', and the fetters of all creeds, give themselves to deliberate, devout, fear- less study of God's word, in connection wath his works and provi- dence. Freedom of intellect, joined with obedience to whatever truth is already known, is the appointed spirit and energy b}^ which the church and the world are to be disenthralled from the many errors which 3'et darken religion and impair its ennobling influence. " If m}' own faculties have made an}- progress, I owe it to noth- ing so much as to the spirit of intellectual freedom which I have imbibed ; and the place of this, I believe, no endowments of nature, no books, no association with learned men, would in any measure have supplied. It was my lot to come forward at a period when the question was to be settled whether this freedom should be enjoyed, or whether an inquisition, with ministers at its head, should bind the chains of death on the mind of this country. God's good providence, joined with an early disposition to live and to think alone, and with an education which had made freedom dear, decided the part which I took. The decision which I made in this gi'eat controvers}', the cause which I espoused, and I hope I may sa}' the consistency with which I have adhered to it, you know. M}' ministr}', amidst all its imperfections, has, I think, 422 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. been uniformly marked by an assertion of the rights and dutj' of every individual to exert his own faculties ; and b}' urging on every man the duty of using his best powers, in the free, unbiassed in- vestigation of religious truth, I trust that I have not been wholl}- useless. That I have contributed something to give to others courage in thinking and in expressing their thoughts, I trust ; and I have not a doubt that, at this moment, this whole country is indebted to the exertion made in this our city for the degree of religious liberty which it enjo^'s." 1830. " On one point, 3'ou will bear me witness. I have never aimed to alienate you from any body of Christians. I am not conscious of having yielded to a sectarian spirit^ even when I con- tended most earnestly for m^^ peculiar views. I have never thought myself a better man because 1 have escaped what seem to me gross errors prevailing in Christendom, nor have I, as I believe, ever shut my eyes on the virtue and piety of those by whom these errors ma}' have been sustained. I have felt that it is not the greatness of our light, but our faithfulness to our light, whether great or small, b}' which character is to be judged. If I have ever inlused unkind or disparaging feelings towards other Christians, I have grievousl}' injured you, and, instead of being a minister of righteousness, have been the minister of sin. Maj- you triumph over any such unhappy influence ! . . . . " One of your trials arises from the state of the Christian world, to which reference has now been made ; and I would ofler 30U, on this point, a few words of counsel. Our principal duties in such circumstances may be expressed in two plain precepts : — Respect those who differ from you, and also respect yourselves. Give due honor to men of different sects. Do not feel as if you had monop- olized truth or goodness. Treat none with derision. Esteem no man the more for thinking as you do, and no man the less for thinking otherwise ; but judge all men b}- the principles which govern their lives. Ascribe not what j'ou deem error to weakness of intellect or corruption of heart, but rejoice in witnessing superior powers and tried virtue in the neighborhood of what you cannot but account supei'stition or prejudice. Never think of Christ's church as shut up within limits of human invention, but as comprehending all sects, and let your attachment to the whole triumph over your interest in an}' of its parts. Honor all men. " At the same time respect yourselves. Claiming no supcriorit}', allow not this claim in others. Expect and require from others the same deference which 3-ou feel yoiu'self bound to pay. As you set up no pretensions to exclusive sanctity in yourselves, distrust them RESPECT FOR OPPONENTS. 423 in 3'Our neighbor. Tiie exclusive saint bears one broad mark of the want of sanctit}'. The real Christian is tlie last man to be a pretender. Never suffer 3'our opinions to be treated with scorn in social intercourse, any more than you would your characters ; but whilst you force them on none, let men see that you reverence them as the truth, and that you expect decorum and courtes}' in those who converse with 30U on this, as on other deeply inter- esting subjects. Always feel 3'ourselves standing on the ground of equalit3' with ever3' sect and part3', and countenance none 1)3'' your tameness, or by shrinking from your convictions, to assume towards 30U a tone of dictation, superiorit3', or scorn. Be true to 3^ourselves and to 3'our principles. One of the great lessons taught me b3' m3' experience is, that self-respect, founded, not on outward distinction, but on the essential power and rights of human nature, is the guardian of virtue, and itself among the chief of virtues." The last sentence of the foregoing extract gives us insight into one of Dr. Channing's chief springs of action. Though naturally diffident and modest b}' principle, though conscientious and cautious almost to an extreme, and though even reverential to his fellow- men of ever3' grade of intellect and character, he was at the same time singularl3^ self-relying. On his calm and gentle countenance there reposed an expression of firm dignit3^, which commanded a just deference. His ver3' consciousness of the greatness of the human spirit in its essential powers and heavenl3' destination made him incapable of trifling with another or of submitting to be trifled with. He felt, too, that the claims of honor and manl3' courtes3% as -well as of Christian cliarit3', were sadl3' slighted by religious controversialists, and souglit, therefore, to carry into the sphere of theological' discussion the same generous and magnanimous, while self-balanced and brave, spirit which becomes high-minded persons in all their, intercourse. This trait was so characteristic, that it may be well to illustrate it b3^ some passages from his papers and letters. 1826. "The temper of the discourse^ is censured. Why? Because it expresses anger or unkind ness towards opponents? Is there the least impeachment of their motives? Not a word to this effect can be found in the discourse. The author has onl3' set forth in plain and strong language what seems to him to be irra- tional and dishonorable to God and injurious to the human charac- ter in the S3'stem which he is opposing. He expressl3' states that 1 Sermon at tlie Dedication of the Second Congregational Church, New York. 424 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. he has no disposition to make the opinions he condemns measnres of cliaracter, and cordially acknowledges the virtues of multitudes who espouse them. And is it, then, ' uneourteous,' ' reprehensible,' ' unjustifiable,' ' inexcusable,' to say that an opinion is absurd and of degrading tendency ? .... We invite our fellow-Christians to examine freely our opinions, and to tell us plainly what the}- see in them dishonorable to God or injurious to man. The freer such discussion, the better. Let opinions be spoken of unreservedl}'. We blame no class of Christians for exposing the absurdities and weak points of prevailing creeds. We only say to them : ' Do not judge the motives of 3'our brethren in embracing the opinions which you reject. Do not shut your eyes on their virtues, because they adopt different views. Rejoice in the proofs of their piety, coupled though it may be with error. Error is not guilt. Do not blame them for not yielding to your arguments ; 3our judgment may be as fallible as theirs. In a word, esteem them and love them as heartily as if their creed was your own.' If the sermon fails in this generous feeling, let it be condemned " It should be considered, that false doctrines, just so far as they are wide-spread, and deeply rooted, need free and firm resistance. Men through long use grow blind and callous to their inconsistency. Old errors must be placed in new lights and broadly exposed. Such was the principle on which this sermon was written, and we venture to say, that, if any individual would do good, he must adopt this course. Is it said, men thus opposed will be exasper- ated? We answer, they may be at first, but they will learn by degrees to bear with frankness ; whilst, if they are accustomed to have their worst opinions treated with deference, they will continue foolishly sensitive to the faintest contradiction. But we repeat, that, the bolder the opposition to opinions, the greater should be the care to avoid personalities " There are good men who will say that it is impossible to make this separation between opinions and those who hold them ; that to attack the first is to exasperate the last, and that peace is so great a good as to make it better to leave errors to the power of time than to create controversy. We answer, that truth is a greater good than peace, that we do not despair of the progress of the human mind and virtue, that we know those who differ in views yet who love one another, and that on the whole there is a growing forbearance and moderation amidst the freest discussions. Men who, when treated with respect and kindness, will not allow their opinions to be touched, and resent earnest exposure of their sup- posed errors as wrong, are alone responsible if controversy is MILDNESS AND FIRMNESS. 425 embittered ; nor must we shut up in our own breasts what we deem great truths, lest some sensitive persons sliould be wounded." " September 19, 1827.^ I could have been amused with jour ac- count of 30ur conversation with , had he spared his compliment at the end, — ' You are an honest man.' There is insolence in this concession of honest}' to us. These exclusive pretenders to piet}^ seem to think that they confer a great favor by admitting that we are not unprincipled. You performed your part to admiration. When will men who hold great truth feel what they owe to it, and meet the assumptions of others with a righteous confidence? I fear 3"ou will think I am somewhat belligerent in ni}' feelings ; but I was never calmer, and should not have thought of religious contro- versy but for your letter." Thus bold and strong, and even sternl}^ just, was Dr. Channing in guarding the rights of all seekers of truth. His mildness was free from mawkishness. He treated others, and expected to be treated, with a manly decision. Practically he made the discrimina- tion between opinions and persons which he so constantly urged as a duty. He asked for his errors no tolerance ; he only demanded justice as a man. This frank, straightforward honesty of mind did not contract, but deepened and widened, his liberality. He looked round respectfully and earnestly upon all fellow-inquirers, hoping to gain from them the light for which his whole spirit was longing. This temper of mind may be best illustrated by a few manifestations of it, as given in his letters. " Boston^ February 26, 1836. ^ I am not a stranger to j^our writ- ings. Your Letters on Spain were very interesting to me, and made me desirous to see everything from your pen. I thank you for your testimony to great truths ; for the clear light in which you have placed them ; and, above all, for the ardent and all-sacri- ficing love of truth, which has given so singular a direction to your life. It would give me great delight to be near you, to learn from your own lips the history of your mind, of your doubts, researches, and ilkmiinations, of your joy in reaching a brighter light, and of your trials, obstacles, discouragements, and sufferings. I trust, I cannot doubt, tliat you find, in your more spiritual and enlarged views of Christianity, in your more filial views of God, abundant compensations for sufferings. I have wished \o\\ would give us, or leave behind you, an autobiography. With what eagerness should I devour such a work ! The progress of every mind is interesting ; but how few minds have travelled such a path as yours ! On one 1 To Josepli Tuckerraan, D. D. 2 To J. Blanco Wliite. 426 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. subject, I should be very glad to have the fruits of your obser- vation. We all feel that there is an evil to be deplored in the Christian world far more than doctrinal errors ; and that is, the unfaithfulness of Christians to the light which the}' have attained. We are sometimes almost tempted to say that Christianity is but a name, so little is its power felt. I should like to know among what bodies of Christians there has seemed to 3'ou to be the greatest fidelit}' to their convictions, be these convictions just or not. I should like to know what particular views of our religion have seemed to jou to take the strongest hold on the human mind ; what causes contribute most to the general unfaithfulness, and what seem to you the most effectual means of resisting them. That the great moral purpose of Christianity is so little answered would be the most painful of all thoughts, had not habit seared us to it." " Newport, May 8, 1841.^ I show 3'ou by my speedy reply how acceptable your letter was to me. Its spirit is indeed encouraging and delightful to me, not for any selfish reasons, not because 1 am included in its liberality, but for its own sake, because it is the spirit of Christianit}', and such as man should always cherish toward man. I certainly ought not to suspect myself of taking pleasure in another's candor, because I am sheltered under it, for I have learned to live without experience of candor. I have passed nearly fort}' years under no small reproach, denunciation, and pro- scription. I have been deprived, not merely of good name, but of what is far dearer to a Christian, of no small degree of the moral injiuence which I am bound to exert ; and yet I have made no angry complaint. Perhaps, in my love of quiet, retired thought, I have not been sensitive enough to the injury done me. I invite no liberality toward myself; but when it is extended to me, I wel- come it, especially as I see in it the sign of a better day, of a brighter manifestation of the spirit of our religion " You say that the Unitarians might make 'many concessions' to the Trinitarians. It is true, I might adopt much of the Trinita- rian language, not only on the Trinity, but the Atonement. I could say, that Christ died to magnify the law, to satisfy Divine justice, and that God cannot forgive without manifesting his dis- pleasure at sin. But I cannot think with Talleyrand, that the ' use of language is to hide our thoughts.' Such approximations to those from whom we really differ seem to me to put in peril our ' simpli- city and godly sincerity.' I know not where they will stop. They 1 To Professor George Bush, New York. p KELATION TO UNITARIANS. 427 also obstruct the progress of truth, and to the truth every Christian must be wiUing to be a martyr. Still more, the usurpation which de- mands such concessions is a wrong to our common Lord and Master, and to the human mind, which must not be debarred from seek- ing truth, and giving utterance to its deep convictions. In saying this, 1 do not speak as a Unitarian, but as an independent Christian. I have little or no interest in Unitarians as a sect, I have hardly ' anything to do with them. I can endure no sectarian bonds. With Dr. Priestley, a good and great man, who had most to do in producing the late Unitarian movement, I have less S3mpathy than with m.iny of the ' Orthodox.' I shall soon publish a dis- course on ' the Church,' which I will send you, and which will show my position in this respect. I would not have you imagine that an}- sectarian feeling prevents m}' advances to other sects." '■'■August 29, 1841.^ Your religious experience, as 3'ou relate it, has been fitted to carr}^ you forward. There are advantages in having known error and felt its power, if we are so happy as to escape from it. We know the truth more distinctly' by contrast. We have a wider field for observation and comparison, and, what is of great importance, we can understand the feelings of those from whom we differ, and do them greater justice. I am strongly opposed to Methodism, not for its speculative errors, but for its spirit of domination. No sect seems to me more flittered, or to have more the spirit of a sect. It is a religious aristocracy, com- bining a great power for narrow ends. As I grow older, I grieve more and more at the impositions on the human mind, at the machinery by which the few keep down the many. I distrust / sectarian influence more and more. I am more detached from a denomination, and strive to feel more my connection with the Uni- versal Church, with all good and holj' men. I am little of a Uni- tarian, have little sympathy with the S3'stem of Priestley and Belsham, and stand aloof from all but those who strive and pray for clearer light, who look for a purer and more effectual manifes- tation of Christian truth." The passage last quoted, breathing as it does the temper of lib- erality and aspiration, which, characterizing Dr. Channing's jouth, had strengthened through his manhood, gave rise to the rumor of his having changed his opinions, — a rumor so absurd, that it would be unworth}' even of a passing notice, had not disingenuous theo- logians systematically perverted the plain meaning of the words, " / am little of a Unitarian^" William Ellerj' Channing was a 1 To Mr. W. Trevilcock, Carharrack. 428 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. member of the Church Universal of the Lovers of God and Lovers of Man. He knew that reUgion was a life, and not a creed or a form. In the spirit of pure, lioly goodness, he aspired to be one with the Heavenl}' Father, — in generous, respectful, overflowing kindness, he purposed to be one with all human brethren. Mean- while he sought truth, — such views of the Infinite God, of his relations to created spirits, of man's appointed end and rightful aims, as should be in accordance with reality. Jesus Christ he welcomed with unlimited reverence and affection, as the full mani- festation of what human existence, in communion with the Divine Being, might be and should be. He saw in this "first-born of many brethren " a revelation of a spiritual mystery-, whose depth of glory no ages of the past had fathomed. He waited in prayer- ful confidence for a fuller apprehension of the sublime career opened before mankind Out of superstition and cant, scepticism and fear, sophistry and selfish strife, he longed to be delivered into " the glorious liberty of the children of God." On sectarianism and the- ological warfare he looked down with profound disgust and pit}', and valued bodies of believers and individual disciples according to the degree in which he saw reflected in them the image of the com- mon Master, who prayed that "all" might be "one." Unita-, rianism he conscientiously considered an advance towards an unobscured view of the Christian religion. But the thought of resting in a Unitarian creed, or of limiting his sympathies to a Unitarian denomination, never for a moment shadowed his mind. He knew his ignorance, he felt his limitations, too well for any such narrowness. Christendom was to him a living bod}', fdl'ever animated from on high, constantly unfolding, instinct with a spirit of reform, providential!}' guarded and guided, destined to become a true catholic unity, by means of love embodied in holy characters and humane deeds. He joined hands with the grand circle of the hopeful and devoted "followers of God" who were working to- gether with Hull to introduce the kingdom of heaven upon earth. In mere speculative opinions, he was never more decidedly a Unita- rian, or, to use his own definition, a believer that " the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ is alone and exclusively the Su- preme and Independent God," than m the last year of his life, and on his deatli-bed ; but at ho previous period either was he so hum- bly watching for some influx of the light of life which might reno- vate the nations. Constitutionally he had a dread of sacrificing independence by too close ties of association ; from the whole cast of his philosophy, he was led to attach a superlative value to indi- viduality in character, thought, action ; and experience had taught INFLUENCE OF NATURE. 429 him to " fear the shackles which a part}' connection imposed." In a word, he regarded himself " as belonging not to a sect, but to the communit}- of free minds, of lovers of truth, of followers of Christ both on earth and in heaven." ^ In the following passages he has so fully defined his position, that no person of intelligence and can- dor can misunderstand him. 1827. " It is the influence of the works of God to set our minds free from all bigotr3' and prejudice. In the presence of nature, I forget the religious and national distinctions which divide mankind, and S3mpathize with the benevolent Power Avhich sustains all. I feel that I belong, not to a part, but to the whole, — to the universe of God. The creation is a powerful teaclier of liberal feelings, and does much to counteract the illiberal preaching which passes for Christianit}'. After hearing in a church a discourse which makes God a partial being, and identifies liim with a sect, I delight to escape into the open air, and one view of the heavens, or of an}' of the great features of nature, is enough to scatter the gloom which had gathered over me, and to teach me that what has been said, however well intended, is false. God's works confirm his word, — assure me, after all which I have heard, that he is still tlie universal Father. I have not come, then, from viewing God's works to breathe into 3'ou narrowness and bitterness of feeling. I would come in that spirit of universal charity and benignity which befits a pupil of the universe, and still more a disciple of Christ. I aim not to sever you from others ; I aim only to give you a just self- respect, a sense of what' is due to jour own minds, — moral and religious independence, energy of character which will not yield blindly to any external influence, whenever exerted, or however it may strive to wrap itself in a sacred garb. This spirit is not incon- sistent with true love, but is its ally and natural associate." '■'■Boston, June 2, 1828.^ There was one part of j-our letter which gave me peculiar pleasure, — that in which j'ou speak of the favor which my discourse on the evidences of Christianity has found in England. ! pretend not to be indifferent to literary reputation, but I hope I may say that the thought of contributing anj-thing to a more intelligent reception and to more generous views of our religion is dearer to me than any human praise. Your letter gives me reason to think that 3'ou accord with me, not, perhaps, in my peculiarities of faith, — for of these j-ou sUy nothing, — but in the conviction, that Christianit}' is often injured b}- narrow and degrad- 1 Works, Vol. III. p. 208. One Volume Edition, p. 247. 2 To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. 430 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. ing modes of exhibiting it, and tliat its generous character and ennobHng influence are very imperfectly understood. Allow me to say, that I take the more pleasure in making these inferences as to your state of mind, because your sex, with all their merits, — and these are above praise, — have had their full share in fixing the present low standard of rehgion by the ease with which they have given up their minds to be awed and formed by vulgar and men- acing teachers. I do hail the marks of intellectual freedom and moral courage in your sex with peculiar hope ; for woman, through her maternal and social influences, must always act on the religion of a community with great power ; and if subdued b}' an illiberal, irrational faith, she will do much to spread the infection around her. " I speak to you freely, for j'ou have encouraged me to do so, — and the more freely, because, if you agree with me as far as I suppose, I should rejoice to enlist j'ou in what seems to me the greatest cause on earth. Do not imagine that I would draw 3'ou into sectarian warfare. I would have you bear your public testimony to Christianity, as a religion of benignant aspect, of a liberal spirit, of lofty purposes, given to free and enlarge the intellect, to form a higher order of character, a filial .and elevating piety, and an unbounded charit}-, — and to endue the will with invincible strength in well-doing. I want our religion to be taken out of the hands of technical, professional men, — who look at it through the mists of the dark ages. It is the property, not of priests, but of the human race, and ever}' superior mind may and should do something towards asserting its celestial dignity." '■'■June 16, 1831.^ The immense moral power now exerted by France over the civilized world, a power growing from her geograph- ical position, from her political relations, as the centre and spring of the great revolutionary movement in Europe, and from the universality of her language and literature, renders her at this moment the most interesting nation on earth. The cause of free institutions and of human improvement seems specially committed to her. When I take this view of France, I am greatly afflicted b}' what I hear of the want of religious principle among all classes of the French population ; for, without this principle, I see not bow a peoi)le can rise to an}- moral greatness, or do much for the human race. I wish to know if the accounts I have heard are true. Is Christianity classed by the great majority of thinking men in that country among exploded impostures? Is religion in > To M. J. C. L. Sinionde de Sismondi. RELIGION IN FRANCE. 431 all its forms neglected, contemned, and without power? Are those who are alive to its importance — for such tliere must be — so few and scattered as to exert no influence ? Is Voltaire as much an oracle as formerly? I once thought him the truest expression of the French mind. Is he so still ? I will not overpower you with questions. But an important one remains. From what means or efforts may a better state of things be hoped in France ? What can be done for religion in that country? Your article on religion, translated by Miss Sedgwick, satisfies me that you sympathize with me in my interest in this subject, and I know you must have thought on it seriously. What then, 1 repeat it, can be done? My remoteness exposes me to many errors ; but I have a general conviction that Christianity is not to revive in France in any of its old forms. Catholicism is fallen, and so is Protestantism. In truth, the last was an antagonist to the first, — a belligerent re- ligion, framed to put down Rome, — and so far was a great good. But its work is very much done, nor is it enough adapted to the present wants of the human mind to regain its power. A purer, higher form of Christianity is needed, such as will approve itself, to men of profound tliinking and feeling, as the real spring and most efficacious instrument of moral elevation, moral power, and disinterested love. If I may put another question, I would ask if there are any symptoms of this purer religion in France. Is the want of it beginning to be felt? St. Simonianism, as far as I know it, is a political engine, a worldly movement, not the struggling of the moral, religious, and immortal nature for freer action and a new development. The writings of Cousin and Constant give promise of a better state of things. Do they represent any con- siderable number of the thinking class? Can you name to me any intellectual men interested in this subject, who would like to open a correspondence with me ? Can you name any books which would enlighten me ? Damiron's view of the French philosophy of the age I have read." ''Boston, Jane 29, 1831.1 My highly valued friend. Miss Pea- body, has read to me your letters, in which you express a wish to know something of the views of Christianity which prevail to a considerable extent in this part of our country, and I am encour- aged by your language to hope that a'ou may look with some inter- est into a volume which I have published, and which will give you the general features of this form of religion. I ought to observe, however, that what is here called Unitarianism, a very inadequate ^ To M. le Baron Degerando, Paris. 432 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. name, is characterized by notliing more than b}- the spirit of free- dom and individuality. It has no cstablislied creed or symbol. Its friends think each for himself, and differ much from each other ; so that my book, after all, will give you my mind rather than the dogmas of a sect. " I am particularly- gratified by this mode of introduction to you, because it may authorize a request which I have much at heart. There are few things which I desire more than to know with some accurac}' the religious condition of France, the tendencies of the thinking part of society and of the mass of the people on this subject, and what are the views of good and intelligent men, as to the best means of inci'easing the power of religion among you. France, from her geographical and political position, and from the immense moral influence which she is exerting, may be considered as the central power of Europe, and nothing discourages me more than the accounts which I often receive of the absence, the almost total want, of the religious principle among all classes of her popu- lation. Are these accounts true? Has P'rance, as a nation, lost sight of man's connection with God, and with a future and higher existence? Is Christianit}^ without honor and without power among j'ou? Are there not signs of the revival of the religious principle? If so, what direction or form is it taking? Is any deep consciousness of the need of it springing up ? I know that recent events have absorbed the people, nor ought any striking develop- ment of religious feeling to be expected under such circumstances. Still, a tendenc}' to a better state of things, if real and profound, will give some signs of its existence. I wish to propose another question, which I trust you will answer with entire frankness. It is, whether the views of religion given in m}' volume are in any degree suited to the wants and state of mind of any considerable class in France " You see to what object my mind chiefl}' turns. In the struggle of France for freedom, I have sympathized with her most fervently. But I wish for her a freedom worthy of the name ; and this cannot be hoped for, unless it shall ally itself with a pure and rational re- ligion. I will only add, that one part of my volume may not meet your full approbation. I refer to my remarks on Bonaparte. If I know myself, I wrote that article from a sincere interest in the cause of freedom and mankind. I may have erred, however, and if my errors are important enough to be exposed, I will thank any friend of truth to undertake the work." '■'■ December 19, 1832.^ I continue to look towards France with 1 To M. J. C. L. Simonde de Sismondi. ESSENTIAL CHRISTIANITY. 433 great interest. She must be roused sooner or later from lier pres- ent indifference to a new action on the subject of religion, and this will have an immense influence on the progress of society. I am not at all discouraged by the failure of attempts to restore the an- tiquated systems of theology. I neither expect nor desire Chris- tian. t3' to revive in France under its old forms. Somethi.icr ],etter IS needed. Christianity, I conceive, is to be re-established by clear developments of its original, essential truths. One of the great means of restoring it is, to disconnect it from its old forms, to break up the habit, almost universal in France, of identifyino- it with Catholicism and old Protestantism. Another means^ is" to show Its harmony with the spirit of freedom, of philanthropy', of progress, and to show that these principles require, in order to their ful expansion, the aid of Christianity. The identity of this relioion with the most unconfined and self-sacrificing benevolence needs especially to be understood. No religion can now prevail which is not plainly seen to minister to our noblest sentiments and powers and unless Christianity fulfils this condition, I cannot wish it success. -With these views, I do not altogether acquiesce in what yon think the duty of the friends of enlightened religion at the present moment, lou think they must wait. If you mean that the time Tr\''r7 i""" ^^''™ '° organize themselves into a new sect, I shall not differ from you. I doubt whether that time will ever come. I doubt^ whether the purified Christianity which I anticipate is to rise m the form of a sect or party, whether its friends are to dis- tinguish theniselves by any outward badge, or whether it is to make Its way by the imposing efforts of masses. The age of svmbols of pompous worship, of the priesthood, and of overpowering relio-i^us combinations, is passing away. Religion must be spread more and more by rational means, that is, by the unfettered efforts of indi- vidual minds by clear development of great truths, by moral suasion, and by examples of its sublime efficacy on the character and life. These means are always seasonable, and were never more needed tha.1 now. I expect, indeed, that they who receive tins higher manifestation of Christianity will be attracted to each other, and will umte their exertions as far as consists with perfect ntell ctual freedom. But their enlarged views and sympathies, and their reverence for the religion, will make them shrink from giving It a sectarian form." - Boston, September 11, 1840.^ I owe yon many thanks for the volume you so kindly sent me of the Liverpool Lectures. I had J To the Rev. J. H. Thorn. Liverpool. 28 434 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. read a good part of the Lectures, but was glad to read the rest, and to own all. I have expressed to mj English friends m}- admiration of these defences of the truth. I do not know how the cause could have fallen into better hands, or could have been more worthily maintained. Indeed, I ought to go farther, — I doubt whether the battle could have been fought as well elsewhere The}^ will lead a certain number to think, and will give them far higher views than they had before. The}' will stir up thought. They are sug- gesting, quickening, fertilizing, — and such are the writings which are to do good, not those which produce immediate superficial effect. " I was glad that 3'ou did not undertake to defend any Unitari- anism but your own. 1 know that in this way the benefit of author- ity is lost, and the unity of the sect is threatened ; but what unity is of any worth, except the attraction subsisting among those who hold, not nominall}', but really, not in words, but with profound conviction and love, the same great truths? I see in these Lec- tures the signs of a freer discussion than we have had yet. . As 3'et, controversialists who have broken all other chains have had a feel- ing of allegiance to their sect. Pure, supreme love of trutii, how hard an acquisition ! Perhaps our attachment to Christianity ma}' sometimes blind us, by leading us to force meanings on its records which fall below the dignity of a revelation. It is no easy thing to let the records speak for themselves, to take them as we find them, to let them say what will injure their authority in the present state of men's minds. We ' rational Christians' are in danger of acting the part of their patrons, rather than their interpreters. "There is another danger, too, to which we are exposed. We are more and more, and very properly, inclined to rest Christianity on the character, the spirit, the divine elevation of Jesus Christ ; and llie tendency of this is to beget a swollen way of speaking about liim and liis virtues, very inconsistent with the simple beauty and majesty of his character, and which is fitted to throw a glare over him, and not to i)resent that distinct apprehension of him so necessary to a quickening and transforming love. It is an age of swelling words. I must plead guilty myself, and I am not sure that the Lectures are free from the oflTence. Indeed, to see and set forth Christianity in its simplicity is a hard task. Brought up as we have been, living in a most artificial, unchristian state of soci- ety,— the antithesis of the kingdom of heaven, — it is not easy to preserve and feel the force of any precept or trutli of the religion. We must, by one or another means, escape the world we live in, — its hollow religious conventionalisms, its denial throughout of the UNITARIAN ORTHODOXY. 435 worth of a human spirit, of the fraternal relation of all human be .ugs, - before we can get a glimpse of the truth as it is injesus^' " • "Jum 22, 1840.' I can touch but on one topic more Yon speak of your brother James. Since writing to you, n a™ IZ o r Lt rf ' T ""^' r" '° "^ '"™"= "'^ noblest Xts of i^ectmes and Mr. Thorn's give me new hope for the cause of trufl. n E„g,.,„ . Not that I expect any great immediate effec " an. 1 differ, as I thmls I told you, from some of your brother's expositions ; but no matter ; I do not enjoy his mind the less " ''September M, I841.« Old Unitarianism must „„der<.o im,,or tant mod,aeat,o„ or developments. Thus I have felt f^r ears Though an advance on previous systems, and bearin.. some bete; ™,ts, ,t does not work deeply, it does not strike living sriitsta the soul. Tins is perfectly consistent with the profound 'iefv If nKhv,du.als of the body. But it cannot quicken all e " „c ' e the world. No matter how reasonable it ma • be if it is wmln ts history is singular. It began as a protest a^li^slI-feXn as ;H°fe'rd"'"'r', "''"'■^' ^'"™'5- I' P'«'8«' itself opXss rervf:ir-i-2^^^^^^^^^^^^ dered at or deplored, for al, reL-ming Sdie " cm Zmed to sZ" 1 r 11 " "" -"'°"""' '""^^ "■ "'"«• '»"* "4 1™ V la Id' forme, tb *=''"^'='"'«™' '"'^' °»t of them must sprin. ,Tew re! I watch'nn. ""''"""' ''"^'■""J- ^'^^ "» »'"• Wit r these Wews I watch all' new movements witli great interest." to't'l^f"' f7»t'' '*"•" '^'>'" '■"'■"'«■ inq'iiry will lead vou Tour t™,itL.a b'e enu^r^rcr'-" """'"' " ~''" ™' '"^ Of Christiamty, I oa^I;;:! . ^ T stTt^' m:;:,?^^" f"' T' r ' pomded I „n ■■'■ *?": '''"■■'* ' '■''^' '^' "■»' Christianitv, n,ostTp;Slti^^ name , that, nstead of enslaving ourselves to any. 1^1!,?. Let we ' I va ;J W ; ' '"■' "°''' qti'-tening views of Christianitv. I lalue Unitanamsm, not because I regard it as in itself a per- fect system, but as freed from many great and pernieious erroi * To Miss H. Martineau. 3 Tr. M,. tr i ^ r^ , - To the Rev. James Martineau, LiveJpooT. "' ^'^"''"' ''^'^°'^' 436 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. of the older systems, as encouraging freedom of thought, as raising us above the despotism of the church, and as breathing a mild and tolerant spirit into all the members of the Christian bod3^ Methodism seems to me to have done much good ; but I apprehend its day is drawing to a close. It is a system of ecclesiastical oppression. The concentration of power in the Con- ference is intolerable, and I see not how any free spirit can brook it. We are to be Christ's freemen, not instruments in the hands of our fellow-creatures. I owe so much to spiritual, Christian liberty myself, that I mourn over every infraction of it, and earnestly desire to secure it to all my Christian brethren. " I wish you the best blessings from on high, the ' Spirit of Truth,' growing light, and growing love." Thus does it appear how truly Dr. Channing said of himself, " I desire to escape the narrow walls of a particular church, and to live under the open sky, in the broad light, looking far and wide, seeing with ni}- own e3'es, hearing with my own ears, and following truth meekly, but resolutely, however arduous or solitary be the path in which she leads. " ^ To him there was " one church grander than all particular ones, however extensive, — spread over all lands, and one with the church in heaven, .... the famil}- of the pure in all worlds, .... the innumerable multitude of the holy ever}'- where." With this church he felt bound by " vital, everlasting con- nection," and regarded himself as " a member of a vast spiritual communit}', as joint heir and fellow-worshipper with the goodly company of Christian heroes who have gone before." '^ The grand " heresy " to him was the substitution of anything, " whether creed, or form, or church, for the goodness which is essentially, everlast- ingly, by its own nature, lovely, glorious, divine, .... which is the sun of the spiritual universe, .... which is God himself dwelling in the human soul." Growth in goodness was what he longed for throughout Christendom. Let us now briefly describe the work, wherein, as we have seen, Dr. Channing so earnestly hoped to embody, with some degree of organic symmetry, the truths which, through long years, he had been assimilating. It was to have borne the title, apparently, of "The Principles of Moral, Religious, and Pohtical Science"; and the following extracts from a first draft of the Introduction will show the author's stand-point. 1 Works, Vol. III. p. 211. One Volume Edition, p. 247. 'i Ibid., Vol. VI. pp. 203, 205, 208, 223, 224. One Volume Edition, pp. 435-437, 443, 444. PERFECTION OF MAN. 437 "In a work devoted to the exposition of moral, religious, and political truth, a minute description of all the principles and powers of human nature will not be expected. Volumes would be needed for the fit discussion of such a topic. The true perfection of man is the great idea of the moral sciences. His nature is therefore to be examined so as to determine its central law, and the end for which all religious and political institutions should be established ; it is to be studied for the purpose of ascertaining its true propor- tions, its highest powers, the relations of its affections and faculties to each other, its ruling principles. " In every department of nature we discern differences and varie- ties. The universe is not a monotonous repetition of one form of being. Each single object is composed of a variety of parts ; each sustains various relations, exercises various functions, is receptive of various influences. Nor are all parts of equal importance ; some are prominent, others subordinate ; some essential, others acciden- tal ; some are ends, and others means. The same properties, also, are developed in an infinite variet}^ of degi'ees. As each color pre- sents an indefinite number of shades, so each power of living crea- tures is manifested with a like diversit}' of intenseness. In beings of the same class are found all possible differences in the degrees of their correspondence to the standard or type of the class. Thus nature everywhere reveals Variet}', Difference, Relation, Degrees, Order, Perfection. "That Human Nature should pi^sent to us a similar variety is to be expected from the analogies which are seen to pervade the universe. Man is not a single power, but a wonderful diversity of properties are combined in his constitution. The laws which control the material world are in him conjoined with the energies of mind. That his various organs, faculties, functions, differ in importance, — that some are ends, while others are means, — that some are supreme and others subordinate, — that there is an Order or Har- mony of powers in which consists the perfection of the human being, — may be confidently inferred from the laws of variety, de- grees, order, which govern the universe "All our inquiries in morals, religion, and pohtics must begin with human nature. The ends for which a being is made, his re- lations, his true course of conduct, depend upon his nature. To comprehend the former, we must understand the latter. Accord- ingly, certain views of man are involved in all speculations about the objects of life, and the proper sphere of human action. On such views all schemes of societ}' and legislation are built. Every great statesman, every reformer who has introduced a revolution in the 488 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. affairs of nations, has been impelled and guided b}- his estimate of man. It is the want of a true science of our nature, that has vi- tiated all past s^'stems of government, morals, and religion. No book can be written wiselj^ no plan wisel}' formed for the improve- ment of mankind, which has not its origin in just reverence of the powers of the human spirit. And not only is it true, that morals, religion, and politics, in their application to masses of men, must have their foundation in certain views of human nature ; but every individual's principles, his whole system of duty, will take its char- acter from tlie light in which he regards himself and his race. All the relations of life will wear different aspects to men who interpret differently the beings by whom the^' are sustained. "Just views of human nature are, then, all-important. In com- prehending man, we comprehend God, Duty, Life, Death, Provi- dence ; we have the key to the Divine administration of the world. In proportion as man is made known to us, we learn why he was placed upon earth, and see the explanation of the discipline which is appointed to him here. The mysteries of his childhood, progress, and maturity, of his jo3's and sorrows, of his temptations and sins, gradually clear away. Even material nature becomes revealed to us in a new light. In proportion as we understand man, — God's greatest work, — we understand inferior creation ; we discover new adaptations of the outward and the inward worlds, new analogies between nature and the human spirit ; the Unity of the Universe dawns upon us." Eight chapters only of the First Part of this work — which, in accordance with the preceding remarks, was devoted to an analytic and synthetic view of human nature — were composed. The order of their arrangement and their titles are as follows: — I. Sensa- tion; II. Idea of Matter; III. Idea of the I or Self ; IV. p:x- ternal Perception ; V. Internal Perception ; VI. Conception; VII. Memory ; VIII. Discernment of Relations. The plan of the au- thor was plainly to trace, b}' ascending degrees, the Order, Propor- tion, Harmony, of man's powers ; and thus, by proceeding inward, from functions and relations which are most superficial and acci- dental, to those which are most central and essential, to exhibit an ideal of a perfect human being. It is scarcely necessary to inform a reader of Dr. Channing's writings, that he recognized as the supreme power in man the Conscience ; and that he saw in this primal spring of moral energy an authoritative manifestation of absolute right, justly entitling it to be called the Oracle of God. Morality, in his view, flowed out from, and ascended up to, PLAN OF THE WORK. 439 religion ; the finite will was forever newly animated from the In- finite Will ; and goodness was the inspiration of the All-Good. Thus from Man, the author would have been led to speak, in the Second Part of his work, of God, whom he saw revealed in iiuman nature and the universe, as the One, Eternal, Infinite Person, whose essence and energy are love, — the Heavenly Father, who creates all spirits in his own image, and continually re-creates them by his inflowing life. Man he considered as actually a child of God, in exact proportion to the degree of the fulness and con- stancy of his communion with the Father of Spirits. The process of a progressive life he believed to be a perpetual regeneration. The end of man's destiny, to which he should aspire, was oneness with the Eternal Being ; and in Jesus Christ — whatever his rank in creation, and whatever his previous modes of existence — he saw with grateful trust, and all-animating hope, a manifestation of the glory to wliich man individually and collectively is welcomed. Having thus, in the central portion of his book, presented the perfection of human nature in its unity with its Divine Being, as a reality. Dr. Ciianning would have passed in the Third Part to an- nounce the laws of dut}-, personal and social, which necessarily proceed from the principles which he had established. In ethics and politics, as in religion, his leading aim was tlie spiritualiza- tion of man through the practical embodiment of Divine charity, in every relation of domestic, industrial, commercial, national life. He was assured tiiat the law of love could be applied at once to the most comprehensive and most minute concerns of human inter- course. He anticipated, with unfaltering faith, the coming of an era of Universal Brotherhood, when freedom and order would be perfcctl}" harmonized, and when mankind the earth round w^ould be united in one co-operative familj- of the children of God. Dr. Channing has been misapprehended alike by his admirers and critics, through the supposition, that he assumed to teach a much more definite system than he ever considered himself as hav- ing attained to. He left man}' views aside which others earnestly advocated, not because he denied them, but because he could not verify tiiem. He had early learned to discriminate between truths and conjectures, and he was as conscientiously strict in his state- ment of the former, as he was unrestrainedly' free in si)eculating upon the latter. His soul was illuminated with the idea of the absolute, immutable glory of Moral Good ; and reverence for con- science is the ke3' to his whole doctrine of human destiu}' and dut}'. Many difficult metaphysical points he passed wholly by, as being out of the sphere alike of intuition and of experience, and 440 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. in relation to them was willing to confess his ignorance. He be- lieved, to be sure, in the possibility of man's gaining some insight of Universal Order, and respected the lofty aspiration which prompts men to seek a perfect knowledge of the Divine Laws ; but he considered pretensions to Absolute Science as quite pre- mature, saw more boastfulness than wisdom in ancient and modern schemes of philosophy, and was not a little amused at the com- placent confidence with which quite evidently fallible theorists assumed to stand at the centre, and to scan and depict the pano- rama of existence. For himself, he was content to wait. Much of his correspondence is interesting, however, as reveal- ing his habits of thought and inquiry, and enabling us to recognize his cherished views in relation to Man, the Divine Being, and Christianity. With extracts, therefore, from his letters upon theo- logical and philosophical subjects, this chapter shall be closed. " November 29, 1828.^ I have read the book^ you sent me with much interest. The phrenological part, I fear, did me little good. I have a strong aversion to theories which subject the mind to the body ; and, believing this to be the effect of phrenology, I have not felt the obligation to study it, and, to say the truth, I am very ignorant of it. I have been instructed b}' 3'our views of the laws of our nature, and of the connection between our obedience to them and our happiness. I respond joyfully to the hope you ex- press of the progress of the human race, though I do not expect that any improvements of the race will exempt the individual from the necessity of struggle and self-denial in the formation of his own character, or will in any way do for him what every free being must do for himself. I was particularl}- giatified b}' the earnestness with which you insist on the supremacy of the moral faculties, and point out the inevitable miseries which societ}' is to endure until this fundamental principle be recognized by the individual and the community. " I send you a discourse recentl}' published by me. You saj^, you are not of my persuasion. I hope this discourse, with all its defects, will show that I am devoted to no part}', but that I would promote, to the extent of my power, the cause of our common Christianity, and of the human race. " I am, with great regard, 3-our friend." *''' Boston^ March 6, 1829.^ The idea of death, as separating us from the outward universe, and shutting us up in our own minds, ^ To George Combe, Esq., Edinburgh. 2 The Constitution of Man. » To Miss Ruth P. Olney. THE FUTURE LIFE. 441 seems to me quite the reverse of the truth. Revelation speaks very distinctly of another organization which we are to receive hereafter, ancf which I consider as a means of communication with all God's works. Tliis doctrine seems to me very rational. There is a progression in every part of nature, and to suppose the mind to emerge from its present connection with gross matter to a purely spirituaF existence is to imagine a violent transition, quite irrecon- cilable with this great principle. Death is not to separate the muid from matter, but, in the case of the virtuous, is to raise it from its present subjection to matter to a glorious triumph over it. I con- fess, I cannot think without depression of breaking all my ties to the material universe. When I think of its infinite extent, of the countless worlds which astronomy discloses to me, I feel that material nature, including all the beings connected with it, must offer infinite food for the mind, unbounded and inexhaustible dis- coveries of God. Then I find that, just as fast as my mind un- folds, my delight in the universe increases ; new correspondences are revealed between the inward and the outwaid world ; a diviner lio-ht beams from the creation ; a more thrilling voice comes from it. iT-annot endure the thought of being severed from this harmonious and glorious universe. 1 expect death to multiply my connections withlt, and to enlarge my knowledge of and power over it. " Your friend would limit us to purely moral pleasures after death. Why so? One of the great excellences of moral good is, thlt it aids us to enjoy all other good. The most perfect man is not he who confines himself to purely moral gratifications, but he who has a moral energy through which all things are received and enjoyed by him in a wise order and in just proportions. Other gratifications, thus controlled, become moral. In another world, our pleasures are to be diversified and multiplied. The outward creation — if on such a subject I may be allowed to speculate — will minister an increasing variety of exquisite sensations, of which sight and hearing are but t3pes." " Portsmouth, R. /., Jdy 25, 1829.1 y^u ^a^t, you say, a better body. Our comfort is, that, in wearing out this body in well-doing, we are earning a better one ; and perliaps the agency of the mind and of our present life in determining the future frame is greater than we imagine." " St. Croix, W. /., February 6, 1831.2 j believe in this divine principle, this ray of divine light, in the soul. But instead of thinking it a foreign aid, I regard it as the very essence of the 1 To Joseph Tuckerman, D. D ^ To Miss Emily Taylor. 442 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. soul, the central principle of our nature, — so central, deep, and ineradicable, that all the appetites and passions are comparatively superficial. To bring the child to a consciousness of the divinity within him seems to me the highest office which parents and teachers can perform. He should be led to understand and feel that his moral nature — the principle which speaks of dut}', which discerns the obligations of virtue, which carries in itself the pre- sentiment of a moral government of the universe — is the voice of God, a light from heaven, an infinite germ, a power given him for endless development, and under which our whole nature is to be unfolded in health and beauty. I consider the knowledge of God as important, chiefly as it shows his intimate connection and con- stant communication with the soul, and thus awakens in us the consciousness of Divine relationship, of being formed for perpetual approach to God in his highest attributes. I consider Christianity as built upon and adapted to these views of human nature. Without the divine principle of which I have spoken, I can see no ground of accountableness, no capacity of religion, no need of the gospel. To give this principle the victory over sin and all hostile influences is tlie very purpose of our religion. ' This is the victory that over- cometh the world, even our faith.' Here we learn the true salva- tion and happiness achieved by faith." " St. Croix, April 11, 1831.^ I refer to 3'our outlines of moral philosophy. Your opinions on this point of science seem to me very valuable. With many of them I entirely accord. That our physical nature has been too much overlooked by those who have treated it, I fully agree. That its end and means have been very imperfectly understood is equally true. It is my hope to do some- thing in this field ; and I should undoubtedly differ from you in some imi)ortant i)articulars. You would place me among the ' ab- stract ' authors who do not study and teach human nature ' practi- calh',' and very possibly you would fcensure me with some reason. I earnestly wish that you would sui)ply the defect by executing your own plan. You doubt your ability ; but the conception of it shows that you have no reason for fear The success Of your ' Constitution of Man ' in our country has been such as must gratifv and reward you. It has found general I'avor. The 8weden- borgians (who, in fact, republished it) arc particularly interested in it, — why, I know not, for I read few of their books. I have heard of high commendation of it from a distinguished Calvinistic divine ; and as to the more liberal class, they have highly approved 1 To George Combe, Esq. CHRISTIAN VIRTUE. 443 and recommcnrled it. Some of its doctrines have found their way into the pulpit. I haA'e met on this island a lad}' from America, of much distinction in the fashionable world, Avho had brought it with her as a text-book, and lent it ver}' freely to the intelligent here. She tells me that a gentleman of Philadelphia bought fifty or a hundred copies of it — all he could find — for distribution, believing that he could not do more good. The common remark is, however, that the book is excellent in spite of its phrenology." ^'' St. Croix, W. /., April 24, 1831.^ I received some time ago A'our aphorisms, entitled ' The New P2ra of Christianit}-,* and 1 hope you will not consider m}' delaying to answer 3"our letter as any evidence of indifference to its object. It gives me great satisfaction to find men waking up anywhere to the present degraded state of Christianity, and thirsting and hoping for a purer form of it. I was the more interested in your communication from the circum- stance of having read with great pleasure, and I hope profit, j-our dissertations on Methodism or Evangelical Religion, and on the Spirit of Christianity-. I met with these accidental!}-, and sent for them to England, and have circulated them among my intelligent friends. I find much in your aphorisms to approve, and perhaps my objections, were I to make any, would applj' to what I think their defects rather than to positive errors. "I could wish that the moral perfection, which is the great aim of Christianity and the ultimate design of human existence, might be set forth in a more enlarged and exciting form. I could wish that the .parental character of God might be taught more as a moral relation founded on the affinity of the Divine with the human mind, and having for its end the elevation of the latter to greater and ever-increasing likeness to the former. I would have men taught that Jesus Christ has no other or greater good to give than the im- provement of the human soul, than the communication of his own virtue, that goodness is essentially one and the same thing with heaven, and that every other good separated from this is delusive and worthless. One of the important evidences of Christianity, as yet hardly touched upon, should occupy a new place in the teaching by which the 'New Era' is to be introduced. The virtue which Christianity inculcates, and which was embodied in Christ, should be proved, as it has not been, to be or to constitute the perfection of human nature, or to involve the vigorous, harmonious, beneficent action of all its powers and affections. This adaptation of the re- ligion to our spiritual nature, to its development, life, energy, peace, 1 To William Burns, Esq., Saltcoats, Scotland. 444 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. health, and perpetual growth, — this fitness and power of Chris- tianity to connect us by endearing and generous bonds with God, and his whole rational offspring, so that we shall receive most and communicate most, or become living members of the ' whole family of heaven and earth,' — this, I think, is an evidence of the divine origin of our religion, particularly suited to its more advanced stages, and suited to give man the conviction so much needed, that Christian virtue is the supreme good to be sought, first for them- selves and then for their race " Very truly, your friend." " Rhode Island, August 29, 1831. ^ If it will afford you any satis- faction, I ought to say that my views on the doctrine which you have examined were much the same with yours. At the same time I would add, that for years I have felt a decreased interest in set- tling the precise rank of Jesus Christ. The power of his character seems to me to lie in his spotless purity, his moral perfection, and not in the time during which he has existed. I have attached less importance to this point, from having learned that all minds are of one family, that the human and tlie angelic nature are essentially one. Holding this doctrine, I am not shocked as many are b^^ the Humanitarian S3'stem. Still, it seems to me to labor under serious objections ; nor am I at all influenced by the argument which its disciples insist upon so earnestly, that it brings Jesus nearer to us. His moral perfection seems to me his great peculiai'ity and sei)ara- tion from all human beings, and this remains the same on all s^s- tems, and is more inexplicable on the Humanitarian sjstem than on an}' other." " Boston, March 30, 1832. '^ I suppose that my desire to express strongly the intimate connection between man and God leads me sometimes to use a mystical language, which seems to imply that I confound these beings. No one, however, can be less inclined to this form of mysticism than myself. I have friends who lean to Pantheism, with whom I often contend for our individual, distinct existence, and who would quite enjoy your misapprehension of my views. It seems that I ' spoke of the soul as divine,' by which I must have meant to express the atlinity of its spiiitual powers with the Divine nature, — to express particularly'^ its capacity of s^'m- pathy with the moral perfections of God, of conforming itself to them without limit or end. This correspondence of the soul to God, this tendency to him, this sensibility to the good, the great, and the infinite, this principle of virtue or inward law, impelling to 1 To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. 2 To Miss Emily Taylor. GREATNESS OF THE SOUL. 445 unbounded progress, I consider as the very essence of human nature, needing aid and culture, but still belonging to every soul, whilst , if I understand him, regards it as a foreign principle, some- thing added to the mind by a mysterious operation of the Holy Spirit. I believe as much as your friend in the Divine influence. This surrounds us like the atmosphere. With an ineffable love to the soul, which God has made in his own image, he ministers to it, through the universe, through outward nature, society, providence, success, adversity, &c., and, still more, he communes with it, and acts in it immediately, but always according to its free and high nature, not to give it new elements, but to cherish and expand its original and infinite capacities, by furnishing objects and incite- ments to their appropriate action." ''Boston, April 4, 1837. I feel that among Liberal Christians the preaching has been too vague, has wanted unity, has scattered attention too much. In my own labors there has been more unity, perhaps in consequence of tlie strong hold which one sublime idea has taken of my mind. This is, the greatness of the soul, its divinity, its union with God, —not by passive dependence, but by spiritual likeness, — its receptiveness of his spirit, its self-forming power, its destination to ineffable glory, its immortality. This great view binds together all other truth. I think of God as the Father and Inspirer of the soul, of Christ as its redeemer and model, of Christianity as given to enlighten, perfect, and glorify it, of the universe as its school, nutriment, teacher, of all outward beauty as its emblem, of life as appointed for its discipline, and death for its passage to a higher being, of heaven as its perfection, of hell as its ruin. I understand the love which passeth knowledge, when I consider that God looks, as none other can do, into the soul, and comprehends its greatness, perils, and destiny. Love to God seems to me to be founded not on his outward benefits, but on regard to him as the Father of the spirit, present to it, dwelling in it, calling it by conscience and by his providence to perfection, to himself. Love to man has no foundation but in the comprehension of his spiritual nature, and of his spiritual connection with God. To awaken men to what is within them, to help them to understand the infinite treasure of their own souls, — such seems to me the object which is ever to be kept in sight. This is an entirely differ- ent thing from filling their heads with vague notions about human dignity. What we want is, to awaken in them a consciousness of their own nature, and of the intimate relation which it establishes between them and God, and to rouse their whole energy to the work of their own redemption and perfection. A sense of respon- 446 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. sibleness, thus formed, will be at once most rational and quicken- ing. It is very possible that I have been too exclusive in my views, and I have not given this account of myself for your blind imitation. I feel, however, that preaching wliich is to do good must have its great idea. Christianit}' undoubtedly has such an idea. This will be revealed to ditfcrent minds under a variet}' corresponding to their various peculiarities. It will not produce monotony. Each man will.be himself and no other." " Boston^ November 20, 1839.^ 1 cannot agree with every part of your letter. You seem to me to make religion too exclusively a product of the reason, and carry your jealousy of the imagination too far, though such jealousy is most natural in one bred to Cathol- icism. If imagination had no office but to give material forms to God and heaven, I should agree with you ; but is it not the func- tion of this glorious faculty to see in the universe a type of the Divinit}', in the sun a shadow of his glory, in the beautiful, sub- lime, and awful forms of nature the signs of spiritual beauty and power? Is not the imagination the principle which tends to the Ideal, which rises above the finite and existent, which conceives of the Perfect, of what eye hath not seen or ear heard ? I suppose we differ chief!}' in words. I consider religion, however, as founded in the joint operation of all our powers, as revealed b}- the reason, the imagination, and the moral sentiments. I think, too, j'ou speak too disparagingh' of historical Christianity, though here, also, I may misapprehend you. To me, the history' of Christianity in the Gospels is inestimable. The life, spirit, works, and character of Jesus Christ are to me the brightest revelations of his truth. I know no histories to be compared with the Gospels in marks of truth, in pregnancy of meaning, in quickening power. I attach great importance to the miracles. They have a vital union with the religion, are full of it, and marvellously adapted to it. They are not anomalous, arbitrary events. I have no faith in abstract, insulated, purposeless miracles, which, indeed, are morally impos- sible ; but the miracles of Christ belong to him, complete the manifestation of him, are in harmony with his truth, and at once give to it, and receive from it, confirmation. I should pay little heed to a narrative, from ever so many hands, of the resurrection of a low-minded man, who had died for no end, and had risen, according to tlie story, to lead as low a life as before. But the resurrection of Clirist, related as it is to his character and religion, taught and sealed with blood by the grand reformers of the race, 1 To J. Blanco White. MORAL EVIL. 447 and recorded as it is in the Gospels, is a fact which comes to me with a certainty which I find in few ancient histories. The evi- dence of such miracles as accompanied Christianity seems to me precisely suited to the moral wants of men in present and past times, that is, to a stage where the moral development is sufficient to discern more or less of divinit}' in Christian truth, but not suf- ficient to produce full, earnest faith. I need miracles less now than formerly. But could I have got where I am, had not miracles entered into the past history of the world ? " Another topic about which I may have misapprehended you is supernaturalism. I doubt if I know what you mean by it ; but I liave not room to write about it. I will only say, that I have no sympathy with those who disparage the natural. Nature, in its broatl sense, as meaning the created universe, with its order and law, becomes more and more sacred, divine, in my sight. But a letter would not hold what I might say here. Your true meaning I should like to get." '■'■Boston., November 29, 1839.^ The part of your discourse which gave me the sincerest delight, and for which I would especially thank you, is that in which \o\\ protest against the doctrine of philosophical necessity. Nothing for a long time has given me so much pleasure. I have felt that that doctrine, with its natural connections, was a millstone round the neck of Unitarianism in England. I know no one who has so clearly and strongly pointed out as ^'ourself its inconsistency with moral sentiments in God, and with the exercise of moral sentiments towards him b}' his creatures. I have alwaj'S lamented that Dr. Priestlej-'s authority had fastened this doctrine on his followers. " has spoken of me as using patronizing language towards Dr. Priestley. I must be strangely wanting in humility, if I did not feel my great inferiority to that extraordinary man, or if I could think of him as needing my patronage. The truth is, that I could never speak of him without qualification, in consequence of xny deep conviction of injury done to the cause of truth by his speculations on the moral nature of man, reaching, as they must do, to the moral nature of God." '•'■Boston., November 2, 1840. If ever a being understood him- self, it was Jesus Christ. He was entirely free from the self- partiality by which men are so often blinded to their destin}-. His profound humility must have guarded him from all extravagance of conception and hope. His clear, bright perceptions of the Divinity ^ To the Rev. James Martineau. 448 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. and of human dut}- and perfection were signs of consummate wis- dom, of an unclouded reason, of a sound, healthful mind. He was nothing of an enthusiast in the common sense of the word, — no dreamer. Tliere was no passion in his views of life, of the evils he was to overcome, of the good he was to accomplish. He was calm, authoritative, self-possessed, singularly just in his appre- ciation of men and things, and had always the tone of a man dealing with realities. I cannot explain his sublime yet calm con- sciousness of his end and destiny, — the wonderful grandeur, and, at the same time, the simplicity and naturalness, with which he expressed it, — the serene assurance with which he looked forward to his death, and to the triumph of his cause in future ages, under the humble ministry of his disciples, — by anything but the admis- sion of the truth of his convictions. "This conception of the Christ was his own, — so remote from that of his nation, that it could not have been borrowed. Undoubted- ly, there were Jews who looked forward to a moral change under the Messiah ; but he was to extend religion under the form of Judaism, to spread the law of Moses, and Judea was to sit on the throne of the world. The idea of a purely spiritual reign, the chief ministers of which were to be the last and least, and servants of all men, — to be persecuted, raartj-red, — was, as I conceive, altogether his own, and wholly inexplicable by outward influences. Above all, the idea that this kingdom was to rise on the ruins of Judea and all Jewish hope, shows the entire separation of Christ's mind from all around him." " Newport, June 21, 1841.^ I have seen more of the Philadelphia Quakers, and love them much ; but, as a people, they have lost their first life. Rules, usages, and discipline have taken place of the spirit. My Quaker library- has been increased by the journals of P^lias Hicks, David Wheeler, and John Woolman. Have you read Woolman ? I was so affected by his journal, two or three years ago, that I began a review of it, and went a good way, but was drawn aside by other olijects. A Quaker lady told me, that Charles Lamb used to sa}' that ' Woolman drew tears from his eN'es,' In his exquisite essay on Quaker Meetings he sa^^s, ' Get the writings of John Woolman by heart.' " I have read this last week, with inexpressible delight, Nichol's ' Architecture of the Heavens.' How it lifts one above the earth, and makes him free of the universe ! What a wonderful being is man, who, from such slight hints, can construct the universe ! How » To Miss E. P. Peabody. THEODORE PARKER. 449 paltiy seem the strifes of the world after this journey through crea- tion ! Should we explore this creation with such joy, were it not to be our everlasting inheritance ? "As to our friend Theodore Parker, he deals too much in exag- gerations. He makes trath unnecessarily repulsive, and, as I think, sometimes goes beyond the truth. I shall judge for myself of his discourse.^ Current opinions do not weigh a feather in such a case. Send me the sermon as soon as it is published I infer from your letter that you are somewhat excited about the controversy in Boston. Possess your soul in patience. Let not rude attacks on any disturb you. Yours faithfully." " Newport, July 6, 1841.2 I thank you for Mr. Parker's sermon, and request you to thank him for the copy he sent me. You will wish to know my opinion ; and, though I cannot go into the subject, I feel that I ought to send a line. " The great idea of the discourse, the immutableness of Christian truth, I respond to entirely. I have labored to separate the notion of arbitrariness, positiveness, from men's notions of Christianity. That this religion is universal, eternal truth, the expression of the Divine mind, and corresponding to the Divine principles in human nature, is what I feel, perhaps, as deeply as any ; and I was moved by Parker's strong, heart-felt utterance of it. Still, there was a good deal in the discourse I did not respond to. I grieved that he did not give some clear, direct expression of his belief in the Christian miracles. His silence under such circumstances makes me fear that he does not believe them. I see not how the rejection of these can be separated from the rejection of Jesus Christ. With- x,- out them he becomes a mere fable, for nothing is plainer than that, from the beginning, miracles constituted his history. There is not a trace of a time when he existed in men's minds without them. His resuiTcction was always the essential grand fact in men's im- pressions of him, — at least as distinctly recognized as his crucifix- ion. Miracles enter into all his conceptions of himself, as these have been handed down to us. They are so inwoven into all his teachings and acts, that in taking them away we have next to noth- ing left. " Without miracles, the historical Christ is gone. No such being is left us ; and in losing him how much is lost ! Reduce Christianity to a set of abstract ideas, sever it from its teacher, and it ceases to be the ' power of God unto salvation.' Allow that it could give us 1 Discourse on the Transient and Permanent in Christianity. -' To Miss E. P. Peabody. 29 450 RELIGION AND nilLOSOPHY. the idea of perfection, — which I cannot concede, — what I want is, not the naked idea, but the existence, the reahzation, of perfection. Some seem to tliink that the idea of infinite perfection answers all the purposes of a God. But no ; the existence of this perfection is the ground of my hope, my happiness, and so I want the existence of human perfection. Christian truth coming to me from the hving soul of Jesus, with his living faith and love, and brought out in his grand and beautiful life, is a ver}-, ver}- different thing from an abstract system. The more I know of Jesus, the less I can spare him ; and this place which he fills in my heart, the quickening office which his character performs, is to me no mean proof of his reality and his superhuman greatness. "In regard to miracles^ I never had the least difficulty. The grand miracle^ as often has been said, is the perfect^ divine character of Christ ; and to such a being a miraculous mode of manifestation seems natural. It is by no figure of speech that I call Christ mirac- ulous. He was more separate from other men than his acts from other acts. He was the sinless, spotless Son of God, distinguished from all men by that infinite peculiarity, freedom from moral evil. He was the Perfect Image of God, the perfection of the spiritual nature. Is it not plain that such a being must have been formed under discipline and influences distinct from those of all other men ? that he cannot be explained by the laws under which we live ? that he is thus a moral miracle, though not such as implies any compul- sory influence? To such a being, the miracles of Christ's history wonderfully agree. The outward and the inward correspond in God's system. God reveals himself to us by outward, material types. So his Son is revealed. What beautiful types of Christ's moral, healing, quickening power we have in the miraculous parts of his history ! I feel, as I read them, that the conception of such a character as Christ, and the unfolding of it in such harmonious acts or operations, transcended human, power, especially in that low moral age, and that nothing but the truth of the history, nothing but the actual manifestation of sucJi a being in such forms, can ex- plain or account for the Gospel narratives. "Mr. Tarkcr supposes Christ's truth to have been revealed to him by his moral perfection. I will not stop to examine this, but will only say, that the men to whom Christ was to unfold this truth were unspeakably distant from this perfection, — that they were low, gross, spiritually dead, — that the spiritual evidence which was enough for him hardly gleamed on their darkened understandings, How needed was some outward, visible symbol of the truth to such minds ! How did they need that the great spiritual Deliverer should MIRACLES. 451 be first made known to them b}' merciful, majestic acts of out- ward deliverance ! Even the more spiritual men of that time, who had longings for immortality', were exceedingly assisted in their earthly state of mind by Christ's resurrection. It shows great igno- rance of human nature, and of God's modes of operation, to suppose that he would approach a darkened, sensual world by purely spirit- ual, abstract teaching. "As to Christ's authority^ there is a sense in which I think it important, and reliance on it most natural and reasonable. I never meet a superior mind without some degree of reliance on it. From such a mind as Christ's, I am sure I can hear nothing but truth. Whatever he says, I am sure will, when full}- understood, be found in harmou}' with God's perfection. This leads me to a rcA^erential study of his words, as of no other man. If in the course of such study I meet anything which seems inconsistent with any known truth, and especially with the pure, liberal conceptions which Jesus has given me, I feel that I have not reached his meaning. I wait for further light, I examine the dark passage again and again, and the probability is that the light will at length shine. If not, I cannot suffer from my ignorance. " I will only add, that to us the great evidence of the miracles is found in the religion itself, and in Christ's character, neither of which can be understood without them, and with which they have vital connections. Without the divine excellence of Christ, the tes- timony' of the miracles would not satisfy us. This is the grand foundation and object of faith. Still, the miracles do not cease to be important, for the}' are among the bright manifestations of his character. Their harmony with it is a proof of its existence ; and, above all, there are vast multitudes, who, with some moral appre- ciation of Christ, are yet so imperfect, so earthly, that these out- ward manifestations of his greatness and of his connection with God have real value as helps to faith. " I have written this letter with an impatient haste, which some- times gets possession of me. I cannot correct it. AYill you copy it fairly, and show it to Mr. Parker, letting him understand that I have written as a friend, and not as an author, and without any aim at precision? Will you then send it back to m6, as there are thoughts which I may wish to expand when I can get time ? " Your sincere friend." " Newport, July 18, 1840.^ .... I hold a clear conviction of truth to be essential to a religious teacher, and I reprobate, as well as 1 To Miss E. P. Peabody. 452 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. dread, the teaching of that which we liave not thought upon calmly and seriously, or which, on being examined, has opened before us problems, perplexities, difficulties, rendering much reflection needful in order to our speaking with the deliberate consciousness of truth. The want of reverence for truth, manifest in the rash teaching of our times, shocks me greatly. I owe the little which I am to the conscientiousness with which I have listened to objections springing up in my own mind to what I have inclined and sometimes thirsted to believe, and I have attained through this to a serenity of faith that once seemed denied in the present state. " I am grieved to find 3'ou insensible to the clear, bright distinc- tion between Jesus Christ and ourselves. To me, and I should think to every reader of the New Testament, he stands apart, alone, in the onlj' particular in which separation is to be desired. He is a being of moral perfection, unstained by sin. The great conscious- ness which pervades, haunts, darkens, all human spirits, that of moral evil, throws not the slightest shade over him. His conscious- ness is his own ; his whole tone, indeed, is his own, and would be false in any other. Though he came to be an example, yet in the points in which we so much need an example, in our conflict with inward evil, in our approach to God as sinners in penitence and self-purification, he wholly fails us. It was in reference to this that I spoke of him as a ' moral miracle,' not intending by this to refer at all to the formation of his character, which, though wholly un- known to us, was wholly free, but to the exception wliich his char- acter forms to all human experience. To my mind, he was intended to be an anticipation of the perfection to which we are guided, to reveal to us its existence, to guide and aid us towards it, to show us that which exists in a germ in all souls. This view you must ■ have gathered from my writings. But my own history, and the his- tory of the race, and of the best beings I have known, have taught me the immense distance of us all from Christ. He is to be ap- proached by gradual self-crucifixion, by a war with the evil within us which will not end till the grave. The idea that the germ within us is to shoot up at once into the perfection of Jesus, — that we are to be 'gifted' in this stage of our being ' with his powers,' to be ' as powerful as a teacher,' — this certainly never entered my thoughts, and it shows such a self-ignorance, such an ignorance of human history- and human life, that one wonders how it can have cnteied a sound mind. Of the formation of Christ's mind we know nothing, and the seci'ccy in which his spiritual history is veiled is no small presumption against its applicableness to ourselves. Infinite wisdom has infinite modes of disciplining and unfolding the spirit. u- THE NEW MOVEMENT. 453 His great end, of revealing to us the Perfect, is equally answered, be his spiritual history what it may. All spirits, however unfolded, are essentially one. In the response of our spirits to his perfection, in his deep fraternal sympathy with the human soul, and in his divine promises, we have foundations of the profoundest, most joy- ful faith in our heavenly destin}'. I am grieved, as I must say, b}' extravagances on this and other points, because I ha^e lived in hope of the manifestation of a truth and spiritual life which is to give a new impulse to the world, and it is some trial, at my time of life, to have such hope baffled. However, I do not despair. The true teachers, who are to unite ' love and power and soundness of mind,' will come. "•As to Mr. Parker, I wish him to preach what he thoroughly believes and feels. I trust the account you received of attempts to put him down was in the main a fiction. Let the full heart pour itself forth. And still more it will rejoice me to find a good accomplished which I cannot anticipate. I want no dark prophecies accom- plished, but I do assure 3"ou, the weaknesses of the good are among the trials of my faith. I repeat it, I am too much occupied to follow up this subject now. Give my love to Mr. Parker. I shall be glad to hear from him, and in perfect freedom. I think he is probablv one of the many who are to be made wise bj' error and suffering, but I honor his virtues, I feel that he has seized on some great truths, and I earnestly desire for him the illumination which will make him an unmixed blessing to his fellow-creatures." ^^ Newport^ August, 184:1.'^ . . . . You will not infer from my let- tei-s that I am at all grieved at the publication of views from which I dissent. Let the honest, earnest spirit speak, and the more fully and freely for attempts to put it to silence. I am somewhat disap- pointed that this new movement is to do so little for the spiritual regeneration of society, which, however, must go on, and which no errors can long keep back. To me, Christ is the great spiritualist. This view binds me to him. Under him, the battle of the human race is to be fought. Any speculations which throw mists or doubts over his history, and diminish the conviction of his grandeur and importance, are poor, and must come to naught. I do not be- lieve that the great object of faith, which is the perfection of the human soul, or evei'lasting, unbounded spiritual development, is to be seized as a reality, and made the grand aspiration and end of life, without the quickening, inspiring influences of his character and truth. Indeed, perfection becomes a dim shadow, without the 1 To Miss E. P. Peabody. 454 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY. help of his Uving manifestation of it. I do fear a tendenc}', in tlie present movement, to loosen the tie which binds the soul to its great Friend and Deliverer. It would seem as if your experience had shown you human nature developing its highest sentiments without help and confirmation from abroad. To me, histor}' and observation and experience read very different lessons, and the con- sequences of overlooking them are not doubtful. The profound ignorance of Jesus Christ shown by those who find in him a re- straint, and also talk of outgrowing him, is discouraging. I find in him only freedom. " I have little hope in this new movement, except as it indicates deep wants of the soul, and a consciousness of its greatness. Nor have I fears. I believe in the purity of those who are concerned in it. I believe, too, that it will spread but little, for there is little in the times to favor an}^ who se})arate themselves comparatively from the grand impulse given by Christ to the world. 1 see as yet but one decided step towards a higher practical manifestation of Christianity, and that is Abolition^ and how imperfect that is we both know. " I have seen, this last week, a member of the Mendon commu- nit3\ I look to that with a good deal of hope. 1 never hoped so strongly and so patiently." '•'' September 10, 1841.^ Here, as in England, we have a stir. Happily, we have no material anti-supernaturalists. Our reformers are si)iritualists, and hold many grand truths ; but in identifying themselves a good deal witli Cousin's crude S3'stem, they have lost the life of an original movement. Some among them seem to lean to the anti-miraculous, have got the German notions of ' m3'ths,' &c., and I fear are loosening their hold on Christ. The}' are anx- ious to defend the soul's immediate connection with God. The}' fear lest Christ be made a barrier between the soul and the Su- preme, and are in danger of substituting private inspiration for Christianity. Should they go thus far, my hopes from them will cease wholly ; but as yet the elements are in great agitation, and it is hard to say how they will arrange themselves. I have great sympathy with the spiritualists ; but I know so well the needs of the soul, and the conditions of its growth, that I look jealously on whatever may shake the foundations of Christianity. For myself, I see no inconsistency between admitting miracles, and resting Christianity on a spiritual basis — between recognizing the inward as supreme, and reverencing the authority of Christ. You will see, ^ To the Rev. James Martineau. DIVINE GOODNESS. 455 from these views, that I go along with your movement more than with ours." 1841. "The fearful amount of sin and suffering in the world depresses and troubles you. How is God's goodness to be recon- ciled with what we see and read of in human affairs ? This is the old problem of the ' origin of evil,' which has perplexed thinking minds from the beginning of the world. I cannot hope to explain what the greatest minds have left obscure. In truth, I do not desire to remove obscurity from Providence ; for in making the luiiverse a plain thing, I should bring it down to the littleness of my own mind ; I should rob it of all its grandeur. If it be infinite, the work of an infinite mind, it must transcend my conceptions, stretch bej'ond my intellect, and I must live encircled with impene- trable mjsteries. The darkness of God's providence is to me an expression of its vastness, its immeasurable grandeur. I cannot doubt. I adore. " Of much that is evil in human life I see the cause and the cure. Man}' forms of human suffering I would not remove, if I could ; for I see that we owe to them all the interest and dignity' of life, and I am sure, that, in proportion as I shall be able to penetrate the sys- tem, much which now perplexes me will be revealed in a glorious light. Man, if a free moral being, must be tried, must be exposed to temptation, must have a wide range of action, must be liable to much sin and much suffering. He cannot be happy in the begin- ning of his career, for, from the essential laws of a free being, he can have no happiness but what he wins amidst temptation. A brute may be made as happy as he can be, at first. Man, God's free moral child, cannot know happiness till, by his own striving, he has risen to goodness and sanctity. I do not see how sin and suffering can be removed, but by striking out from our nature its chief glories. "I have expressed some views on this general subject in a dis- course recently published, in consequence of the loss of an excellent friend on board the Lexington, which I send you. Perhaps some of these may interest and reheve you. It is so long since doubts of the Divine goodness have crossed my mind, that I hardly know how to meet them. This truth comes to me as an intuitive one. I meet it everywhere. I can no more question it than I can the su- preme worth and beautv of virtue." 456 SOCIAL REFORMS. Chapter III. — SOCIAL REFORMS. Temperament and training, religious aspirations and philosophi- cal views, above all, the tendencies of the times, conspired to make Dr. Channing a Social Reformer ; although the loftiness of his desires and aims, the delicac}' of his feelings, the refinement of his tastes, his habits of contemplative thought, and his reverence for individual freedom, enveloped him in a sphere of courteous re- serve, and guarded him from familiar contact with all rude radical- ism. He was as loyal as he was independent, as gentle as he was resolute, as soft to receive any impress of beauty as he was firm to resist wrong. In a letter written but a few months before his death, he has thus faithfully portrayed his own dispositions. " Boston^ March 12, 1842.^ I understand full}' j'our language, when you speak of reform as 3'our ' work-shop.^ I fear I understand it too well, that is, I am too prone to shrink from the work. Reform is resistance of rooted corruptions and evils, and my tendency is to turn awa}' from the contemplation of evils. M}^ mind seeks the good, the perfect, the beautiful. It is a degree of torture to bring vi\'idly to my apprehension what man is sufllering from his own crimes and from the wrongs and cruelty of his brother. No perfec- tion of art, expended on purely tragic and horrible subjects, can reconcile me to them. It is only from a sense of dut}' that I read a narrative of guilt or woe in the papers. When the darkness, indeed, is lighted up b}' moral greatness or beauty? I can endure, and even enjo}' it. You see I am made of but poor material for a reformer. But on this very account the work is good for me. I need it, not, as many do, to give me excitement, for I find enough, perhaps too much, to excite me in the common experience of life, in meditation, in abstract truth ; but to save me from a refined selfishness, to give me force, disinterestedness, true dignit}' and elevation, to link me by a new faith to God, by a deeper love to my race, and to make me a blessing to the world. " I know not how far I have explained my shrinking from the work of reform, but, be the cause wdiat it may, let us not turn away from us the cross, but willingly, gratefully, accept it, when God lays it on us ; and he does lay it on us, whenever he penetrates our hearts with a deep feeling of the degradation, miseries, oppressions, crimes, of our human brethren, and awakens longings for their re- demption. In thus calling us, he imposes on us a burden, such as 1 To Mrs. Lydia Maria Child. UNIVERSAL LOVE. 457 the ancient prophets groaned under. We must ' drink of the cup ' and be ' baptized into the baptism ' of our Master. We must expect persecution in some form or other ; but this is a light matter, com- pared with the painful necessity of fixing our ej-es and souls on evil, and with the frequent apparent failure of our labor. Here, here is the trial. Could we lift up our fellow-creatures at once to the happi- ness and excellence which we aspire after, what a joy would reform be ! But, alas ! if we do remove a few pressing evils, how many re- main ! What a cloud still hangs over the earth ! Sometimes evil seems to grow up under the efforts to repress it. Were it not for our faith^ who could persevere? But with this faith, what a secret, sustaining joy flows into and mingles with sincere labors for human- ity ! The little we accomplish becomes to us a pledge of something infinitely greater. We know that the brighter futurit}' which our hearts j-earn for is not a dream, — that good is to triumph over evil, and to triumph through the sacrifices of the good. " You see I would wed 3'ou and m3'self to reform ; and yet we must be something more than reformers. We must give our nature a fair chance ; we must not wither it by too narrow modes of action. Let your genius have free play. We are better reformers, — be- cause calmer and wiser, because we have more weapons to work with, — if we give a wide range to thought, imagination, taste, and the affections. We must be cheerful, too, in our war with evil, for gloom is apt to become sullenness, ill-humor, and bitterness. " Your sincere friend." The following extracts will best reveal the spirit with which Dr. Channing was animated as a social reformer. 1825. "Christianity through its whole extent is a religion of love. I know no better name for it than Universal Love. God, not satisfied with giving lessons in his works and in our own frames, has sent a messenger of special glory, to teach us with new clear- ness and power the obligation, happiness, and dignity of benevo- lence. Christianity everywhere inculcates love, and a love so much wider, purer, nobler, than had before entered men's thoughts, that it is with propriet}' called a new commandment. Men, as we have seen, have felt and practised social kindness before, without a rev- elation, for nature alwa3s inspired it. But this kindness had been confined. It had been accumulated on a few objects. Collected, like the sun's ra3's, to a point, it had burned intensely ; but be3^ond that point it had exerted little power. Before Christianit3', the private affections had exhausted men's stock of love. The claims of famil3' and of countr3' had been recognized, but not the claims of 458 SOCIAL REFORMS. mankind. The bond of consanguinity was felt, but not the bond of a common nature. A stranger was hardly distinguished from a foe. Bej'ond the limit of his country, the individual imagined he had no duties to perform, and even trampled on the rights and happiness of human beings with little compunction. But the ties of faniil}' and of country were never intended to circumscribe the soul. Man is connected at birth with a few beings, that the spirit of humanity' may be called forth b}- their tenderness ; and whenever domestic or national attachments become exclusive, engrossing, clannish, so as to shut out the general claims of the human race, the highest end of Providence is frustrated, and home, instead of being the nursery, becomes the grave of the heart. " Christiauit}' la^-s the foundation of a universal love, b}- reveal- ing to us the greatness of that nature in which all men participate, — b}' inspiring reverence for the human soul, be that soul lodged wherever it ma}', — b}' teaching us that all the outward distinctions of birth, rank, wealth, honor, which human pride foolishly swells into importance, and which separate different classes from each other, as if they were different races, are not worth}- to be named in comparison with those essential faculties and affections which the poorest and most unprosperous derive as liberally from God as those who disdain them. Christian love is founded on the grandeur of man's nature, its likeness to God, its immortality, its powers of endless progress, — on the end for which it is created, of living forever, diffusing itself ilUmitabl}', and enjoying God and the universe through eternity. He who has never looked through man's outward condition, through the accidental trappings of for- tune and fashion, to the naked soul, and there seen God's image commanding reverence and a spiritual grandeur which turns to littleness all that is most glorious in nature, — such a man maj- have kindness, for of this he cannot easily divest himself, but he is a stranger to the distinctive love of Christianity, and knows noth- ing of the iutenseness and diffusiveness with which the heart can bind itself to the human race. " The true Christian, who is instructed b}' Christ in the nature of the soul, and in the purposes for which it was made, comes to love man as man^ and to be interested in him wherever he dwells. The bounds of family or of country cannot confine him. Wherever human nature has put itself forth in power and virtue, he delights to contemi)late it, and feels a brother's union with the excellent who have shed a lustre on past times, or who shine in distant regions, and even with the good who have ascended to heaven. The thought, that each human being has within him the capacities of SOCIETY AND CHRISTIANITY. 459 like excellence, and that Christ has lived and died to kindle this divine life in all souls, creates an interest in every human being which neither distance, nor strangeness, nor injury, nor even vice, can destroy "Much, much indeed remains for Christianity to achieve and to conquer, before it will accomplish its office of inspiring in all men this universal love. It has to break down the aristocracy' of birth, tlie aristocracy of wealth, the sectarianism and bigotry of the religious world, the clannish spirit of nations, and many other barriers of pride and selfishness. But it is equal to its work. It is silentl}^ but steadil}', teaching men to recognize their nature and the great purposes of their being, — proving to them that there is no glory but in self-conquest and in a wide charity-, — pleading the cause of the poor, the ignorant, and the stranger, — infusing a candor which sees with joy the virtues of other parties, other sects, other countries, — and gradually generating in the individual the consciousness that lie is made for his race, for God, and for the universe. This spirit is too godlike to be gained and perfected in a moment or a century, or even during man's existence in this world. It is enough that we see in men the dawning and promise of this universal love." Measured by this ideal of unity, harmonj', and perfect co-opera- tion, the actual life in professedly Christian communities appeared to Dr. Chanuing as little like the true "kingdom of heaven," as the unsteady steps and awkward gestures of a child just learn- ing to walk resemble the graceful vigor of mature manhood. But from the successes of the past he drew animating hopes for the future. His views of the social needs of Christendom are thus presented : — '•'- November, 1833. I do not mean to represent society as openly or utterly hostile to Christianity. I do not found m^' exhortations on any prevalent profligacy of manners. I do not deny that an important change has been made in our social character by Chris- tian principles. On the contrary', I affirm this. I maintain, how- ever, that this very improvement of the community — being as yet very partial, and rather on the surface than in the heart — is one of our perils, tending, as it does, to reconcile us to a mediocrity of virtue, and to blind us to the great evils with which society is yet deformed. I do not, then, feel myself called, in order to enforce my exhortation, to paint in dark and revolting characters the present state of the world. And that man must indeed be chargeable either with gross ignorance or gross prejudice, who 460 SOCIAL REFORMS. does not see in Christian countries many happy influences of the gospel ""Manners are softened, and the domestic relations hallowed; woman is rescued from degradation, and parental authority is changed from a harsh tyranny into affectionate control. Human suffering awakens new sympathy, and individual and associated efforts are continually diminishing its amount. War has parted with much of its cruelty, and the claims of a disarmed eneni}' are recognized. Even despotism, though it resists attempts to limit its power by constitutional barriers, is restrained by the spirit of society from its ancient excesses, and is laboring to improve the condition, education, and morals of its subjects. Here are glorious revolutions, and Christianity, were it to win no other victories, would deserve for these reforms the everlasting gratitude of the human race. But these are onl}' superficial changes, compared with its great purpose. Its design is, to work more deeply', to guide and rouse men to the culture of that spiritual and universal charity which distinguished Christ ; and this, however cherished in indi- viduals, has not yet become the spirit of society, — has not yet cast down the strongholds of human selfishness and pride, and made the world a school, to the lessons and influences of which we may surrender ourselves without fear " Am I asked in what respects the spirit of the world is opposed to that of Christian love ? To answer this question fitly, I should set before you distinctly what I understand by Christian love or cliarit}' ; but I can now only suggest two thoughts, which, indeed, are so intimatel}- connected, as hardly to admit of division : — Christian love is founded on just and enlarged views of human nature ; and, next, it is universal, and tends to embrace all man- kind ' ' Christian benevolence is built on Christian views of human nature, and can rest on nothing else. This religion is distinguished by revealing man as a being with stronger claims on interest, s^'m- path}^ and benevolent concern than can well be conceived. We see in him the most striking and touching contrasts. We see in him the germs of all truth, virtue, and beautiful and generous aflfections, and storm}' passions, lawless appetites, and insatiable desires. We see in him the child of God and the victim of sin, now manifesting the disinterested love of an angel, now betra3'ing the pride, malignity, sensuality, of a demon. We see him falle7i and redeemed, needing infinite compassion, and compassionate ac- cording to his need. Who can tell the worth of such a being? Who can count the treasures locked up in one human breast, or the THE SPIRIT OF SOCIETY. 461 amount of joys or woes for which every man is preparing ? Men travel far to see the wonders of nature and of art. The greatest wonder is man himself. One soul is worth more than material worlds. Such is man as set before us in Christianity, and on these views Christian love is built. " And need I ask you whether a love thus grounded and nourished is the spirit of society ? Is it the habit of society to meditate on the great purposes for which each human being was framed ? Has society yet learned man's relation to God, his powers, his perils, his immortality? Are these the thoughts which circulate in conversa- tion, these the convictions which are brought home to you in your ordinary intercourse ? Need I tell you how blind the multitude yet are to what is nearest them and concerns them most deeply, to their own nature, — how they overlook the spiritual in man, — how they stop at the outward and accidental, — how few penetrate to the soul and discern in that responsible, immortal being an object for unbounded solicitude and love ? The multitude are living an outward life, discerning little but what meets the eye, valuing little but what can be weighed or measured by the senses, estimating one another by outward success, conflicting or co-operating with one another for outward interests. The consciousness of what is in- ward and spiritual and immortal, — how faintly does it stir in the multitude ! Man's solemn, infinite connections with God and eternity are unacknowledged or forgotten, and so little are they comprehended, that, when urged on the conscience as realities, as motives to action and as foundations of love, they are dismissed as too unsubstantial or refined to exert a serious influence on life. Thus the spirit of society is virtually hostile to those great truths in regard to human nature on which Christian love is built, and without which we cannot steadfastly and disinterestedly bind our- selves to our race. " I now pass to the second view of Christian love which I pre- pared to set before you, and which is intimately connected with the preceding. It is universal, or tends to embrace all the various orders and conditions of mankind. Having its foundation and chief nutriment in just views of human nature, it cannot but comprehend all to whom this nature belongs. It is a love of man as man, as the spiritual and immortal child of God ; and from this dignity no human being is excluded. It sees and feels how poor are all the outward distinctions of men in comparison with those powers and prospects which are the common property of the race. To the enlightened Christian, the barriers which divide men vanish. What is high birth, as it is called? To him, all men are born of God, 462 SOCIAL REFORMS. are of heavenl}' parentage, and bearing the image of their Father. What is wealth ? To the Christian, everj' man has infinite wealth within his reach, — the imperishable treasures of intelligence, con- science, affection, and moral strength, of faith, hope, charit}', — and nothing seems more insane than to weigh against these silver and gold. Christian love bounds itself to none of this world's dis- tinctions. It is not even repelled by crime. Enemies are not ex- cluded from its concern, for they are still men, and share the mercy of a common Father. "Thus universal, all-comprehending, is the love which springs from just views of man's nature and relation to God. And is this the spirit of society? Does society breathe and nurture this, or does it inculcate narrowness, exclusiveness, and indifference towards the great mass of mankind ? Do we see in the world a prevalent respect for what all human beings partake? On the contrar}-, do not men attach themselves to what is peculiar, to what distinguishes one man from another, and especially to outward distinction ; and is there not a tendency to overlook, as of little value, those who in these respects are depressed? Do they not worship the accidents, adventitious, unessential circumstances, of the human being, — birth, outward appearance, wealth, manner, rank, show, — and ground on these a consciousness of a superiorit}- which divides them from others? Can we say of that distinction, which is alone important in the sight of God, which is confined to no condition, which is to outlive all the inequalities of life, and which, far from separating, binds those who possess it more and more to their race, — I mean moral and religious worth, — can we say of this, that it is the object of general homage, before whose commanding presence all lower differences among men are abased? The influence of out- ward condition in attracting or repelling men's sympathies and in- terest is one of the most striking features of modern society', and gives mournful proof of the faint hold which Christianity has as yet gained over the hearts and minds of men. Jesus deigned not to wear the outward distinctions of life, and chose for the highest office on earth, and as his intimate friends, those who wanted these ; and his design was, that the sympathies and affections of his dis- ciples should embrace all their fellow-creatures, unchecked b}' out- ward barriers, that man in ever^' situation should be regarded with tenderness and respect. I do not say, that his design has wholly failed. Christianity is breaking down the walls which divide the children of God's great family ; but how much of the work remains to be done ! and who can deny, that, on the whole, the spii'it of society is adverse to this enlarged, all-embracing spirit of Christ? .... THE SPIRIT OF CHRIST. 463 " Such is the spirit of societ}^ Christianity teaches lis to feel ourselves members of the whole human family ; society, to make or keep ourselves members of some favored caste. Christianity calls us to unite ourselves with others ; society, to separate our- selves from them. Christianity teaches us to raise others ; society, to rise above them. Christianity calls us to narrow the space be- tween ourselves and our inferiors by communicating to them, as we have ability, what is most valuable in our own minds ; society tells us to leave them to their degradation. Christianity summons us to employ superior ability, if such we have, as a means of wider and more beneficent action on the world; society suggests that these are a means of personal elevation. Christianity teaches us that what is peculiar in our lot or our acquisitions is of Uttle worth in comparison with what we possess in common with our race ; society teaches us to cling to what is peculiar as our highest honor and most precious possession. Fraternal union, sympathy, aid, is the spirit of Christianity ; exclusiveness is the spirit of the world. And this spirit is not confined to what is called the highest class. It burns, perhaps, more intensely in those who are seeking than in those who occupy the eminences of social life. It is a disposition to undervalue those who want what we possess, to narrow our sym- pathies to one or another class, to forget the great bond of humanity. This spirit of exclusiveness triumphs over the spirit of Christianity, and, through its prevalence, the great work given to every human being, which is to improve his less favored fellow-being, is slighted. The sublime sphere of usefulness is little occupied. A spfrit of rivalry, jealousy, envy, selfish competition, supi)lants the spirit of mutual interest, the respect, support, and aid, by which Christianity proposes to knit mankind into a universal brotherhood " If we may trust the opinions of foreigners, the spirit of society in this country is peculiarly hostile to that of Christian love. They tell us, that, as a people, we are singularly restless and aspiring ; that for the old aristocracy of birth we have substituted that of wealth ; that every nerve is strained to accumulate, and by accumu- lation to scale the high i)laces of society ; that mammon has no- where such fervent worshippers ; that the intellect of the nation is contracted into a selfish shrewdness, and that the generous senti- ments are absorbed in the spirit of calculation. We pronounce this false; l)ut falsehood has often a foundation, however slight, in truth. In a country like ours, where industry is unshackled and the partition-walls of rank are easily cleared, where examples of brilliant success and sudden elevation appeal to the hopes of the multitude, where wealth is of easier acquisition and confers higher 464 SOCIAL REFORMS. privileges than among any other people, we have reason to dread tlie prevalence of a self-seeking and self-elevating spirit, of a burn- ing thirst for gain and distinction singularly' hostile to the generous and all-comprehending benevolence of Jesus Christ." Having thus learned the central principle of love, one in essence, and universal in aim, that animated Dr. Channing as a reformer, and the uncompromising justice with which he condemned the per- vading selfishness of modern societ}', while gratefully recognizing the humanit}' already infused by Christianit}' into legislation and manners, let us proceed to consider in what modes he brought his benevolence to bear upon particular evils. The following paper, drawn up by him, will show the spirit which he desired to call out in his own congregation, and the direction which he sought to give to their energies. "It being the duty of those who are favored with the Christian religion to promote, as the}' have abilit}', piet}', good morals, and human happiness, we, the subscribers, members of the religious society in Federal Street, agree to pay annually the sums annexed to our names, to be applied, by a committee chosen annuallj' by ourselves, to the following objects, viz.: — 1. The provision of moral and religious instruction for the destitute in this town ; 2. the publication of useful tracts ; 3. the education of 3'oung men of suitable qualifications for the ministr}', especially of an}- belonging to this society, and needing pecuniary aid ; 4. the support of mis- sionaries in parts of the country' destitute of a regular ministry ; and 5. in general, the encouragement of any useful design which the benevolence of the age and the wants of the community ma}'' suggest. ' ' Among these designs the following may be named : — 1 . The improvement of the poor, and the introduction of more economical and eflflcacious methods of teaching ; 2. The investigation of the state of prisons, and the introduction of a moral treatment of crim- inals, and of methods of relieving worthy but unfortunate debtors ; 3. The purification of parts of the town notoriously corrupt; 4. The suppression of intemperance and kindred vices ; 5. The employment of the poor, the removal of abuses by which they are involved in litigation, the introduction among them of economical improvements, and, in general, the extension of just ideas as to the best methods of relieving and preventing poverty ; 6. The improve- ment of particular classes of men, whose occupations are found to be peculiarly unfavorable to good morals and religion. "The committee, availing itself of the service of individuals in WEDNESDAY EVENING ASSOCIATION. 465 the society, who have leisure and benevolence, and b}' directing a continued attention to one or more of these objects, according to tlie number and dispositions of their associates, may, it is believed, produce important results, and convert into realities what are now onl}' the wishes and suggestions of philanthrop}'." An "Association of the Members of the P^ederal Street Society for Benevolent Purposes" was also formed, June Gth, 1824, which continued its operations for ten years, contributing generously to various charitable enterprises, encouraging Sunday schools, mis- sions, and the ministry at large, and supporting students at the Divinity School. Besides these efforts witliin his own congregation, Dr. Channing co-operated, so far as health and time allowed, with the deservedly honored "Wednesday Evening Association," sometimes called the " Beneficent Association," which was the mother of so many wise and generous plans of moral and social improvement. Its first meeting was held at his house, in Februar}', 1822, and for many years it carried on a series of thorough investigations, and quiet but efficient reforms, which were greatly instrumental in giving to Boston its peculiar character of philanthropic earnestness. The leading objects of this society were, — "1. To extend the knowl- edge of true religion, and to advance its practical influence ; 2. To promote any plans of a public nature for improving the condition of society ; 3. To produce a unity of purpose and effort among Unitarian Christians." Under date of May 17th, 1826, it is recorded among the proceedings of the Association, that " Dr. Channing' made an address on the expediency and practicability of procuring for the poor of the city a preacher, who should associate with himself as instructors intelligent laymen," &c. The subject of suitable habitations for the poor was at the same time brought forward, and thenceforth frequently considered, until finally was originated Dr. Tuckerman's "Ministry- at Large." How deep and constant was Dr. Channing's interest in the plans of his fervent and devoted friend will hereafter full}' appear. His thoughts were continually becoming concentrated more and more upon the terrible problem of Pauperism, before which the benevolence of all civilized states stands paralyzed and aghast ; and he saw more clearly each year that what the times demanded was, that the axe should be laid at the very root of ignorance, temptation, and strife, by sub- stituting for the present unjust and unequal distribution of the privileges of life some system of cordial, respectful, brotherly co- operation. But before presenting his views on this fundamental reform, from which alone can trul}- efficient charit}- grow up, let us 30 466 SOCIAL REFORMS. first trace the course of his opinions in relation to various benevo- lent movements. We have seen, at an earlier period, how strong was Dr. Chan- ning's desire to advance the triumph of Peace over the custom of War, which Barbarism has left in disastrous legac}' to CiAdlization ; and on ever}' suitable occasion, through his whole life, he sought with increasing zeal to cultivate a spirit of humane policy', which might banish from among Christian states this hoary crime, that has so long pre3'ed on their prosperitj' and virtue. Though thus opposed to war, however, he could not see that the principle of Non- Resistance was a right one, either between individuals or na- tions. His objections to the "ultra" peace doctrine are thus stated b}' himself. '■'■September 9, 1829.^ I received and have read with much pleas- ure the book jou sent me on the ' Unlawfulness of AVar.' You ask ni}' opinion on this subject. I agi^ee with 3'our author in every- thing but the main point. I abhor war as much as he does, but the view of its ' absolute unlawfulness,' I cannot accede to. I think my opinion of some weight, because my feelings carry me strongly to this doctrine, and nothing, it seems to me, but the power of truth, prevents my joining the most rigid interpreters of the Christian precei)ts which relate to this subject. I think the author has erred fundamentally in supposing that we have nothing to do but to obey the laws of Christianity without reasoning al)Out them, or that our rehgion prescribes particular acts or courses which we are to follow without a thought of consequences. Christianity does anything but lay down a precise law, telling us where to plant every foot- step, and giving such plain prescriptions that we need only hear the words to i-eceive their full significance immediately. Its laws are given in bold, and sometimes hyperbolical language, and re- quire the constant exercise of good sense and reason to determine their precise import. Above all, they enjoin a spirit, or inward principle, leaving us ver}- much to our own discretion as to the mode of applying it. The precept, ' Resist not evil,' is plainly to be understood with much limitation, for. were it literally followed, without exception, by the private individual and magistrate, all government, domestic and civil, would cease, and society would fall a prey to its worst members. The precept was not intended to forbid all resistance, but to forbid the had passions from which resistance generally springs. A discipline of the heart is enjoined, not any outward course. Christianity is intended to raise us to 1 To Miss Jane E. Roscoe, Liverpool. NON-RESISTANCE. 467 universal, unbounded love, and the only question is, whether war is inconsistent with this spirit. You may say it is. You may ask, How can I turn against one whom I sincerely love instruments of death ? I answer, it is very possible to possess a sincere regard for the happiness of anotlier being, sympathize strongly witli his sufferings, and yet to subject him to severe suffering, and even to deatli. "l-Iow often does the judge pass sentence on a criminal for whom he feels deeply ! I am to love the bad man ; but I am also to love society, to loVe my family, my friends, my country ; and if tlie bad man arm himself for the ruin of these, I am bound to repel him. In so doing, do I not act from a principle of charity, espe- cially if to save the good, to defend the community, I expose my own life in resisting the bad? I can certainly oppose a wicked man's purposes, and in so doing can inflict on him severe pain, without hating liim, and even with the deepest grief for his char- acter and punishment. I may even feel, through the strength of my philanthropy, a severer pain than I inflict. War, then, is not necessarily inconsistent with the spirit of Christian love. On the contrary, I fear tliat I sliould want this love, were I to look quietly and unresistingly on the undisguised efforts of unprincipled men to spoil and enslave my country, my children, — all who are especially confided to my care. War, then, is not absolutely, or in all possible cases, a crime. Here I dissent from your author. ''But practically I should go almost as far as he would. The whole system of war, as it now exists, is abominable. The profes- sion of a soldier, according to this system, is immoral, and most actual wars are unjust; so that a philanthropist and Christian should die sooner than engage in them. These views, I think, if wisely expounded, would go much farther towards the suppression of war than the doctrine of its absolute unlawfulness. " I know it is objected, that, if any war is allowed to be just, all will be found so ; that no lines can be drawn between the lawful mid unlawful. So the fanatic says no line can be drawn between innocent indulgence and luxury, between moderate and excessive ornament, and therefore all indulgence and ornament niust^ be re- nounced. I do not believe in the wisdom or virtue of escaping the labor and responsibility of moral discrimination by flying to^ an extreme principle. Every moral question is as open to this objec- tion as war. Perhaps a sound mind can make the right distinctions on war as easily as on most of the solemn concerns of life. I can- not, however, explain myself now." But thougli inclined to fear that the earnest band of Non-Resist- ants, who were then firmly applying the principle of perfect and 468 SOCIAL REFORMS. perpetual peace to all the relations of individuals and states, would rather retard than hasten the growth of sound feeling in the public heart, and thus compelled in justice to stand aloof from, and even by discriminating statements to oppose, a body of reformers whom as individuals he profoundlj^ respected, Dr. Channing was still less disposed to co-operate with those over-prudent peace-men, who, loud and zealous in hours of tranquillit}', are unseen and unheard in times of peril. The moral intrepidity, which prompted him in early manhood to condemn from the pulpit the war of 1812, had only gained vigor through years of observation and experience ; and no considerations of expediency or caution made him hesitate for an instant to reprove the popular madness, when unscrupulous politicians hurried this nation to the brink of hostilities for a paltry indemnit}' and a strip of land. In 1835, though the Executive of the United States advised war with France, and man}" eloquent men in Congress advocated violent measures. Dr. Channing ap- peared before his people in a discourse, that was afterwards printed, in which he exposed with sublime sincerity'- the deadness of the national conscience to the claims of humanity and the true honor of states.^ And again in 1838 and 1839, — though leading states- men, and influential papers, and guides of opinion m commercial and social circles reluctantly yielded to the seeming necessity of a struggle with England, — in a lecture on war, which, when pub- lished, was prefaced with a few pages of most plain and pungent appeal, he indignantly exposed the abominable horrors and gra- tuitous wickedness of this infernal usage. '■^ Tlie following letters will show how, also, through private channels, he endeavored to exert his influence for the preservation of peace. " Boston^ December 5, 1835.^ You have borne yom testimony against war very strongly. Ought not Christians to speak on this subject as they have never done before ? At the present moment we are threatened with war for a punctilio, a matter of etiquette. All the crimes and miseries of war are to be encountered for noth- ing, and yet the public press utters not a word on our obligations as a Christian community. The politicians have the whole affair in their hands. The Christians among us sit still and silent, and leave worldly, self-seeking politicians to decide whether they shall imbrue their hands in the blood of their brethren. Is Christianity always to remam a dead letter in the determination of national 1 Works, Vol. IV. pp. 237-263. One Volume Edition, pp. 654-064. '^ Ibid., Vol. V. pp. 100-147. One Volume Edition, pp. 664-679. 3 To Francis Wajland, D. D. CHRISTIANITY OPPOSED TO WAR. 469 concerns, and especially of peace and war? I wish j'ou would revolve this subject in your mind." " Boston^ February 17, 1836.^ We may hope that this exposi- tion will not be lost. Many, I am assured, have received such impressions from the work as we should desire. We shall neither of us probabl}' hve to see the accomplishment of this and other benevolent objects in which we have been engaged, but we must be grateful if we can do anything to advance them. You, I am sure, have not labored in vain. You must have been gratified with see- ing the great disinclination of the community to second the recent war movements of the President. Undoubtedly, wise or pruden- tial considerations had a large share in producing this reluctance ; but I believe an important effect was produced by more Christian and moral views of war, and by the diffusion of juster views of military glory. Undoubtedly, much, very much, remains to be done. The spirit of nations and of the multitude is not the spirit of Christ. But is not the true relation of man to man better under- stood? Is it not felt, that to butcher God's children, our spiritual brethren, is a fearful crime ? I do not despair of the power of truth, because the victory is not immediately won, because we, creatures of a day, do not witness the utter prostration of long-established errors and corruptions. It is a privilege to witness silent changes, and this happiness is not denied us. It is my earnest desire, that your last days may be cheered by brighter hopes and a stronger faith. Accept the assurances of the sincere respect of your friend." '•'• Boston, March 7, 1841.^ I have received 3'our 'resolutions' on the subject of war, and I should be unjust to my feehngs, if I did not thank you for them in the strongest manner. It is very cheering to find that a man may breathe the atmosphere of a legisla- tive chamber and escape its deadly influence. You will be told, I doubt not, of the futilit}' of all such movements, but I trust you will not be discouraged. There is at this moment in our commu- nity a disposition to apply great principles to practice, to realize moral and religious ideas, such as never existed before. It works silently where it is little suspected, and is repressed chiefly by the fear of finding no sjmpathy. On this account I attach much im- portance to the strong expression of great principles by men in pubhc life. " In regard to your first resolution, it has often occurred to me, that non-intercourse might and should be substituted for war ; but the question arises, whether in the present state of the world it can 1 To Noah Worcester, D. D. 2 To John L. O'SulUvan, Esq. 470 SOCIAL REFORMS. be carried out. The merchants of both countries would, to a man, employ all their ingenuity in eluding it ; and would not an indirect intercourse be established, which would make the policy of the gov- ernment a mere name ? I know too little of trade to judge of the A'alidity of this objection ; but it is the only one which occurs to me, and I should hope that a government resolved on enforcing non- intercourse might do it. " I have much faith in the pacific sj'stem cordially adojjted by a nation. A nation speaking in a voice of true good-will and philan- thropy, shrinking from war, not through fear or interested motives, but from reverence for justice and Christian love, and appeahng to the world against wrong, would not speak in vain. But a ^'ast change is first to be wrought, before such a voice can go forth from any community. I pray God that you ma}' help to bring on this better age. "The objections of my friend Dr. Follen to a congress of na- tions, published in the Democratic Review, seem to me stroug. The essential idea which we wish to establish is Arbitration. The mode is unimportant, if we can but secure impartiality." It is scarcely necessary to sa}', that Dr. Channing felt the strong- est detestation for that remnant of antiquated inhumanity called duelling ; but as a scandalous occurrence in his own community called forth a slight expression of his feelings on the subject, it may be well here to record it. ' '• I have been much shocked within a few days b}' the want of Christian feeling on the subject of duelling here. A Christian com- munity, instructed as ours is in the benevolent principles of our re- ligion, ought to have spoken with an authority and a severity of rebuke wliich would teach the 3'oung and uprincipled, that this out- rage on our institutions, faith, and manners cannot be endured. 1 see in this case how httle the sublimity and beauty of the spirit of Christ are felt. Even those who oppose duelling rest too nmch on mere authority, and not on its hostility to all the principles which ennoble the soul. This is in a discouraging tone, and yet I am not discouraged. The more I see of evil, the more I am assured of the power which is to triumph over it. We are low enough, I feel, and yet we have risen in comparison with the past." Closely connected with his views of the lawfulness and unlawful- ness of the exercise of force, as an instrument of justice between nation and nation, were Dr. Channing's opinions in regard to legal restraints and penalties, as a means of internal policy, lie looked with warm and eager sympathy upon ever}- attempt to reform the PENAL JURISPRUDENCE. 471 cruel abuses which have so long disgraced the dens where Chris- tians have pent up their erring brethren to fester in their crimes, and was ready to assert, with the noble-hearted Roscoe, " that beneficence, and not revenge, should be the motive of all criminal proceedings," and that " prisons cannot be conducted upon oppo- site and discordant principles, but must be either places of vindic- tive and exemplar}' punisliment, or places of instruction, industr}', and reform." ^ The following letters will show the gradual devel- opment of his faith in the mighty power of humane treatment to lift up the most debased and brutal to the full stature of man. " October 28, 1825.^ I wish, through 3'ou, to thank your father for his last publication on ' Penal Jurisprudence.' 1 liave intended for some time to answer his kind letter, but have waited in hope of being able to give more attention to the subject in wliich his benevolence is so deeply" engaged. I incline much to his views of punishment, but do not hold them with that strength of conviction which would give me courage to act upon them were I a legis- lator. " My compassion towards criminals generall}' prevails over my indignation. When I consider how closely the whole community is bound together, how all the parts act upon one another, how the poorer classes depend on the higher, and catch from them the infec- tion of vice, and how large a share of the guilt of every crime be- longs to society, which has exposed the offender to temptation without giving him moral strength or means of defence, I wonder with what face an}' man can denounce vengeance, and vengeance only, upon criminals. Punishment, I suppose, will correspond with the character of the communit}', and will grow mild as man- ners soften. In an iron age it will be cruel. In proportion as the spirit of Christianity is understood and felt, it will become an in- strument of reform. I rejoice that your father is provoking dis- cussion, and doubt not that, however some of his views may be questioned, he will lead man}' to feel more than they have done that they have a common nature with the unhappy convict, and are bound to labor for his restoration." " November 30, 1828.^ Can legislation do much towards reform- ing men ? Has not the power of government in this, as in every- thing, been overrated? Can associations do much? Is it not by individual interest, b}' unaffected individual friendship, b}' teaching from the lips of philanthropy, and not by official acts, that the 1 Manuscript letter of Wm. Roscoe, Esq., to Dr. Clianning, 1825. - To Miss Jane E. Roscoe. 3 w^i^. 472 SOCIAL REFORMS. offender is to be brought to feel what he is, and especially what he maj' be ? " According to these views, a great object of a prison should be to bring the prisoner within the influence of enlightened and good minds ; and until such minds are formed, until individuals rise up, who, instead of acting in societies, will cultivate personal inter- course with the individual prisoner, are we to expect reformation ? The prisoner must see himself to be an object of interest, and must see that his nature is still respected, that there are those who hope well and highly for him, or the redeeming i)rinciple will not be awakened in him. That we shall arrive at this state of things by and by I doubt not. The barbarous separation made between societ}' and the criminal is not — what we are too apt to call it — a relic of barbarous times, but a part of a barbarous system noio in being ; and it must give way just as far as the light of truth and Christian virtue penetrates the darkness which still hangs over us." '•''Boston, March 30, 1829.^ I am glad that your father sees ground of hope in the views of prison discipline which are gaining ground in this country. I should prefer, wei^e it practicable, a system which would separate the prisoners wholly from one another, and at the same time give them work and other society. Their old connections should be wholly broken off". They should have no communion with one another. This is one step toward reformation. Remove the offender from bad influences. "But 3'ou will say, Do I defend solitary confinement? No. Whilst I wish bad influences to be cut off, I wish good ones to be brought to bear on the criminal. The vicious are to be raised by the help of the virtuous. I would have the enlightened and virtu- ous brought into connection with the guilty. The good must feel that their goodness is imparted to them to be imparted to others. Those who have been preserved from great crime must not think of themselves as raised by this purit}' above the vicious, but as thus preserved that they may restore the fallen. Tlie influence of the enlightened and pure on the criminal seems to me an essential ele- ment of a system for the reformation of offenders. I would have a few trustworthy individuals interested in a prisoner, taught to look upon him as their charge, accustomed to visit and talk to him as a friend, and to encourage his work ; and expected to make provision for him on his leaving prison, that is, to find him a field of virtuous industry. "We are not, perhaps, good enough for this system, but we 1 To Miss Jane E. Roscoe. PRISON DISCIPLINE. 473 must grow up to it ; and until the good take this immediate, active interest in the improvement of the offender, the surest means will be untried. A chaplain would answer my purpose very imperfectly. I want, not an official, but a friendly connection." ^'■Philadelphia^ April 10, 1832. Yesterday I almost exhausted m^'self in a very interesting visit to the Penitentiary, a ver}' noble establishment. I was allowed — which is not a common privilege — to enter the cells and talk with the prisoners. I saw four, I think, who had committed murder in the second degree. They and all the prisoners are confined in solitary' cells, and seldom see any counte- nance but that of the keeper. The system is thought by some to be too severe, as human nature shrinks from nothing so much as from this utter loneliness, and man}' have feared that the spirit would be broken and the understanding palsied. I think that terri- ble effects might follow, if the poor secluded beings were not allowed to work. Work, which men at large are apt to think hard, is to them more than recreation. It saves them from a fate worse than death. I found that their minds were bright and active, and that the}' seemed desirous to make a good use of their discipline. I endeavored to make them feel that society was punishing them, not from revenge, but kindness, and that Providence was most merciful in putting this check on their crimes. We must never lead the most wicked to look on their condition as desperate. The}' are still our brethren ; and if we can once persuade them of our sincere interest in them, we do something, perhaps much, for their recovery. I am not rested yet from this visit." " Philadelphia, April 17, 1832.^ If you have not already visited the Penitentiary here, I know no place so worthy your attention. I visited this institution a few days ago, and was very much dis- posed to regard it as the greatest advance yet made in prison dis- cipline. The discretionary power of punishing given to the warden on the Auburn system, and which I dread and abhor, is altogether unnecessary here, and, indeed, no punishment but the occasional withholding of a meal is resorted to. I talked with the prisoners as long as I had power, to ascertain the influence of the system of seclusion on the intellect and tlie moral character ; and my fears as to its stupefying effect seemed to be wholly groundless. I intend to see the attending physician on this subject. The only bad influence which I saw came from the preaching and religious tracts. I think two of the prisoners were bewildered by what they had heard of the sinner's inability to change liis heart. Truly this plague of Calvin- ^ To Joseph Tuckerman, D. D. 474 SOCIAL REFORMS. ism, like tlie vermin inflicted on Eg^'pt, finds its wa}' everywliere. I pitied tlie poor creatures, wlien I found tlieir cells furnislied with tracts of tlie common sort. " M}' great desire has been to connect prisoners with intelligent and religious people, two of whom should have the intellectual and moral care of each convict ; but when I think into what hands this care would fall, I have some misgivings. However, the good would prevail. The S3'mpathies of human nature are too strong for the spirit of theological systems." Chief among the temptations of modern society which seduced men into crime, Dr. Channing recognized intemperance. In com- mon with all deep observers, he believed that the existing genera- tion of civilized states is peculiarly subject to this vice, from the combined effects of extreme nervous development, — of restlessness and anxiety, engendered from worldh^ competition, — of exhaustion, produced by excessive and monotonous toil, — of defective social, intellectual, and physical excitements, — and, finally', of the depress- ing influence of general culture, contrasted with tantalizing inequal- ities of condition. With his habitual love of individual freedom, and his excessive dread of the tyrann}' incident to associated action, he refrained, indeed, from joining the temperance societies, and never adopted, or advised others to adopt, their pledges. But by precept and example he lent the full weight of his influence to the temperance reform, and, by addresses to his people and to the public, endeavored to unite all classes in a grand co-operative move- ment to put out, once and forever, the wasting fire that was eating up forest and prairie, cornfield and garden, the scattered village and the crowded city. The frankness and thoroughness with which he discussed the causes and cures of this terrible evil may be best learned from the address delivered, in 1837, before the Massachu- setts Temperance Society.^ But one or two passages selected from his manuscripts give interesting suggestions as to practical methods of advancing this reform ; and from the last of these it will appear that he had anticipated, at least in hope, the sublime Washiugtonian movement, which has wrought throughout our land such miracles of love. 1825. " In the spirit of these remarks, I beg to suggest a few means of preventing intemperance in the community. One means seems to me to be a greater attention to physical education, to the production of a vigorous constitution in our children. There is a puny, half-healthy, half-diseased condition of the body, perhaps more 1 Works, Vol. II., pp. 301-346, One Volume Edition, pp. 99-116. PREVENTION OF INTEMPERANCE. 475 common in this country than in man}' others, which, b}' producing irritableness and restlessness, and weakening the energy of the will, is a strong temptation to the free use of stimulants, and many, I firmly believe, become sots through bodily infirmity. Physical vigor is not only valuable for its own sake, but it favors temperance, and all the virtues, by producing clearness and soundness of intellect, and b}' removing those indescribable feelings of sinking, disquiet, depres- sion, which no man who has not felt them can possibly understand. Physical education needs more attention. The intellect, indeed, calls for chief care ; but the mind is now lodged in matter, and acts through organs, and suffers and pines with them. A child owes little gratitude to the parent who gives him knowledge at the ex- pense of health. Beware of sacrificing the body to the intellect, for they are intended to be friends and joint workers. Whilst you give your children languages and science and literature, strive to give, too, that strength of muscle which will enable them to turn these acquisitions to account. Let them not, in their first years, be ni- structed, as is too common, in close, unventilated rooms, breathing a tainted, unhealthy air, and let them not, at a later period, give up exercise for study. The body cannot be neglected with impunity ; bad temper, discontent, and intemperance follow in the train of nervous debilit}' "I am naturally led to another means of checking intemperance, which is, to extend the means of intellectual improvement among the laboring classes of society. This alone will not make men temperate, but it is an important aid. Many fall into drunken- ness from want of interesting objects. Conceive of the number of voung men in this town, who, unaccustomed to find a companion in a book, and having never given themselves to the culture or pleasures of intellect, have hardl}' any method of filling up the evening but b}' haunting public places, and taking up with such society as they can find. It is probabl}' known to most of you, that in England, the mother of good inventions, exertions are now used, and with great success, to give to the laboring classes a degree of scientific knowledge of which the}^ were once thought incapable, and which prepares them to follow their various trades more intelligently ; and the intention is, to add instruction in his- tory, political economy, morals, so that a laborer may soon know more than most gentlemen know at present. Now this is a most refreshing prospect. It is a resuiTection of mind. And the good has begun in this country, in Philadelphia ; and we may confidentl}' hope that the mental vigor, foresight, self-respect, and innocent occupation gained by this process will snatch many a victim from intemperance." 476 SOCIAL REFORMS. 1833. "The chief objection to this reform seems to me to bo this, that its leaders and friends have allowed themselves to speak despairingly of the recovery of those who have enslaved themselves to intemperance, and that, in their zeal to arrest this pestilence, to prevent its seizing on new subjects, they have thought too little of those who have alread}^ fallen under its power. In this respect, they need to be reminded of Him who came to seek and save the lost. We cannot be too slow to despair of a fellow-creature. "It may be, that the ver}^ circumstance which makes intemper- ance so obstinate gives encouragement to labor for its cure. This vice is confirmed b}' nothing so much as b\' tlie disease which it generates in the animal frame. It has its seat in the bod}- as truly as in the mind, — in the derangement of pln'sical functions as much as in weakness or poverty of will. Accordingly I cannot but hope that asylums, or establishments in which a wise phj'sical treatment should be combined with moral means, would do much for the sal- vation of this unhappy class of our fellow-creatures. "There is one powerful motive for these efforts. The reforma- tion of the intemperate man, when it does take place, is more com- plete than that of any other class of offenders. A man who has given himself up to revenge, pride, env}', anger, dishonesty, de- bauchery, is seldom, if ever, totally reformed. Tliese vices get possession of the imagination, twine themselves into the common trains of thought, and act so subtly' and deeply, that he who has once been their slave perhaps never, in this life, escapes wholly their influence. But examples are not rare of the drunkard becoming wholly temperate., and, what is very cheering, such a man, when reformed, returns to the generous feelings, the domestic aflfections, the innocent and refined tastes, and very often to the intellectual energy, which he seemed to have lost. I have seen among men reclaimed from this vice bright examples of moral worth and intel- lectual power. Intemperance, if cured rarely, yet admits of per- fect cure ; and this is more than can be said of the malignant and selfish vices. You can receive to your friendship and confidence a man reclaimed from intemperance. You never can trust entirely a man wlio has been given up to dishonesty, liowe^'er he may seem to forsake his evil path. In like manner, a habit of lewdness leaves behind it a taint of grossness, pollution, from which tlie thoughts and imagination are never, perhaps, in this life, wliolly cleansed. This advantage on the side of intemperance is owing, I believe, to the circumstance of its being a bodily even more than a moral or mental disease ; and this view, while it diminishes its guilt, should encourage us to use ever}' means of rescuing its victims from its power. REMOVAL OF PAUPERISM. 477 " The temperance reform which is going on among ns deserves all praise, and I see not what is to hinder its complete success. If, indeed, this reformation stood alone, or if it rested only on the efforts of associations, I should have little hope of its continuance. No particular vice can be reformed alone ; unless a general im- provement go on in society-, the attempt to root up this or that evil will avail little. The seeds of the evil will be left, and the general corruption will afford them the very soil in which to thrive, and they will certainly shoot up into rank luxuriance as soon as the effort for repressing them sliall be slackened by time. In regard to intemperance, I believe the movements now made will succeed, because they are in harmony with, and are seconded by, the general spirit and progress of the age. Every advance in knowledge, in refined manners, in domestic enjoyments, in habits of foresight and economy, in regular industry, in the comforts of life, in civil- ization, good morals, and religion, is an aid to tlie cause of temper- ance ; and believing, as we do, that these are making progress, ma}' we not hope that drunkenness will be driven from society?" Dr. Channing was not only desirous of surrounding the criminal and the intemperate with a genial atmosphere of respectful kind- ness, but he was yet more anxious that society at large should be pervaded with such a spirit of good- will and justice as would save men from temptation to debasement. He thought that no work of substantial, sure, progressive reform could be effected in the communitj', without establishing new relations between the more privileged classes and their less fortunate fellow-beings. He saw that no persevering, combined, faithful efforts were made to surround the vicious with good influences, but that they were left for the most part to herd together, and to corrupt each other amidst desti- tution and moral and mental darkness. What was needed first of all was that the partition-walls of classes and ranks should be broken down, so that the highest might meet the lowest as brethren, and a constant circulation of intelligence and virtue be kept up between the cultivated and ignorant, the pure and tlie unrefined, the wretched and the prosperous, the care-worn and the happy. He was convinced that all true charity must be directed, not so much to the relief as to the removal of pauperism, that foul common-sewer of civilization, from whose abominations steam up innumerable moral infections. These views led him to give his time and thoughts, his sympathy and counsel, and, in every way which feeble health permitted, his most earnest co-operation, to his friend Dr. Tuckerman, in establishing the Ministr}- at Large. His correspondence upon this subject will open to us the writer's cen- 478 SOCIAL REFORMS. tral principles and most cherished hopes in relation to Social Reform. " If you can succeed in awakening in the more opulent and im- proved class an enlightened and active concern for the moral and religious improvement of their less favored brethren, will 3'ou not accomplish a greater good than by any other labors, and will you not afford, at the same time, the best illustration of the true spirit of Unitarian Christianity? " We are distinguished by believing that Christ benefits and saves men exclusively b}' a moral influence, and that the true follower of Christ is he who is ready to live and die in the work of elevating the human soul, and especiall}' of raising the most fallen. Is there any distinction which we are so desirous to communicate to our liberal fellow-Christians as this moral interest in mankind? And have you not encouragement to labor, that tiiis may become a striking characteristic of the bod}' whom, in a sense, you represent, as well as that it should be spread more and more through the whole community? It seems to me, that we understand better than most Christians that it is the object of our religion to establish a frater- nal union among all classes of society, to break down our present distinctions, and to direct all the energies of the cultivated and virtuous to the work of elevating the depressed classes to an en- lightened piety, to intellectual and moral dignity. To us, it seems to me, this great work peculiarly belongs. This high mission is given, because we understand better the worth of human nature in all classes, and are prepared to act on all witli that sentiment of respect which is essential to success. "I am particularly desirous that we should engage in this cause with a new spirit. I desire this, not only on the general grounds above stated, but for two reasons in particular. "First, it seems to me that the signs of the times point to a fjreat approaching modijicntion of society^ which will be founded on, and will express, the essential truth, that the chief end of the social state is the elevation of all its memliers as intelligent and moral beings, and under which ever}' man will be expected to con- tribute to tills object according to his ability. The present selfish, dissocial system must give way to Cliristlanity, and I earnestly wish that we may bear our full part in elfecting this best of all revolutions. " In the second place, the time is come when religious bodies will be estimated by the good they do^ when creeds are to be less and less the test of the Christian, and when they who labor most etfectually for their fellow-beings will be acknowledged to give the HONOR FOR ALL MEN. 479 best proof of having found the truth. This is no reason for mak- ing forced, unnatural, sectarian efforts, and baptizing them with tlie name of pliilanthropy ; but it is a reason why a body of Chris- tians, distinguished by holding the true doctrine of love, and by understanding the true bond of society, should do most for their fellow-beings I wish that this may be an object in your tracts. I would ask, whether this object may not be distinctly recognized in the constitution of all auxiliary societies, and whether, indeed, it may not be made the leading trait of a Uni- tarian, tliat he is a man who sympathizes with, and respects, the less favored classes of society, and that he is pledged to use all his powers for tlieir elevation. I am sure that, just in proportion as this spirit shall be spread among us, modes of operation, little thought of at present, will open upon us, and a new era of Chris- tian exertion will commence. "It is an important question, what sphere of useful action is particularly commended to us as Unitarians. We do not feel our- selves called to missionary labors. We find no sufficient field in societies which are instituted to remove particular evils, such as intemperance, slavery, war, &c. Is there no work to which our peculiar views call us, and for which they fit us? The success which has attended Dr. Tuckerman's labors, and the good which he has done to our body by awakening a fraternal sentiment towards all men, seem to me to furnish one answer to these ques- tions. We ought to be by eminence Christian Philanthropists." ^ " Newport, R. /., August 12, 1833. My great desire is, not so much tliat the ministry for the poor should be made permanent, as that the spirit in which Dr. Tuckerman conducted his ministry should be fervently cherished and spread through our class and every class of Christians. He was distinguished by recognizing the capacities and claims of the poor as intellectual and moral beings. He did not go among them to teach them submission to their betters, but to teach that they were equally objects of the Divine love with the greatest of their race, and that their condition contained the means of the true happiness and glory of human beings. His reports were all fitted to give the poor a different place in the minds of the rich, and to break down the barriers which have hitherto separated these classes of society. What I desire is, that this respect for the poor, this spirit of brotherhood, this consciousness of the near relation sustained by all human 1 To a committee of the Unitarian Association, appointed to consider and report upon the Ministry at Large. 480 SOCIAL REFORMS. beings to the Infinite Father, should be cherished and diffused among us with persevering and increasing zeal. " The distinction which is still made in society by wealth is, per- haps, the strongest proof which can be named of the very limited efficacy of the gospel. Wlio, that looks on Christian communities, would suspect that their Divine Teacher had pronounced a blessing on the poor, and solemnly and most emphatically declared opulence to be one of the chief obstructions of human virtue and salvation ? Who would suspect that he himself lived in poverty, and chose the chief and most illustrious ministers of his kingdom among the poor? Is it not undeniable, that the Christian spirit of humanity, of broth- erhood, is resisted and repressed more by the prevalent estimate of wealth, than b}- almost any other cause? What I wish is, not only that a ministry may be established for the poor, but that it should spring from and should spread Christ's spirit toward the poor, — that we should learn to look on and aid them, not as an inferior class, but as our brethren, — that this ministry should aim chiefly to give them true elevation of mind, to remove the idea of degrada- tion from their outward lot, to teach them the reality of their im- mortal nature and its infinite preciousness in the sight of God, to teach them to regard and use their very sufferings as the means of rising to peculiar virtue, moral energ}', and happiness. No out- ward lot is degraded, but that into which men fall b}' vice ; and on this principle affluence is as often a degraded condition as poverty', for as many grow rich as grow poor by guilt. The superiority of human nature, of that nature in which the high and low, rich and poor, alike partake, to all outward, adventitious distinctions is the foundation on which Christian exertion rests ; and piety and plii- lanthrop}^ cannot advance a step, but b}' a more profound and enlightened conviction of this truth. Happy that body of Chris- tians which shall be characterized b}^ this conviction ! " It has often been objected to our views of Christianity, that they are suited to the educated, rich, fashionable, and not to the wants of the great mass of human beings. This charge, could it be substantiated, would be a weightier argument against them than all others. We know it to be false ; and yet why has it been urged? I do fear, that, as a body of Christians, we have given some ground for it, by having failed in so great a degree to recognize and mani- fest the distinguishing and celestial spirit of Christianity, the spirit of universal, all-comprehending love, of sincere respect for human nature, of peculiar sympathy with the destitute and exposed, and of patient, earnest labor for their spiritual elevation. Wanting this, we have had no effectual means of interesting the mass of SOCIETY OF WORKINGMEN. 481 mankind. Other sj'stems have found in terror, m3-ster3', &c., the means of taking hold of the multitude. These we have justly re- jected. But the true method of reaching human beings in every condition, that is, the manifestation of a brotherly concern for the multitude of men, the cordial recognition of our near connection with them as immortal children of our Heavenly Father, the ac- knowledgment of this bond as dearer, nobler, than an}' connection with the great and distinguished of this world, the expression of a strong faith in the capacities of indefinite improvement in every soul, the utterance of this faith and love in the native language of the heart, — this means of operating on the minds of men, which would prove all-powerful, we have verj' faintly used. How could we use it, when the spirit of Christ has been so faint in us? The prejudices of societ}-, amidst which we were born and grew up, joined to our own ambition and selfishness, have cut us off from our fellow-creatures. Is it strange, then, that it should be said, that our \aews are not suited to their wants, and cannot interest them ? "These remarks will show what seems to me the first step towards spreading through our bodj' the spirit which breathed through Dr. Tuekerman's ministry-, and which should originate and pervade this ministry everywhere. It is this. They whose office it is to spi'ead this spirit must possess it themselves, must cherish it in their own breasts. The great obstacle to success is the want of fit ministers for the work, of men who have a true faith in the great purposes for which the poorest and the lowest of men were made, and who love them as brethren." " Boston^ March 6, 1837. I take a great interest in the laboring classes, and I feel that a right religious impulse would do more to elevate them than anything else There are among them choice spirits, and they seem to be exposed to pecuhar temptations, for they furnish the principal harvests to the preachers of infidelity. Can they be taken hold of? Mr. Brownson, who came here to form a congregation out of that class, has not succeeded as well as I hoped ; but this would not discourage me, because he has adopted a philosophical style not suited to them, and has had in view too much another class. He tells me that he has found among them more hatred of the rich than he expected, and verj- probably this may form one of their tendencies to infidelit}'. I have a strong im- pression that rational views ma}- be so brought out as to interest deeply this class of society ; and he who shall give full proof of this will render great service to the cause of truth and hu- manity." 31 482 SOCIAL REFORMS. ^'- June 21, 1837.^ wishes to form a congregation of work- ingmen, to whom the church shall be a bond of strong union, who, beginning with religion, shall associate themselves for generous im- provement, both intellectual and moral, and who shall act together to spread a spirit of improvement through their own class. I have long had this object at heart. I earnestly hope that he will enjo}' sympath}' and encouragement in this philanthropic work. Is there an}' other which has greater claims ? Can we doubt what class of societ}- should receive the most immediate aid?" In these last extracts, it will be noticed. Dr. Channing speaks of the formation of a congregation of workingmen as an object which he had long had much at heart. He had observed modern society deepl}' enough to become convinced, that, unless some effective means could be used to establish in virtue, intelligence, and inde- pendent conditions the laboring classes, i)auperism would constantly increase. Especially did he hope that the workingmen, if united in one strong body by religious principle and humane sentiment, would, through concerted wisdom, discern practical modes of attain- ing to their rightful position of cultivation, social honor, and politi- cal influence, without recourse to revolutionar}' outbreaks. These views had led him to look. with most livel}' expectation upon the plans of the Rev. O. A. Brownson, when, in 1836, he attempted to stay the tide of infidelity, which was then threatening to swallow up the workingmen's movement, and to form in Boston a " Society of Union and Progress." Well-meaning but timid con- servatives all around him regarded this new manifestation of reli- gious radicalism with suspicion, disgust, and ridicule; but Dr. Channing gladly recognized in it a promise of true social regenera- tion. Speaking of Mr. Brownson in a letter to a friend, he sa3'S : " I have great interest in him. I comprehend how, to such a man, the present social state should be full of deformity. I far prefer his morbidl}' sensitive vision to prevalent evils, to the stone-blind- ness of the multitudes who condemn him." With open purse and read}' counsel he sought for several 3'ears to aid this project ; and even after Mr. Brownson's energies were diverted from immediate practical ends to profound problems of philosophy and religion. Dr. Channing was so solicitous that the original plan of combining the laboring classes into a society of mutual education and general co- operation should be successfully carried out, that he seriously delib- erated whether he should not, in concert with a young friend, undertake the establishment of a Free Church. Nothing but 1 To Dr. Charles FoUen. THE LABORING CLASSES. 483 physical infirmitj' finally prevented the accomplishment of this design. The lectures on Self-culture and on the Elevation of the Laboring Classes,^ delivered in 1838 and 1840, contain the best expression of Dr. Channing's principles and aims. To a friend, who feared that these efforts were a waste and perversion of his powers, he wrote : — " You wish me to treat different subjects, and think that others ma}' discuss Society. This remark would seem to show that I have not succeeded or done much for m^' end. That end has been to bring clown the Highest to the apprehension of the most lowly, — to show how the Divine might mingle with and be brought out in common life and in everj' condition. Many cannot do this." Nothing, perhaps, which he ever presented to the public gave him such pure and abiding satisfaction, as these expressions of his profound regard for the hardly used, but ever more and more to be honored classes, from the root of whose patient industry sjjrings forth the well-being of communities. These lectures were reprinted in Great Britain, and widely circulated among the overtasked op- eratives of that prolific kingdom ; and one da}-, when a letter of thanks had reached him from the Mechanic Institute of Slaithwaite, he said, with glowing countenance and beaming eyes, "This is honor, this is honor." On his table was then lying a letter, written by command of the monarch of one of the mightiest nations of Europe, to thank him for a copy of his writings ; but this heart-felt expression of gratitude, in the handwriting of a rough miner, moved him moi'e "deeply than the courteous praises of the great, the admi- ration of scholars, or even the warm appreciation of friends. It filled him with inexpressible joy to know that he had smoothed the wrinkles, dried the tears, new-strung the muscles of the toil-worn poor. The answer which he returned to this letter reveals his feeling. "Boston, March 1, 1841. "Gentlemen: — I received with great satisfaction your letter, communicating to me the resolution from the Slaithwaite Mechanic Institute. This proof of the kind reception of my Lectures by those for whom the}' were especially written, is very encouraging to me. I have long had a full faith that the laboring classes, so long de- pressed, must rise. The signs of this happier state of things are multiplying ; and ^'ou, who are probabl}- younger than I am, may live to see a better age. 1 Works, Vol. II. pp. 347-411 ; Vol. V. pp. 151-230. One Volume Edition, pp. 12-36 ; 86-66. 484 SOCIAL REFORMS. " I have been much cheered b}- hiformation of the progress of the Temperance cause in 3'our country. Ardent spirits have been the curse of the kiborer. He must seek safety and elevation in total abstinence. One of his first steps towards the dignity of a man, is to renounce what makes men brutes. If his self-respect cannot carry him to this point of self-denial, I have little hope of him. The people must learn to restrain and govern themselves, or they will be kept under the yoke, and used as mere tools. Govern- ment finds its reasons or pretexts for subjecting the multitude to excessive restraints in their ignorance, unrulmess, and incapacity of self-control. Every mechanic institute, every institution for raising the people, should start with the standard of temperance. "I have also been cheered by hearing, that the recent eflTorts of a part of the laboring classes to maintain their claims by violence are more and more discouraged among you. Passion and force may pull down the government, but the laborer must be involved in the common ruin. To make yourselves felt, it is not necessarj^ to rage and destroy. Your true strength lies in growing intelligence, uprightness, self-respect, trust in God, and trust in one another. These cannot fail to secure to you j-our just share of social privi- leges. " From what I have heard, I cannot but hope that the cause of the laboring classes is not to be dishonored and injured by the spirit of irreligion. It is amazing that men calling themselves j'our friends should rise up against Christianity, — a ]-eligion whose first teachei's were taken from these classes, which has no respect of persons, which knows nothing of the distinctions of birth and wealth, which commands the strong to succor and lift up the weak, and which, as far as it is efljectual, breathes mutual deference and mutual interest in all classes of society'. It is under the cross that the battle of humanity is to be fought. " An essential means of elevating the working classes is a system of national education, having for its object, not to enslave the mind of the laborer, but to make him enlightened and efficient, at once able and disposed to discharge wisely his public and private duties, I trust the reproach is soon to be taken from your government, of withholding this most necessary good. This should be demanded b}' 3'ou with an importunit}' which will take no denial. "I earnestly wish success to the laborer's efforts for improving his outward condition. But he must not give himself exclusively to the outward. Good wages are not happiness. A man may prosper and still be a poor creature. On the other hand, in the most unprosperous condition, a man may do the work and secure THE LABORING CLASSES. 485 the great good of life. Outward circumstances are not omnipotent. Our minds may triumpli over our lot. Under gi'eat social disad- vantages, we still may endure and act as men and Christians. Our very thoughts may be made the means or occasions of signal virtues, and in this way may bring a peace and hope which no mere pros- peri t}' can give. "I beg you to express my best wishes to the members of the Slaithwaite Mechanic Institute. " Very truly, your friend, " Wm. E. Channing. " Messrs. Jabez Meal, Thomas Sykes, John Farley, Slaithtvaite, near Huddersjield, England.^' Soon after Dr. Channing's death, the following affecting tribute was received from Mr. Meal, and shall here be recorded as one of the brightest memorials in this biography. "It will be some relief, under your bereavement, to know that the good man never dies ; he lives and breathes in our cottages ; . his work on Self-culture is the text-book of the young men of our land ; the soul-stirring sentiments of that book are working a moral regeneration in this country, and I feel that Boston has given us another Franklin, another guide to the regions of virtue." In another letter, written about the same period with this reply to the miaers, Dr. Channing has yet further exhibited his views in relation to the means of securing to the people their long-withheld rights. ^^ Boston, March 31, 1841.^ My dear Sir: — I received ,your letter, and the publications accompanying it, with much sensibility. Such testimonies as you and some others have given to the influence of my writings are unspeakably precious rewards for the labors of my life. I thank you for the happiness and encouragement you have given me, and I feel myself bound by your affectionate com- munication to new exertions for my fellow-creatures. " I have weighed your suggestion as to the good I might do by an address to the middle classes of your countiy, and I find m^' fears stronger than my hopes. It is hard for a man to understand a foreign country. Feelings and prejudices must be spared, of which he knows httle or nothing. I fear, too, that any good effect 1 To Hamer Stansfield, Esq., Leeds, England. 486 SOCIAL REFORMS. I might propose would be defeated b}' the appearance of presump- tiiousness in such an address. National jealous}^ is ver}' unrea- sonable, and might refuse to be schooled b}'^ a foreigner. Let rae add, that ^-our partiality seems to me to exaggerate my influence. I state these difficulties, in the belief that j-ou will see some weight in them. "I read with much interest the pamphlet from the imprisoned Chartists. I rejoiced to find that they had seized on so many great and just views. Occasional extravagances were to be expected from such men, especially under what the}^ deem persecution. I rejoice that they see so clearly that the laboring classes must rise from brutal intemperance and ignorance, if they would cease to be treated as brutes. They show, too, their sagacit}- in distrusting the education which would be given them by the mass of the aris- tocracy and clergy. It would be a servile one. Nothing would discourage me more than the success of the clergy in getting the education of the countr}' into their hands. Religion, as it is called, would then become associated with old abuses and prejudices, and the spirit of reform would consequentl}' become irreligious, so that not a few of tlie most active and generous spirits in the communit}' would be found in tlie ranks of infidelity. Christianity has sufiTered from nothing so much as from its being seized on by the foes of human rights and social progress. It is plain, from the pamphlet you sent me, that the Chartists have no conception of the impor- tance of true religion, and especially of its bearing on their own cause. They understand by Christianity, I fear, not what came from the poor, houseless, meek, sympathizing Prophet of Galilee, not what was taught from the fishing-boat and on the mountain, but what issues from cathedrals and mitred men, from a conser- vative corporation, whose s^'mpathies are with ' the powers that be.' This misapprehension and want of religion threaten much injury to their cause. Religion, in the generous, not sectarian, meaning of the word, has this grand distinction from all human methods and systems, that, whilst it restrains, it elevates yet more. With- out it, the struggles of the laboring classes for rights and dignity are anj-thing but hopeful. " It is from the free and enlightened spirits of the middle classes that help is to come to the Chartist. I therefore rejoiced in your Leeds meeting, as fitted to bring these two great divisions of society nearer. Nothing will soothe and tranquillize the Chartists like sympathy, like some proof that they are not abandoned by the more prosperous ; and to tranquillize them is a great end. They can gain nothing by violence. Their progress, I fear, will be slow. TRUE EDUCATION. 487 I do not doubt that your aristocrac}^ is very far in advance of every other. But all possessors of exclusive privileges cling to them as to life, and hereditary rulers legislate first to secure their own power. Thus, the portion of society for whom government is especially established, and who ought to be its first objects, — I mean the poor and the weak, — are the last to share its benefits. This topic has carried me so far, that I can add nothing on others suggested l)y your packet. Let me renew my thanks to you, and assure you that I am very truly yours, &c." Dr. Channing's sympathies went freely forth to the toiling multi- tudes of every grade ; and, among other injured classes, he was much interested in that noble body of men, whom the mean neglect of an intensely selfish commerce has so long kept down and mas- tered by a system of precarious support, excessive hardship, and brutalizing enjoyment, — the sailors. Feeling how much all nations are indebted to the courageous sacrifices of these generous and thoughtless beings, and what base returns are made to them for all their sufferings, he rejoiced in every attempt to secure to them com- forts, refining influences, economical habits, intellectual and religious discipline, and an established position in society. Accordingly, when Father Taylor came to Boston, Dr. Channing was the first to give him efficient support, by heading the subscription list for his Bethel ; and from that time forward till his death he encouraged every eff"ort of the patriarch of seamen. He was delighted, when attending at the sailors' meeting, to watch the bronzed faces of the weatherbeaten tars now melt into tears, now brighten into smiles, while their sturdy forms swayed to and fro, as the heart-stirring eloquence of their wonderful preacher swept over them with alter- nate gales and calms. It was in the Federal Street Church that Father Taylor first pleaded the cause of his brethren before a crowded assembly of the most enlightened and munificent citizens of Boston ; and, without disparagement to the many devoted friends who by heart and hand have for years upheld his noble enterprise, it may be truly said, that to no one was his gratitude more strong and constant than to Dr. Channing. By the whole tone of his character, and his habits of thought. Dr. Channing was disposed to look less to changes in external condition, than to intellectual culture and moral development, for permanent reforms. This has plainly appeared from the letters already quoted. His great desire was to open to all men free oppor- tunities for the highest spiritual refinement. A paper written for the "Reformer," in 1837, very clearly and fully presents his views upon this subject. 488 SOCIAL REFORMS. "On the Education of the People, and especially of the Laboring Class. — What is education ? This is one of the watch- words, almost a cant word, of the daj' ; but few terms are so vague. It is said b}' the friends of the working classes, tliat their first great want is a better education. Let us try to understand what this is. " The great end of education is not to train a man to get a hving. This is plain, because life was given for a higher end than simply to toil for its own prolongation. A comfortable subsistence is, indeed, veiy important to the purpose of life, be this what it may. A man half fed, half clothed, and fearing to perisli from famine or cold, will be too crushed in spirit to do the proper work of a man. He must be set free from the iron grasp of want, from the constant pressure of painful sensations, from grinding, ill-requited toil. Un- less a man be trained to get a comfortable support, his prospects of improvement and hapi)iness are poor. But if his education aims at nothing more, his life will turn to little account. " To educate a man is to unfold his faculties, to give him the free and full use of his powers, and especially of his best powers. It is, first, to train the intellect, to give him a love of truth, and to instruct him in the processes by which it may be acquired. It is to train him to soundness of judgment, to teach him to weigh evidence, and to guard him against the common sources of error. It is to give him a thirst for knowledge, which will keep his faculties in action through life. It is to aid him in the study of the outward world, to initiate him into the physical sciences, so that he will understand the principles of his trade or business, and will be able to comprehend the phenomena which are continually passing before his eyes. It is to make him acquainted with his own nature, to give him that most important means of improvement, self-comprehension. " In the next place, to educate a man is to train the conscience, to give him a quick, keen discernment of the right, to teach him dut}' in its great principles and minute applications, to establish in him immovable i)rineiplos of action. It is to show him his true position in the world, his true relation to God and his fellow-beings, and the immutable obligations laid on him by these. It is to in- spire him with the idea of perfection, to give him a high moral aim, and to show how this may be maintained in the commonest toils, and how everything may be made to contribute to its accomplishment. " Further, to educate a man in this countr}' is to train him to be a good citizen, to establish him in the principles of political science, to make him acquainted with our history, government, and laws, to teach him our great interests as a nation, and tlie policy b}' which they are to be advanced, and to impress him deeply with his respou- MANUAL LABOR SCHOOLS, 489 sibilities, his great trusts, his obhgations to disinterested patriotism as the citizen of a free state. "Again, to educate a man is to cultivate his imagination and taste, to awaken his sensibility to the beautiful in nature and art, to give liini the capacity' of enjoying the writings of men of genius, to prepare liiic for the innocent and refined pleasures of literature. " I will onl}' add, that to educate a man is to cultivate his powers of expression, so that he can bring out his thoughts with clearness and strength, and exert a moral influence over liis fellow-creatures. This is essential to the true enjoyment and improvement of social life "This last topic suggests the true mode of educating the labor- ing classes. It is by manual labor schools that this great achieve- ment of civilization and philanthropy is to cease to be a dream, is to become a reality. In no institutions liave the laboring classes such an interest. A philanthroi)ist who desires the happiness and honor of giving the most effectual spring to social progress cannot better employ himself than in studying, improving, and extending these. They are yet in their infancy, and need many experiments to determine the best modes of action. Let the workingman's friend turn his mind to these. " I have said the rich will repel all attempts to force them to the support of plans for universal education. If, however, the enlight- ened among the laboring classes, and their enlightened friends, will set in motion a system of improvement which promises good and great results, the rich will not be found wanting in sympathy and benevolent aid. They cannot and ouglit not to be driven ; but many among them would contribute liberally and joyfully to any wise practicable effort for elevating the laboring classes. They must see, however, the practicableness of tlie scheme. Their scep- ticism must be overcome b}'^ seeing tlie mass of the people in ear- nest to improve themselves. Such efforts on the part of the many would be more liberally seconded by the philanthropy of the age than an}' benevolent project to which it is now pledged. Thus the union of all classes would be accomplished. All would labor together for the advancement of the human race." This paper shows how clear was Dr. Channing's conviction, that "the great work of tlie age," as he said in a letter to Sismondi, " is the diffusion of intelligence and enlightened religion through the mass of the people."^ And the following extracts will manifest the comprehensiveness of his desires and plans for pouring the * See his Address on the Present Age. Works, Vol. VI. pp. 147-182. One Volume Edition, pp. 159-172. 490 SOCIAL REFORMS. fullest measure of illumination upon every class in the community, from the most neglected to the most privileged. "Gentlemen: — The attention of the Association of Ministers in Boston and its vicinit}' has been called to the condition of chil- dren and young persons employed in manufactories. From the representations made to them of the neglected state of this very interesting class of the communit}^ they resolved, if possible, to obtain information on the subject from different parts of the Com- monwealth, and for this purpose addressed a circular letter to several ministers, within whose parishes manufactories are estab- lished. The answers to this circular have not been as numerous and definite as they had hoped ; but still the}' have derived from them several hints which they consider useful, and which they re- spectfuU}' submit to the honorable committee to which this subject is referred. ' ' We do not deem it necessary to enlarge on the importance of giving all possible efRcac}' to the wise provisions which this Com- monwealth has made for extending the means of education to all orders Of the communit3\ The laws on this subject express the deep conviction which was fixed in the breasts of our ancestors, that the good citizen is to be formed in youth, and that free insti- tutions are safe onl}' in the hands of a people who have been trained to intelligence and virtue. Legislators cannot too solicitousl}' guard against measures which tend to place any portion of the young be3'ond the reach of instruction, and to expose them to cor- rupting influences, which will almost necessarily unfit them for the duties of men and citizens. "It is to be feared, that, without much care, eflJects of this unhapp}' character will be produced bj- the incorporation of manu- facturing companies, and by the extension of manufacturing insti- tutions ; and it is conceived that legislative provision cannot too early be made to resist this spreading evil. "It is well known that in these establishments a large proportion of the labor is performed by children and young persons. To some of these young persons it is a benefit that they are received into manufactories, as in this way they are taken from the streets, from beggary, and from idleness, and are early accustomed to exertions which procure them a comfortable and honest support. But a manufactory abounds in temptations, and, unless attention be given to their minds and morals, we have every reason to apprehend that their characters will be depraved, and that their future lives will prove not only ruinous to themselves, but most pernicious to the communit}'. CHILDREN IN FACTORIES. 491 " A child who enters a manufactoiy is generally- removed from the care of parents, and from the restraints and meUoratino- influences of domestic Ufe. He finds himself almost continually surrounded b^^ numbers of his own age, among whom some have contracted bad habits, and are prepared to teach him the worst vices. His employment is made up of a constant repetition of movements which require little thought, and are very poorly adapted to unfold his faculties. Does not e\ery intelligent parent immediately discern the tendencies of this mode of life, and feel the importance of counteracting them b^- instruction and moral disciphne? Shall these children be abandoned to a degradation worse than death, in the bosom of a Christian community, and under a government which professes to respect the obligations of Christianity? .... "It is, therefore, respectfully proposed that an act be passed, requiring that ui each maiuifactory a convenient room be provided in which the children may be taught, and in which all the laborers, if removed to a distance from the place of worship, may receive such instruction as the minister of the parish may be able to give them ; that in each manufactory containing more than chil- dren under the age of years, a male and female teacher of good character be employed at least months in every year ; that during this period the children be permitted and required to attend school hours each day ; that the youngest children, at least, be taught in the daytime, and not in the evening, when they are too exhausted to receive instruction ; and that, at all seasons of the year, certain portions of the day, or at least of Saturday, be allowed them for relaxation, that they may not be obliged to give up the Lord's day to amusement. "It is hoped that this subject will not be dismissed as unim- portant. These children, it should be remembered, will one day be men and women, citizens and heads of families. They will influence the community while they live, and will transmit their character to the succeeding age. All wise legislators have felt the importance of education, and have laid the foundation of national prosperity in the good habits and principles communicated to the young. " That judicious provisions on this subject will be beneficial to the proprietors of manufactories cannot be doubted. What better pledge of success can they have than the good character of those whom they employ ? They will also be able to ol)tain children on more favorable terms, in proportion as parents shall lose their fear of the corrupting tendency of manufacturing establishments. It is, 492 SOCIAL REFORMS. therefore, hoped that the wisdom of the legislature will establish some general provisions for the object now proposed, an object which sound policy, humanit}', and religion concur in recommend- ing to their deliberate attention." ^ 1825.2 " The young men of the city may be divided into three classes. " The first consists of young men of education, and the sons of opulent iamilies, who may belong to what is commonly called the first class of society. We have reason to believe that the state of morals among these has decidedly improved within a few years. The standard of character is higher than formerl}-^ "• The second class consists of apprentices in stores and shops. The condition of these is, in many respects, unfavorable. It is believed that the sense of responsibility with regard to apprentices is not as strong in masters as formerly, and that they are less watched over. Another consideration is, that the greater part of them come froin the country', and the change of residence is of itself no small trial to the character. On arriving here, they are placed in boarding-houses, where they are not held amenable to the heads of the family, but are left very much to themselves, and to one another's influence. Most of them have no friends or rela- tions in town, among whom the}' can pass their evenings and leisure time, and therefore resort to public places, and are more easil}' drawn into criminal pleasures. Many neglect public worship for want of accommodations in our churches. They cannot bu}- pews, single seats are not easily obtained, and Sunday is too often spent in riding, or reading novels, if not in less innocent employ- ments. " To meet these great evils, we recommend the following meas- ures : — "1. That a committee be appointed to visit and inspect the Apprentices' Library, for the purpose of ascertaining whether it contains the best moral and religious books for readers of their age and condition, and of supplying what deficiencies maj' exist. "2. It is thought ver3' important, that in all our new churches a number of pews should be reserved, to be rented in single seats, and that pews offered for sale in the old churches should be turned to the same use. We believe that great good would be the result. So great is the respect for religious institutions here, that a young * To a Committee of tlie Massachusetts Legislature. 2 Report of tlie Committee appointed by tiie Wednesday Evening Associa- tion to consider tlie State of Morals among the Young Men of the City, and the Means of improving it. YOUNG MEN. 493 man who has no place of worship feels that something is want- ing to a good standing in society ; and this motive, joined with higher ones, it is thought, would lead them to procure seats with eagerness. "3. It is recommended that a Sunday evening lecture be in- stituted in winter, expresslj' for 3'oung men, and tliat a syllabus of the topics, — all of which shall be specially adapted to their con- dition, dangers, wants, &c., — shall be published. It is well known that some of the most important topics for this class of hearers can- not be discussed in a promiscuous assembly, and there is something particularly attractive in services intended for one class only. "Another measure will be recommended under the next head. " We now proceed to the third class of young men, consisting of the apprentices of mechanics, and the sons of laborers. The moral condition of these, we fear, is growing worse, rather than improv- ing ; and the cause is obvious. The free use of ardent spirits among their masters and fellow-laborers exposes them to strong tempta- tion. Not a few of them, we suppose, come in for a share of the daily allowance of spirits made to workmen, and are thus trained to intemperance by regular indulgence. Accordingly, we know no method of benefiting these young men so important as to discourage the practice of giving a regular allowance of spirits to laborers. "Another suggestion we would make is, that the committee already recommended should be instructed to inquire into the nature and operation of the institutions lately formed in Great Britain, and particularly Scotland, for giving lectures to young mechanics on the scientific principles of their various arts. It is said that these have awakened much interest, and promise to do much in calling forth the dormant intellect in the more neglected classes of society ; and we may certainly anticipate a more bene- ficial result in this country than in Europe. " The same committee may also inquire whether no interesting instruction can be given in the evening to the preceding class of apprentices, suited to prepare them for a more intelligent prosecu- tion of business. Whatever will enlarge their minds and occupy their evenings will improve their morals." " Mai/ 13, 1834, Tuesday} Among the good signs of the times is the demand for better means of education. In this community we understand more and more that our kindness for our children cannot be expressed more wisely and efl'ectually than by placing them under the best instruction. But we must not think that we 1 To George Ticknor, Esq. 494 SOCIAL EEFORMS. have fully discbargerl oiir obligations in this respect. The pro\nsion for education among us bears no just proportion to the wealth of our cit}'. That more is done here for the instruction of the labor- ing classes than is done elsewhere may be granted, though our superiorit}^ on this point is not as indisputable as we commonly imagine. But who will pretend that the children of the more pros- perous classes enjoy the means of as thorough and effectual a train- ing of their intellectual and moral powers as their parents can afford and the progress of the age will admit? And 3'et it is our highest social duty to give the greatest advantages to our children. There is no use of property so sacred, so binding. To spend wealth in luxur}' and show, whilst the minds and characters of the rising generation are neglected, ought to be ranked among the greatest social crimes. " Our College affords important means for training young men for the professions. But a much greater number of the young in the prosperous classes are destined to mercantile life, and for these no sufficient provision is made. Ver}' man}' parents, who are una- ble or indisposed to give their children an education for a profes- sion, are still able to afford them more extensi\'e advantages than are now found in our schools ; and to procure these advantages is among their first obligations. If any class of men should be well educated, it is the commercial. In this are found a very large pro- portion of our most opulent and influential men. None do more to determine public measures and to give a character to the commu- nity ; and yet how little is now done to train up men of business for this high responsibility ! " Education has three great objects. " The first is to store the mind with useful knowledge, by which we mean, not onl}- such as will have a direct bearing on the busi- ness of life, but such as will be a foundation of further acquisitions of knowledge, and of a wise use of leisure, in all future years. "The second, which is still more important, is to give force to the intellect ; to give it the command of all its powers ; to train it to labor, to concentration of thought, to patient and accurate inves- tigation, to broad viewsj of subjects, to the true methods of reason- ing, and to soundness of judgment. " The third and most important object is to fix those great prin- ciples of duty, and awaken those sentiments, which will insure the right and honorable use of the knowledge and the intellectual vigor of which we have spoken. We all feel that to quicken the mind of a child to this powerful and noble action is to confer the greatest good. AVe can conceive none greater. MERCANTILE EDUCATION. 495 "That our present schools do much good, in giving habits of order and industry to the child, is cheerfully granted. But they are designed for the first years of life, and dismiss the child before he becomes conscious of his powers, or can exert them vigorously on the most important subjects. "It is believed that, after the training of our common schools, two years should, if possible, be devoted to the study of branches which have a direct tendencj- to task, strengthen, and elevate the mind. These branches are, — 1st. Natural history and philosophy ; 2d. Civil history; 3d. Moral science, including both intellectual and moral philosophy; 4th. Politics, including the principles of government generally, and of our own constitution in particular, poHtical economy, the true interests of our country, &c. ; 5th. The Evidences of Natural and Revealed Religion, and the general prin- ciples of interpreting the Scriptures. "This course should be decidedly p/nhsopkical, that is, it should aim to lead the mind to the comprehension of great principles in every department; at the same time, it should have a practical character, by teaching how all knowledge may be applied to the formation of a \irtuous character, and to the discharge of our duties as citizens and members of families, as related to the human race and to God. Two years' faithful study of the branches now enumerated would not only store the mind with important truth, but would awaken new life and energy, and probably give a new character to the life. " The question now comes, How shall this bettei education be given to young men not destined to the liberal professions? " It has been hoped by some that this education may be given by Harvard University, which has an extensive apparatus, capable of teaching many more than are now benefited by it. Some have thought til at the University might give in this city such a course of instruction as is needed. It has been thought by others, that, whilst the instruction is given in Cambridge, the young men may reside with their parents in town. Others, again, favor the plan of a new institution, designed expressly to prepare young men for mercantile life, and for a right use of the influence which commer- cial prosperit}' bestows "There is a particular call for attention to this subject at the present moment. It is understood that the Corporation of the Col- lege are now deliberating on the question, whether the College, whilst especially devoted to the preparation of young men for the professions, may not also give a valuable education to those who are looking forward to other pursuits." 496 SOCIAL REFORMS. '•'■June 10, 1834.^ My dear Sir: — The fliscussions of the last evening and the preceding showed very pLainlj' that the only prac- ticable method of improving our sj'stem of education at present is, to enlighten and excite parents, to lead them to feel what they can and ought to do on this point. I hope, therefore, that the result of these discussions will be the exhibition of our leading views to such parents as may be able and disposed to act on them. I have accordingly put these views on paper, and enclose them to you. It seems to me that, if a circular of this kind could be placed in the hands of men of business, who have children needing a better course of instruction, and especially if it should bear the signatures of the gentlemen who attended our meetings, an important step would be taken towards our object. " I say a circular of this kind^ for I have no desire that this paper should go abroad. It expresses, perhaps, the views of the writer in some respects more strongly- than others might think expedient." " Circular. " At a meeting recently held b}' a few gentlemen, chiefly engaged in commerce, to inquire whether provision cannot be made for the more liberal education of boys designed for active life, several views were taken, which it is thought may be usefull}^ communi- cated to the public. ' ' It was the opinion of all present, that boys need not enter upon their apprenticeship in the counting-room before sixteen or seven- teen years of age ; that four or five years of apprenticeship, pre- ceded h^ good instruction, are fully adequate to the preparation of a j-oungman for business, and that, consequently, two or three very important years of life are now lost by the habit of beginning apprenticeship at the age of fourteen. " It was the opinion of all, that gentlemen who declined to send their sons to college, as being an institution not suited to prepare them for active life, are bound to give them a better education than they now receive ; and still more, it was believed that in general tliej' are desirous to do it ; — so that the suggestion of any practi- cal method can hardly fail to be adopted by at least a sufficient number to insure a fair experiment. " It was the opinion of all, that gentlemen having the means should not rest until they have provided for their children the most extensive and liberal instruction which is consistent with effectual preparation for their future calling; that the object should be, to ' To Hon. Nathan Appleton. THOROUGH TEACHING. 497 train and prepare them, not only for the acquisition of propert}-, but for the intelligent and faithful performance of their duties as freemen, citizens, and heads of families, for the support of our public institutions, for a wise and honorable use of property, for the improvement of their minds according to their opportunities through their whole lives, and for the exertion of a salutarj- influ- ence on public opinion and on all the great interests of society. It was thought that every man of property should educate his sons, as far as possible, to be decidedly useful members of the commu- nity, to contribute to its progress in knowledge, sound morals, and tlie elegant arts, and to bear a part in securing to us the honorable distinction of being an intelligent, well-principled, and higlil}- civil- ized people. " It is plain that an education suited to this end must comprise, among other branches, a more extensive teaching of the histor}^ constitution, government, and interests of our country, and of moral science as applicable to commerce, and to all the relations of life, than is at present given in an}' of our institutions." 1835.^ " I suggested for consideration a means of making college more extensively useful, namely, the establishment of a regular course of instruction for those who do not incline or have not opportunity to study the languages, who do not wish to be trained for one of the professions, but who can command time and money, and have capacit}', for a higher instruction than is given in an}' of our schools. I proposed that this course should extend through two years ; that it should comprehend moral and political philosophy, political economy, the principles of our own govern- ment, and the physical sciences, and that the teaching in these branches should be as thorough as that now given in college. ' ' The present system at Cambridge seems to me very important, and I wish to extend, instead of narrowing it; but I feel strongly the importance and need of another course, which will be at once practical and philosophical, and which, by dropping the more ornamental branches, will not be too extensive for many now ex- cluded from college. I believe that such a course would have an immense influence on those who should pass through it, and would do much to raise the intellectual character of the community. A young man who should spend two years in philosophical studies, in continuous investigation of the laws of moral and material nature, would become intellectually a new man. This systematical application of the mind for the acquisition of general principles is ^ To Josiah Quincy, LL. D., President of Harvard University. 32 498 SOCIAL REFORMS. much more worth}' to be called philosophical education than the study of language, and I wish that as many young men as possible ma}' enjoy the benefits of it. ' ' The education of the people seems to me more and more to be the object to which the College should be directed. This institu- tion has always existed, and exists now, for the people. It trains young men, not so much for themselves, as that they ma}' be quali- fied to render services to the community ; and perhaps the}' render no higher service than by spreading their own intelligence, and giving a higher tone to the public mind. Cannot the College do more for this end? I hope it may. If it can furnish a course of philosophical instruction which can be pursued by a greater number than now pass through college, if it can extend the demand for this higher education by supplying its means, and if it can give a rank to those who enjoy this advantage, it will render inestimable service to the community." 1836. " I have long seen with much satisfaction the diffusion through our country of institutions for the intellectual culture of the people. I have rejoiced in the establishment of lyceums and popular lectures, and I feel that every one is bound to do what he can to forward these good works. By this I do not mean that I consider such institutions in the present form as fitted to meet all our wants. The lectures are too disconnected, and too generally intended for mere amusement, to stir up the minds of the hearers to any strong and enduring activity. But we must not despise the day of small things. A lyceum or young men's association, though liable to the charge of giving superficial knowledge, is still a promise, a harbinger, of something higher. It is a sign that the people are beginning to hunger for more refined pleasure and in- creasing knowledge. It shows that intellectual life is at work, and spreading through the community. Such an omen I hail with joy. As a people, we have been, and still are, given too exclusively to outward goods, to accumulation of property, to general indulgence. We hardly seem to have discovered that we have minds of heavenly origin, and created for endless progress. The body, not the thinking soul, has been our care. Anything which shows that we are waking up to the greatness of our own spirits, and desire to improve them, is a good sign, and must be welcomed by every Christian and friend of his race. In this view, I rejoice to hear, as I travel, that lyceums and similar institutions are springing up in the land, and, if a good word will help them onward, no one is free to withhold it. "At the foundation of every good institution there lies some HON. HORACE MANN. 499 great idea, which ought to he understood. On what idea does your association rest? It is that of human progress, that of man's capacity of intellectual growth. Here, indeed, is the grand tliought on which all religious, moral, and intellectual institutions rest. Your institution is undoubtedly established for the pleasure it will bring, and it is useful as offering an innocent recreation. But were this all, it would be of little moment. A consciousness of the greatness of the soul in every human being is the foundation of the lyceum." But it was for the common schools that Dr. Channing felt the deepest and most anxious intei-est. On their success he saw that the fate of our free institutions in a great measure depends. Every effort to cleanse these fountain-heads of popular virtue and intelli- gence met, therefore, with his most cordial sympathy and uncom- promising aid. And few events within his immediate neighborhood ever gave him such immediate and lasting joy, as when the Hon. Horace Mann resigned his high position in the political world, and, turning IVom prospects which would have bewildered the judgment of most men, consecrated his rare powers of heart and head to the cause of the education of the people. While partisans and world lings smiled or scoffed at what seemed eccentric disinterestedness, Dr. Channing addressed to Mr. Mann the following brief letter of congratulation and encouragement. '■'■Newport, August 19, 1837. My dear Sir: — I understand that you have given 30urself to the cause of education in our Commonwealth. I rejoice in it. Nothing could give me greater pleasure. I have long desired that some one uniting all your qualifications should devote himself to this work. You could not find a nobler station. Government has no nobler one to give. You must allow me to labor under you according to my opportuni- ties. If at any time I can aid 30U, you must let me know, and I shall be glad to converse with you always about your operations- Wlien will the low, degrading party quarrels of the country cease, and the better minds come to think what can be done towards a substantial, generous improvement of tlie community? ' INIy ear is pained, ni}' ver^' soul is sick,' with the monotonous yet furious clamors about currency, banks, &c., when the spiritual interests of the communit}' seem hardly to he recognized as having any reality. " If we can but turn the wonderful energy of this people into a right channel, what a new heaven and earth must be realized among us ! And 1 do not despair. Your willingness to consecrate yourself to this work is a happy omen. You do not stand alone, 500 SOCIAL REFORMS. or form a rare exception to the times. There must be many to be touched b}' the same trutlis which are stirring 3'ou. "My hope is, that the pursuit will give 3'ou new vigor and health. If you can keep strong outwardly, I have no fear about the efficiency of the spirit. 1 write in haste, for I am not very strong, and any effort exhausts me ; but I wanted to express mj' sympathy, and to wish you God-speed on 3-our wa}-. " Your sincere friend." Dr. Channing's readiness to co-operate in Mr. Mann's labors as Secretary of the Massachusetts Board of Education was proved a few months afterward, when he attended a Convention for establishing a County Association for the Improvement of Com- mon Schools at Taunton, and followed Mr. Mann's splendid and eloquent address with quite a long extemporaneous speech. A very imperfect newspaper report is the only remaining record of these remarks. The views indicated in this speech led Dr. Channing to use all his influence to raise the profession of a teacher to its rightful posi- tion of honor in the communit}', and consequently he took every suitable occasion to aid the Normal Schools. How strong was his desire to prepare teachers fitly for their responsible function ap- pears in the following letter. '■'■ Neivport, August 24, 1841.^ I understand that a wish has been expressed that your letter to me on the Normal School at Lexington should be published. I wish it may be, and shall rejoice if others may read it with the same delight which it gave to me. Your picture almost realized the ideal I have formed of a school. The relation of parent and child between Mr. Pierce and his pupils is to me one of the most beautiful views of the institu- tion, for it must be confessed that the ordinar}' connection be- tween teachers and taught is an^-thing but love ; and where this is wanting, the intellectual development must be very defective. The unhappiness is, that the understanding nowadays works so little in union with the moral affections, that our schools and higher seminaries act so partially on the soul. The precision which, as 3^ou say, distinguishes Mr. Pierce's teaching, is of essential and special importance in a normal school. All of us who have been instructors know how much we failed, at first, from want of pre- cise ideas on subjects which we thought we understood. We had to become learners, to bring our vague ideas to a new clearness, before we could make them tangible to our pupils. 1 To Miss Mary T. Peabody. A. BRONSON ALCOTT. 501 " But I will make no comments on 3'our statement. It gave me new confidence in normal schools. I have felt, as j^ou well know, a deep interest in their success, though perhaps 3'ou do not know all the reasons of it. I began life as a teacher, and my own ex- perience has made me feel the importance of training the teacher for his work. I was not more deficient than most young men who pass through college. Perhaps I may say, without presumption, that I was better fitted than most to take charge of a school ; and yet I look back on no part of m}^ life with so much pain as on that which I gave to school-keeping. The interval of forty 3'ears has not relieved me from the sorrow and self-reproach which the recollection of it calls forth "But, indeed, does it not stand to reason, that, where all other vocations need apprenticeship, the highest of all vocations, that of awakening, guiding, enlightening the human soul, must require serious preparation ? That attempts should have been made in the legislature to break down our normal schools, and almost with success, is one of the most discouraging S3'mptoms of our times. It shows that the people will not give their thoughts to the dearest interests of societ}^ ; for an}^ serious thought would have led them to frown down such efforts in a moment. I rejoice that the friends of education are beginning to visit the Normal School at Lexing- ton. I earnestly implore for it the blessing of Heaven. " With sincere affection, yours." While thus earnest to diflTuse among all classes the means of in- tellectual culture, and to introduce a system of instruction adapted b^^ its philosophical and practical character to form sound and capacious minds, Dr. Channing saw with regret the exceeding diffi- cult}' of securing moral development, the growth and discipline of the aflfections, in our schools and colleges, as at present conducted. He was most solicitous, therefore, to encourage every movement which was directed to caUing into vigorous action the spiritual powers of children. The clear conviction, that health of con- science and will is the only sure source of inward strength and outward efficiency, made him look with the liveliest hope upon the methods of training adopted by Mr. A. Bronson Alcott, when, in 1834, that fine and much-misapprehended genius at- tempted, in a select school, to illustrate and verif}' his original views of human culture. The following letter shows with what sincere friendliness he watched an experiment so worthy of ade- quate trial, but so prematurely cut short b}' unjust impatience in the communitj". 502 SOCIAL REFORMS. '"'• Newport^ August 24, 1835.-^ I intended to write 3'ou a long letter, but my house is full of friends, who leave me no leisure. I thank j'ou for your ' Record,' which I read with great pleasure. I have still doubts ; but the e7id sought is the true one, and I earnestl}' desire that the experiment should be made. " I want proof that the minds of children reall}- act on the sub- ject of conversation, that their deep consciousness is stirred. Next, I want light as to the degree to which the mind of the child should be turned inward. The free development of the spiritual nature ma}'^ be impeded b}'^ too much analysis of it. The soul is somewhat jealous of being watched ; and it is no small part of wisdom to know when to leave it to its impulses and when to restrain it. The strong passion of the .young for the outward is an indication of nature to be respected. Spiritualit}- may be too exclusive for its own good. " I have suggested these difficulties in conversation, and repeat them here, not to discourage the experiment, but to insure its success. No one has more interest in it than m3'self. Mr. Alcott's reverence for the spiritual is the Jirst great qualification of a teacher, and I want it to be so combined with other qualifications, and so manifested, as to give a new tone to instruction. Your chapter on General Principles ^ interested me much. It is full of fine thoughts, but the lights are somewhat too scattered. Your great idea is stated without the requisite modifications. You set out from happiness, a dangerous point of departure, for the whole selfish philosophy has grown from the error of placing enjojment before morality-. But I have not time to say more. " Let my remarks be a proof to you, not of my love of fault- finding, but of my deep interest in j-our work. I had a very agree- able visit from Mr. Alcott." From all the views thus presented of education, it will be seen that Dr. Channing had a perfect trust in the adaptation of the human intellect to truth. Reason in God and man he conceived to be essentially the same principle, and acknowledged that the universe, in all its laws of order, was exactly correlative to the Ideas of Divine Wisdom. Any check, then, upon freedom of in- quiry and expression he looked upon with peculiar disgust and dread. This hatred of intellectual constraint, and confidence in the capacity of the public to discern light amidst even the grossest errors, showed itself in a manner that subjected him to no little 1 To Miss. E. P. Peabody. 2 Printed in the first edition of " Tlie Record of a School." ABNEK KNEELAND. 503 misunderstanding and abuse on one occasion, which may deserve, therefore, a special notice. In January, 1834, Mr. Abner Kneeland — who, from being an Orthodox minister, had become successively a Universalist and an Unbeliever, and had estabhsbed himself in Boston as the head of a society of " Free Inquirers," and editor of their organ, " The In- vestigator " — was indicted at the Municipal Court. The indictment was for blasphemy, in haviug published in his paper of December 20th, 1833, three articles : — 1. A scurrilous extract from Voltaire, ridiculing the miraculous generation of Jesus ; 2. An article de- claring the practice of addressing prayers to God to be absurd ; 3. A letter from the editor to the editor of the "Trumpet," in which he saj's : — " Universalists believe in a god which I do not ; but believe that their god, with all his moral attributes, (aside from nature itself,) is nothing more than a chimera of their own imagination." On this indictment Mr. Kneeland was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to three months' imprisonment. He appealed to the Supreme Court, and at the November term of 1835 the appeal was brought before Judge Wilde. When the case came on, Mr. Knee- land declined to admit, as on his previous trial, that he was editor of the Investigator, or any other facts necessary for the govern- ment to prove. The attorney-general, James T. Austin, not being prepared with his proof, proposed to Mr. Kneeland, that, if he would admit the authorship and publication of the third article, as just quoted, the government would not ask for conviction on the other two articles, but would use them only argumentatively, as illustrating the defendant's motive and intent in denying God, This proposal was accepted ; but as Mr. Kneeland had no counsel, and was "little skilled in legal proceedings, the first and second articles were not struck out of the indictment. This was unfortu- nate, as it served to complicate the case, when it came before the public through the newspapers, and prevented a sound and sober judgment upon its merits. But the authentic report of the proceed- ings at the trial plainly shows the understanding of all parties. The attorney-general said that " he relied on the passage quoted in the judge's report [' UniversaUsts believe in a god,' &c.] to sustain the prosecution, the other words recited in the indictment being referred to only as explanatory of this particular passage, and as evidence of the motives with which it was written and published." ^ Again he said, "The denial of God, whether in decent language 1 Pickering's Reports, Vol. XX. p. 209. 504 SOCIAL REFORMS. or otherwise, is prohibited." ^ And Judge "Wilde makes this express and conclusive statement in his report: "I instructed the jurj- that the wilful denial of the existence of any God, except the mate- rial universe itself, would be a violation of the statute." Mr. Knee- land was finally sentenced, in 1838, to two months' imprisonment ; and what he was convicted of, as undeniably appears by the instruc- tion of the judge to the jury, was, that he had wilfully denied the existence of God. Immediately after the conviction, Ellis Gray Loring, Esq., an earnest friend of freedom and opponent of oppression, determined, after consultation with Dr. Channing, Dr. FoUen, and other like liberal-minded persons, to draw up a petition to the Governor of the State for the remission of Mr. Kneeland's sentence. The peti- tion, as amended by Dr. Channing's suggestions, was as follows : — " To his Excellency, the Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts : "The undersigned respectfully represent, that they are informed that Abner Kneeland, of the city of Boston, has been found guilty of the crime of blasphemy, for having published, in a certain news- paper called the Boston Investigator, his disbelief in the existence of God, in the following words : — " ' Universalists believe in a god which I do not; but believe that their god, with all his moral attributes, (aside from nature itself,) is nothing more than a chimera of their own imagination.' " Your petitioners have learned, by an examination of the record and documents in the case, made b^' one of their number, that the conviction of said Kneeland proceeded on the ground above stated. For though the indictment originally included two other publications, one of a highly irreverent, and the other of a grossly indecent char- acter, yet it appears by the report, that, at the trial, the prosecuting officer mainly relied on the sentence above quoted, and that the judge who tried the case confined his charge wholly to stating the legal construction of its terms, and the law applicable to it. " In these circum stances ^ the undersigned respectfully pray that your Excellency will grant to the said Kneeland an unconditional pardon for the offence of which he has been adjudged guilty. And they ask this, not from any sympathy with the convicted individual, who is personally unknown to most or all of them ; nor from any approbation of the doctrines professed by him, which are believed by your petitioners to be as pernicious and degrading as thej' are false ; but — 1 Pickering's Reports, Vol. XX. p. 211. THE KNEELAND PETITION. 605 " Because the punishment proposed to be inflicted is believed to be at variance with the spirit of our institutions and our age, and with tlie soundest expositions of those civil and religious rights which are at once founded in our nature, and guaranteed by the constitutions of the United States and this Commonwealth ; ' ' Because the freedom of speech and the press is the chief instru- ment of the progress of truth and of social improvements, and is never to be restrained bj' legislation, except when it invades tlie rights of others, or instigates to specific crimes ; " Because, if opinion is to be subjected to penalties, it is impos- sible to determine where punishment shall stop ; there being few or no opinions in which an adverse party may not see threatenings of ruin to the state ; " Because truths essential to the existence of society must be so palpable as to need no protection from the magistrate ; "Because the assumption by government of a right to prescribe or repress opinions has been the ground of the grossest deprava- tions of religion, and of the most grinding despotisms ; "Because religion needs no support from penal law, and is grossly dishonored by interpositions for its defence, which imply that it cannot be trusted to its own strength and to the weapons of reason and persuasion in the hands of its friends ; " Because, by punishiug infidel opinions, we shake one of the strongest foundations of faith, namely, the evidence which arises to religion from the fact, that it stands firm and gathers strength amidst the severest and most unfettered investigations of its claims ; " Because error of opinion is never so dangerous as when goaded into fanaticism by persecution, or driven by threatenings to the use of secret arts ; "Because it is well known, that the most licentious opinions have, b}' a natural reaction, sprung up in countries where the laws have imposed severest restraint on thought and discussion ; "Because the influence of hurtful doctrines is often propagated by the sympathy which legal severities awaken towards their sup- porters ; " Because we are unwilling that a man, whose unhappy course has drawn on him general disapprobation, should, by a sentence of the law, be exalted into a martyr, or become identified with the sacred cause of freedom ; and, lastl}', " Because we regard with filial jealousy the honor of this Com- monwealth, and are unwilling that it should be exposed to reproach, as clinging obstinately to illiberal principles, which the most en- lightened minds have exploded." 506 SOCIAL REFORMS. The name of William EUery Channing stood first upon this peti- tion when presented, followed b}' one hundred and sixty-seven others. It was made known to the public through the newspapers, and most bitterl}' attacked. A remonstrance against the petition was prepared and extensively signed. And, to conclude this brief history of the affair, the petition was rejected by the Governor and Council. But, nevertheless, it exerted a wide and permanent in- fluence. It was an assertion by Christians of the equal rights of atheists to freedom of thought and speech. It did a good work in educating the public mind. And there will never, in all probability, be another prosecution for atheism in Massachusetts. Dr. Chan- ning's views are very simply exhibited in the following letters. '■'■ March, 1838.^ My dear Sir: — I should have noticed 3^our letter relating to Kneeland's case earlier, had I obtained the infor- mation which I have thought necessary. I have not yet gained it, but write a line of acknowledgment, that you may not think me indifferent to the matter. My impression is that Kneeland was not convicted for his opinions, but for assailing, in obscene and contu- melious language, the opinions which are most dear and sacred to all around him. I thought his offence lay wholly in indecent and insulting scoffs. My intention is to see and converse with Judge Shaw on the subject. That a man should be punished for his opin- ions would be shocking, — an offence at once to the principles and feelings of the community. "I have always thought, that, in petitioning for a pardon, we are bound to inquire whether the Executive has a right to pardon. I suppose this power to be given to the Governor to meet cases of crime which are accompanied \>y peculiar circumstances of mitiga- tion, and not for the suspension or virtual repeal of an unjust law. The law must be executed, unless something peculiar in the case calls for the pardoning power. On this principle, I should doubt the propriety' of petitioning. You understand this subject better than I do, and I should lilvc your views. " Ver}' trul}', j-our friend." '-'• Newport, July 1, 1838. ^ I see Kneeland's case is making a noise. I expected that much offence would be given, and of con- sequence am not troubled. In these cases I feel that no man can harm me, but by impairing my love to him, by inspiring bad feel- ings. It is a comfort to me to find that I can be reproached with- out any desire to reproach, without casting off the injurious man. I have, as I think, an increasing compassion for those portions of 1 To Ellis Gray Loriiig, Esq. 2 'f o Joseph Tuckennan, D. D. JOHN PIERPONT. 507 societ}' which I am called particularly to oppose. I see more and more how little tlic}- comprehend the spiritual life which Christ came to give, how rooted they are to the earth, how swallowed up in the outward, how blind to the true dignity of the human soul ; and I would cheerfully spend and be spent for their recover}' to a better mind. I wish to sustain a hostile relation to no human being. As to human favor, I feel more and more that it must be given up. If I know Christianity-, it is so at war with the present condition of society, that it cannot be spoken and acted out without giving great oflEence. The want of the Christian spirit, of Christ's spirit, towards our fallen fellow-creatures is most mournful. I would drink of it more freel}." The same determination to uphold perfect freedom of opinion and expression showed itself in Dr. Channing's mode of action, when the distillers and traders in intoxicating drinks attempted to silence the Rev. John Pierpont, or to expel him from HoUis Street pulpit. " Sir," said he to that brave, resolute, and skilful cham- pion for temperance and freedom, at the time of his most tiery trial, " should this struggle in your society result in some ten or a dozen of your most active opponents withdrawing from your church, and in others who sympathize with 3'ou and sustain 3'our course taking their places, Mollis Street pulpit will stand the highest in the city." The following considerate and respectful, yet frank, letter was ad- dressed to Mr. Pierpont at the time when the vote passed by a majority of the " proprietors of the pews," requesting Mr. Pierpont to take up his connections with the HoUis Street Society, had been reversed, and when he was about resuming his duties. It is as beautiful a tribute of Dr. Channing's regard for a much-injured brother, as it is a valuable memorial of his own magnanimity. " Friday Eoening^ November 15, 1839. My dear Sir: — I have taken much interest in the conflict you have recentl}- gone through, and rejoice that you are to return to your pulpit under circum- stances so encouraging and honorable. On the next Sunday I sup- pose that 3^ou will address, not only 3'our own congregation, but a multitude, who will be drawn together by the peculiarity of the occa- sion ; and will you allow me to say, that I trust that the services will breathe such a spirit of philanthropy and piet}^ and such a calm reliance on great principles, as will satisfj- all that personal triumph has not been your aim, but that you have been and are trixXy de- voted to the highest good of the congregation and the community. I wanted to call upon you, but am detained by a cold, which has almost taken away my voice. I write, because I feel that you are 508 SOCIAL REFORMS. to exert an important influence, and I have an earnest desire that it should be for good. I hope that these suggestions ma}' not seem unreasonable. If the}' should, you will at least allow me to express my gratitude and respect for your courage and fidelity in a noble cause. Very sincerely, your friend." One reason for Dr. Channing's earnest desire to uphold Mr. Pier- pont's hands in the Hollis Street controversy was, that he saw in the persecution of that honest preacher by a band of moneyed men, allied by interest, an exhibition of tendencies which were every- where working throughout modern society. It was very clear to him, that the danger was pressing of a complete subservience of politics, the press, public opinion, and the pulpit to the insidious tyranny of wealth. The predominance of the commercial and fiscal spirit over moral enthusiasm, spiritual aspiration, humane senti- ment, and intellectual freedom, was, in his view, a most alarming symptom of the mad fever after money with which the whole age was sick. His tone of thought upon this subject may be best learned from the following letters. " Si. Croix, March 17, 1831. I was a little disappointed at find- ing that you set down the idolatry of wealth as the besetting sin of Philadelphia. I thought there was more of the old-fashioned aris- tocracy in that city, and that birth weighed more than money. I am glad you feel so distinctly and strongly the degraded condition of what are called the highest classes. Amidst souie refinements of manner, they are so wanting in elevation of sentiment, in per- ception of spiritual excellence, in the consciousness of their solemn obligations to the less favored classes of society, that it is time for the friends and ministers of enlightened religion, laying aside equally all flattery and all bitterness, to seek their reformation by every instrument of persuasion, reasoning, and heart-searching re- proof. I hope you will make no compromise with wickedness in high places. There it is intrenched, and thence a pestilential influ- ence spreads through the whole mass. I write too fast to weigh my words ; but I am not in a cynical fit ; I give you my deliberate convictions." " Jahj 12, 1831.^ The darkest spot in the aspect of your coun- try is the depressed, half-famished state of your lowest classes. This may be relieved by the new impulse given to manufactures and trade ; but I fear that it is not an accident of your system, but a necessary effect of your present artificial state of society, and that it will soon recur again. If this be so, great changes should be made 1 To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. WOKSHIP OF WEALTH. 509 in society to avert it. To communicate the intelligence and bless- ings of the higher classes to the lower should be the end and sure result of all social institutions, and they are essentially defective where such is not tlieir operation. I am a leveller ; but I would accomplish my object by elevating the low, by raising from a de- grading indigence and brutal ignorance the laboring multitude. If I know what Christianity and philanthropy mean, they teach no plainer lesson than this." " Boston, September 6, 1835. The cry is, ' Property is insecure, law a rope of sand, and the mob sovereign.' The actual, present evil, — the evil of that worship of property, which stifles all the nobler sentiments, and makes man property, — this nobody sees ; but appearances of approaching convulsions of property, — these shake the nerves of men, who are willing that our moral evils should be perpetuated to the end of time, provided their treasures be un- touched. I have no fear of revolutions. We have conservative principles enough at work here. What exists troubles me more than what is to come. " We must not, however, be unjust to the present. In our body of Christians I certainly see higher modes of thinking and feeling than formerly, and there is a good deal of the spirit of religion in the community. Unhappily, sectarianism prevents the religion of the country from exerting its just influence. There is such a dread of its becoming a usurper, that it is not allowed to speak in public affairs. Still, if it lifts the minds of any number above sordidness and selfishness, it will prove itself to be a redeeming power. What offends me most is the wisdom which scoffs at all attempts to im- prove society, derides freedom, and wraps itself up in epicurean ease. I have inflicted quite a dissertation on you." " Boston, April 3, 1837.^ I have heard of your lectures, and beg you to carry into effect your purpose of publishing. I think the people are open to good impressions, though, undoubtedly, the last triumph of Christianity will be over the spirit of accumulation. " I am sometimes almost tempted into the literal construction of the Christian precepts on this subject. It would be better for the world to be somewhat pinched for food and clothing, through an exaggerated spirituality, than to contract their whole souls into money-getting. " I wish I could write you very encouraging accounts of our in- tellectual and moral condition. The whole mind of the country seems absorbed in its pecuniary interests, and, though active enough in this sphere, is not acting very beneficially. I feel more and 1 To Orville Dewey, D. D. 510 SOCIAL REFORMS. more how little Christianit}- is applied to life. Its views of life, of propert}-, of the end of human existence, of the relations between man and man, — how little are they understood ! We ought not to be satisfied with our present modes of operation. No sect can boast of doing much." 1839. "The rich man has no more right to repose than the poor. He is as much bound to labor as the poor; not to labor in the same way, but to labor as realh', as efhciently, as intensely, I am tempted to saj- more intensely, because he has u sphere so much wider and nobler opened to him. No man has a right to seek property in order that he may enjoy, may lead a life of indulgence, may throw all toil on another class of society. This world was not made for ease. Its great law is action, and action for the good of others still more than for our own. This is its law, and we violate it only to our own misery and guilt." Dr. Channing's keen perception of the corrupting influences which the universal thirst for gain is exerting upon the whole of Christendom, and each Christian community, made him look with sympathizing respect, though with anxious scrutiny also, upon every movement that promised to introduce more just relations of industr}' and propert\'. His hopes and fears are plainl}' enough presented in the following letters. " St. Croix, April 6, 1831.^ I have not seen a poor man. Slav- eiT and pauperism do not live together. I have thought this Anew of slavery favored Owen's social system, for the two have some common features. The slaves are fed from a common stock, work on common ground, have their labors assigned by a superintendent. The differences are, that Owen's superintendent is a select commit- tee ; here it is a master ; and according to Owen the whole com- munity share alike, whilst here the master monopolizes almost everything. " Tlie wrongs of slavery are, indeed, infinite; and yet such are the efTects of joint labor and of a common stock, that the large population of this little island — say twenty-five thousand, over a surface twenty-eight miles long and six broad — are fed and clothed sufficiently well for labor and health. The system, bad as it is, excludes i)aupers. The orphans, the old, and the sick — making with the children one third, perhaps — are as well supported as those who labor. "I do not approve Owen's means ; but his end, which is to insure the comforts of life to ever}- member of society-, and to do this by ^ To Joseph Tuckernian, D. D. FRATERNAL COMMUNITY. 611 moderate labor, is earnestly to be desired. He would accomplish it by merging tlie individual in the community. I would do it by increasing the power of the individual, including in this term moral even more tlian intellectual power, though the last is essential. I confide less and less in artificial arrangements, and have little hope but from the diffusion of inteUigence, energy, disinterestedness, sympathy, and self-control, through the mass. "Accordingly, I look on j'ou as a most useful laborer in the vineyard. Go on ; be strong in body and mind, and prosper. You will now ask what I am about? I have done very little, though I have not been idle. My thoughts turn much on the state of the world. That a new era is opening on us, or that the fuller de- velopment of the present is before us, we cannot doubt. I wish I could help men to understand the present age, that they might co-operate with its good tendencies and withstand its evil ones. But this is a great work." " Boston, March 31, 1832. ^ I find j'ou attach some importance to St. Simonism. I have regarded the system as chiefly pohtical ; and in this view it is a serious matter. It shows, as does Owen's system, and the co-operative system, that the old principles of property are to undergo a fiery trial, that the monstrous inequalities of condition must be redressed, and that greater revolutions than the majority have dreamed of — whether for good or evil — are to be anticipated. The religion of St. Simon, as far as I know it, is of little worth. The ver\^ notion of a hierarch}- shows his childish- ness on this subject. It is impossible that he can connect religion with social dut}' as closel}' as Christianity does ; for it is impossible for an}' system to connect man witli God as tliis does, and no substantial social improvement can take place till this conuection is understood." " Boston, February 27, 1841.^ My dear Sir: — I received j-our ' Constitution and Exposition ' 3'esterday, and my early repl}- will prove my interest in your proposed ' Fraternal Communit}.' "Your ends, objects, seem to me important. I see, I feel, the great evils of our present social state. The flesh predominates over the spirit, the animal over the intellectual and moral life. The consciousness of the worth of the human soul, of what man was made to be, is almost whoU}' lost; and in this ignorance all our social relations must be mournfully defective, and the highest claims of man ver}' much overlooked. I earnestly desire to witness some 1 To William Burns, Esq. - To the Rev. Adin Ballou, Meiidon, Mass. 512 SOCIAL REFORMS. change, b}' which the mass of men ma}- be released from their pres- ent anxious drudgery, may cease to be absorbed in cares and toils for the bod}', and ma}- so combine labor with a system of improve- ment that they will find in it a help, not a degrading burden. I have for a very long time dreamed of an association, in which the members, instead of preying on one another, and seeking to put one another down, after the fashion of this world, should live to- gether as brothers, seeking one another's elevation and spiritual growth. But the materials for such a community I have not seen. Your ends, therefore, are ver}' dear to me. "How far you have adopted the best means of realizing them, and whether they can be realized in the present low condition of individual Christians, are different questions, and most men would give a negative answer. I do not, however, discourage any sincere efforts for social or individual improvement, but would sa}', God speed you ! There is a tone of faith and sincerity' in 3-our document which gives me hope, and yet I cannot say that I am without fear. I have lived so much out of the world of business, I have had so few connections with society except those of a religious teacher, that I cannot judge of the obstructions you are to meet. The grand obstacle to success, however, I do understand, and you ougiit to look at it fully. It consists in the difficulty of reconciling so many wills, of bringing so many individuals to such a unity of judgment and feeling as is necessary to the management of an extensive common concern, — in the difficulty of preventing the interference, intermeddling, harsh-judging, evil-speaking, self-will, jealousies, exactions, and love of sway, which scatter discord and woe through all our social relations. The Catholics have provided against these evils in their religious communities, by establishing an absolute power, and teaching the members that the first duty is obedience. Whether sufficient unity can be preserved in a free institution, budt on the foundations of brotherhood and equality, remains to be proved. I wish you to try it, and, in order to success, I wish you all to look the difficulty in the face, and to feel that it is indeed a great one, — to be overcome only by habitual self-denial, by the special culture of humility, meekness, and charit}*. " There are undoubtedly dangers attending every social condi- tion. These we are to understand, that we may watch against them. The evils to be feared in a community like 3'ours are, the loss of individual energy in consequence of dependence on the com- munity, the increased facility given to the sluggish of throwing the burden of toil on their better-disposed brethren, the relaxation of domestic ties in consequence of the virtual adoption of the children x/ FRATERNAL COMMUNITY. 513 by the communitj', the diminution of free thought and free action, in consequence of the necessity of conforming to the will of the majority or the intendant, the tendency to narrowness and ex- clusiveness, and the tendency' to a dull monoton}' of mind and life in consequence of confinement to a few influences. These evils are not imaginar3'. There is danger of losing in such establishments individuality, animation, force, and enlargement of mind. Your security must be sought in carrying out the principles of freedom and philanthropy to which ^-ou attach so much importance. "I am aware of the many economical advantages arising from the gathering of the community- into one habitation ; but there are disadvantages. There is reason to fear that families wall not be sufficiently separate, and that the domestic feelings may thus be impaired ; and, perhaps, still more, that individuals will lose that spirit of solitude, retirement, secret thought and secret piety, without which social relations are full of peril, and the character loses strength and dignity. These dangers seem to me to require distinct guards. "I should have been pleased to see in the articles some recog- nition of the importance of courteous manners. The importance of these, in keeping alive mutual respect and kindness, is great. In this countr}' we suffer much from coarseness of manner. Refine- ment, mutual deference, delicacy in intercourse, are among the fruits of Christianit}', and very needful in such a gathering as yow propose. If I were to visit a community, and see the floor defiled by spittle, I could not easily believe that the members respected one another, or that, with such violations of neatness and decorum, there could be much aspiration for inward purit}'. Just in pro- portion as Christians come to recognize in one another the spiritual, immortal children of God, an unaffected deference will mark the tones of the voice and the manners, and the reaction of this deference on the sentiment from which it springs is verj' great. Where such deportment prevails, there will be no difficulty about reproof. Kind, courteous reproof, which is seen and felt to come from love, does not wound. Indeed, in such a society there will be little to reprove. ' ' I trust tliat this letter will be a testimonj' of my sincere in- terest in your movements. I pray God to bless ^-ou. I should die in greater peace, could I see in any quarter the promise of a happier organization of society. I am burdened in spirit by what I see. May the dawn of something better visit m}' eyes before thej^ are closed in death ! " When you visit Boston I shall be glad to see you. " Your friend and brother." 33 614 SOCIAL REFORMS. '"'• Jaly^ 1841. Perhaps no part of your letter gave me more pleasure than your account of Mr. Aleott. He little suspects how my heart goes out to him. One of vay clearest ideas and hopes is the union of labor and culture. The present state of things, b}* which tlie highest and almost the onl}- blessings of life are so often denied to those who bear its heav}' burdens, is sad, and must be changed. I wish to see labor honored, and united with the free development of the intellect and heart. Mr. Aleott, hiring himself out for day-labor, and at the same time living in a region of high thought, is, perhaps, the most interesting object in our Common- wealth. I do not care much for Orpheus in ' The Dial.' His flights there amuse rather than edify me ; but Orpheus at the plough is after my own heart. There he teaches a grand lesson ; more than most of us teach by the pen. " As to Mr. Brownson, you know how deeply I sympathize with him in his feeling towards what he calls the ' masses,' — an odious word, as if spiritual beings could be lumped together like heaps of matter, — but I have little patience with his article.^ In regard to the w^orkingmen, — including farmers, mechanics, domestics, and day-laborers, — he exaggerates their hardships in this countr}'. In truth, it ma}' be doubted whether they have not the easiest lot. Take our young lawyers and physicians, and see their struggles, disappointments, and the difficulty of establishing themselves in their professions. See nine out of ten merchants failing, perhaps again and again. Look at our young women, as well as those in advanced life, who are reduced to dependence b}' the decline of their families. Look at the literar}' class everywhere. In what other class have so man}' been starved? How few in the laboring classes have suffered more than you have done ! At this moment, who suffers more than , toiling for her family in her state of health? Your father, too, in a profession, finds it as hard to get work as an}' laborer in the streets. How often have I known pro- fessional and mercantile men toiling anxiously through the night, and sacrificing health, whilst the laborer has been Avrapt in oblivion of all his cares ! The truth is, that as yet life is a conflict. I ex- pect it to be so hereafter. My own constitution was broken by early toils. We all have a hard battle to fight. To me the matter of complaint is, not that the laboring class want physical comforts, — though I wish these to be earned by fewer hours of labor, — but that they live only for their ph}sical nature ; that no better justice is done to their souls ; that in early life they receive so few (juick- ening influences ; that labor is a badge of inferiority ; that wealth ^ The first on the Laboring Classes. HIS CREED AS A REFORMER. 615 forms a caste ; that the multitudes are cut off from communications which would improve intellect, taste, manners ; that the spirit of brotherhood does not bind different conditions together." Tlius does it appear how deliberate were Dr. Channing's expres- sions, how weighty with conviction his words, when, in the Preface to the third Glasgow edition of his works, he thus summed up his creed as a social reformer. 1839. '• These volumes will show that the author feels strongly the need of deep social changes, of a spiritual revolution in Chris- tendom, of a new bond between man and man, of a new sense of the relation between man and his Creator. At the same time, they will sliow his firm belief, that our present low civilization, the cen- tral idea of which is wealth, cannot last forever ; that the mass of men are not doomed hopelessly and irresistibly to the degradation of mind and heart in which they are now sunk ; that a new com- prehension of the end and dignity of a human being is to remodel social institutions and manners ; that in Clu-istianity, and in the powers and principles of human nature, we have the promise of something holier and happier than now exists. It is a privilege to live in tliis faith, and a privilege to communicate it to others. The autlior is not without hope that he ma}' have strength for some more important labors ; but if disappointed in this, he trusts tliat these writings, which may survive him a little time, will testif^'^ to his sympathy with his fellow-creatures, and to his faith in God's great purposes toward the human race." Seeing thus clearly that a radical reform was near at hand which would transform the past relations of capital and labor and the prevalent usages of caste and privilege. Dr. Channing looked for- ward with serene and unfaltering trust. Let this chapter close, then, with the bright propliecies of this watcher on the mountains. '"'- Boston^ Jnhj 29, 183G.^ My dear Sir: — You write of the agitation and excitement in your country'. I look on this state of things in the Old and New World calml}', not onh' from a general trust in Providence, but from considering the causes of excitement. It is the progress of intelligence, arts, wealth, and especially the waking up of men to the rights of human nature, to wliich we are to ascribe the present heaving agitation of society. Tliat there are perils in such a period we see. Men open their eyes to discover great abuses, and learn their rights onl}' to learn how they have been trodden under foot. The}' have the presentiment of a better state of things, and imagination founds on this extravagant expec- ^ To Wm. Rathbone, Esq., Liverpool. 516 SOCIAL REFORMS. tations, which it burns to reahze in a moment. Here are dangers, but it cannot be that the development of the highest powers of human nature can ultimatel}^ prove anything but good. I rejoice, — not indeed without trembUng, — but still rejoice." '"'■ July^ 1838.^ My work of this kind, I hope, is over. Not that I think of repose ; the longer I live, the more I have to do ; but other fields of labor are open to me. We live in glorious times in one respect. Was there ever so much to do ? Our age is a revolu- tionary one in the best sense of the word, — not of phj'sical, but moral revolution. Higher ideas of the social state, and of human perfection, are at work. I shall not live to see the harvest, but to sow in faith is no mean privilege or happiness. Ever your friend." " Newport, August 10, 1838.^ says, you and he have talked about a newspaper. If one is started, I hope it will take the right ground. It must not be a part}' paper. Its great object must be to maintain freedom, and to promote progi'ess. Its object must be to spread the spirit of our free institutions, to vindicate them from re- proach, to show their claims to confidence, to breathe into the 30ung a generous devotion to them, to resist encroachments on them by whatever party, to plead for the people, to uphold the rights of every injured and oppressed man, be he who he may, to encourage plans for the elevation of the man}^ to bind together in fraternal union all conditions and classes, and to awaken sympath}' with all efforts for liberty, with the friends of humanity everywhere. We want a new tone, that of universal justice and philanthropy, to characterize the paper. I know the question is, whether such a paper can find support. If ably conducted, it would. If conducted no better than other papers, it would fail. For myself, I trust that a new body is growing up amongst us, of men of principle, who, if gathered together, would be strong enough to command respect from the selfish parties which divide the country, and who would thus act powerfully on public affairs. Can nothing be done to make them known to one another, and to give voice to their conviction ? " '■'■Newport, September 23, 1839. « The present is a new era, and there must be jarring, till the new and the old have had time to ad- just themselves to one another. The new spring given to human activit}^, the new connection of nations, the new sense of power in the mass of the people, these and other elements of our present con- dition must be accompanied with a good deal of trouble, till we have got used to them, and learned how to manage them. The wisest of us are poor prophets in such a transitionary state of J To Dr. Charles FoUen. '^ Ibid. 3 Xo George Ticknor, Esq. PASSION FOR ACCUMULATION. 617 things ; but it is easj- to see some grand elements at work. I can- not doubt that the impression of present evils is ver^^ much in- creased by that new feature of societj^ publicity. Now we know everything done and suffered, and know the worst. What a dark veil covered the woes and crimes of the past ! " " September 10, 1841.^ The late untoward events to which you refer do not discourage me as much as they do you. I expect the people to make a great many mistakes. It seems the order of Providence that we should grow wise by failures. Sometimes we learn the true way by having first tried every wrong one. I see vast obstacles to be overcome. To reconcile freedom and order, popular legislation and an efficient executive power, manual labor and intellectual culture, general suffrage and a stable administration, equality and mutual deference, the law of population and a com- fortable subsistence for all, — this is the work of ages. It is to undo almost the whole past, to create society anew. Can we ex- pect it to be done in a day ? " I see hostile forces on every side. In this country I see false and pernicious notions about democracy, and much unfaithfulness to free institutions. I shut my eyes on none of its dangers, though these seem to me much exaggerated by the friends as well as foes of freedom, in Europe. A dark cloud hangs over the reputation of our country at this moment, and I care not how loud the reproaches are which come to us from your side the ocean. But it ought to be considered that the commercial crash here, which has distressed and exasperated our foreign creditors, and made them set us down as a nation of cheats, has had nothing to do with our free institu- tions. It has grown out of the spirit, the epidemic vice of our age, the mad passion for great, sudden accumulation, which has raged everywhere, but has found peculiar temptations and facilities in a new country, of boundless, unexplored resources. I, who live here, see that the people, after this storm, are much as the}^ were before. Many individuals have committed great frauds ; but the great mass are unharmed in character. I trust in those around me, as be- fore. A fear as to the stability' of property never crossed my mind. Amidst our great commercial distresses, there has been much ac- tivity in the cause of morals, religion, education ; and whilst Europe is loading us with all manner of hard names, a real progress is go- ing on in intelligence, temperance, and I hope philanthropy. "That what you call social science is in its infanc}', I feel ; and our whole civilization is so tainted by selfishness, mercenariness, and sensuality, that I sometimes fear that it must be swept away to ^ To J. C. L. Simonde de Sismondi. 618 SOCIAL REFORMS. prepare for something better. But amidst these evils, have not some higher impulses been given to tlie world ? Is there not a grow- ing intelligence? Are not great ideas striving, however vaguely, in the common mind? The idea of human rights can never be stifled again. True, the vagueness of grand tlioughts is perilous ; l)ut must they not pass through this stage before the}- become precise and practical ? Tiie spirit of Christianity seems to me to be more and more extricating itself from the pernicious dogmas in which it has so long been imprisoned. Christianity is becoming a new power in society. I expect from these causes no wonderful changes. You and I shall not see the Millennium. The French Revolution may have been but the first volcano ; but has not this terrible volcano done good ? Is not every government in Europe better administered in consequence of it? " But I stop. I wanted only to say, that I see bright as well as dark aspects in the times, and that I approach the grave without the gloom which so often gathers over the mind in advancing j'ears. On one subject I wish much to communicate with you, and that is, the condition of the laboring classes, with whom I sympathize much. Important changes nmst take place in their state. They must share more largel}^ in the fruits of their toil, and in means of improvement. How this is to be accomplished, is a problem which often exercises my mind. I wish I could see the way growing clearer." '•'■January^ 1842.^ Did I not look on our present state as merely a transition one, I should be tempted to think, that, had we never known a bank, canal, steamboat, or railroad, we should be far better off at this moment. We have been made drunk with the spirit of rapid accumulation, and the imagination has been mad- dened with prospects of boundless wealth. Iilngland is suffering from the same causes. What a comment on the present commer- cial spirit is the condition of England ! Thousands and ten thou- sands starving, in the sight of luxury and ostentation ! Does the earth show a sadder sight than this ? England seems to be teach- ing one great lesson, namely, that art and science, skill and energy, and all the forces of nature, concentrated by selfishness for the accumulation of wealth, produce degradation and miseiy ; that nothing but the spirit of Christianity, which is in direct hostihty to the present spirit of trade or accumulation, can heal the woes of society. I have faith that this great truth is to be learned, and that the present deformed social state is not to last forever. " Very truly, your friend." 1 To Thomas Thorucly, Esq. INFLUENCE OF TRADE. 519 *' Boston, February 7, 1842.^ An American, loving freedom and his race, cannot but be shocked, in visiting countries where the spirit of aristocracy lias triumphed for ages. But still, a com- parison with the past may show that much has been gained, and that great causes are at work for human melioration. At the pres- ent moment, the most powerful agent in societ}' is trade, — a very coarse and worldly one, to be sure, — but still, one which is break- ing down national distinctions, wearing out prejudices, extending more and more the republic of literature and thought, giving dif- ferent countries a common interest, and preparing the way for a more rapid diffusion of quickening ideas, as fast as they spring up in gifted minds. Is it not also forming ever^'where a middle class, a power to balance the aristocracy, and which must seek protection in liberal principles ? "I know the corrupting influence of the passion for accumula- tion, and I should groan, were I to think that the present social state was to last for ever. But may not the quickening of industry, the multiplication of material comforts, and the progress and new application of physical science, be necessary' preparations to the extension of intelligence, and of a spirit of improvement through the now neglected masses? The changes, often rapid, which are now produced b}' discoveries in the arts, and by new commercial movements, favor the love of change, and especially give to men a tendency to appl}^ principles of all kinds to practice. The worlds of speculation and action are found to be nearer to each other than had been supposed. The idea of a better state seems less a dream. I have spoken of trade ; and I might name, in connection with this, the press, and purer conceptions of Christianity, which seem to me growing forces in society. "The want of faith in improvement, which 3'ou deplore, is the darkest symptom. Much of this, I am sorry to sa}', is to be found here, but chiefly among what are called ' the better classes.' These are alwa^'s selfishly timid, and never orginate improvements worth}' of the name. Tiiat the French Revolution should be fol- lowed by a great reaction on the Continent in favor of the old and established cannot surprise us ; but I have a feeling that men's minds cannot relapse, after that shock, into the old lethargy. Are not great ideas more recognized? Liberty and equality may be dreaded or derided ; but has not the idea of Rights taken a new hold on men's minds? Is the common man as unconscious of the injuries he suffers as formerl}^? Is not the notion, however vague, of the true and only proper function of government unfolding, and 1 To Harmanus Bleecker, Esq. 520 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. is not a new standard silently establishing itself, by which rulers are to be tried ? " The want of faith in man, which you speak of, is melanchol}', as it springs, in a great measure, from moral dissoluteness, and from want of faith in God and Christ. These do throw a cloud over the woi'ld. But man is never to be despaired of. I have an unshaken hope, founded, first, on the providence of God and the promises of his word, and, next, on Human Nature. There is an infinity of resource in the human soul. The French Revolution is in one sense encouraging. It shows us a seemingl}- old, worn-out nation, rising all at once into the fier}' enthusiasm of 3'outh. We can never say that our nature is exhausted. It breaks out sud- denly into new and most unexpected forms. We have a remarkable testimon}' to this truth in our country. At this moment, the whole countiy is shaken by the temperance movement. A reform of the most desperate drunkards — such as we should have called a mira- cle a few years ago — is spreading ever3^where ; and this work began in a dram-shop at Baltimore ! Shall we despair of such a race? .... "In such a world, who shall set limits to change and revolution? " Chapter IV.— THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. Inspired, as Dr. Channing was, with the life of universal hu- manit}', which was quickening the age, with reverence for man, the idea of equal rights, and longing for fraternal relations between all classes of society, he could not be insensible to the crimes and out- rages inevitably' incident to the system of American slavery. Per- gonal acquaintance, even from earl}' years, with the colored race, had shown him the sensibilit}', affectionateness, capacity of rapid improvement, energy, both intellectual and practical, and, above all, the strong religious tendencies, of the millions of his country- men so long kept down b}^ cruel injustice and mean prejudice. He saw that an inhuman institution, originated b}' the oppressions of the warrior class in the rudest ages, and needlessly perpetuated b}' the selfish sloth of civilized men, was a wasting disease in the very vitals of this nation, corrupting at once its policy, industry, man- ners, conscience, and religion. He well knew, too, how steadily this cancer, tampered with by palliatives when it should have been ENGLISH ANTISLAVERY. 621 cut out, had grown, and how deeply it had interwoven its roots throuo-h the whole texture of the character and conduct of our people. He watched, therefore, with much anxiety the progress of the antislavery reform in Great Britain, with the hope that the development of a more humane poUcy in that leading commercial nation would react powerfully upon the United States. In 1828, he thus expressed his desires and apprehensions to his friend Miss Roscoe : — " I rejoice in the zeal with which the cause of the Africans is espoused among you. On this subject I have had one fear, that too great stress had been laid on the physical sufferings of the slaves. I apprehend that the slaves of our country suffer less than the peasantry in some countries of Europe. The true ground, I think, is, that slavery is a wrong, be the yoke lighter or heavier, and that, even where it provides sufficiently for the physical being, it destroys the intellectual and moral being, and utterly extinguishes the hope and capacity of progress. I trust your efforts are to prosper, for nothing can rid us of this curse in this country but a strong moral and religious feeling, and this will be aided by enlightened public sentiment in other countries." It was while Dr. Channing was in this state of mind in relation to the one monster evil of our land, deploring the insensibihty of the North, and meditating upon the means of its removal, that the necessities of health compelled him to pass a winter in the island of Santa Cruz. He sailed from Boston in the autumn of 1830, at the very time when the uncompromising Garrison — who already, in the " Genius of Emancipation," had uttered the watchword of Abolition — was preparing, as a journeyman printer, at the cost of his dail}' wages and in extra hours of labor, to write the leaders, set up the types, and, with his own hand, to strike off the first immber of the Liberator. His residence in Santa Cruz supplied just the stimulus which Dr. Channing needed, to revive his youthful recollections of the wrongs and horrors of slavery, to open his heart to the influx of the reform spirit which Providence was infusing, and to prepare him to co-op- erate efficiently with the antislavery movement. As he frequently used to say, in after years, he then "passed through a regenera- tion " upon this subject. In the last address which he ever made, he thus bore his testimony to the value of this experience : ^ — "The circumstance which particularly gave my mind a direction to this subject was a winter's residence in a West Indian island, 1 Works, Vol. VI. p. 381. One Volume Edition, p. 907. 522 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. more than eleven j-ears ago. I lived there on a plantation. The piazza in which I sat and walked almost from morning to night overlooked the negro village belonging to the estate. A few steps placed me in the midst of their huts. Here was a volume on slav- ery opened always before ni}' eyes, and how could I help learning some of its lessons? The gang on this estate (for such is the name given to a company of slaves) was the best on the island, and among the best in the West Indies. The proprietor had labored to collect the best materials for it. His gang had been his pride and boast. The fine proportions, the graceful and some- times dignified bearing, of these people could hardly be overlooked. Unhai)pily, misfortune had reduced the owner to bankruptcy. The estate had been mortgaged to a stranger, who could not per- sonally superintend it ; and I found it under the care of a passion- ate and licentious manager, in whom the poor slaves found a sad contrast to the kindness of former days. They sometimes came to the house where I resided with their mournful or indignant com- plaints ; but were told that no redress could be found from the hands of their late master. In this case, of a plantation passing into strange hands, I saw that the mildest form of slavery might at an}' time be changed into the worst." In a note appended to the first edition of his work on Slaver}-, but subsequently suppressed, because he was unwilling to divert the attention of his readers from principles to details. Dr. Chan- ning thus recorded some of his recollections. They are of interest, as sliowing the influences which surrounded him, his habits of obser\'ation, and cast of thought. "I wish to add a few statements, to show how little reliance can be placed on what seem, to a superficial observer, mitigations or advantages of slavery, and how much safer it is to argue from the experience of all times, and from the principles of human nature, than from insulated facts. " I once passed a colored woman at work on a plantation, who -^ was singing, appai-ently with animation, and whose general man- ners would have led me to set her down as the happiest of the gang. I said to her, ' Your work seems pleasant to you.' She replied, ' No, massa.' Supposing that she referred to something particularly disagreeable in her immediate occupation, I said to her, ' Tell me, then, what part of your work is most pleasant.' She answered, with much emphasis, ' No pari pleasant. We forced to do it.' These few words let me into the heart of the slave. "On this plantation, the most favored woman, whose life was KECOLLECTIONS OF SANTA CRUZ. 523 the easiest, earnestly besought a friend of mine to buy her and put her in tlic vvaj' to earn her freedom. A daughter of this woman, very young, had fallen a victim to the manager of tlie estate. IIovv far this cause influenced the exasperated mother I did not learn. " I heard of an estate, managed by an individual who was con- sidered as singularly successful, and who was able to govern the slaves without the use of the whip. I was anxious to see him, and trusted that some discovery had been made favorable to humanity. I asked him how he was able to dispense with corporal punish- ment. He replied to me, with a very determined look, ' The slaves know that the work must be done, and that it is better to do it without punishment than with it.' In other words, the certainty and dread of chastisement were so impressed on them, that they never incurred it. " I then found that the slaves on this well-managed estate de- creased in number. I asked the cause. He replied, with perfect frankness and ease, ' The gang is not large enough for the estate.' In other words, they were not equal to the work of the plantation, and yet were made to do it, though with the certainty of abridging life " I once heard some slaves, who had been taken b}' law from their master, singing a song of their own composition, and at the end of ever}' stanza tliey joined with a complaining tone in a cho- rus, of which the burden was, ' We got no massa.' Here seemed a striking proof of attachment to the master ; but on inquiry into the rest of the song, I found it was an angry enumeration of the sever- ities which they were suffering from the new superintendent. They wanted their master as an escape from cruelt}'. ''Facts of this kind, which make no noise, which escape or mis- lead a casual observer, help to show the character of slavery more than occasional excesses of cruelty, though these must be frequent. They show how deceptive are the appearances of good connected with it, and how much may be suffered under the manifestation of much kindness. It is, in fact, next to impossible to estimate pre- cisely the evils of slavery. The slave writes no books, and the slaveholder is too inured to the S3'stem, and too much interested in it, to be able to comprehend it. Perhaps the laws of the Slave States ai-e the most unexceptionable witnesses which we can obtain from that quarter ; and the l:)arbarity of these is decisive testimony against an institution which requires such means for its support." Dr. Channing returned to the United States in May, 1831, and in an address to liis society thus opened to them his heart in rela- 524 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. tion to the inhuman system of whose debasing results he had been a witness. "/«(«e, 1831. The most striking feature in the state of society which I have been called to observe is the existence of slavery. This drew my thoughts more than all that was peculiar in the natu- ral world, and, though I saw this evil in its mildest form, my con- viction of its magnitude grew stronger and more painful. I saw slavery, as I have said, in its mildest form, and I saw that it was not the unmixed misery which it is often declared to be. I recol- lect that I learned very early in life to repeat the lines of the poet, ' I would not have a slave to carry me/ &c., but I never saw the white man carried, or fanned, or regarded with trembling, by the African. The slaveholder tells you, and with a good deal of truth, that the slave is better fed than the peasants in several parts of Europe, nor is he, perhaps, as often overworked. Indeed, his physical condition, though far worse than it should be, is not worse than that of many, even in this country. The old severity of discipline is very much relaxed. The lash, though used unjustifiably, is used comparatively seldom, and solitary confine- ment is found a more effectual punishment. " Still, I think no power of conception can do justice to the evils of slaverj^ They are chiefly moral, the}' act on the mind, and through the mind bring intense suffering on the bod}'. As far as the human soul can be destroyed, slavery is that destroyer. It is a direct war with the high powers and principles of our nature, and sinks man as far as possible into the brute. The slave is regarded as property, treated as propert}', considered as having no rights, subjected to another's arbitrary will, and thus loses all conscious- ness of what he is, and what he should be. The feeling of degra- dation enters into the very constitution of his mind. He has no motive for exerting or improving his powers ; for, do what he will, his lot remains the same. He works not for reward, but from com- pulsion ; for, work or not, he receives the same support. His wife and children depend on him in no degree, but receive the necessa- ries and comforts of life from the common master ; so that the ten- derest and most interesting dependencies of life are broken up, and industry has none of the springs, and is solaced by none of the affections, which make labor here so animated and cheerful. His future can be but a repetition of the past. He has no hopes, and when you add to this the utter ignorance in which he grows up, you will understand how necessarily he yields himself to the pres- ent moment, sinks into a creature of sense, continues as improvi- (/ THE EVILS OF SLAVERY. 525 dent as a child, and abandons himself to gross vices. Tlirongh these excesses, joined to occasional overworking, the slave popula- tion decreases, and disease, debility, and premature old age bring on a dreadful amount of physical suffering. That, under such an education, the sense of justice should be extinguished, — that they whose rights are every moment violated should not be alive to the riglits of others, — that slaves should make lying and cheating their vocation, and should congratulate themselves on every opportunity' of robbing the tyrant b}' whom they are robbed, — all this is a thing of course ; so that with the sensual are joined the anti-social vices, and they know no restraint save fear. " I have thrown out these remarks, because I feel that we have little conception of the infinite evil of slaver3% I desire earnestly that a new sentiment should be called forth on this subject, for I am persuaded that the prevalent, clear, decided expression of such a sentiment would produce great results. We live at a time when y great truths can be expressed nowhere without spreading them- selves everywhere. It is astonishing and gratifying to see the influence which just and benevolent sentiments in Europe on the subject of slavery have exerted on the West Indies. The meliora- tion of the condition of the slaves within thirty years is great. I have heard the cruelties which were perpetrated thirt}' years ago spoken of with horror. A new spirit of humanity has spread among masters, and this has come from the deep interest existing abroad, and especially in England, in the condition of the slave. It is one of the noble distinctions of this age, that thoughts, prin- ciples, feelings, fly like the winds from country to country, that philanthropy is found to be as contagious as vice. There can be Uttle doubt that the public feeling of England is to emancipate the West Indies. A right public feeling here, I believe, coming in aid of this foreign impulse, would work as surely on our own country. Slavery cannot live against the united moral convictions and repro- bation of the civilized world." The year 1831 was as eventful as any which the United States has as yet witnessed ; for then was the idea of freedom, providen- tially working in the spirit of this nation, at length embodied in the words and deeds of faithful men. From the fatal hour, when, by the compromises of the Constitution, the essential principles of the republic were belied, and its professed declarations of justice prac- tically disowned as visionary abstractions, — from the 3et more fatal hour of the Missouri Compromise, when Northern freemen, bribed, cajoled, bewildered, frightened, yielded up the duties, rights, honor, of their constituents to the dictation of slaveholding poUticians, 626 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. trained to tyranny by oligarchical usages, — a rapid deterioration may be traced in the sentiments, opinions, conduct, of all parties throughout our country. Our youthful enthusiasm for liberty was stittening into a premature decrepitude of worldly prudence. ' The conscience of the Union, in church and state, in social circles, col- leges, and the press, in industry and trade, was palsy-struck. Hereafter, more clearly than at present, will it be recognized, that the Antislavery movement has been, by God's blessing, the means of this people's regeneration. At the time of Dr. Clianning's return, the "Liberator" had struggled through its first six months of i)recarious support and bitter persecution. It had made itself felt as a quickening power in the very heart of the body politic, and eveiy limb and fibre were beginning to tingle with the consciousness of returning vitality. Mr. Garrison, and the small band of firm and undoubting coadju- tors, who saw that the question of the abolition of slavery was one of life or death, had sounded forth their startling summons of " Immediate Emancipation." The delusive hopes excited in thou- sands of honest hearts l)y the scheme of sending back the colored race to Africa, were rcluctantl}- yielding to the proof, that the Colonization Society, hoAvcver beneficial it might become to a distant continent and a later age, was wholly powerless to redeem the United States from the crime and curse of slaveholding institu- tions. A new era had opened ; the great political reform of the nation had begun. It was with profoundest gratitude, and yet most anxious apprehension, that Dr. Channing regarded this crisis, which he had so earnestly longed for, — with gratitude, for he could not but recognize the sincerity of the apostles of this new gospel, — with apprehension, for their tones of uncompromising sternness jarred discordantly upon his finely attuned ear. Might not his own words well have recurred to him in extenuation of what he thought excesses? "At such periods, men gifted with great powers of thought, and loftiness of sentiment, are especially summoned to the conflict with evil. They hear, as it were, in their own magnanimity and. generous aspirations, the voice of a divinity; and, thus commissioned, and burning with passionate devotion to truth and freedom, they must and will speak with an indignant energy, and they ought not to be measured by the standard of ordinary minds in ordinary times. Men of natural softness and timidity, of a sincere but effeminate virtue, will be apt to look on these bolder, hardier spirits as violent, perturbed, and uncharitable, and the charge will not be wholly groundless. But that deep feel- ing of evils, which is necessary to effectual conflict with them, and THE ABOLITIONISTS. 527 which marks God's most powerful messengers to mankind, cannot breathe itself in soft and tender accents. The deeply moved soul will speak strongl}", and ought to speak so as to move and shake nations."^ The following beautiful letters, from two of the bravest at once and gentlest of the first-born Abolitionists, will most satisfactorily exhibit his relations at this period to the Antislavery movement. The first is from INIrs. Lydia Maria Child, who, with characteristic magnanimit}-, risked her all in the cause of the slave. " I shall alwa3S recollect the first time I ever saw Dr. Channing in private. It was immediatel}' after I published my ' Appeal in Favor of that Class of Americans called Africans' (in 1833). A publication taking broad Antislavery ground was then a rarity ; indeed, that was the first book in the United States of such a char- acter ; and it naturall_y produced a sensation disproportioned to its merits. I sent a copy to Dr. Channing, and a few da^s after he came to see me, at Cottage Place, at least a mile and a half from his residence at Mount Vernon. It was a very bright, sunny day, but he carried his cloak on his arm, and seemed fatigued with the long walk. He stayed nearly three hours ; during which time we held a most interesting conversation on the general interests of humanity, and on slavery in particular. He told mc something of his experience in tlie West Indies, and said the impression pro- duced by the sight of slavery had never left his mind. He ex- pressed great joy that the '- Appeal ' had been published, and urged me never to desert the cause, through evil or through good report. In some respects, he thought I went too far. He then entertained the idea, which he afterwards discarded, that slavery existed in a milder form in tlie United States than elsewhere. I was fresh from the bloody records of our own legislation, and was somewhat vehement in my opposition to this statement : and he sought to moderate me with those calm, wise words which none spoke so well as he. "We afterwards had many interviews. He often sent for me, when I was in Boston, and always urged me to come and tell him of every new aspect in the Antislavery- cause. At every interview, I could see that lie grew bolder and stronger on the subject, while I felt that I grew wiser and more just. At first I thouglit him timid, and even slightly timeserving ; but I soon discovered that I formed this estimate from ignorance of his character. I learned that it was justice to all^ not popularity for himself\ which made him 1 Works, Vol. I. pp. 24, 25. One Volume Edition, p. 504. 528 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. SO cautious. He constantly grew upon my respect, until I came to regard him as the wisest, as well as the gentlest, apostle of hu- manity. I owe him thanks for preserving me from the one-sicled- ness into which zealous reformers are so apt to run. He never sought to undervalue the importance of Antislavery, but he said many things to prevent my looking upon it as the only question interesting to humanit}'. My mind needed this check ; and I never think of his ' man^^-sided ' conversations without deep gratitude. " Dr. Channing's interest in the subject constantly increased, and I never met him without being struck with the progress he had made in overcoming some difficulty, which, for the time, troubled his sensitive conscience. I can now distinctly recollect several such steps. At one time he was very doubtful whether it were right to petition Congress. He afterwards headed a petition himself. In all such cases he was held back b}' the conscientious fear of violating some other duty, in endeavoring to do his duty to the slave. Some zealous reformers did not understand this ; and thus construed into a love of popularity what was, in fact, but a fine sense of justice, a more universal love of his species." The next is from the Rev. Samuel J. May, who, prompt and patient, firm and modest, tolerant though just, set forth in daily life, through all these years of fiery trial, an example of fidelity', wherein uncompromising integrity and benignant gentleness were blended in rare beauty. "Soon after the enterprise of Mr. Garrison and the Immediate Abolitionists commenced, I found it had attracted the notice of Dr. Channing. Whenever he met me, he would make particular inquiries respecting our doctrine, purposes, measures, and pro- gress ; and repeatedly invited me to his house, for the express purpose, as he said, of conversing upon the subject. He alwa^'s spoke as if he were deeply interested, as if he were warmed b}' a livelj' sympathy with our movement ; although he was afraid of what he thought to be the tendency of some of our opinions and measures. " In the autumn of 1834, I spent several hours with Dr. Chan- ning, in earnest conversation upon Abolitionism and the Abolition- ists. My habitual reverence for him was such, that I had been always apt to defer too readily to his opinions, or not to make a very stout defence of my own, when I could not yield them to his. But by the time to which I refer, I had become so thoroughly cou'sinced of the truth of the leading doctrines of the Abolitionists, and so THE ABOLITIONISTS. 529 earnest!}' engaged in the dissemination of them, that our conversa- tion assumed, more than it had ever done, the character of a debate. " It seemed to me, that he clear]}* perceived the essential truth of all the prominent doctrines of the Immediate Abolitionists, and acknowledged the vital importance of the cause we had espoused. I lis principal, if not his onl}' objections, were alleged against the severity of our denunciations, the harshness of our language, the vehemence, heat, and excitement caused b}' our meetings. He dwelt upon these objections, which, if they were as well founded as he supposed, la}' against what was only incidental, not an essential part of our movement ; he dwelt ui)on them, until I felt impatient, indignant at him ; and, forgetting for the moment my wonted reverence, I broke out with great warmth of expression and manner. " ' Dr. Channing,' I said, ' I am tired of these complaints. The cause of suffering humanity, the cause of our oppressed, crushed colored countrymen, has called as loudly upon others as upon us, who are known as the Abolitionists. It was just as incumbent upon others, as upon us, to espouse it. We are not to blame that wiser and better men did not espouse it long ago. The cry of millions in bondage had been heard throughout our land for half a century, and disregarded. The wise and prudent saw the wrong, but thought it not wise and prudent to lift a finger for its correction. The priests and Levites beheld their robbed and wounded country- men, but passed by on the other side. The children of Abraham held their peace, until at last " the very stones have cried out," in abhorrence of this tremendous wickedness ; and you must expect them to cry out like " the stones." You must not expect of many of these, whodiave been left to take up this great cause, that they will plead it in all that seemliness of phrase which the scholars and practised rhetoricians of our country might use ; you must not expect them to manage with all the calmness and discretion that the clergy and statesmen might exhibit. But the scholars, the clergy, the statesmen, had done nothing, and did not seem about to do anything ; and for my part, I thank God that at last any per- sons, be they who they may, have moved earnestly in this cause, for no movement can be in vain. We Abolitionists are just what we are, — babes, sucklings, obscure men, silly women, publicans, sinners ; and we shall manage the matter we have taken in hand just as might be expected of such persons as we are. It is unbe- coming in abler men, who stood by, and would do nothing, to com- plain of us because we manage this matter no better. 84 530 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. " ' Dr. Channing,' I continued, with gi-eat earnestness, ' it is not our fault, that those who might have managed this great reform more prudent!}' have left it to us to manage as we may be able. It is not our fsiult, that those who might liave pleaded for the enslaved so much more wisely' and eloquenth", both with the pen and the living voice, than we can, have been silent. We are not to blame, sir, that 3'ou, who more, perhaps, than any other man might have so raised the voice of remonstrance, that it should have been heard throughout the length and breadth of the land, — we are not to blame, sir, that you have not so spoken. And now, because infe- rior men have begun to speak and act against what ^'ou yourself acknowledge to be an awful injustice, it is not becoming in 3'ou to complain of us, because we do it in an inferior style. Why, sir, have 30U not moved, why have you not spoken before?' "At this point, I bethought me to whom I was administering this earnest rebuke, — the man that stood among the highest of our great and good men, — the man who had ever treated me with the kindness of a father, and whom, from my childhood, I had been accustomed to revere more, perhaps, than an}- one living. I was almost overwhelmed with a sense of my temerity. His countenance showed that he was much moved. I could not suppose he would receive very graciously all I had said. I awaited, in painful expec- tation, the repl}' he would make. It seemed as if long minutes elapsed before the silence was broken ; when, in a ver}' subdued man- ner, and in his kindest tones of voice, he said, 'Brother May, I ac- knowledge the justice of your reproof; I have been silent too long.' "I never can forget his words, look, manner. I then saw the beauty, the magnanimity, of an humble soul. He was exalted in mj' esteem more than before. "Pearly in December, 1835, he published his book on Slavery. A few days after its appearance, he sent me a kind in^■itation to dine with him, in compau}' with Mr. S. E. Sewall, that he might know, as he said, what we thought of his work. "The next spring, I removed to the city, and became general agent of the Autislavery Society. I had not been there a month, before Dr. Channing called and invited me to preach for him, — the only invitation to preach in Boston that I received Avliile agent of the Antislavery Societ}', — a term of fourteen months." Dr. Channing's relations to Abolitionism at this period are yet further explained in letters from himself to Dr. Follen. '"''Newport^ July 7, 1834. There is no need of what is called unanimity in this or an}' other cause. Men are perpetually sacrifi- RIOTS IN NEW YORK. 531 cing their intellectual and moral independence to this idol. So great a subject as slavery cannot be viewed by all from one position, nor with entire agreement as to the modes of treating it ; and the cause will be aided by the existence of a body who have much sympath}' with people at large as to the difficulties of emancipation, but who uncompromisingly maintain that the abolition of slavery ought im- mediately to be decided on, and means used for immediately com- mencing this work. I feel no freedom, as some sects say, to join an}' of your bodies, but the cause is ver^' dear to my heart." ^'- Newport^ July 26, 1834. I have been much shocked by the late riots in New York. That mobs should break out there, how- ever painful, is not surprising ; for we know that materials for such explosions exist in all large cities. But in this case there was a toleration of the mob by the respectable part of the community, showing a willingness that free discussion should be put down by force, and that slavery should be perpetuated indefinitelj-. This is a sad omen, a melancholy indication of the decay of the spirit of freedom and humanity. Every kind of ' fanaticism,' it seems, may be endured but that of philanthropy and liberty, and this is even to be put beyond the pale of law. The late trials of the rioters are a farce. Not a newspaper in the countr}', which I have seen, has ex- pressed indignation at this violation of the sacred right of inquiry and free expression of opinion. "I do not mean, however, to say that I consider the Aboli- tionists as blameless. They have outraged the feelings and preju- dices of the people unnecessarily. Instead of confining themselves to obtain freedom and means of improvement for the slave, and leaving these to work out their own natural and sure effects, they have done much to intoxicate the colored people, and to exasperate the laboring wliites b}- their mode of treating and speaking of the former class, and have alarmed the community b}' their mode of setting up the claims of this class to immediate emancipation, and to equal consideration and political rights with other citizens. I know they explain the word immediate so as to make it innoxious, but it is a fatal mistake for a part}' to choose a watchword which almost certainly conveys a wrong sense, and needs explanation. I make these remarks, not in a spirit of censoriousness, but because the mob and their abettors should have justice done tliem. "Still, this New York insiuTection against liberty fills me with indignation and grief. The duty of the Abolitionists seems to me clear. Whilst they ought to review their principles with great de- liberation, they ought not, at this moment, to recant anything, because recantation will certainly be set down to the account of 532 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. fear. I wish them to adopt a wiser course and a more benevolent tone towards their opponents ; but not to abate their firmness one jot, not to use a wavering word, not to bring suspicion on tlicir character and motives b^' the least appearance of timidity'. I wish tliem to give up their extravagance, and to pursue practicable ob- jects, and such as consist with the principles of human nature ; but to do this resolutel}- and from conviction, and not with the appear- ance of unwilling and forced concession to their foes. These per- secutions, if met in the spirit of forbearance, calm dignit}-, and energ}-, will aid them. Blessed are the persecuted, is a truth for all times." We have reached the solemn season, when the hosts of light and darkness seemed to hover, in deadly conflict, over evor}^ State, city, and village in our land, and the fate of the nation hung on the issue. On the one side, the friends of freedom, rallying around the stand- ard of "Immediate Emancipation," associated themselves into national, state, count}', and town Antislaver}' societies ; religious and secular presses gave voice to the swelling enthusiasm of the people of the North ; memorials extensively signed were poured in upon Congress ; lecturers, without purse or scrip, spread over the country, preaching a new moral crusade ; George Thompson, radi- ant in his humane zeal, swept through our communities, slaying, as he went, the serpent-brood of worldly sophistries with the golden bow and keen shafts of his eloquence ; and, above all, the news of emancipation in the British West Indies filled the hearts of all true lovers of their race with emulous hope. But, on the other side, mobs, silently tolerated, or openly cheered on by leading editors, politicians, and influential men, attacked and plundered the houses of leading Abolitionists ; lecturers were insulted, pelted, outraged, outcast ; pamphlets and papers, on pretence of their containing '' incendiary matter," were, in utter violation of law, excluded from the mails, and publicly burned ; prices were set upon the heads of the most famous advocates of freedom ; governors and legislatures of Southern States demanded the arrest and surrender of individu- als made obnoxious by their zeal for the slaves ; the P^xecutive of the United States invited the attention of Congress to the painful excitement, and recommended the prohibition, under severe i)enal- ties, of the circulation of Antislavery papers through the South ; and even governors and high officers of Northern States dared to advise the passage of enactments designed to put an end to the Antislavery agitation. It was in the beginning of this strife tliat Dr. Channing spoke thus to his people, on his return from Newport. MOBS AGAINST ANTISLAVERY. 533 October, 1834. " The civilized world will heap just reproaches on a free nation, in which mobs pour forth their fury on the oppos- ers of slavery. These mobs are, indeed, most dishonorable to us as a people, because they have been too much the expression of public sentiment. Against this sentiment I feel bound to bear earnest and indignant testimony. The language which filled the country at the time of these disturbances was such as should never have passed the lips of freemen. Nothing was more common than to hear it said, ' These mobs are bad, but they will put down Anti- slavery: Why was it that these mobs ruled our lai'gest city for several successive nights? Because there was a willingness that the Antislavery movement should be put down by force. The mobs, considered in themselves, were of secondary importance. In the present low condition of society, every great city has mate- rials for them. But the spirit of the community, which gave them scope, and which wished them success, deserves the severest repro- bation of the philanthropist and the Christian: The truth is, that, as a people, we are indifferent to the greatest of wrongs and calam- ities, that is, slavery, and therefore, whilst we can tolerate all other excesses, we cannot away with the excesses of the friends of eman- cipation. There is no sympathy with those who are wounded and stung with the injuries of the slave, and therefore we are willing that the dearest right of freemen, that of free discussion, should be wrested from them. It is this state of feeling in the community which is far more melancholy than a vulgar mob. It is impossible to read the newspapers of the country without seeing the profound unconcern which pervades the country on the subject of slavery. In truth, New England has been disgraced by publications going to reconcile us to the evil. It is said, again and again, that we have no right to meddle with slavery at the South. What! Is it med- dling, to discuss a great question, one which involves the happiness of millions, and to spread abroad neglected truth? .... " I know that the mobs to which I have referred were stirred up and defended by the cry of fanaticism raised against the advocates of abolition. That this clamor was altogether unfounded, I do not say. I do not stand here as the advocate of Antislavery associ- ations. That they have carried good principles to extremes, have winked out of sight the difficulties of their object, have hoped to accomplish the work of years in a moment, have exposed their cause to suspicion by bitterness of language, by precipitancy, by needlessly outraging public feelings or prejudices, I certainly shall not deny. But fanaticism — if such be the proper term for an excess of feeling above judgment — is seldom separated from a 534 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. good cause. The most generous sentiments take this form, and if fanaticism is to be put down by force, I fear nothing great, nothing wortln- of a thrilling love, will be left us. Religion especially must be proscribed. Mobs must be let loose against all the more fervent manifestations of this highest principle of the soul. "• When a good cause suffers from the excesses of its friends, the true course is, not to abandon it in despair, nor to surrender it to the frenzy of the populace, but to espouse and prosecute it with calm wisdom, enlightened zeal, and unfettered, fearless resolution. The great interests of humanity do not lose their claims on us because sometimes injudiciousl}- maintained. We ought to blame extravagance, but we ought also to remember, that very often it is the indifference of the many to a good and great work, which hurries the few who cleave to it into excess. Let slavery be truly understood among us, and let just moral feelings in regard to it be generally cherished and expressed, and fanaticism would pass awa}', and a moral power against slavery would steadily grow and spread, before which this greatest calamit}', scourge, curse, and reproach of our country' would ^ield." A copy of this sermon was requested for publication b}- some of Dr. Channing's hearers ; and in reply to the committee who applied for it, he wrote as follows. This letter serves to set in a ver}' clear light the conscientiousness and thoroughness which so many mis- understood for fear. " October 20, 1834. Gentlemen: — Your approbation of the discourse delivered by me on Sunday last has been truly gratifying. On receiving ^our application, I had to propose to myself onl}- one question, and that was, whether the publication of the discourse would be useful, and I regret to say that I am obliged to differ from you in opinion on this point. " You recollect that my single object was to offer some remarks on the feelings and state of mind brought to light by the recent outrages among ourselves, and consequently none of the topics were discussed to any extent. This was particularly true in re- lation to slavery. I exposed some false and pernicious notions often expressed here on the subject ; but the strength of the argu- ment against slavery was not given. In truth, this great evil was hardly touched. Now, if m}^ discourse were to be confined to this part of the country, it might be useful ; but it would be spread far and wide, and would excite attention at the South, and I cannot but fear that so narrow and imperfect a view of the sul)ject, which takes no notice of many great and difficult points, would be an}-- UNWILLINGNESS TO PUBLISH. 635 thing but satisfactory, and might even prejudice the cause of truth and humanity. The necessity under which I was laid, by m}' gen- eral plan, of discoursing on other subjects besides slavery, not only confined my observations on this topic far more than I wished, but gave the sermon a local character, which is an additional reason for withholding it from the press. Were I to publisli, I should feel myself bound, not only to vindicate more fully the invaded rights of Antislavery societies, but to enlarge on what I deem their errors. I have always protested against their motto, ' Immediate Emanci- pation,' as indefinite and equivocal, as needing much explanation, and as exi)osuig their cause to the imputation of alarming rashness. I have always believed that the people of the South, if they would conscientioush' and in good faith resolve to remove the evil, could best devise the means, safe alike to master and to slave, and I would not urge the precipitate adoption of any other. "On one account, I am sorry to decline compliance with your request. It is possible — though I cannot think it very probable — that I may be considered, by those who do not know me, as shrink- ing from the reproaches which would be brought on me by the cir- culation of my opinions on slavery, and I should be wrong to seem to countenance b}' m}- example a selfish prudence. Unless I de- ceive myself, the reproach attached to what I deem important truths would be, with me, a motive for giving them the aid of my feeble testimony. I consider the very strength of pernicious prejudices as a reason for assailing them. In proportion to tlie vehemence with which principles involving human happiness and improvement are opposed, should be our zeal in their defence. We are bound, as Cliristians, to lay down even life for the truth, and that man is little worthy of this honorable name who shrinks from the lighter injuries which fall upon unpopular opinions at the present day. I was induced to preach on this subject, in part by the desire of free- ing myself from the painful consciousness of unfaithfulness to the interests of libert}' and humanity, and b}- the hope of giving new confidence to those who hold the same views with myself; and these motives would lead me to publish the discourse, could I avoid the conviction of its unfitness for general circulation. It is mj'' hope that I may have strength and time to do something, however little, for the promotion of just moral feeling in relation to slavery, for I am persuaded that the want of this is the real and only difficulty in the way of its abolition. I see but one sure rem- edy for slavery, and that is a deep sense of moral and religious obligation in regard to it ; and to spread this at home and abroad, in the North and the South, and through the civilized 536 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. world, seems to me one of the most important objects of Christian philanthrop3'. " I am the last person to give unnecessar}^ pain and offence to my fellow-citizens at the South. From no part of the country have I received more cordial expressions of sympathy and approbation than from that quarter. But I should hold myself utterl}- unworthy of then' good opinion, if such considerations should deter me from the publication of what I deem important truths. I would not, however, in speaking freely, forget the spirit of our religion, or the gratitude which I owe to the South, and I shall never cease to lament and condemn the use of exasperating language in this sol- emn controvers3'. " This city has not as yet incurred the guilt and disgrace of out- rages intended to put down by force the public discussion of slavery. May we be spared this infamy ! And to avert the evil nothing is needed but that our well-disposed citizens, who form an immense majority', should express their abhorrence and indignation at every attempt, wherever and however made, to wrest by violence from any portion of the community the rights of freemen." The following letters will show us yet further the working of Dr. Channing's mind during this time of trial, and the motives wdiich finally compelled him to address a larger public than his parish, and thus to fulfil his long delayed plan. '■'•August 19, 1835. Mr dear Sir: — I have this moment seen in the Dail}- Advertiser that a meeting is to be held on P'ridav afternoon, in Boston, on the subject of slaver}'. I cannot but look forward to this meeting wath great solicitude. I have seen with sorrow the influence of the unwise proceedings of Antislavery soci- eties, in impairing among us the true moral feeling in regard to this tremendous evil ; and I cannot but fear that our citizens, in their zeal to oppose an extravagant party, ma}' prove unfaithful to those great principles of freedom and equal rights on which our glory as a community rests. If the meeting will satisfy itself with pronouncing severe reprobation on any attempt to stir up the slaves to revolt, with deprecating the circulation of inflammatory i^am- phlets among tliem, and with disclaiming all desire in the North to interfere by any political action with slavery in the Slave States, no harm will be done. I am not aware, however, that the Anti- slavery societies have advanced any principles, or adopted any measures, which call for such rebuke and such disclaimer. If they have, I shall not find fault with a public expression of reprehension, though the wisdom of such a censure may be doubted. BOOK ON SLAVERY. 537 " But in attempting to put down a part}', let not great principles be touched or conii)roniised. Let it not be forgotten, that liberty' is above all price, and that to rob a fellow-creature of it is to inflict the greatest wrong. Any resolve passed at the proposed meeting, implying, however indirectly, that a human being can rightfully be held and treated as property, — any resolve intended to discourage the free expression of opinion on shivery, or to sanction the lawless violence which has been directed against the Antislavery societies, — any resolve implying that the Christian and philanthropist may not strive to abolish slavery by moral influences, by appeals to the reason, conscience, and heart of the slaveholder, — ■ an}' resolve ex- pressing stronger s^ympath}' with the slaveholder than with the slave, or tending at all to encourage the continuance of slavery, — will afflict me l)eyond measure. I have gloried in belonging to a city which has been eminently the cradle of civil and religious libert}', and where the respect due to every human being is understood, perhaps, better than in any other communit}'. That Boston should in an}' way lend itself to the cause of oppression would be a dark omen indeed." " October 29, 1835. You will wonder at finding me here so late ; but I was tempted to stay by the pleasantness of the season, and b}' the desire of more quiet and leisure than I could enjoy in Boston. I am now engaged heartily in writing on the subject of slavery, the very thing }ou so often urged. I have rather shrunk from the task, for I am easily exhausted by labor ; but I feel the importance of bring- ing the people to serious and deliberate reflection on this subject. The excitement against Antislavery societies has disturbed people's judgment in regard to slavery itself, and emboldened the South to use language very off'ensive and painful to the friends of freedom. I trust I diall write temperately, as well as freely and fervently. Say nothing of my purpose till you hear of the publication. It is possible I may be dissatisfied with my work." " Boston^ November 9, 1835. I have exhausted myself in writing my little book on Slavery. It is now in the press, and ma}- be out in a fortnight. I was determined to write it by the declension of the spirit of freedom among us. The subject has been very painful to me, and I long to escape from it to more cheering views. How- ever, we must learn to look evils in the face, and to bear the bur- dens of the suffering." This book on Slavery appeared at a most opportune season, — just as the community of Boston was beginning to be thoroughly sick with mortification, if not truly penitent, for the irreparable 538 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. disgrace inflicted on its fame by the mob of " higlil}' respectable gentlemen," who, on the afternoon of October 21, broke up the meeting of the F'emale Antislaver}- Society, seized on Mr. Garrison, and vainly hnntcd for Mr. Thompson, even in a private dwelling, with the ho[)e " that he might be brought to the tar-kettle before dark." ^ Dr. Channing's estimate of this work, and his gratification at the reception it met with, are thus manifested : — " Boston, December 16, 1835.^ I agree entirely with 3'our criti- cism on the defect of logical arrangement in m}- book. I com- mitted the offence with malice prepense, and was hoping that it would pass undetected, for 30U were the first to point it out. I in- verted the proper order of the first two chapters, that I might fasten the reader immediately to the work, by presenting the topic in which the greatest interest could be felt. I knew that the great positions on which the argument was to rest were undeniably, universally admitted, so that there was nothing to fear from postponing the dis- cussion of the second chapter. " My greatest logical offence lay in postponing to the last head of the first chapter the topic which was fundamental, and involved in all the preceding. But this seemed to me necessary. You know the scepticism of the multitude as to human nature, its faculties, divine principles, and destin}-, and you know, perhaps, that on these subjects I am thought to be a little exalte. Plad I put these topics in front, I should have created a state Of mind, in not a few readers, unfavorable to the truth. As it was, I had groat difficulty with that last head. I cut it down not a little, softened expressions, tried to make it tame, that I might get the sympathies of the people. So far, I sacrificed logical order from choice. I confess, that, in other respects, I saw errors of this nature in the first chapter which might have been corrected ; but my physical exhaustion in Avriting the work was great. I was stopped more than once by weakness, and had not courage to attempt to satisfy myself. The first chapter cost me comparatively little effort. The second was the only one upon which I spent the labor which the work deserved, and that, I think, is unexceptionable as respects logical arrangement. " That you find so much to censure in the book gives me no pain. I have to thank my friends for letting me oflT so easily. That you found so nuu'h to approve gives me sincere pleasure. I certainly did the best which I could under the circumstances ; but whilst I am most grateful to God for the unexpected reception it has met with, • Boston Commcrci.ll Gazette, October 22, 1835. 3 To Dr. Cliarlcs Follen. BOOK ON SLAVERY. 539 and the good it has done, I am as little satisfied with the execution of mj task as any one can be." " Boston^ January 4, 183G. I hope 3'on have received my packet containing my little work on Slaver}'. It has found a better recep- tion here than 1 feared. How it is regarded at the South I do not know. 1 expected much reproach when I published it, both at the North and South. I cannot but believe I have done good. Many, I know, have given serious attention to the subject in consequence of this publication, and acknowledge its importance as never before. I should be glad to feel as if I had done my duty in this lield, and might turn to another. I am not as well fitted, perhaps, as 1 should be, to contemplate evils. I sigh for brighter prospects. I have been cheering myself with writing some sermons on the greatness which breaks out in human nature, amidst all its sins and degrada- tion. I could hardly live, if I could not see something good and great around me. This is as necessaiy to me as the sun's light, — more necessar}-, more cheering." '■'■ January 10, 1836.^ Dear Sir: — I received 30ur letter this morning, and I cannot let the day pass without assuring 30U of the great pleasure it gave me. I wrote the book with a hope of doing good, with a deep feeling of the need of such an appeal, and, I trust, from a strong conviction of duty. I waited long, and postponed the effort till I could wait no longer. I felt that some one ought to bear witness to the truth, but could hear of no one who felt himself called to the work. The reception of the book has been far more favorable than I expected. I knew that it would meet fierce oppo- sition at a distance. I feared it would find not a few opposers at home. I thank God that so many have been disposed to hear me patiently. ■ Many, who were grieved when they heard of my purpose to write on tliis subject, have expressed their satisfaction in the work. In this neighborhood, my end seems to have been answered to a good degree. Tliat is, I have helped to fix great principles in minds which liad become unsettled by the late excitement, and to awaken benevolence to the means of removing one of the greatest of evils. " Your approbation is very precious. I know ^'our sincere love of your fellow-creatures. I believe that, had my work breathed a different spirit, you would instinctively have been pained by it. My earnest desire and purpose was, to observe towards all those pre- cepts of justice and benevolence which I was inculcating ; and you give me the hope that I have not wholly failed. To be the occasion 1 To Noah Worcester, D. D. 540 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. of joy to one whom I revere so much is no small recompense for my labor." On the 2Gth of May, 1836, Dr. Channing attended for the first time a meeting of the New England Antislavery Convention. His impressions, as communicated in a letter to a friend, give a very good view of his hopes and fears in relation to the Abolitionists. He had been speaking of the meetings of the Unitarians during Anniversary week, and thus continues : — " May 27, 1836. During the present week, we have had, not only religious meetings, but conventions of other societies. In one yon will probably feel some interest. The New England Antislaveiy So- ciety has celebrated its anniversar}'. Yesterday I was present at one of its meetings, and you ma}' be gratified by some observations on its proceedings. Opposed as I am to slaver}', I have never sympa- thized with the intolerant spirit of this class of its opposers ; and from the most orthodox of the party I find, perhaps, little more favor than from the slaveholder, so that I ma}' pass for an impartial witness. I was struck with what always surprises me on similar occasions, — with the extent to which the power of speaking in public is possessed in our country. I was surrounded by plain people, belonging to what is called the middle class, and yet it seemed as if no one was silent for want of the talent of giving utter- ance to his thoughts. I received the impression which I delight to receive of the intellectual energy of the mass of the people " My principal object in attending it was to judge for myself of the spirit of this society. I wished to ascertain whether there was no diminution of the bitterness and intolerance of feeling which had characterized too many of its proceedings ; and, on the whole, my impression was, tliat the party is improving by time, is gaining wisdom by experience. There was, indeed, a tendency to unspar- ing invective. In this respect, however, I heard nothing so excep- tionable as the vituperations, and coarse, unfeeling personalities, which too often dishonor Congress ; and can it be wondered at, when the highest deliberative bodies in the country are wanting in the spirit of Christians, and the courtesy of gentlemen, that a taint of coarseness should spread through the community? "I may be told, that Abolitionists are not politicians, but men who accept Christianit}' as their only rule, and who construe its pacific precepts with uncommon rigor. I reply, that their incon- sistency is the more flagrant on account of their profession ; but still, that they are to be judged by the character of their times, and that hitherto the Christian world has made ver}' little progress in ANTISLAVERY CONVENTION. 541 the divine art of assailing and overcoming evil. A good cause is continualh' made a cover for bad passions. Self-will, the desire of victory, the principle of self-exaltation, and the common propensity to carry our point by force, all find means of indulgence under the cloak of zeal for truth, for God, for humanity. Even the well dis- posed think it easier to drive than to persuade, and rel}' more on authorit}' or vehemence than on reason. One would think, from the common style of controvers}', that it was an established principle, that the surest way to bring over men to our opinion is to awaken their self-will, pride, and prejudices ; that to otfend is the ro^-al road to conciliation ; that to rouse the spirit of angry, obstinate self- defence is the means of conquering opposition. The tactics of theological and philanthropic champions still in use show us that we have yet to learn the sublimest of all arts, that of influencing gen- erously' and nobly moral and rational beings. The controvertist, who does not harden his opponent, and make him a worse man, is rarely found in the lists of religious or political warfare. I tr}' the Abolitionists by the common standard, — and, much as their intol- erance offends me, I know not that it greatly exceeds what is com- mon in most other parties or sects, — and do not find them wanting. "The most gratifying circumstance at the meeting was a short address from a colored man. His complexion led me to think he was of pure African blood, and his diction, his countenance, his gestures, his thoughts, his whole bearing, must have convinced every hearer that the African is a man in the highest sense of that word. I felt that he was a partaker with me of that humanit}' for which I unceasingly thank my Creator. I felt on this occasion j as I perhaps never felt before, what an amount of intellectual and moral energ}- is crushed, is lost to the human race, by slaver3^ Among the two or three millions doomed by this system to brutal ignorance, and denied the means of developing their powers, how man^' men and women are there, who, under the culture and self- respect which belong to American freedom, would become blessings and ornaments to society by their intelligence and virtue ! " I was much struck, at this meeting, with the life which seemed to possess its members. Nothing was said or done mechanically. There was no forced zeal, no effort of the leaders to whip up the lagging spirit of the mass. It is easy, on entering a meeting, to tell at once whether it is a living or dead one, — whether people have come together from habit, from a cold sense of propriety or dut}', or from a deep, irresistible impulse. You know by instinct whether 3'ou are surrounded b}' life or death. This bod}' was alive. I am sure, that, if the stiiTers-up of mobs could have looked into 542 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. the souls of these Abohtionists, they would haA'e seen the infinite folly of attemi)ting to put them down by such persecutions as they can bring to bear on them. Nothing but the Inquisition, the stake, the scaffold, nothing but extermination, can do the work "Another fact which struck me at this meeting was the absence of what is called the influential part of the community. Men of standing, as they are called, were not there. Abolitionism seems to make no progress in this class, nor will it, unless it should gain a party large enough in the middle and laboring ranks to be worth the notice of politicians, and then it will be amply repaid by courtesy and attention for the neglect it now I'eceives. The har- vest of Abolitionism is to be reaped among what are called the middle classes, and an engine of immense povver has been put into their hands for this purpose by Governor M' Duffle, and other Southern politicians, who have taught that we, the rich and edu- cated of the Free States, can keep our property and our political institutions only by making the great laboring portion of the com- munity our slaves. This new Southern doctrine is as 3"et but imperfectly understood by the mass of our farmers, mechanics, and other workingmen. But the Abolitionists are wielding this weapon with zeal and effect, and are linking themselves more and more with the mass of the people. "As to the future histor}^ of Abolitionism, I feel much uncer- tainty. Whether, if left to itself, if unaided by opposition, it will live and advance, I know not. The present moment is unpropi- tious to it. The people at large are swallowed up in gain, are intoxicated with promises of boundless wealth, are worshipping what they call prosperity. It concerns them little who is slave and who is free, or how the battles of liberty and truth are fought at home and abroad, provided the}'^ can drive some enormously profitable bargain, or bring some vast speculation to a successful issue. Men are too busy to think of Abolitionism, and will be apt to forget it, unless forced on their notice by violence. There is, indeed, one ground for believing that Abolitionism may endure, even if unoi)posed. AVith all its faults, it is founded essentially on religious conviction. It is thus bound up with the strongest prin- ciple of human nature. It will not, therefore, be easily discour- aged by neglect. It will leave nothing untried to move the worldly multitude, and unexpected events may prepare a multitude for its influence." In the autumn of 1836, Dr. Channing found himself compelled once more to address the American public, with the hope of casting out the demon of persecution which possessed it. During the pre- LETTER TO DR. FOLLEN. 543 ceding session, Congress had outraged the right of petition, b^^ refusing to receive memorials relating in any way to slavery, thus setting'^a fatal example to the whole country ; and in July, a mob, instigated and even led on by some of the chief citizens of Cincin- nati,\ad destroyed the press of " The Philanthropist," and driven its editor, James G. Birney, Esq., from the city. It was plain to him that a struggle for the very life of liberty of speech was begun : and his heart re-echoed the thrilling words of Whittier, — "Now, when the padlocks for our lips are forging, Silence is crime." He had written to a friend, the year before, in relation to his book on Slavery: ''I never acted under a stronger conviction of duty than in publishing this book. My spirit preyed on itself, till I had spoken the truth." And now he could not feel at peace, till he had offered to Mr. Birney a pubUc testimonial of respect for his integrity and sympathy for "his sacrifices, and uttered an indignant remonstrance against the tame subservience with which a majority of Northern freemen were attempting to put a gag upon discussion. At the same time, he was most earnest to be just at once to the Abolitionists and to the slaveholders. In a letter to Dr. Follen, he thus manifests the impartial rectitude by which he was governed. " January^ 1837. The most interesting point to me on the Abo- htion question at this moment is, the real state of feeling at the South, the real motive for perpetuating slavery. If this be love of gain, 1 am prepared to speak as I have not. I wish one treatise might be devoted b}' some able man to this single subject. Noth- ing has such an influence in preventing a right action and feeling on slavery at the North as the belief that the evil is an inherited one, which the present generation are obliged to continue for their own safety, and which they would gladly escape. Let the truth be known. I have felt myself called to express a good hope of many slaveholders, not only to be just to them, but to counteract what has seemed to me the bad influence of the uncharitablencss of the Abolitionists on the people here who have sided with the slave- holder as an injured man. I have wished that it might be seen, that utter abhorrence of slavery is reconcilable with justice to the master. If, however, we have been more than just, if we have been excessively, unreasonably lenient to the slaveholders, let the truth be told. If the basest of all motives is perpetuating the greatest of wrongs, then it is time to set the proofs of this enor- mity- before the people." It was during the winter of 1837, that the great battle in favor of 544 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. the Right of Petition was fought and won in Congress, by the venerable John Quincy Adams, amidst brutal insults, threats of violence, volleys of abuse, and the wiles and ambuscades of petti- fogging politicians. Dr. Channing's views in regard to the expe- diency of using this right were thus expressed in a letter to Ellis Gray Loring, Esq. ''''March 11, 1837. I wanted strength to talk freely last even- ing, and I felt, after j-ou had left me, that I had given 30U a very imperfect statement of my views in relation to the subject of our conversation. Being confined to the house to-da}', I will tr}^ to supply the deficiency by throwing a few thoughts upon paper. ^ I have alwa3'S doubted the expediency' of agitating the subject of Abolitionism in Congress. I have petitioned once or twice for the abolition of slavery in the District ; but my great motive for so doing was personal. I wished by some public act to disclaim all participation in the national guilt incurred by the continuance of slavery on that spot. I had no expectation of success ; and having freed my conscience, I ceased from this mode of action. I have feared that the Antislavery cause would be thrown back b}' calling on Congress to forward it. This cause has two aspects : — first, the political ; next, the moral, religious, philanthropic. It must be presented, as I think, under the last. The great obstruction to its progress is, that the people habitually view it under the first. Its political connections and bearings have got possession of men's minds, and shut out the higher views which alone can free the slave " The agitation of the matter in Congress turns the majority' of minds to the political aspect and political consequences of Aboli- tionism ; and behind this banner the multitude are inaccessible to moral and philanthropic views of the subject. In these views, how- ever, the strength of the cause lies. Whatever interrupts their agency is most pernicious. "Antislavery is to triumph, not by force or appeals to interest, but by becoming a living part of the public conscience and religion. Just in proportion as it is complicated with political questions and feelings, it is shorn of its strength. " If the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia were practicable, the expediency of the efllbrts now directed to that end would be less questionable. But I have never anticipated such a result. The South, united to a man, will ahvays avail itself of party divisions at the North, sufficiently to secure a majority in Congress against such a measure. What makes this more certain is the deliberate purpose of the South to secede, in the event of the GREAT PRINCIPLES. 545 union of the North in such legislative action. On this point, the South does not merely bluster, but is in earnest ; and the knowl- edge that its mind is here fuU}^ made up, will always prevent such a union of Northern members. The efforts against slavery in the District cannot, then, accomplish their declared end. They can serve the cause only by drawing attention to it, keeping men alive to it ; but if they lead men to view it in a false light, to overlook its highest claims, do they serve it? " I augur no good from the political action of the Abolitionists. Their business is witli the conscience ; and they lose their power over this, just in proportion as they mix up their cause witli party passions. The questions which they propose to candidates for office bring out hollow answers, and make hypocrites, who, of course, are less trustworthy than before, and cannot be held to their profession in critical seasons. There is a class of politicians who will use Abolitionism to rise by, but will disgrace it by want of principle. You owe your success, as far as you have succeeded, to your unworldly, spiritual devotion to a good cause, and no policy can take the place of this. I hear less said now of your fanaticism, and more of your want of moral purity. I ascribe the change to your political action. " I know how idle it is to attempt to tie down a great movement by precise rules. The force which is to achieve great revolutions, to sweep away the abuses of ages, will be more or less wild. We must accept enthusiasm with its evil as well as its good, if we accept it at all. Antislavery will run its race, with little change of direction from admonitions of friend or foe. I cannot, however, help desir- ing that its fervor and deep feeling may be turned to the best account, — that no part of its force may be lost. I wish not to cripple it, btit to increase its efflcienc}'. " I abstain from publishing these views, because I am unwilling, without plain necessity, to find fault with an injured party, and because Antislavery has no great love for advice. I have there- fore given you my mind in this form, and if you think any of your number would be interested by this letter, you are at liberty to com- municate it to them. " Your friend." It will be seen from the foregoing letter, that Dr. Channing was chiefly desirous to awaken the hearts of his countrymen to the great spiritual truths involved in tlie Antislavery movement, and was fearful that the whole tone of feeling and action in regard to our gi-eat national sin and shame would be debased by the inter- mixture of political jealousies and intrigues. In fact, his cherished hope was, that Abolitionism — asserting as it did tlie very funda- 36 546 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. mental principles of justice, the essential rights of every human being, and the universal law of love — would widen and grow up into a Church of Practical Christianity, by whose influence the whole nation might be regenerated. A few letters written at vari- ous intervals will yet further illustrate his views. '-'• Boston, July 29, 1836.-^ Your letter of April 1st was very cheer- ing to me. I felt that I had not labored in vain in my little work on Slavery. My aim was to oppose slaver}' on principles which, if ad- mitted, would inspire resistance to all the wrongs, and reverence for all the rights, of human nature. I have no doubt as to the triumph of these principles, and my confidence is founded not on events, on outward progress, so much as on the power with which they work on my mind. In the response of my own soul to an}' great, unchange- able truth, I hear the voice of universal humanity. I can conceive that my feelings are individual, but not any great convictions of the intellect, or loft}^ inspirations of the heart. These do not belong to me. The}' are universal. They will live and spread, when the individual who gave some faint utterance to them is gone." "M?y 9, 1837.2 j fgg^ strongly, that, by preaching Christianity in its length and breadth, by bringing out its true spirit clearly, powerfully, in the language of deep conviction, we are advancing the Antislavery cause most effectually. Men will apply the truth so taught in a case like the present ; that is, when a whole commu- nity are alive to a great subject. The common difficulty is, that great principles are not unfolded and enforced with a true under- standing and profound feeling on the part of the preacher. Let him do his part, and the people generally may be left to make the application. I am less anxious that Antislavery should be preached, than that the spirit of Christianity should be set forth with clearness and energy. The great service which Antislavery is to do, is to reveal this spirit with a new life and power. " This is a greater work than to liberate the slave. There is something more terrible than slavery, and that is the spirit which enslaves. This spirit is in us all, is as strong in many who con- demn as in those who uphold slavery. Let the axe be laid to the root of the tree. I do not mean that particular evils are never to be assailed. Far from it ; but the great way to assail them is to strike at their principle. The Abolitionists are to do vastly more good by establishing principles than by attacking abuses. It is easy to do the last. Few can do the first. . It is the insane love of 1 To J. Blanco White. 2 To Dr. Charles FoUen. ANNEXATION OF TEXAS. 547 nionev pervading the trading world which rivets the chains of the slave" — that covetousness against wliich Jesus spol^e in language of such fearful energy. Some hope that the present convulsion in the commercial community is to do good. It will, if it leads men to comprehend the great principle on which wealth is to be reared. The effect of mere suffering will be very temporary." ^'■December 25, 1837.1 j have just read the account of the Abo- lition debate. I cannot acquiesce in any restriction on the right of petition; but I must say that I anticipate no good from the aoitation of the question of slavery in Congress. I look wholl}' to m°oral and religious influences for the removal of this evil, and I fear that these are weakened by bringing the subject before the national leoislature. I wish to avoid awakening political passions and preiudfces, or stirring up political action on the matter. The great obstruction to antislavery sentiments at the North is the fear of dissolving the Union; and this fear gains strength from excitements in Congress about slavery. I petitioned for the aboli- tion of slavery in the District of Columbia, without the least hope of success, but simply to relieve myself from all responsibility for this outrage on human rights. It is certain that the South will command votes enough in the Free States to continue the present state of things, until the latter shall be thoroughly moved with the antislaverv spirit. Is it, then, best for the country or for Aboh- tion to persevere in efforts which must fail, which disturb the Union without any counterbalancing good, and which interfere with the only labors from which success must be hoped ? I would have the legislature of Massachusetts protest against slavery in the District, declare itself free from the guilt of the system, and at the same time declare, that, as resistance to it is now hopeless, we shall abstaih until better times to remonstrate against it, remon- strance bringing only evil. I wish the Abolitionists would look at the mattei- calmly. That the cause is injured North and South, by the present course in regard to the District, I fear." Though Dr. Channing's wish to concentrate the attention of his fellow-cTtizens upon the^principles of humanity, which were the life of the Antislavery movement, was thus strong, he was yet awake to the importance of limiting the growth of the slave power, and most anxious to break the yoke which it had so skilfully imposed on Northern freemen. It was in this year of 1837 that he saw the urgent necessity of making a determined political resistance to the grasping spirit of the faction of slaveholders. The Texas 1 To Dr. Charles FoUen. 548 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. plot — generated b}- subtle polic}- and slowly- matured b}- worldll- ness — was born. The designs of an unlimited extension of the slave S3-stem, by means of a professedly free government, was asserted with unblushing effrontery as the fulfilment of our national destin}'. From the time when the devoted Benjamin Lundy first exposed the nefarious project of the dismemberment of Mexico, all Antislavery men had been in a measure prepared for the coming struggle. But in 1837 the lamentable fact became evident, that political profligacy had insinuated its fatal corruptions into the ver}' heart of Congress and the Administration ; and again Dr. Channing heard himself summoned by the stern call of duty to break off the train of his favorite thoughts, and, though sick and weak, to make one more effort to rouse in his countrymen the spirit of freemen. In July, 1837, he wrote thus to Dr. Tuckerman : — "I am engaged in an important work. I have been thinking for some time, that, if nobody would write about the annexation of Texas to this country, I must do it ; and since Mr. Phillips left me I have been as bus}' as a beaver, and made such progress, that, if m}' strength holds out, I shall finish m3'work by the beginning of the next week. It will be a very serious affair, and I need counsel. I should like to read it to you and INIr. Phillips. Has he gone, or will he be in Boston? Can 3'ou think of an}' other person who should hear it? I have thought of Mr. Mann. If I come the next week, it will be only for a day. Nothing is to be said of m}' labors, for I shall not publish, unless, after consultation, I see my way clear. I shall provoke hostilities such as I have never met. But no matter. I am doing right." On the 30th of July, he thus announced the completion of his task : — " My work is done, save a short conclusion. I have given to it more time than was good for me, but I supposed it should appear at once, and I thank God for strength to do it. How it will seem to me, when I read it over deliberateh', I cannot tell. It now seems to me fitted to its end." The Letter to Mr. Clay was immediatel}- published, and for the time averted the threatened wrong. The gratification which Dr. Channing felt at the accomplishment of his work appears in the following letter, which is of interest, also, as showing his moderate estimate of his success and his wise forecast. " Septeviher 12, 1837.^ Your letter receiA-ed 3'esterday gave me great pleasure. I rejoice that you, with others in whom I confide, 1 To Dr. Charles Follen. ANNEXATION OF TEXAS. 549 think m}' Letter fitted to its end. That it should do an}^ good ought, perhaps, to surprise me, when I think of m}- unfitness for the work. How painful, that I should be driven to a task lying beyond my province, by the unwillingness of others to undertake it ! M}' success does not make me forget that I have done very little, and that much remains to be done. The Letter ought to be followed up b}- an able exposure of the arguments in favor of the annexation of Texas. Who will do this ? I had no time to take up this part of the subject, for I deferred writing till just before the session of Congress, and it was thought important that the Letter should appear immediately. I feel, too, how much more ably this branch may be treated by some one in active or public life. " I have had the means of ascertaining some of the objections which will be made to my Letter, and of the arguments in favor of annexation. 1. All design on the part of the South and West to subjugate Texas, especially for the extension of slavery, is disclaimed, and will be indignantly disclaimed. 2. The design of annexing Texas to us, previousl}' to the recognition of its inde- pendence by Mexico, will be disclaimed by man}' who yet are bent on the annexation. I suppose the public feeling against the meas- ure will lead to new efl!brts on the part of our government to secure the recognition by Mexico. 3. The great argument is, that Texas, being independent, will be a slave country, and that there Avill be more and more slavery in it separated from us than united. It will be said, that the United States, anxious to supply that market, will exclude slaves from Africa. This is a consideration worth looking at. 4. In case of the annexation, it will be maintained that the ascendency of the population will remain with the Free States. 5. The dangers or evils of an independent English state in that quarter will be dwelt upon. You undoubtedly meet with other arguments in the papers at New York. I should like to know them all. Is there no one to go over the ground calmly, ably?" Dr. Channing thus prophetically sketched the sure results of our national crime : — " By this act, our country will enter on a career of encroachment, war, and crime, and will merit and incur the punishment and woe of aggravated wrong-doing. The seizure of Texas will not stand alone. It will darken our future history. It will be linked by an iron necessity to long-continued deeds of rapine and blood. Ages may not see the catastrophe of the tragedy, the first scene of which we are so ready to enact Texas is a country conquered by 550 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. our citizens ; and the annexation of it to our Union will be the beginning of conquests, whicli, unless arrested and beaten back by a just and kind Providence, will stop only at the Isthmus of Darien. Henceforth, we must cease to cry, Peace, peace. Our eagle will whet, not gorge, its appetite on its first victim ; and will snuff a more tempting quarry, more alluring blood, in every new region which opens southward. To annex Texas is to declare perpetual war with Mexico Texas is the first step to Mexico. The moment we plant our authority on Texas, the boundaries of those two countries will become nominal, will be Httle more than lines on the sand of the sea-shore Can Mexico look without alarm on the approaches of this ever-growing tide ? Is she prepared to be a passive prey, — to shrink and surrender without a struggle ? Is she not strong in her hatred, if not in her fortresses or skill, — strong enough to make war a dear and blood}- game? .... Even were the dispositions of our government most pacific and opposed to encroachment, the annexation of Texas would almost certainly embroil us with Mexico Have we counted the cost of establishing and making perpetual these hostile relations with Mexico? Will wars, begun in rapacit}', carried on so far from the centre of the confederation, and of consequence little checked or controlled b}' Congress, add strength to our institutions, or cement our union, or exert a healthy moral influence on rulers or people ? What limits can be set to the atrocities of such conflicts ? What limits to the treasures which must be lavished on such distant borders? What limits to the patronage and power which such distant expeditions must accumulate in the hands of the Executive ? Are the blood and hard-earned wealth of the older States to be poured out like water, to protect and revenge a new people, whose character and condition will plunge them into perpetual wrongs?" ^ In his Letter to Mr. Cla}',^ Dr. Channing has so fully explained his views in regard to the annexation of Texas, that there is but one point upon which anything remains to be added. He foresaw in the successful accomplishment of this nefarious project the de- struction of the national bond of union. In this emei'genc}', his mind was perfectly made up as to duty, as all knew who were intimate with him. He but expressed his calm, deliberate, unfaltering pur- pose, when he declared, — "For one, I say that, earnestly as I deprecate the separation of these States, and though this event would disappoint most cherished hopes for my country, still I can submit to it more readily 1 Works, Vol. II. pp. 204-209. One Volume Edition, pp. 760-7(52. 2 lb. pp. 183-260. One Volume Edition, pp. 752-781. DEATH OF LOVEJOY. 551 tlian to the reception of Texas into the confederacy. I shrink from that contamination. I shrink from an act which is to pledge us as a people to robber}* and war, to the work of upholding and extending slavery without limitation or end. I do not desire to share the responsibility, or to live under the laws of a government adopting such a policy, and swayed by such a spirit, as would be expressed by the incorporation of Texas with our country." ^ "To me it seems not only the right, but the duty, of the Free States, in case of the annexation of Texas, to say to the Slave- holding States, ' We regard this act as the dissolution of the Union. The essential conditions of the national compact are violated.' " ^ Dr. Channing valued the Union, indeed, as an "inestimable good, to be prized not merely or chiefly for its commercial benefits or any pecuniary advantages, but simply as Union." ^ To him it was not " a Means, but an End, .... our highest national in- terest, next to liberty, .... to which everything should be yielded but truth, honor, and liberty." * But at the same time his coinic- tion was clear, that when by this union "the most sacred rights and dearest interests of humanity" were violated, then it " would be bought at too dear a rate ; then it would be changed from a virtuous bond into a league of crime and shame." ^ And he summed up his solemn determination in these emphatic words: "We will not become partners in 3'our wars with Mexico and Europe, in 3-our schemes of spreading and perpetuating slaver^', in j-our hopes of conquest, in 3'Our unrighteous spoils A pacific division in the first instance seems to me to threaten less contention than a lingering, feverish dissolution of the Union, such as must be expected under this fatal innovation." ® Dr. Channing was no boaster ; he was as firm as he was moderate ; and, had he lived, he would unquestionably have put forth his full power to make good these words. It is but justice to him, therefore, to record, that in private conversation he never bated one jot or tittle from these un- compromising declarations of duty. It was in the autumn of this year, 1837, that Dr. Channing's faith and firmness were put to a somewhat severe test. On the 7th of November, the Rev. Elijah P. Lovejoy, editor of the Alton Ob- server, in Illinois, was shot b}^ one of a mob, while defending the building containing his press. This event, so fitly consummating 1 Works, Vol. II. p. 238. One Volume Edition, p. 773. 2 Ibid., p. 237. Ibid., p. 773. 3 ibid.. Vol. VI., p. 333. Ibid., p. 891. * Ibid., Vol. II. p. 144. Ibid., p. 739. 5 ibid. 6 Ibid., Vol. II. p. 238. Ibid., p. 773. 552 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. the long series of outrages committed or tolerated against the Abo- litionists, excited a profound sensation. Even those whose cau- tion, social connections, and business interests had hitherto made them hostile or indifferent to the Antislaver}' movement, were star- tled. And the occasion seemed the right one, therefore, to arouse the people to a consciousness of their duties as freemen. In a conversation with a friend, Samuel E. Sewall, Esq., Dr. Channing suggested the plan of a meeting of the citizens of Boston in Fancuil Hall, to protest against the lawless violence which had at length resulted in the destruction of life. A petition to the cit}^ government was accordingly drawn np by that gentleman for the / use of P'aneuil Hall, and having been headed b}' Dr. Channing, and / the requisite number of signers obtained, was presented. It was immediately followed b}^ a counter petition numerously signed. In this dark da}', the taint of "Abolitionism" was so much di*eaded, especially in large trading communities, that influential men readily came forward to oppose even an expression of indignant remon- strance against the violence under which Abolitionists had suffered. Under their influence the hall was refused, and from considerations which will appear in the subsequent documents. Thus an issue was made for freedom of speech and tlie supremacy of law, in which Dr. Channing found himself most unexpectedly involved as a principal. The results of this contest were important in their silent opera- tion on public opinion. They were important also, in a personal point of view, for many of the early and near friends of Dr. Chan- nine fell away from him. The absurd notion was originated, at this time, that he intended to change his calling for a political one. The coldness toward him which then began to manifest itself was never entirely removed ; and suspicions with regard to the purity V of his aim were cherished by a few, even to the end of his life. They could not comprehend the depth of his desire to make religion the controlling principle in all human affairs. This experience was instructive, too, to himself, and though he had always regarded public events from a religious point of view, yet thenceforward he looked iTiore to the direct application of Christianity to social and political life. He said soon afterward to a friend, that he was glad of what had occurred, as it had enabled him to give a practical manifestation of opinions which might otherwise have been consid- ered merel}' theoretical. On the second of December, the following appeal was published in the Boston Daily Advertiser, prefaced by some editorial remarks sustaining the course of the city government. PETITION FOR FANEUIL HALL. 553 " To THE Citizens of Boston. " I feel that I owe it to my fellow-citizens and myself, to offer some remarks on the proceedings of the Board of Aldermen, in re- lation to a petition presented to them for the use of Faneuil Hall, hi order that there might be an expression of public sentiment in regard to the late ferocious assault on the libei'ty of the press at Alton. Had I for a moment imagined that, by placing my name at tlie head of this petition, I was to bring myself before the pul)lic as I haxe done, I should have been solicitous to avoid the distinction. But the past cannot be recalled ; and having performed tiiis act from a conviction of duty, I cannot regret it. My only desire is, that its true character ma}' be understood by my fellow-citizens, who will not, 1 beheve, when they know the truth, give the sanction of their approbation to the proceedings of the government. ' *• The petition was as follows : — " ' Boston, Nov. 27, 1837. " ' To the Mayor and Aldermen of the City of Boston. " 'The undersigned, citizens of Boston, request that the use of Faneuil Hall may be granted to them on Monda}^ evening, Dec. 4th, for tlie purpose of holding a public meeting to notice in a suitable manner the recent murder, in the city of Alton, of a native of New England, and citizen of the free State of Illinois, who fell in defence of the freedom of the press.' "This petition was rejected by the Board of Aldermen, on the ground, that the resolutions which might be passed at the proposed meeting would not express the pulilic opinion of the cit}', and would even create a disgraceful confusion in Faneuil Hall, or, in other words, would excite a mob. I need not say to those who know me, that I am incapable of proposing a measure which should seem to me fitted to expose the city to tumult. The truth is, that the possibility of such an occurrence did not enter my thoughts. The object of the proposed meeting was so obvious, so unexceptionable, so righteous, and had such claims on ever}' friend of order and lib- erty, that I did not pause a moment when I was requested to sign the petition. I should have pronounced it impossible that a man of common sense and common honesty could view and pass over the tragedy of Alton as a matter touching merel}^ the interests of one or another party. To me it had a character of its own, which stood out in terrible relief. I saw in it systematic, deliberate mur- der, for the destruction of the freedom of the press. The petition was presented for one purpose and one only, — namel}', that the 554 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. good people of Boston might manifest in the most solemn and im- pressive manner their dee]) abhorrence of the spirit of mobs which threatens all our institutions, and particularlj- might express their utter, uncompromising reprobation of the violence which has been offered to the freedom of speech and the press. The Freedom of the Press, — the sacredness of this right, — the dutj- of maintaining it against all assaults, — this was the great idea to which the meet- ing was intended to give utterance. I was requested to prepare the resolutions ; and 1 was meditating this work when I heard the decision of the Board of Aldermen. My single aim was, to frame such resolutions as should pledge all who should concur in them to the exertion of their whole influence for the suppression of mobs, for the discouragement of violence, for the vindication of the su- premacy of the laws, and especially for the assertion and defence of the freedom of the press. My intention was, to exclude all ref- erence to parties, all topics about which there could be a di\ision among the friends of liberty. No other resolutions could have been drawn up in consistency with the petition ; and the Board of Alder- men had no right to expect any others. "To intimate that such resolutions would not express the public opinion of Boston, and would even create a mob, is to pronounce the severest hbel on this city. It is to assert that peaceful citizens cannot meet here in safety to strengthen and pledge themselves against violence and in defence of the dearest and most sacred rights. And has it come to this? Has Boston fallen so low? May not its citizens be trusted to come together to express the great principles of liberty, for which their fathers died? Are our fellow-citizens to be murdered in the act of defending their prop- ert}', and of asserting the right of free discussion : and is it unsafe in this metropolis, once the refuge of liberty, to express abhorrence of the deed? If such be our degradation, we ought to know the awful truth ; and those among us who retain a portion of the spirit of our ancestors should set themselves to work to recover their de- generate posterity. But I do not believe in this degeneracy. The people of Boston may be trusted. There is a moral soundness in this community on the great points involved in the petition which has been rejected. There is among us a deep abhorrence of the spirit of violence which is spreading through our land ; and from this city ought to go forth a voice to awaken the whole country to its danger, to the growing i)eril of the substitution of lawless force for tlie authority of the laws. This, in trutli, was tlie great object of those who proposed the meeting, to bring out a loud, general expression of opinion and feeling, which would awe the spirit of PUBLIC OPINION IN BOSTON. 555 mobs, and would especially secure the press from violence. In- stead of this, what is Boston now doing? Into what scale is this city now thrown? Boston now says to Alton, 'Go on; destroy the press ; put down the libert}' of speech ; and, still more, murder the citizen who asserts it ; and no united voice shall here be lifted up against you, lest a like violence should break forth among ourselves.' "It is this view of the rejection of the petition which deeply moves me. That a petition bearing m}' name should be denied, would not excite a moment's thought or feeling. But that this cit}', which I have been proud to call ni}- home, should be so exhibited to the world, and should exert this disastrous influence on the coun- tr}-, — this I cannot meet with indifference. " I earnestly hope that my fellow-citizens will demand the public meeting which has been refused, with a voice which cannot be denied ; but, unless so called, I do not desire that it should be held. If not demanded b}' acclamation, it would very possibly become a riot. A government which announces its expectation of a mob does virtuaUy, though unintentionall}', summon a mob, and would then cast all the blame of it on the ' rash men ' who might become its victims. "But is there no part of our country, where a voice of power shall be lifted up in defence of rights incomparablj' more precious than the temporary interests which have often crowded Faneuil Hall to suffocation? Is the whole country to sleep? An event has occurred which ought to thrill the hearts of this people as the heart of one man. A martyr to the freedom of the press has fallen among us. A citizen has been murdered in defence of the right of free discussion. I do not ask whether he was a Christian or unbe- liever, whether he was Abolitionist or Colonizationist. He has been murdered in exercising what I hold to be the dearest right of the citizen. Nor is this a solitary act of violence. It is the con- summation of a long series of assaults on public order, on freedom, on the majest}' of the laws. I ask, Is there not a spot in the coun- try- whence a voice of moral reprobation, of patriotic remonstrance, of solemn warning, shall go forth to awaken the slumbering com- munity? There are, indeed, in various places, meetings of Anti- slaver3- societies, to express their sorrow for a fallen brother. But in these I take no part. What I desired was, that the citizens of Boston, of all parties, should join as one man in putting down the reign of terror by the force of opinion, and in spreading a shield over our menaced liberties. I felt, that the verj' fact, that the majority- of the people here are opposed to the peculiar opinions of 556 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. our murdered fellow-citizen, would give increased authority to our condemnation of this ferocious deed. " Tlie principles on which I have acted in this affair are such as have governed my whole life. This is not the first time in which I have come forward to defend the freedom of opinion, the freedom of speech, the freedom of the press. Not a few of my fellow-citi- zens will bear witness to the sincerity of my devotion to this cause. The rights of a human being to inquire, to judge, and to express his honest conviction, — these are dear to me as life ; and if I ask a distinction in society, it is that of being the defender of these, I cannot, I will not, tamely and silently, see these trampled down in the person of a fellow-citizen, be he rich or poor, be he friend or foe, be he the advocate or the opposer of what I deem the truth. "That in these sentiments I have the sympathy of my fellow- citizens, I cannot doubt. I am confident that, when the true im- port of the petition which I have signed is understood, the vast majority will agree with me in the fitness of the action which it was intended to promote. I have no distrust of my fellow-citizens. They are true to the principles of liberty ; and the time, I hope, is near, when the stain now thrown on our ancient and free city will be wiped away, — when a petition, headed by a worthier name, will assemble the wise and good, the friends of order and liberty, of all sects and parties, to bear their solemn testimony against the spirit of misrule and violence, to express their devotion to the laws, and their unconquerable purpose to maintain the freedom of speech and of the press. " Wm. E. Chaxning." The issue thus made with the city authorities was rendered still more comi)licated by the fact that the municipal election was close at hand. This caused the motives of men who took an active part in tlie affair to be regarded with party jealousy. No effort, how- ever, it is just to say, was put forth by either party to create " i)ohtical capital" out of the question. In answer to the appeal, a gathering of citizens was held, on the evening of December 3d, in the old Supreme Court room, — a room not large, but crowded on that occasion, — to consider "the rea- sons assigned by the JNIayor and Aldermen for withholding the use of Faneuil Ilall, and to act in the i)remises as the}- might deem expedient." Resolutions were ado^ited concerning the freedom of the press and of discussion, and the riglit of the people i)eaceably to assemble. It was also resolved to circulate widely through the city the same petition, headed as before by William E. Clianning, with only a change in the time of the meeting. Before adjourning, the following expression of respect was passed : — MEETING AT FANEUIL HALL. 557 " Resolved, That the thanks of this meetuig be presented to the Rev. WiUiam E. Channing for the eloquent, elevated, and dignified vindication he has made, in his published Address, of the right of the citizens to assemble together for the purpose of ' pledging them- selves against violence, and in defence of the dearest and most sacred rights ' ; and that he be requested by this meeting to ])re- pare the resolutions to be presented at the proposed meeting in Faneuil Hall on the 8th instant." The city authorities immediatel}' signified their willingness, with- out waiting to test the number of names, to opem the hall, and it was under these circumstances that the meeting was held, at ten o'clock on the morning of December 8th. The large hall, capable of holding five thousand persons, was crowded earl}-. On all sides were earnest and anxious faces. The Hon. Jonathan Phillips, Dr. Channing's intimate friend, was called to preside. A prayer was offered by the Rev. E. M. P. Wells, who knelt on the platform before the assembly ; and then Dr. Channing addressed the meet- ing with the following remarks, which he had previously prepared and committed to memory. Some of the sentiments at first called forth a strong expression of applause, which the speaker checked, by begging his fellow-citizens to evince their approbation by their silent attention. The request was instantly complied with. " Mr. Chairman, — M}- relation to this meeting not onl}' author- izes, but requires, me to offer, at its commencement, some remarks on the purpose for which we are now assembled. It is not, indeed, without reluctance, that I rise to speak in a place, and under cir- cumstances, to me so new and unusual ; but I am commanded to make this effort b}' a voice which I cannot disobey, b}' a sense of what I owe to myself, to this community, and to the cause of free- dom. " I know that there are those who say that this is not my place, — that ni}' voice should be heard only in the hoi}- temples of religion. I ask, Is there nothing holy here ? "Was there nothing holy in the spirit of our fathers, when within these walls the}- iuA^oked the blessing of God on their struggles for freedom ? Every place may be made holy by holy deeds. Nothing, nothing, Sir, would tempt me to come here to mingle in the conflicts of party. But when a great question of humanity and justice is discussed here, when a number of my fellow-citizens meet here to Hft up their voices against violence and murder, and in support of the laws and the press, I feel that ray place is here. " I rise simply to state the object of this meeting. It has been 5-38 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. misrepresented, — I do not say intentionall}'. I do not come here to charge an^^ of my fellow-citizens with unworth}- motives. But there has been misrepi'csentation. You have been told that the professed object of the meeting is not its real one ; that it was called to serve the purposes of a part}- ; that it is an imposition. I grieve that this language has been used. It shows how little faith man has in man, how slow he is to ascribe good puri)oses to his brother, how prone to see bj'-ends and bad ends in honorable undertakings. Sir, there does exist such a thing as purit}- of pur- pose. It is possible for a man to desire freedom, not only for him- self, but for his whole race. It is possible for a man to desire that the laws ma}- guard, not only his own possessions, but the rights of every human being ; and when laws and rights and freedom are trodden under foot, not once, but again and again, and with in- creasing fury, it is possible for a man sincerely to feel that he ought to meet with those of a like mind, and bear testimony with them against these atrocities. Sir, are not here motives enough and of sufficient force to bring men together, and to crowd this hall, — motives enough, and more than enough, to explain this meeting? And why, then, look be^'ond these, — wli}- look for others and base ones? "I can say with confidence. Sir, that this meeting had a good origin. Call it unwise, if 3'ou will ; but its purpose was pure, was generous, and worth}' of Christian freemen. 1 claim to know some- thing of its origin ; for I believe no one had more to do with calling it than myself. Soon after the recent traged}' at Alton, I was called upon, and requested to deliver a discourse on that sad event. For various reasons, I declined so to do. I said to the friend who made the request, and I said it from m}- own mind, and without any hint from another, that I wished that the citizens of Boston would, in some public manner, express their abhorrence of the law- less spirit which had prompted to this and kindred deeds, and which had broken out here as well as at a distance. On the next da}' a petition was sent me, embod3'ing the suggestion which I had made the evening before. To this petition I affixed my name. In sign- ing it, m}' great apprehension was, that the absorption of our cit- izens in their private affairs would make them indifferent to the subject, so that a meeting sufficiently numerous for the desired im- pression might not be obtained. The idea of opposition to it did not enter m}' thoughts, and up to this hour I find a difficulty in comprehending, in making real to m^'self, the opposition it has excited. I signed the petition with the full understanding that the meeting should bear no relation to part}', but should comprehend RESOLUTIONS. 559 all citizens, of whatever sect or party, whose spirits had been stirred, as mine was, b}' the fearful progress of lawless force. " On me, then, Sir, not a little of the responsibility of this meet- ing rests. I owe it to truth and honor to avow it, and I am ready to bear this responsibility. I have no misgi^'ings. I have a distinct consciousness, that the part which I act becomes a man, a citizen, and a Christian. I am willing that the report of what I am doing should go through the length and breadth of the land. I am willing it should cross the ocean. I care not how far, how wide, it is known, that, at this moment of increasing peril from lawless force, I labored to bring m}* fellow-citizens together, in order that, by a solemn public act, they might help to put down civil convulsion and T)loodshed, — might assert the insulted supremacy' of the laws, and might pledge themselves to sustain the endangered rights of the citizen. Sir, it is not impossible that the report of this meeting may cross the ocean, and may form a part of the enduring records of this city. I trust that it will not detract from the glor}- of our beloved city. I trust that the gentlemen who are now to address 3-0U will feel the dignit}', the sacredness, of this occasion. I trust that tliej' will rise above all local, personal, party considerations. I rejoice that the opening of this hall to us by the fathers of our city has put to rest one question which lately excited us, and I trust that no reference to this will disturb our harmony. In a word, I trust that this assembly will speak a language worthy of Boston; and worthy of those illustrious men, who, in times that tried men's souls, made these walls echo with their thrilling voices, and left here a testimony, which will never die, to the principles of freedom." The following resolutions, written by Dr. Channing, were then presented to the meeting by Benjamin F. Hallet, Esq, : — " Resolved, That our civil and religious liberties, which have come down to us from our fathers, sealed with their blood, are a most precious bequest, and that, when liberty is invaded, this consecrated hall is the chosen spot where its friends should meet together to pledge themselves to its support. " Resolved, That we are assembled here to assume the badge of no pai'ty, to narrow ourselves to no local or temporary interests, but to maintain the supremacy of the laws, and to give expression and support to those universal principles of justice and freedom on which popular institutions and the hopes of philanthropy rest. ^'■Resolved, That it has pleased God to commit to this people, above all others, the cause of human freedom ; that we are called 560 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. to the high office of manifesting the power of free institutions to ennoble and bless a people ; and that, in proving false to this trust, we shall not only cast away our own happiness, but shall betra}- the interests of the human race, and shall deserve the condemning sen- tence of all nations and of future times " Resolved^ That among our rights we hold none more dear than the freedom of speech and the press ; that we look to this as the guardian of all other rights and the chief spring of human improve- ment ; so that to wrest it from tlie citizen, by violence and murder, is to inflict the deepest wound on the republic ^'•Resolved, That it is the fundamental idea of the freedom of speech and the press, that the citizen shall be protected from vio- lence, in uttering opinions opposed to those which prevail around him ; that if b}' such freedom nothing more were intended than the libert}' of publishing what none would denj', then absolute govern- ments might boast of it as loudly as republics ; so that to put the citizen in peril, on the ground that he presumptuously perseveres in uttering what is unpopular, or what the majority" do not approve, is to assail this freedom in its very foundation, and to destroy its very Ufe. " Resolved^ That, in a free country, the laws, enacted according to the prescriptions of the constitution, are the ^'oice of the people, and are the only forms by which the sovereignty of the people is exercised and expressed ; and that of consequence a mob, or a combination of citizens for the purpose of suspending by force the administration of the laws, or of taking awa}' rights which these have guaranteed, is treason against the people, a contempt of their sovereignty, and deserves to be visited with exemplar}- punishment. " Resolced, That the spirit of mobs is a spirit of indiscriminate destruction ; that, when the press shall have become its pre}', its next victim will be property ; that there is no power on earth so terrible as human passion, unbridled by principle and law, and in- flamed to madness by the sympathies of a crowd ; and that, if we silently and passively abandon any portion of our fellow-citizens to this power, we shall have no right to complain when our own turn shall come to feed its rapaciousness and Any. " Resolved, That in this country the mightiest influence is public opinion ; that mobs cannot prevail without a criminal apathy in the public mind ; that one of the darkest omens of our times is the in- difl"erence with wliich the nation has looked on the triumphs of law- less force ; and that the time is now come for this people to shake off their lethargy, to vindicate the insulted majesty' of the laws, and RESOLUTIONS. 561 to pronounce a sentence on unprincipled violence, which the reck- less and turbulent will be unable to withstand. ' ' Resolved, That when a fellow-citizen has been destroyed in defending propert}' and the press, it is alike weak and criminal to reproach him as responsible for the deed, because he refused to surrender his undoubted rights at the command of his murderers ; that with equal justice the highwayman ma}' throw the blame of his crime on the slaughtered traveller, who refuses, when summoned, to surrender his purse ; and even if our fellow-citizen, who recentlj' fell in defence of the freedom of the press, Avas driven by the vio- lence which assailed him into rash and injudicious deeds, we are bound so to express our grief as in no degree to screen his lawless assailants from the reproliation which is their due. '•'•Resolved, That the Christian is not autliorized by his religion to look with indifference on public affairs, and that he ought par- ticularly- to be roused by acts of cruelty and violence, which degrade our country- to the level of heathenism. '■'■ Resolved, That we deem this occasion too solemn for the lan- guage of passion ; that we have come to this place to establish and difTuse tlie principles of order and peace ; that we acknowledge our obligation to cherish in the community a spirit of mutual forbear- ance and good-will ; and that we earnestly desire, whilst we vindi- cate the rights of speech and the press, that these ma}' be most conscientiously exercised, in obedience to the dictates of justice and philanthrop}-. " Resolved, That our affection for our countr}' is undiminished by the public crimes by which it is dishonored ; that we implore for it the blessing of Almighty God ; and that we pledge om-selves, according to our power, to sustain its laws, to give stability to its union, and .to transmit its free institutions unimpaired to posterity." These resolutions were supported by George S. Hillard, P^sq., in a speech which was listened to witli great attention, and which was pronounced in the papers of the day to have been " fervid in eloquence, chaste in language, and noble in sentiment." Its effect was at once elevating and soothing. The vast multitude seemed to be of one mind, and all signs betokened a meeting in tlie highest degree honorable to the old " Cradle of Liberty." But the powers of evil purposed otherwise. The respectful order was but a delusive calm. One third of the persons assembled, perhaps, were Abolition- ists or free-discnssionists ; another third were curious on-lookers, eager chiefly for excitement, and swayed to and fro by every speaker ; but there was also a party gathered there, at once from counting-rooms and cellars, who were deadly foes to the Antislavery 36 562 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. movement, and only waiting a fit chance for outbreak. Tlic occa- sion came. The Attorne3--General mounted the platform. He pronounced the resolutions to be, so far as he had heard them, " abstract propositions " ; said that " it would be idle and useless to call this great meeting of the citizens together merely to affirm by solemn vote what nobody would have the hardihood to deny " ; demanded to know how Mr. Lovcjoy had merited the distinction of being thus commemorated ; accused him of inciting the slaves to rise upon their masters ; compared the slaves to wild beasts thirst- ing for blood ; asked whether " that man had not died as the fool dieth " ; likened the mob of Alton to the fathers of the Revolution ; and wound up by saying, "to sjmpathize with those who have been mobbed, and whose own rashness and imprudence ha^-e in- cited the mob, is not the best way to put down mobs." ^ This speech, of course, awakened the latent emotions of all parties, and shouts of approval, and hisses of contempt, alternately drowned each other. It was in the midst of this uproar that the chairman, turning to his friend, said, with a smile, " Can 3'ou stand thunder?" " Such thunder as this," was the answer, "in any measure." Dr. Chan- ning was sitting at the time upon the platform, and looking down over the surging waves of the excited crowd with undisturbed serenit}'. For a few moments it seemed doubtful what would be the result of this ai)peal from one of the highest officers of the State to popular prejudice and passion. And then it was that there oc- curred a scene which alwaj'S remained bright in Dr. Channing's memory. Wendell Philhps, Esq., a young lawyer, whose rare powers of commanding and brilliant eloquence were then unknown, and who had no influence to sustain him but associations connected with the honored family of which he was a branch, took the stage. He began by expressing his " surprise at the sentiments of the last speaker, — surprise, not only at' such sentiments from such a man, but at the applause they had elicited within these walls." At- tempts were made to silence the bold 3'outh, but on he went until he reached this climax of his philippic. " I thought those pictured lips," pointing to the portraits in the hall, " would have broken into voice to rebuke the recreant American, the slanderer of the dead. The gentleman said, that he should sink into insignificance, if he dared to gainsay the principles of these resolutions. Sir, for the sentiments he has uttered, on soil consecrated by the prayers of Pu- ritans and the blood of patriots, the earth should have yawned and swallowed him up." Here the tumult of applause and counter- 1 The Daily Advocate, December 9tli, 1837. SPEECH OF WENDELL PHILLIPS. 563 applause became deafening, and some time elapsed before order could be restored. Dr. Channing frequently referred to the tone, look, gesture, with which this young man, beaming with truth, up- borne "bv justice, strong in rectitude, careless of consequences, in the hallconsecrated by grand associations, and before a vast assem- bly of fellow-citizens, half hostile to freedom, poured forth the vial of his indignation, as " morally sublime." That brave deed com- manded unwilling respect from all, and won the day. The Hon. William Sturgis had already, in an earlier part of Mr. Phillips's remarks, bespoken for him a fair hearing, thus throwing the weight of his high commercial character on the right side ; and George Bond, vlq., justly respected by the community for business energy and Christian charity, now followed up the speech in a most manly, generous, direct appeal to the consciences and hearts of the assem- bly. The vote was then taken, and the resolutions were adopted by a large majority. And so ''free discussion of the subject of free discussion" was secured in Boston. " Stout men, my husband for one," wrote a spectator of this scene, " came home that day and ' lifted up their voices and wept.' Dr. Channing did not know how dangerous an experiment — as people count danger — he adven- tured. We knew that we must send the children out of town, and sleep in our day-garments that night, unless free discussion pre- vailed." On the 25th of December, Dr. Channing thus summed up the history of this eventful struggle in a letter to Dr. Follen : — " I send you an account of the proceedings at Faneuil Hall, as you desire. I gave the movers of it to understand that I should not speak ; but when I found that the opposition to the meeting made it difficult to get speakers, I felt myself bound to give up my objections,' and to^ay a few words. I Uttle expected, when I signed the petition, to get myself into a fray ; but the path of duty was plain ; and a man ought not to talk of difficulty when he sees clearly the right. Good was done to myself; but I am not sure that much was done to others." Dr. Channing's course, in relation to the Faneuil Hall meeting, identified him before the public with the " Abolitionists" proper, as he had never been before ; and the consciousness of this added claim to their confidence, as well as an increased sense of responsi- bility for the conduct of the Antislavery movement, made him desire to address to them some words of counsel. That he had meditated such a communication even earlier appears from the fol- lowing letter. 564 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. " Newport, October 26, 1837.^ There is one subject on which I should like to write, but can promise nothing, and that is the char- acter of Abolitionism. I should like to point out what I think its defects and dangers, and to do something towards helping people to comprehend it. Perhaps the Abolitionists themselves are not aware how little they are understood, both at the North and the South. The}' are supposed to be partly heated by ideas of rights and liberty, partly fevered by exaggerated ideas of the slave's suf- ferings, partly stirred up by the passion for notoriety. That they have an affection for the colored man as a man and a brother, and wish to remove what crushes his humanity, is not suspected. The South cannot conceive of this feeling, nor is it very comprehensible at the North. Your brotherly feeling towards the slave is a mys- tery, to a degree which, perhaps, you do not suspect. I should like to scatter this delusion. Could I help to make people understand what a stream of real love is flowing toward the slave, perhaps I should do him more good than by a general vindication of his rights It would be vastly more difficult, but it would open his way to other hearts. Perhaps the difficulty is to be overcome by the Abolitionists alone, by their persevering, unaffected kindness to the colored race. Are you aware that a master feels as if you were injuring him by presuming to love his slaves, and to care for their happiness ? It is as if you should take a special liking to his horses or dogs, and think of ministering to their comforts. They are all his." But the sad event of Mr. Lovejoy's murder, while in the act of forcibly defending his civil rights, gave a new direction to Dr. Channing's thoughts, and made him still more solicitous than be- fore to infuse a higher spirit of calmness, candor, wisdom, into the hearts of those whom he so deeply honored for their humanity and heroism. Immediately after the Faneuil Hall meeting, therefore, he sent a letter to the Liberator, extracts from which will fully explain his views. ''Boston, December 14, 1837. My Friends: — A recent event induces me to address to you a few remarks. I trust you will not ascribe them to a love of dictation, and especially that you will not thinlc me capable of uttering a word of censure, in deference to the prejudices and passions of your opposers. My sympathies are with the oppressed and persecuted. I have labored, in a darker day than this, to vindicate your rights ; and nothing would tempt me at this moment to speak a disapproving word, if I thought I should 1 To Dr. Charles FoUen. LETTER TO THE ABOLITIONISTS. 565 give the slightest countenance to the violence under which you have suffered. I have spoken of the slight service which I have ren- dered, not as a claim for gratitude, — for I onl}' performed a plain dut}', — but as giving me a title to a candid construction of what I am now to offer. "You well know that I have not been satisfied with all your modes of operation. I have particularly made objections to the organization and union of numerous and wide-spread societies for the subversion of slavery. I have believed, however, that man}' of the dangerous tendencies of such an association would be obviated b}^ your adoption of what is called ' the peace principle ' ; in other words, by your unwillingness to use physical force for self-defence. To this feature of your societ}' I have looked as a pledge that your zeal, even if it should prove excessive, would not work much harm. You can judge, then, of the sorrow with which I heard of the trage- dy of Alton, where one of your respected brethren fell witli arms in his hands. I felt, indeed, that his course was justified by the laws of liis country', and b}' tlie established opinions and practice of the civilized world. I felt, too, that the violence under which he fell, regarded as an assault on the press and our clearest riglits, deserved the same reprobation from the friends of free institutions as if he had fallen an unresisting victim. But I felt that a cloud had gathered over your society, and that a dangerous precedent had been given in the cause of humanity. So strong was this impres- sion, that, whilst this event found its way into other pulpits, I was unwilling to make it the topic of a religious discourse, but preferred to express my reprobation of it in another place, where it would be viewed only in its bearings on civil and political rights. M3' hope was, that the members of 3'our society, whilst they would do honor to the fearless spirit of j-our fallen brother, would still, with one loud voice, proclaim their disapprobation of his last act, and their sorrow tliat through him a cause of philanthrop}' had been stained with blood. In this, I am sorry to sa}- that I have been disap- pointed. I have seen, indeed, no justification of the act. I have seen a few disapproving sentences, but no such clear and general testimon}' against this error of the lamented Lovejo}' as is needed to give assurance against its repetition "It seems to me of great importance, that you should steadily disavow this resort to force b}- Mr. Lovejo}-. There are peculiar reasons for it. Your position in our country is peculiar, and makes it important that you should be viewed as incapable of resorting to violent means. " In the first place, you are a large and growing part}', and are 5Q6 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. possessed with a fervent zeal, such as has been unknown since the beginning of our Revolutionarj' conflict. At the same time, you are distrusted, and, still more, hated, by a multitude of 3'our fellow-citizens. Here, then, are the elements of deadl}- strife. From masses so hostile, so inflamed, there is reason to fear tumults, conflicts, bloodshed. What is it which has prevented these sad results in the past, in the days of your weakness? Your forbear- ance ; your unwillingness to meet force by force. Had j'ou adopted the means of defence which an}' other part}', so persecuted, would have chosen, our streets might again and again have flowed with blood. Societ}' might have been shaken b}- the conflict. If now, hi your strength, you take the sword, and repa}' blow with blow, what is not to be feared ? It is one of the objections to great asso- ciations, that the}' accumulate a power which, in seasons of excite- ment and exasperation, threatens public commotions, and which may even turn our country into a field of battle. I say, then, that if you choose to organize so vast a force for a cause which awakens fierce passions, you must adopt ' the peace principle ' as your in- violable rule. You must trust in the laws, and in the moral s}'m- pathies of the community. You must try the power of suff'oring for truth. The first Christians tried this among communities more ferocious than our own. You have yourselves tried it, and through it have made rapid progress. To desert it miglit be to plunge the country into fearful contests, and to rob your cause of all its sanctity " Hitherto I have appealed confidently to your pacific principles as securities against all wrongs. I have seen with indignation the violence of cowardly and unprincipled men directed against an un- resisting band. I trust that your friends will never have cause to grow faint in your defence. I trust that the tragedy of Alton will draw from you new assurances of your trust in God, in the power of truth, and in the moral sympathies of a Christian people "Having expressed my disapprobation and fears, I feel that it is right to close this letter with expressing tlie deep interest I feel in you, not as an association, but as men pledged to the use of all lawful means for the subversion of slavery. There is but one test by which individuals or parties can be judged, and that is, the principles from which they act, and which they are pledged to support. No matter how many able men a party may number in its ranks ; unless pledged to great principles, it must pass away, and its leaders sink into oblivion. There are two great principles to which you are devoted, and for which I have always honored 3'ou. The first is, the freedom of the press. This you have not PRINCIPLES OF THE ABOLITIONISTS. 567 only vindicated with your lips and pens, but you have asserted it amidst persecutions. The right of a man to publish his convictions on subjects of deepest concern to society and humanity, this you have held fast when most men would have shrunk from it. This practical assertion of a great principle I hold to be worth more than the most eloquent professions of it in public meetings, or than all the vindications of it in the closet. I have thanked you, and thank you again, in the name of liberty, for this good service which you have rendered her. I know of none to whom her debt is greater. There was a time when the freedom of the press needed no de- fenders in our land, for it was strong in the love of the people. It was recognized as the pervading life, the conservative power, of our institutions. A voice raised against it would have been pro- nounced moral treason. We clung to it as an immutable principle, as a universal and inalienable right. We received it as an intui- tive truth, as no more to be questioned than a law of nature. But ' the times are changed, and we change with them.' Are there no signs, is there nothing to make us fear, that the freedom of speech and the press, regarded as a right and a principle, is dying out of the hearts of this people ? It is not a sufficient answer to say that the vast majority speak and publish their thoughts without danger. The question is, whether this freedom is distinctly and practically recognized as every man's right. Unless it stands on this ground, it is little more than a name ; it has no permanent life. To refuse it to a minority, however small, is to loosen every man's hold of it, to violate its sacredness, to break up its foundation. A despotism too strong for fear may, through its very strength, allow to the mass great liberty of utterance ; but in conceding it as a privilege, and not as a right, and by withholding it at pleasure from offensive individuals, the despot betrays himself as truly as if he had put a seal on every man's lips. That state must not call itself free, in which any party, however small, cannot safely speak its mind ; in which any party is exposed to violence for the exercise of a uni- versal right ; in which the laws, made to protect all, cannot be sustained against brute force. The freedom of speech and the press seems now to be sharing the lot of all great principles. His- torj' shows us, that all great principles, however ardently espoused for a time, have a tendency to fade into traditions, to degenerate into a hollow cant, to become words of little import, and to remain for declamation when their vital power is gone. At such a period, every good citizen is called to do what in him lies to restore their life and power. To some, it may be a disheartening thought, that the battle of libert}- is never to end, that its first principles must be 568 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. established anew, on the very spots where they seemed immovably fixed. But it is the law of our being, that no true good can be made sure without struggle ; and it should cheer us to think, that to struggle for the right is the noblest use of our powers, and the only means of happiness and perfection. "Another ground of my strong interest in your body is, that you are pledged to another principle, far broader than the freedom of the press, and on which this and all other rights repose. You start from the subliniest truth. You oppose slaver}', not from political or worldly considerations. You take your stand on the unutterable worth of every human being, and on his inalienable rights as a rational, moral, and immortal child of God. Here is your strength. Unlike the political parties which agitate the country', you have Vi principle^ and the grandest which can unite a body of men. That 3'ou fully comprehend it, or are always faithful to it, cannot be affirmed ; but you have it, and it is cause of joy to see men seizing it even in an imperfect form. All slavery, all oppressive institutions, all social abuses, spring from or involve contempt of human nature. The tyrant does not know ivho it is whom he tramples in the dust. You have caught a glimpse of the truth. The inappreciable worth of every human being, and the derivation of his rights, not from paper constitutions and human laws, but from his spiritual and immortal nature, from his affinity with God, — these are the truths which are to renovate society, by the light of which our present civilization will one day be seen to bear man}' an impress of barbarism, and b}' the power of which a real brotherhood will more and more unite the now divided and struggling family of man "This is a high standard, but not too high for men who have started from the great principle of your association. They who found their efforts against oppression on every man's near relation to God, on every man's participation of a moral and immortal nature, cannot, without singular inconsistency, grow fierce against the many in their zeal for a few. From a body founded on such a principle ought to come forth more enlightened friends of the race, more enlarged i)hilanthropists, than have 3"et been trained. Guard from dishonor the divine truth which you have espoused as your creed and }our rule. Show forth its energ}' in what you do and suffer. Show forth its celestial purity in your freedom from un- worthy passions. Prove it to be from God, by serene trust in his providence, by fearless obedience to his will, by imitating his im- partial justice and his universal love. ' ' I now close this long letter. I kave spoken the more freely, ' RELATIONS WITH THE ABOLITIONISTS. 569 because I shall probably be prevented, b}' various and pressing objects, from communicating with you again. In 3'our great and holy purpose 3'ou have m}' s^^mpathies and best wishes. I implore for 3-ou the guidance and blessing of God. "Very sincerel}', 3'Our friend." In the well-known article, entitled "The Mart3'r Age of the United States of America," ^ Miss Martineau thus narrates an oc- currence, of which she was probabl}^ a witness, and which it ma}- be well to record, as illustrating Dr. Channing's relations with the Abolitionists. It happened at the time when the board of man- agers of the Massachusetts Antislaver}' Societ}' had appointed a committee to confer with a committee of the legislature, in relation to the subject of penal enactments against Abolition societies and Abolition presses, which, as we have seen, some of the Southern States had demanded. " While the committee were, with osten- tatious negligence, keeping the Abolitionists waiting, the Senate Chamber presented an interesting spectacle. The contemptuous committee, dawdling about some immaterial business, were lolling over a table The Abolitionists, to whom this business was a prelude to life or death, were earnestly consulting in groups, — at the farther end of the chamber. Garrison and another, standing head to head, — somewhat nearer. Dr. Follen, looking German aU over, and a deeper earnestness than usual overspreading his serene and meditative countenance ; and in consultation with him Mr. Loriug, looking only too frail in form, but with a face radiant with inward light. There were May, and Goodell, and Sewall, and several more, and many an anxious wife, or sister, or friend, look- ing down from the gallery. During the suspense, the door opened, and Dr. Channing entered, — one of the last people that could, on that wintry afternoon, have been expected. He stood for a few moments muffled in cloak and shawl-handkerchief, then walked the whole length of the room, and was immediately seen shaking hands with Mr. Garrison. He afterwards explained, that he was not, at the moment, certain that it was Mr. Garrison, but that he was not the less happy to have shaken hands with him. A murmur ran through the gallery, and a smile went round the chamber. Mrs. Chapman whispered to her next neighbor, — ' Righteousness and peace have kissed each other.' Dr. Channing had censured the Abolitionists in his pamphlet on Slaver}-. Mr. Garrison, in the Liberator, had rejected the censure, and here they were, shaking hands in the Senate Chamber. It was presently found that a pres- 1 London and Westminster Review, December, 1838. 570 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. sure of numbers compelled an adjournment to the larger House of Representatives. There Dr. Channing sat, behind the speakers, handing them notes, and most obviously affording them his counte- nance, so as to be thenceforth considered by the world an accession to their principles, though not to their organized body." Some painful facts in relation to the mode in which the Antislav- ery movement was for many years regarded by leading persons in the Federal Street Society must here be stated, as yet further proving Dr. Channing's readiness to co-operate with the Abolition- ists, so far as his judgment and conscience would permit. In ''Right and Wrong in Boston, 1835," Mrs. Chapman, speaking of the Bos- ton Female Antislavery Society, says: "Having notified it" — an address by George Thompson, explanatory of the objects of Anti- slavery associations — "in the Rev. Dr. Channing's church, where a notice of our meetings has never been refused a reading." This was true of the earliest years of the Antislavery movement, and would have been true always, had Dr. Channing's wishes been followed. It was his desire, not only that notices of the Anti- slavery societies should be freely read in the Federal Street pulpit, but that the meeting-house itself should be opened for their use. In both respects he was overruled by the decision of the Federal Street congregation. The standing committee placed a strict em- bargo upon all notices of a doubtful character, so that veiy few of Antislavery meetings ever reached the officiating minister. And in April, 1837, Dr. Channing received a negative answer to the following note : — " To the Standing Committee of Federal Street Church. ' ' Gentlemen : — The enclosed letter " — an application by Francis Jackson, Esq., for the use of the church for the Anniversaiy Meet- ing of the New England Antislavery Society — "was sent to me this morning. I wrote in reply, that it would be very agreeable to me that our church should be used for the purpose expressed in the letter ; but that it was the custom with us for the committee of the society to receive and decide on such applications, and that I would accordingly- lay the subject before them, which I now do. " Very truly, 3'our friend." It was entirely against his will that, under these circumstances, the Federal Street meeting-house was obtained from the committee for the purpose of a lecture, b^' the disingenuous action of an agent of the Colonization Societ3'. ^^'^^ ^ f^i' i«ore bitter disappointment followed. Nothing in all his intercourse with his people, nothing in THE COLONIZATION SOCIETY. 571 his whole Antislavery experience, caused him so much pain as a refusal of the use of the church to the Massachusetts Antislavery Societj", on the sad occasion when all true-hearted persons were called to mourn the awful death of Charles Follen, and when the Rev. S. J. May had prepared a discourse in commemoration of the rare virtues of that heroic and honored man. It was not only the insult to the memory of a beloved friend that grieved him, — though "Hiis could not but shock his cjuick and delicate feelings ; still less was it the disregard, under such touching circumstances, of his well- known wishes, that wounded him most deeply- ; but this manifesta- tion of a want of high sentiment in the congregation to which, for so man^- j'ears, he had officiated as pastor, made him question the usefulness of his whole ministry. To what end had he poured out his soul, if such conduct was a practical embodiment of the principles and precepts which he had so earnestly' inculcated? This event brought home to his heart the conviction, that the need was ver}^ urgent of a thorough application of the Christian law of love to all existing social relations. The following letters will complete the view of Dr. Channing's connection with the Antislavery movement. " Newport^ August 2, 1838.^ Yesterday we rode to Fall River, to attend a meeting in acknowledgment of the great goodness of God in giving freedom to eight hundred thousand fellow-creatures in the West Indies. What a glorious truunph of Christianity ! — for this work has been accomphshed by the spirit of justice and benevolence which Christianity has spread abroad. And can this spirit stop? Has it done its work? Has it more than begun its work? I feel a more cheering hope than ever for my race. Never had I so little alarm. In truth, all alarm seems to have left me. I confide in truth, and God, and human nature more than ever, and want noth- ing but strength to enter with new life on my labors." '•'•Boston^ February 26, 1840. Slavery never seemed to me a more important subject. I am sorry that thinks so highly of political action on the subject. M\' belief is, that the cause would have gone on steadily, surely, had not political action been resorted to, — had the friends of the cause labored to attract to it the think- ing, virtuous, patriotic, by unremitting appeals to the reason and conscience." " October 6, 1840.^ I have no hostility to this society,^ if it will confine itself to its legitimate objects. The chief of these I under- 1 To Joseph Tiickerman, D. D. 3 The Colonization Society. 2 To Mr. Hazard, Vaucluse, R. I. 572 THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT. stand to be the civilizing and Christianizing of Africa, and the sup- pression of the slave trade. How far a colon}' made up of such materials as you send ma}" answer these ends, some will question. But if any have faith in it, I sa}', let them try it, and may God bless their benevolent efforts. My objection to the societ}' is, that it has exerted an influence, and a ver}' disastrous one, beyond its proper limits. 1 fear that it has done more to depress and corrupt the moral sentiments of the community on the subject of Emancipation, than all other things. "But the past is past. I desire a better future. You, as a friend of freedom and humanity, cannot knowingl}', I am sure, give aid to doctrines and efforts which go to quiet the conscience of the slaveholder and to crush the hope of the slave. Why is it neces- sary that Colonization and Emancipation should come into col- lision? Wh}' may not good men favor both? Why cannot the children of Africa on both sides of the ocean be raised at the same moment to the rights and dignity of man? Good men will choose, among various objects of humanit}', to which they will devote them- selves. But why quarrel with and obstruct others? Whoever places himself in the way of Emancipation I must regard as acting the part of the enemy of his race, and it is poor comfort to me that he does this in order to produce another good. In these views I doubt not that I have your sympathy, and what I desire is, that 3'ou would spare no effort to bring the operations of the Coloniza- tion Society into harmony with them. I should rejoice to see this institution accomplishing its ends in Africa ; but I cannot expect to see it doing good abroad, if it shall, in any way, countenance oppression at home. Let its munificent patrons say, with decision, that it must not, directly or indirectly, obstruct the cause of eman- cipation at home, and I believe the difficulty will end. Is the time never to come when good men will pursue their various paths in peace ? " ''April 1, 1841.^ I thank you for 'The Hour and the Man.' You have given a magnificent picture of Toussaint ; and, in truth, I know not where the heroic character is more grandly conceived. May you live to render many such services to humanity ! " "■ Neivport, June 21, 1841. I have had a very pleasant visit southward, — have seen more of society and the country, and expe- rienced much kindness. The Abolitionists have given me a cordial welcome, and it delights me to see how a great common object 1 To Miss Harriet Martineau. RELIGION AND POLITICS. 573 establishes in an hour a confidence and friendship which 3'ears are sometimes necessary to produce. My ' Emancipation ' has been spread widel}', and I believe done much good. It has been put into the hands of men of influence. It is just stereot^'ped , and I know not how many thousands are to be sent forth. A Quaker from England brought me a letter from the venerable Clarkson, with a lock of his hair, in testimony of his pleasure in the work. I cannot tell 3'ou the hospitalities which m^' Abolition labors win for me, nor was I aware of the extent of their influence. I ought cer- tainlj' to be grateful for them. The opposition the}- have excited has done me great good, has been a very precious part of the expe- rience of my life, and now the blessings of success are added to the higher blessing of suffering for the truth. I do not wear as yet a crown of mart3-rdom. I hope I have not declined it by dishonora- ble comphance." '■'August 10, 1842. Finding the people around me disposed to forget the slave, I prepared an address for the First of August, which has gone to the press. I feel that such efforts bring me before the public as a pamphleteer^ not a very exalted name in liter- ature. But this is the readiest wa}' to the public mind, and I could not decline the task without self-reproach." " September^ 1842.^ M}^ First of August address was written under the inspiration of the mountains, which you know are the ' holy land ' of liberty. I did not think of making any serious efl^brt, but insensibly it grew under m}- hands, till it spread over pages enough to require an hour and a half for the delivery. I had onl}- strength to speak an hour and ten or fifteen minutes. I do not know that I ever spoke with more effect. I felt that I had found my way to the hearts of my hearers. What the intrinsic, permanent merits of the address are, I cannot say. Its popularity is no proof of any particular merit. It is in the press." Chapter V.— POLITICS. From the days when, as a bo}', he stood amid the assembled citizens of Rhode Island, and heard his father's persuasive voice urging the adoption of the Federal Constitution, onward through every year of widening experience and growing power, Dr. Chan- 1 To Mrs. E. L. Follen. 574 POLITICS. ning's interest had deepened in the changes by which human gov- ernments are becoming moulded after patterns of divine order. Piet}' and charity-, breathed in from Christianity-, onl}- enlarged, while they purified, his love of civil freedom. Politics were to him the body of religion. And his ever-expanding hope and purpose was to aid in diffusing that spirit of love, whereb}- law and libert}- will become one, and societies on earth be made to image in justice and in J03' the societies of heaven. In a letter suggested by reading the " Great Song" of Charles Follen,^ Dr. Channing has ver}' beautifully sketched the process, which he had seen in his friend, and was conscious of in himself, whereby 3'outh's glowing zeal is transformed into the steel-like firmness of manhood, in the truly disinterested political refonner. The extract will best introduce his views of politics in later years. " They who have felt in their j^outh the enthusiasm of freedom, whose spirits have been stirred within them by the sight of oppres- sion, will easily interpret the language of this song, written at the age of seventeen. They will see in its tone of vehement indigna- tion nothing cruel or unfeeling, but the natural utterance of intense, all-sacrificing devotion to the rights, dignitj-, and happiness of man- kind. The fier}' soul of j-outh does not count its words, nor does it weigh cautiously- the consequences of acts to which it is prompted by generous impulse. In its inexperience and earnestness, it is impatient of slow means of redress, and hopes to level the fabric of despotism, the work of ages, with a blow. Courageous, heroic, S3'mpathizing with the martyr of liberty in all ages, it burns to seize the avenging sword, and almost envies those who have re- deemed oppressed nations b}' their blood. Such is the picture of the noblest and most generous natures in 3'outh, and we should grievously misconstrue them, were we to see in their defying tones the signs of ferocit}'. A manhood of the sweetest, serenest virtue often follows a youth of irrepressible enthusiasm. The most inter- esting characters, indeed, are those in which the uncalculating, disinterested ardor of early life is tempered with the wisdom of years." Few men have lived more profoundlj^ moved by patriotism — if that much abused word ma}' be redeemed to signify- a devoted- ness to the essential principles and real prosperity of a people — than Dr. Channing. AVith his whole soul he longed to realize that ideal of a " Christian Commonwealth," which heralded our fore- fathers to this virgin land. No storms, no frosts, could dim the 1 Life of Charles Follen, p. 593. FOUNDATION OF FREE INSTITUTIONS. 575 beacon-fire of this great hope. Yet how expansive was this patri- otism ma}'^ be seen from tlie following extracts. 1831. "A nation, blessed as we are with free institutions, should feel that it holds these not for itself onlj', but for mankind, and that all oppressive establishments must fall before their influ- ence, if it will but give proof of their tendency and power to exalt a people in spirit, in virtue, and in condition. In truth, this close connection of different communities should lead us as individuals, as well as in our associated character, to interest ourselves in the cause of humanity through the whole earth. The present is an age of great movements, of great perils, and still of glorious prospects, and one in which there is a power of sympathy, as well as means of co-operation and extensive agency, never known before. In such an age, we should not shut up ourselves in ourselves, or look on the struggles of nations with a vain curiosit}', but should watch the changes of the world with profound concern, and respond to great principles, and cheer philanthropic efforts, wherever mani- fested. We should feel, I think, that the time is approaching in which Christian philanthropy is to act a new part on the theatre of human affairs, is to unite men of different countries in the same great work of rolling away abuses, of staying wide-spread evils, vindicating private rights, establishing public peace, and exalting the condition of the ignorant. We should do what we can to has- ten on this era. Our children should be educated on more generous principles, and taught to make new sacrifices to the cause of their fellow-creatures. Every age teaches its own lesson. The lesson of this age is that of sympathy with the suffering, and of devotion to the progress of the whole human race." His conviction of the grand privileges and duties of the United States made Dr. Channing indignant at the scepticism which he found but too prevalent in regard to the success of free institutions. This feeling manifests itself in a sermon preached to his people soon after the destruction of the convent on Mount Benedict. October, 1834. " With the mob itself I have nothing to do. On the feelings of the community which excited it, or which have grown out of it, and which seem to me reprehensible, I shall offer a few remarks. "Let me begin with observing, that the tone of alarm and despair produced by this outrage, and in which, as a community, we are very prone to indulge in all critical seasons, seems to me neither just nor wise. Multitudes among us, on that occasion, spoke, as they have too often spoken, as if society were shaken to 576 POLITICS. its foundations, all its joints loosened, all its fixtures about to l)e swept avva}'. Such alarms create the danger which the^- imagine. The foundation of a free community is the moral confidence of its members in one another. Impair this, and society is indeed convulsed. Inspire a people with mutual distrust, and you fit them for chains. What is the strength of a despotism? It is the want of moral confidence in a people. Wh^- does one will subjugate millions ? Because those millions have no mutual respect or trust as a.basis of joint action. The individual on whose heart the thought of freedom has dawned dares not breathe it into his neighbor's ear, lest that neighbor should prove a spy. He has around him cowards or sycophants, men sold to selfishness and meanness, and sinks into despair. Breathe through this mass one generous sentiment which should bind them together, and despot- ism would fall as by an earthquake. "The old enthusiasm of libert}- seems to be dying among us. The spirit of aristocracy, which always grows with the growth of population and wealth, and, still more, the crimes and errors which have dishonored the cause of constitutional freedom in both conti- nents, have chilled the old republican ardor. The faith of many in the capacity of men for self-government is shaken. Little interest is felt in the struggles of other nations for emancipation from old abuses, and for securing better institutions. This is not to be won- dered at, but it is much to be deplored. Despair of improvement is the symptom of spiritual death. Freedom is departing when faith in it is lost. The dangers of innovation, and the liableness of liberty to abuse, do, indeed, teach and enjoin great caution and sobriet}' in the adoption of plans for the advancement of society ; but they ought not to repress or weaken our sense of justice, our sympathy with the oppressed, our earnest desire to break every chain, and our trust in patient, upright eflTorts in the cause of human nature " Let us, then, trust in one another to the ver^' limit of truth. Men grow more trustworthy b}' mutual confidence. We are unwise and unjust to ourselves in speaking, as we are apt to do, of our free government as a rope of sand, as a Imseless, rotten fabric, which any storm may sweep away. We make it insecure by this distrust of its stability. Undoubtedly it has its dangers, for liberty of every kind is perilous ; but if ever a nation had the means of giving permanence to freedom, it is the United States, and ours will be the crime if it perish in our hands. " A mob is, indeed, to be regarded with horror and detestation, just as we regard a murderer. But when a man is murdered, we NATIVE AMERICANISM. 677 do not think that butchery is to become the order of the da}- ; nor when a mob breaks out ought we to feel as if all the authority of law, all social order, were on the brink of ruin. Mobs springing from the blind prejudices or passions of individuals may do great harm, and ought to be provided against more ertieiently ; but tliese will never dissolve our government, or essentially impair [)ublic security. Mobs may, indeed, become instruments of ruin, but not SLicli as we have lately witnessed. I refer to mobs connected with great parties, protected by them, and used by them as instruments. Here is a peril which cannot be set before us in too strong a light. Even here, however, the danger will not be in the mob, but in the spirit of party, which will vindicate, organize, and wield it. The great danger of our countr}' does not lie in occasional outbreakings of the ignorant and depraved part of the community, but in the spirit of party, inflaming and poisoning all breasts with liatred, propagating falsehood till no man can know the truth, legalizing fraud, intrigue, and corruption, subverting moral confidence, seek- ing strengtli in tumults, and converting elections into mobs. If this state of madness should be produced in the community, then indeed, and then only, the shout of mobs will be the knell of freedom." From these general remarks, the preaclier passes on to a par- ticular consideration of the mob at Cliarlestown. It will be seen how utterl}' opposed he was in princi[)le and feeling to the blind prejudices wliich prompted that outrage ; and an inference may be drawn as to the tone in which he would have spoken of "Native Americanism," had he been living, althougli he was full}^ aware of the evils incident to promiscuous suffrage. " Tlie feelings excited by that event were in general just and honorable to'us as a community. But I understand one feeling has been called out which deserves severe reprobation, and which, I fear, has not been rebuked as it deserves. It is said, that not a few among us are, in a measure, reconciled to the outrage, because of its bearing on an unpopular sect, — because it broke down one of the fortresses of Popery ; though tliis is the very circumstance which ought to awaken against it peculiar indignation. It is said that language like tlie following is not very uncommon : ' The mob was a bad thing, but it did some good. It destroyed the con- vent, that hateful monument of Romanism.' This language is as unworth}^ as it is false, and deserves as severe rebuke as the mob itself. No good has been done, and the evil was the ver}' one which ought most to humble us as a people. Our higliest distinction as 37 578 POLITICS. a community is the spirit of religious freedom. Tliis city has been the metropolis of religious libert}- to the whole earth, and that the persecution of the Dark Ages should be revived here is cause of luiutterable shame. It is no good that a convent has been burnt. Better that twenty convents should rise than that one should be suppressed by brute force. "It is hoped by many that Catholicism has thus received a check. I trust it has not. Better that it should triumph than be thus checked. Experience has shown that persecution strengthens religious sects. Ma}' this experience never fail. IMay persecutors learn, by invariable disappointment, that they are working ruin to themselves and their cause by their bloody instruments, — that their weapons are sure to recoil on themselves. In what lies the worst evil of Poper}- ? Not in its doctrines, — in trausubstantiation, purgator}-, or the invocation of saints. Many who have held these errors have been the excellent of the earth, unsurpassed in genius, philanthropy, and piet3^ It is the insolent, intolerant pretension to infallibility, — to the distinction of being the owXy true and apostolic church, — to the authorit}- of denouncing heres}', — which has made Popery the scourge and curse of Christendom. It is the war which this church has waged against the rights of conscience, against the free worship of God, which has branded her with in- delible infani}'. And do we who call ourselves Protestants, Avho have inscribed religious freedom on our banner, — do we begin to borrow the sword and fire of persecuting Rome ? Do we stoop to take up the unholy weapons which even Rome is throwing down ? "■Is there a man with tlie least pretension to character among us, wlio dares even to insinuate his complacency at the check which Catholicism has received by the late outrage ? Rebuke and indig- nation should put him to shame. Nothing is so terrible as perse- cution. Human nature has never shown itself more fiendish than when it has cloaked its bad passions under the garb of religion, and let tliem loose against the enemies of God. Religion was given to bind together, refine, soften human hearts. Its great ministry is that of love. But when narrowed into bigotry, when it worships God as the God of a sect, and arms itself in his name with fiames or tortures for the suppression of opposite creeds, it is more harden- ing to the heart, more merciless and unsparing, and presents more insuperable obstacles to the progress of truth and the free develop- ment of human nature, than any principle which can be named. We did hope that tliis crime of dark ages was past ; that, among all our vices, persecution by force was at an end ; and I know tliat it is the abhorrence of those to whom I speak, and of the com- THE STRENGTH OF FREE GOVERNMENTS. 579 munity. But tlie fact, that any have been found among us, con- senting, however indirectly, to the putting down of a sect by force, shows us that the spirit of persecution is not dead. If, then, you meet persons who, condemning the mob, yet hope advantage from the direction of its fury against a superstitious church, tell them that then- language is disloyalty to Protestantism, and pregnant with evil to society and religion ; that, could Catholicism be utterly destroyed by such an outrage, the evil would swallow up the imagined good ; that the sanction thus given to persecution would bring a flood of crimes and woes into the church, far worse than the super- stition which would be overwhelmed. Tell them, that in their hearts they are the true disciples of the school of the Inquisition, and that perhaps notliing but the power of opinion or the spirit of the age prevents them from re-enacting the part of St. Dominick." The political lesson taught by mobs he thus faithfully interprets : — " I grieve when I hear men referring to the next legislature, as if some stronger laws were all that we need for our security. Let us have these laws ; but unless accompanied by wise, patient, gen- erous efforts for the reformation and advancement of the ignorant and exposed classes of the community, they will avail little. Our mobs, though they have spoken in confused and discordant yells, have uttered one truth plainly ; and this truth is, that there exists among us — what ought to exist in no Christian country — a mass of gross ignorance and vice. They teach one plain lesson to the religious, virtuous, philanthropic, educated, refined, and opulent; and that is, that these have a great work to do, the work of enlight- ening and lifting up a large portion of their fellow-creatures and their neighbors ; that they have no right to spend their lives in accumulating wealth or in selfish indulgences, but that they are to labor, to expend time, thought, wealth, as their circumstances may permit, for the intellectual, moral, spiritual life of a multitude around them, buried in darkness, prejudice, sensuality, excess, and crime. This is the great lesson to be learned from moljs. If we heed not this, if we look for safety to penal laws, rather than to the perform- ance of personal duty, the disinterested labors of Christian love, and the faithful use of the best means of purifying and elevating society, we shall have none to blame but ourselves, if society be- come the prey of violence and insurrection." These extracts prove how deeply Dr. Channing was convinced that the security and strength of free governments are to be found in the general culture and the cordial intercourse of all classes of citizens. His w^ant of confidence in force and penalties, as means 580 POLITICS. of order in republics, appears very clearlj' in a letter occasioned by the struggle to secure universal suffrage in his native State. " Zewox, Mass.^ July 3, 1842.^ My dear Sir, — I received, a short time since, your discourse on the Rhode Island troubles, and was truly grateful for it. Your views are fitted to do much good, though on one ponit I, who reside at a distance, haA^e a somewhat dirtercnt state of feeling. I have never doubted that the great mass of the 'Suffrage party' started with a truly honest purpose, and with a thorough conviction of right. Indeed, I suppose all thought themselves in the right. Tlie doctrine, that ' the majority ought to govern,' passes with the multitude as an intuition, and they have never thouglit how far it is to be modified in practice, and how far the application of it ought to be controlled by other principles. The ' Suffrage party ' were inflamed and confirmed b}' fierce spirits through the country, and still more, they had just cause of com- plaint against the Charter. The disfranchisement of so great a number, who, according to our republican creed, had a right to vote, and the enormous and unjust inequalities of representation in the northern and southern parts of the State, were serious griev- ances,— giving no ground for the use of force against the existing government, indeed, but very naturally leading the half-educated multitude to believe in their right to get rid of this government in any way whatever. The existence of these wrongs in the estab- lished system has alwaj's made me look with great tenderness on the rash steps of the revolutionists. I do believe that the idea of right has been present to their minds, and has done much to hide from them their own violence and wrong-doing. And I insist on this, because I am most desirous that a system of great lenit}^ should be adopted towards these misguided men. I know that the State does not need severity for its own safety, and I hope it will not fall into cruelt}^ from revenge. You have a great influence. I beg you to exei't it in the cause of mercy and humanity "With great regard, your friend." But though thus earnestly advocating the just claims of the Suf- frage party, Dr. Channing was not in favor of the unrestricted right of voting. The views which he was inclined to adopt upon this fundamental question are thus expressed : — "I have endeavored, on all occasions, to disprove the notion, that the laboring classes are unfit depositaries of political powder, I owe it, however, to truth to say, that I believe that the elective 1 To Francis Wayland, D. D. UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE. 681 franchise is extended too far in this country. No man, I think, should be intrusted with this liigh privilege, wlio has not been in- structed in the principles of our government and in the duties of a good citizen, and who cannot afford evidence of respectability in regard to morals. One of the principal objects of our public schools should be, to train the young of all conditions for the duties of good citizens, to furnish them with the necessary knowledge of princi- ples for the judicious use of political power. The admission of the young to the privilege of voting should be the most solemn public act, the grand national festival. It should be preceded by an ex- amination of the candidates. It should be accompanied by the most imposing forms, fitted to impress the young and the whole community with the great responsibility and honorableness of this trust. "None of us seem adequately to understand, that to confer the elective franchise is to admit a man to the participation of sover- eignty, of the supreme power of the state. The levity with which this dignity is conferred, the thoughtlessness with which it has been extended, constitutes one of our great political dangers. Were the proper qualifications for it required, they would not exclude one class rather than another. The aim should be to exclude the un- worth}' of all classes. A community is bound to provide for itself the best possible government, and this implies the obligation to withhold political power from those who are palpably disqualified by gross ignorance or by profligacy for comprehending or consult- ing the general welfare, — who cannot exercise the sovereignty, without injuring the commonwealth. " I am fully aware of the obstacles which the violence of party spirit would throw in the way of the system now proposed, and I cannot but fear that the inconsiderateness with which the highest political power has been squandered in this country has gone too far for remedy. Still, it is useful to hold up to a people what it owes to itself. At least, these remarks will prevent my fellow-citi- zens from considering me as an advocate of universal suffrage, in the present state of society. I think, however, that a system of education should be established in a republic for the very purpose of making suffrage universal, — that is, for the purpose of qualify- ing every man to be a voter. But in the case of those who will not avail themselves of the natural means of improvement, political power should be withheld." In this extract, some remaining influence may be traced of the earl}^ Federal training of the writer. Through life, however, Dr. Channing was steadily becoming more confident in regard to the 582 POLITICS. working of the most popular forms of government. The folio whig letters indicate this tendency. '■'■ October 25, 1840.^ I am truly glad that Professor Smyth re- ceived any pleasure from my notice of his work. I have now read both volumes, and the impressions made by the first are all con- firmed But what I particularly regret is the severe sentence he passes on republican or democratic institutions. He maintains that these do not admit a proper executive power. This opinion he grounds chiefly on the weakness of the Continental Congress during our Revolution, which, indeed, put our hberties in peril. That Congress was not properly a government ; it was rather a com- mittee of the ditierent States, having no power to tax the people, but simply to recommend taxes to the State legislatures. These legislatures were the only governments ; and though got up in a moment of insurrection, they were able to keep order in a country overrun with an eneni}'. This is no mean testimony to their eflficacy. ''Our present federal government, framed deliberately after the Revolution, is a fair specimen of republican institutions. And what is the result, — that the executive proves too weak ? At this moment, the outer}' of the old Federalists, of the ver}- men most anxious for a strong government, is, that the balance of the system is endangered by the growth of the executive power. It was a common remark, that President Jackson had more power than your King William. Besides the great patronage which the astonishing growth of the country has thrown into the President's hands, it is found that, in the present stage of society, a free country- must be broken into, and governed by parties, and that among us the stronger party is represented by the President, who is, indeed, its head, and is sustained in all his measures by its wJiole power. Un- douV)tcdly, a dominant party may help to secure itself in some exi- gency by relaxing the authority of the laws ; but the expedient is a dangerous one, and cannot go far in an industrious, commercial, and tolerably enlightened community, where the people at large have a plain interest in social order and in the rights of property. " In this country, besides the general government, we have twenty-six State governments, purely republican, and in their con- stitutional sphere independent of each other and of Congress ; and one third of these States have shot up suddenly in the wilderness, a circumstance most unfavorable to rigid execution of law. Yet the country, as a whole, is not surpassed in point of order. Our 1 To William Rathbone, Esq. EXECUTIVE POWER. 683 institutions, in tlieir infancy, have stood the storm of the French Eevolution, the tendencies to lawlessness in new settlements, and terrible commercial convulsions, springing from a reckless spirit of speculation. Have they severer trials to fear? In your country a very strong government is rendered necessary by the unnatural state of society, artificial ranks, exclusive privileges, fearful inequalities of condition, the ignorance and degradation and misery of the working classes, an intolerable debt, vast and distant colonies, and a most'' cumbrous state machinery required to manage such an un- wieldy and disproportioned whole. A government starting on just and simple principles, and proposing, as its first object, to establish and enforce an equal and wise jurisprudence, so that the rights of all may be equally secure, will require but little comparative force. " I have written thus largely, because I want Professor Smyth to think better of republics. I know their danger, but they seem to me the fittest institutions for a man to live under. Can you give him my views ? " ''June 20, 1841.^ I wish your venerable friend, Mr. Smyth, had, for his own sake, or the comfort of his last years, retained his faith in freedom unimpaired. Retain it in a measure he must. He could not live without it, but he fears, I think, more than he need fear. My judgment in regard to this country I should not think of stating to him again ; but it is worthy of his consideration, that our conservatives, our alarmists, the men who sympathize with him most, all agree in the belief, that the balance of the Constitution has been endangered by the increase of the executive power. I feel more and more the difficulty of judging of new institutions, especially in a foreign country. The great danger to our institu- tions, which alarms our conservatives most, has not, perhaps, entered Mr. Smyth's mind. It is the danger of a party organiza- tion so subtle and strong as to make the government the monopoly of a few leaders, and to insure the transmission of the executive power from hand to hand, almost as regularly as in a monarchy. A sagacious and old conservative told me, a few months ago, that the Democratic party under Jackson and Van Burcn had become so trained, so closely bound together, especially by the executive patron- age, that nothing but the late tremendous suffering of the coun- try could have stirred it up to throw off the yoke. His statement I think exaggerated, but that this danger is real cannot be doubted. So that we have to watch against despotism as well as, or more than, anarch}'. 1 To Mrs. Wm. Ratlibone. 584 POLITICS. " Mr. Rathbone, too, fell into an error. He saw, in the escape from punishment of the men who burnt the Catholic convent and the Pennsylvania Hall, signs of the weakness of our government. These men escaped wholly in consequence of our adhering to the English institution of trial by jury. The men would have been pun- ished, could tiiey have been convicted. But popular prejudice and passion rendered it impossible to get sufficient evidence, or an im- partial jury. In the case of Pennsylvania Hall, the trial for dam- ages is still going on. My friends hope for a favorable verdict. In this case we see that no institutions, however good, can be enjoyed without experience of evil. We must take things as they are. A free government undoubtedly has its evils. A people, on the whole, are poor rulers, but far better than kings and aristocracies. All governments are and must be bad, till men grow wiser and better. "The advantage of popular institutions is, that they are founded in natural right, that the^' educate and elevate a people more than any other, and thus, in the long run, that the people will learn their true interest, whilst privileged orders must, from the nature of the case, postpone this interest to their own." The more Dr. Channing's faith in man deepened, the less did he look to government in an}' form, or controlled by any party, as a trustworthy means of human elevation. He was jealous of power, whether wielded by the few or the many. His estimate of existing parties, and of their tendencies, will best appear by giving a few extracts from his correspondence. " Philadelphia., May 27, 1835. Were j'ou here, j'ou would be in 3'our element, for the political fever rages not a little, and boj's and men talk as ardently about President and Bank as 3'ou could desire. I keep myself in peace. I hear sad predictions ; but passion is a poor prophet, and I trust more to my own calm anticipations. No convulsions are near, but the age is a troubled one, and everj^ young man should be brought up to make great sacrifices for his country, and for the rights and happiness of mankind. I confess I have a desire to make a hero of 3'ou ; not a vulgar one, not a blood}' one, but read}' to face any and ever}' thing in obedience to your conscience and highest principles." 1837.^ " I rejoice to find any portion of your Democratic breth- ren taking the ground of peace. I have little confidence in this party, because it is a party., and of consequence prepared to make 1 To J. L. O'SuUivan, Esq. EXISTING PARTIES. 585 any and every sacrifice to its own success. How I should rejoice to find tlie real friends of the people coming together, and striving, through good and evil report, for each and every man's rights, liberties, education, and elevation, for the spirit of brotherhood, for universal peace, and for the freest intercourse of nations ! That the Democratic party would yield its full proportion of such friends of the people, I doubt not. But I hope nothing from it as a party." ^'■February 7, 1842.^ It is a singular problem, how a people, so practical and intelligent in the main as we are, should be repre- sented by such a set of men. What increases the mystery is, that most of these men, taken singly and in private life, are respectable. The solution is, that political power is more bhnding, corrupting, and maddening than any other, and the lesson is, to restrict gov- ernment to the very narrowest powers which social order requires. Europe, looking at our House of Representatives, must think us a nation of half-fools or half-madmen ; and yet we are far in advance of Europe. It is only on the political stage that we play such antics. The people seem to be more alive to the disgrace brought on the country by Congress. But it will be long before the wild spirits of the West and South will be tamed." '■'■March. 1, 1842.2 The political state of the country is exceed- ingly perplexed. The Whig party has httle unit}', and is threat- ened with dissolution by President Tyler's veto on their National Bank bill, a measure maintained chiefly on party grounds. Would the Democrats break up too, and could we start afresh, the gov- ernment would probably be less of an evil than it is. I am a thorough republican, as you know, but I have no great faith in the people, any more than in kings, as legislators, and I ask of both to govern as little as possible. In the present state of the world, King Log seems the best king. I trust we are growing up to a comprehension of the good of nations and individuals, which will make government a safer machine." From the following passages it will be seen how clearly Dr. Channing recognized that the aristocratic and democratic elements, innate and uneradicable as they are, are contending under new banners and with new weapons, and that the political struggle of this generation is between money and man, the owners of past labor and the toiling producers. It was very obvious to him that a new era has opened, — the reign of commerce and combined capi- 1 To Harmanus Bleecker, Esq. 2 To George Combe, Esq. 586 POLITICS. tal, — and that the passion for propertj' is the tyrant chief!}' now to be dreaded as the foe to freedom. He thus exposes the mercenary spirit which has usurped control over pohticians, parties, and hu- mane principles : — '•'■April 22, 1837.^ I am more and more struck with the mourn- ful effects of the infinite, intense thirst for gain and accumulation here. It takes so much the form of insanit}*, that one may, on that account, charge on it the less immoralit}'. The spirit of commercial gambling, or what is called by courtesy speculation, has infected almost all ranks, and all are now tasting its bitter fruits. But I care little for these fruits comparatively. The suf- fering we deserve. The unprincipledness which has led to it is shocking. My comfort is, that the present condition of society must wear out. It is, perhaps, a necessary stage, but a better civilization will succeed it. This people will find out, at length, that money is not the supreme end of the social compact ; that republican institutions in particular have liberty and improvement, and the development of human nature, for their objects, not a miserable, degrading drudgery for accumulation. I sometimes desire ardently to be transported to some simple and comparativel}' poor condition of society, where I might meet greater respect for human nature, and a sincere prevalent devotion to the spiritual purposes of human life." '■'■ August 23, 1837.^ The morals of commerce is trul}' a great subject, especiall}' in our two countries. So vast and various are our commercial relations, that they do much to determine indi- vidual character, and a man violating principle in these is inflicting the deadliest wound on his virtue. Much might be done by a strong, clear exposition of the rights and duties, the true principles, and the perils of trade. The cure, however, requires deeper appli- cations. The unmastered, immeasurable passion for gain lies at the root of the evil, and this is to be met by a higher, wiser appli- cation of Christian truth. The moral sense on this subject is to be created. I have often been struck with the entire composure with which a congregation will hear their worldliness rebuked, when they would wince if any acknowledged vice were charged on them. They really see no guilt in an entire absorption in outward inter- ests. We want a new administration of Christianity^ and moral truth. It is cheering to me to find your mind so alive to the great principles which ought to be enthroned in every heart." 1 To George Ticknor, Esq. 2 To William Rathbone, Esq. KEPUDIATION AND SPECULATION. 587 '■'-April, 1840.^ Our countiy is suffering severe!}' from commer- cial depression. An inflated currenc}', wtiicli gave birth and means to excessive and unprincipled speculation, is producing its natural effects. In nearlj' luilf the country, the banks have suspended specie payments, and this derangement of the exchanges has sadly crippled the other parts of the country-. Could we learn wisdom by what we suffer, the temporary evil would be as nothing. But the present commercial system seems essentiall}' corrupt. I see, however, that the present has grown out of the past, that it is a necessary stage of society, that its evils are connected with, if not results of, newly developed principles and energies, which the experience of centuries may be needed to modify and harmonize. This vast system of Providence stretches beyond our sight on ever}' side. We must not be disheartened by its mysteries, but in a spirit of faith go on to do the best we can for ourselves and our race." Seeing thus that the pi'ogress of civil liberty' in the state, and of moral elevation in the individual, is hindered by the absorbing pursuit of gain, and that the insinuating power of commercial speculators, bankers, l^rokers, and large corporations is gaining mastery over all other elements in the body politic. Dr. Channing found cause for rejoicing in the periods of stagnation and bank- ruptcy, which, under the present s^'stem of competitive anarchy, inevitabh' alternate with those of fevered enterprise. In preaching and in conversation he took advantage of these pauses to admin- ister the frankest words of counsel to all within the sphere of his influence ; and his letters will exhibit the uncompromising fidelity with which he interpreted the teachings of Providence. '■'•December 31, 1841.^ I wish I could send you any better ac- counts of oln- financial concerns. There are fears that some of the States will refuse to pay the interest of their debts, and that we are to be disgraced still more in the eyes of the world. It is some comfort to know that no foreigner has a right to complain of New England. It ought, too, to be added, that our people have got into their ditticulties very much through ignorance. Our State legislatures, which are competent to ordinary' matters, are unfit to devise and carry on public works, and know little of finance and of the arts of stock-jobbers. The consequence is, that, through the unskilfulness or frauds of their agents, and the tricks of the stock market, some, perhaps most, of the indebted States have ( * To M. J. C. L. Simonde de Sismondi. 2 To Tliomas Thornely, Esq. 588 POLITICS. been cheated out of no small part of the loans for which their bonds were given. The people in their simplicity have all along been deceived b}' the fair promises of leaders and interested men, and now tliat they wake up to the truth, they not unnaturalh', though very unwarrantabl}', seek pretexts for breach of faith in the wrongs and artifices which have been practised on themselves. " I deplore greatly this dishonesty in States, and the sufferings of individuals which must follow ; but I have little doubt that in the end we shall have a sounder state of things. The prodigality and recklessness of our State legislatures, which have inflicted incom- parably greater evil on this country than on foreign creditors, are brought to an end, and the people have learned a salutar}' jealousy of those bodies which will not soon die. Meanwhile, the whole com- munity must bear the reproach which belongs to a small part. This is a necessary consequence of our political union, nor do I desire to avert it. It is by such retributions that the importance of national character is more felt. I have no despondence. We have great evils here, as ever3'where, to encounter, but there is an amount of intelligence and energy which must at length triumph." '■'■Boston, January 21, 1842. I am sure that some good is to come from our present dithculties. The State legislatures will be kept to their proper spheres. Our facilities of credit will be di- minished ; and I hope, that, what with the loss of reputation, and what with the suspension of public works, immigration will also be diminished. The ' credit system,' as it is called, has wrought im- mense evil, and it has received a blow not easily to be recovered from The sum is, let us, as individuals and as a people, be scrupulously honest. The papers speak of Judge Hopkinson's dan- gerous sickness. He ought to be honored for the lessons of pecu- niary integrity he gave to his fellow-citizens. You young men cannot feel too strongly the importance of ' common honesty.' "I am most anxious that the insolvent States should pay their debts, and not bring infamy on us all. The late resolve in the Pennsylvania legislature is encouraging. How far is it a true ex- ponent of public feeling? The resolution passed quite unanimously, indeed, but it is not decisive. Men are always honest, just as the}' are Antislavery, in the abstract ; but it is easy to defeat, by man- agement and specious o])structions, the operation of a principle for which we have been clamorous. Our late credit system and the common maxims of trade have corrupted the people sadly. I am not for setting on foot an anti-commercial society, but the stinni- lants to trade and money-getting in our country have done incal- culable harm." BRIGHTER PROSPECTS. 589 " February 7, 1842.^ I dare sa^' doleful sounds are borne to 3'ou across the ocean. Our country' is disgraced abroad, but to me its prospects are much brighter at home. It is an immense good that our credit in Europe is so shaken. "We have been ruined by the facility of borrowing, and by the madness of speculation which this generated. What we called our prosperity was bloated and false, — the prosperity of a spendthrift. Things, they say, are coming to a crisis; which means, that the men who cannot pay will cease to pass for solvent, — that rotten banks will be broken, «S:c., — that there will be a crash of those who ought to have fallen long ago. But can relief come in any other way? At least, such seems to me the state of things, as I look at it at a distance. " I confess, when I look at the mad career of individuals and States, I rather wonder that we are let off so easily. The idea that the country is to sink under its present burdens is absurd beyond measure. That our bank system will work us a great deal of evil, ■when business revives, I take for granted ; but our experience can- not be wholly lost. Perhaps the States which have suffered most ma}^ be the first to reform the currenc}-, and may give lessons to their neighbors. Congress is in a bad state, — factious, furious, senseless ; and if I did not see that there are mighty causes at work in the countr}- , which a few mad or selfish politicians at AVashington cannot control, I might fear. Happily, they waste their strength in fighting against one another, and do nothing ; a policj', I appre- hend, far wiser than either party left to itself would give us." " March 1, 1842.^ I do not wonder that Europe raises a cry of indignation against this country. I wish it could come to us in thunder. My patriotism does not incline me to cloak the sins of my country. I wish them cured. You, however, must understand how unjust .these sweeping censures are. Not a stain rests on the good faith of New England and New York, and of the great major- ity of the States. " Bad faith in public matters and private integrity are not seldom found in strange union. To measure the guilt of these people, you must suppose yonv countrymen placed in the same situation. You must suppose universal suffrage introduced into Great Britain. Do you think that your national debt would be safer than that of Mis- sissippi? I do not say this by wa}' of excuse, — for none can be made, — but only to sliow, that, in the most hopeless parts of our country, you meet nothing worse than j'ou find everywhere. Is not 3'our national debt secure, chiefly because the creditors hold the reins of government ? 1 To Harmanus Bleecker, Esq. 2 To George Combe, Esq. 590 POLITICS. ' ' I look on this conntr}' as .in a better condition now than in its ' prosperous days.' These States and individuals borrowed reck- lessly and spent prodigall}'. Our prosperity was a show. Now, we know where we stand. Now, a check has been given to the State governments which will never be forgotten, and I think it a great gain that the people have grown jealous of State legislation. Our credit abroad is shaken, and this is a great good ; for excess of credit has been almost our ruin. At this moment, even, we are trusted too easily. We have had recentl}' a severe money -pressure, from excess of importations. Could credit and immigration from Europe be exceedingl}' abridged, our chance would be much better. Another good is, that the monstrous evils of our banking system have been brought to light, and the whole people have learned a lesson of wisdom on this point which must bear powerfuU}- on the government. You hear the word ' distress ' in the cities, but the mass of the people enjoy a prosperity unparalleled on the earth. "I want Europe to shame us out of crimes, and care not how severe!}' our real sins are reproved. Nor am I anxious to oppose the misapprehensions of Europe about us ; because these can do us no harm, because they are obstinately cherished, and because the}' must give way at last to the great fact of our progress, if our pro- gress is to continue. Nothing can arrest this progress but war, and divisions growing out of slaver3\ The opinion of Europe has never troubled me. But to j'ou, who are a true friend of the countr}' and of freedom, I would sa}', that yon need have no fear about us, ex- cept that general apprehension which human frailty obliges us to feel about everything below." '•'■August 10, 1842.^ The trading community suffer much, and this must be, not only from past rashness, but because we have twice as many people in trade as the exchange of the products of the country requires. This is a natural consequence of the spread of education, and will correct itself in time. An educated man would rather live by his wits than his hands, and consequently there has been a great rush into trade, where it was supposed, that, by the union of shrewdness with enterprise, men might grow rich with little toil. We are outgrowing this delusion. Agriculture, the true work of man, is getting into favor and honor, and the next genera- tion may be saved from the crimes and miseries of excessive, un- bounded competition in trade." But though thus just in his recognition of the peculiar tempta- tions and faults of his countrymen. Dr. Channing was not inclined 1 To William Rathbone, Esq. LETTER ON TEXAS. 591 to receive passively the indiscriminate criticism of travellers and of foreign nations. It will be seen from the following letters how firm, while candid, he was in asserting the claims of the United States to respect. '•'-June 14, 1837.-^ I am reading Miss Martineau's book with much interest. I see in it a genuine expression of her mind, and feel that I have the whole of what she thinks of the country. Should other people tell us the whole, should we be equally satisfied ? No honest book of travels can be popular in the country of which it treats. She falls into a great many errors, as I expected. But I consider, that, if she does not know us thoroughly, neither do we know ourselves ; and we undoubtedly reject as apocryphal what is true. The great fault of the book is its presumption ; for what warrant has a traveller, under her circumstances, to pass such deci- sive judgments on such an infinitj* of matters ? And yet, I do not know a traveller who is not chargeable with the same fault. I seldom hear the conversation of men or women returned from Europe, without being surprised at the sweeping sentence which the^' pass on what they could not comprehend. " You see I am very lenient towards the faults of Miss Martineau, whilst I admire her generous, bold, uncompi'omising adherence to the great principles of freedom and humanit3\ As to being angry, I cannot ; for the opinions of travellers about our country seem to me of too little moment to give anybody uneasiness " Her unpardonable sin is, that she is honest. Who of us would bear the honesty which should tell us all our faults ? No country is worthy of respect. So sa^'s the minister ever}' Sunday, who ac- knowledges in prayer, and rebukes in preaching, the corruptions around him ; and yet, when a stranger tells us of our follies and sins, we wonder at his or her abusiveness. Such occasions show us the real blirtdness of a people to its own moral evils." " Newport, June 23, 1838 In the last London Quarterly Re- view is a review of my Letter on Texas, in which my strictures on our country are treated as proofs of the failure of our popular institutions. I should like to write another letter, to show that these institutions are worth}' of higher reverence and confidence than they have yet received, and, under this general topic, to introduce some important truths greatly needed now. This is in my mind, but all attempts at writing have, as 3'et, exhausted me, and I ma}' not regain strength until the occasion is gone. I do not, however, suffer myself to de- spond. I have entire, unshaken confidence in God. I know his 1 To Joseph Tuckerman, D. D. 592 POLITICS. paternal interest in his human famil}', and that he will never want instruments for the great work of their regeneration." " September 24, 1838.^ I offer these remarks, because, in eon- sequence of my Letter on Texas, j'ou seem to look more doubt- ingly towards this country. I meant that Letter for my own people, and little expected it would draw attention abroad ; and I was so desirous to inspire salutary fear and compunction, that I threw into the picture the darker shades only. There is, indeed, much evil here, as there must be in our present civilization. The spirit of gain has seized on all countries, and, whilst it is accomplishing man}^ im- portant purposes, and is perhaps essential to the supplanting of the old aristocracies, and to the forming of new connections among countries wliich nothing but commerce could bring together, many of its immediate influences are degrading. A selfish, mercenary spirit must become rife. In such an age, the idea of Property may be expected sometimes to take rank of Liberty. Still, I see signs of progress at home." 1839. " I have been struck of late with the disposition through- out Europe to throw the blame of all that is evil in this country on our/ree mstitvtions, as if freedom were the only element of our social constitution. The truth is, that freedom, at this moment particu- larly, has less influence than other peculiarities in our state. Our most striking peculiarity is, that we are a young people, bringing all the powers of an advanced civilization and very singular energies of industry and enterprise to bear on a new countr}- of inexhaustible resources. Ever}' day discloses to us new mines of wealth. In addition to our own capital, which has increased immensely, foreign capital is pouring in, and opportunities of profitable investment seem to increase in still greater proportion. The consequence you can easily conceive. The minds of the people are intoxicated with a stimulant which human nature has never yet been strong enough to resist. The spirit of speculation, the passion for unbounded accu- mulation, rages among us. We think little about polities, compared with public improvements, as the}' are called, — new applications of steam, new settlements in the Far West, &c. In such a state of things, no man has a fixed position. Hardly any man has the strong, local feeling of other countries. A mighty stream of popu- lation, bearing away our adventurous youtli, is setting westward. Journeys of five hundred or a thousand miles are an amusement to us. The imagination is at work continually on the distant and the vast. The result is a ver}- vigorous though partial development of 1 To Lant Carpenter, D. D. MATERIAL TENDENCIES. 593 human nature. We undei'stand positive material interests better than any other people But the effect of this boundless ex- ternal activit}'- is, that the inward, spiritual, higher interests of humanit}' are little comprehended, prized, or sought. We surpass even England in worldly utilitarianism. The worth of the higher intellectual and moral culture of arts and studies which refine and elevate is not felt as it should be ; but this has nothing to do with our freedom, or is not to be charged on our free institutions. " It is a remarkable fact, that, with all tliis worldly activity, there is a higher standard among us than anywhere else. My personal observation is, indeed, confined very much to Boston. I have seen tlie population of that place quadrupled, and its wealth multiplied in vastly greater proportion ; and I am confident that there has been a decided advance in religion, philanthropy, and general virtue, as well as in intelligence "For myself, I would we were less prosperous. Our freedom and glory are endangered In' our rapid growth, especially by our growth from abroad. Our foreign population is becoming a great evil. Our fathers, never dreaming of what has taken place, and wishing to make our country an asylum for oppressed humanity-, began with giving the rights of citizenship on too eas}- terms, and we have gone on from bad to worse, until the elective franchise is lavished on ignorant hordes from Europe, who cannot but abuse it. This profanation of so high a privilege moves my indignation. You misunderstood me, when you supposed me to say, that our present civilization increases the distance between the higher and lower classes generally. I said, that it creates a more decided pauperism. " In closing, let me add, that I do not despair on account of the material tendencies of m}* countrymen. Perhaps it is well that human nature should w^ork itself out fairh* in one direction. It is too noble and various to work always in one way, A higher activity is to manifest itself, though perhaps not in my da}'." '■'■March 19, 1840.^ I am sorr}' you have seen so much to the disadvantage of my countrymen, and yet I wish the truth to be seen and told. Not that I expect any sudden changes from the fresh expression of opinion. Our country is swept along by mighty impulses. The causes which act on character are extensive and exceedingl}' strong. There is so much in our condition to stir up restlessness, wild schemes, extravagant speculation, a grasping spirit, ambition, and fanaticism, in a thousand infectious forms, 1 To George Combe, Esq. 38 594 POLITICS. that there is not much chance for reflection, for moral self-determi- nation. Something may be done to sta}' the torrent, but merely moral influences cannot avail much. The stern, terrible lessons of Providence are needed by such a people, and these form a part of ever}" nation's experience. It seems to me, that never was a people so tried and tempted as ours. Freedom alone, so unobstructed as we enjoy it, is a sufficient trial ; but in addition to this are our nnmense territory, with its infinite and undeveloped resources, the innumerable openings for enterprise, the new and unexampled ap- plications of science to art, the miracles of machinery, of steam by land and water. All these combined are enough to madden a people. Tliat a worldl}', material, mercenary, reckless spirit should spring up amid these circumstances, we must expect. ' ' Few look on the present stage of societ}' with less satisfaction than 1 do ; and yet it seems a necessary stage, and I see in it the promise of something better. The commercial s3-stem, which is the strongest power of our times, is, for the most part, my abhor- rence ; and 3'et I do see that it is breaking down the feudal system, the military system, old distinctions and old alienations, and estab- lishing new ties among men. I therefore hope, nor do I think moral means nseless, though other causes are for the time trium- phant. You and I may still work in faith. The reckless activity- of the people is better than torpidness, and there are good minds open to truth. I suppose I live in the most illuminated region, and I do see, amidst many unpromising circumstances, a spirit of im- provement at work, especially among the laboring class." Dr. Channing was earnest that the United States should be faith- ful to their rare privilege of manifesting among the nations a higher form of liberty, justice, peace, and felt an elevating sentiment of honor in view of the glorious destiny to which his country, if worthy, might attain. But longing for the elevation of humanity at lai-ge, and looking upon Christendom as a grand fraternity, he watched with most cordial sympathy and joy every struggle for the elevation of the people in all lands. Especially towards P^ngland did he turn with gratitude and hope. His desire of friendly relations between the United States and Great Britain, and liis profound in- terest m her political progress, are fully exhibited in his corre- spondence. " 31(11/ 27, 1825. I was sorry to discover in your remarks some- thing of what I may call tlie bigotry of republicanism, by which I mean the persuasion, that liberty can only subsist under such in- stitutions as ours, and the consequent habit of looking with a hostile THE UNITED STATES AND GREAT BRITAIN. 595 e3'e on all other institutions. This seems to me an example of an error so common as to deserve a place among Bacon's idols, the error of confounding the means with the end. You speak as if we alone were free, because we alone act throughout on the system of election., when England, our mother, and the fountain of all our lib- eral institutions, is free in spite of an hereditary king and nobility. It is wrong to suppose that public opinion can embody and express itself only through elections. There are other ways ; perhaps there is no country in the world where public opinion reigns more than in England. Yet you haA'e made no distinction between that coun- try and the other monarchies of Europe. " It grieved me that, in so excellent a discourse, anything should be said or implied to diminish the sympathy, already too faint, with that admirable country, on which God has bestowed for two centuries the signal honor of being the bulwark of Prot- estant and free principles. Nowhere on earth will you find a people more high-minded, more jealous of their rights, more bold in expressing their thoughts, more resolute and earnest in putting forth all the powers of human nature, than in England ; and irrec- oncilable as the fact may be with our theories, we there see, under an aristocracy which holds a large part of the real estate of the kingdom, an improved and productive agriculture, giving to the countr}' an aspect of beaut}- and fruitfulness, which makes this and other countries appear as if thej- were but half redeemed from a state of nature. "True libert}' rests upon and consists in nothing so much as a free press, that is, in intellectual libert}', in liberty to think and speak, and to influence other minds to the full extent of the indi- vidual's power. This creates what we call public opinion, an in- fluence which cannot be said to exist anywhere in Europe, save in England, arid which operates there with astonishhig energ}-. The power of the press in England is exceedingly aided by local causes. The existence of a metropolis like London — that ' mighty heart ' through which the whole blood of the empire circulates, and which sends forth, in a single day, through every village the report of a public man's services or misdeeds — produces a quick common feeling, communicates an electric impulse to the whole body, of which no other country is susceptible. The power of public opin- ion has been remarkably manifested in the change whereby the re- strictive system, which has been looked to for ages as a nation's safeguard and source of wealth, is giving way to the improA^ed in- telligence of the people, and the freest doctrines as to the inter- course of nations are not only avowed, but embodied into the 596 POLITICS. commercial code. Look at the immense public works of England, carried on, not b}' government, but b}^ private associations ; and who is not struck witli the confidence of man in man, tlie power of equal laws, and the unbounded energy of character, implied in these? .... " The amount of what I would say is this. I wish that we might speak more diffidentl}' of ourselves, and in more conciliatorv lan- guage of others ; that we might seek the liberation of the world b^^ improvement rather than convulsion ; that we might ' preach peace ' to monarchs and subjects ; that we might never speak of war, especially of civil war, but with the aversion and horror which Christianity and philanthropy inspire. As for kings, wliilst we remember that they are men like ourselves, and not a whit better than their poorest subjects, let us not deny them the candor and kindness due to men. The}^ are made masters of nations by the accident of birth, not by their own will, and most of them, if they would, could not innocently abdicate their thrones ; for nations, untrained to the functions of self-government, if suddenly called to their exercise, would soon fill the vacant thrones with worse t3'rants than their old masters. Libert}' is not the growth of violence. It is, indeed, the greatest political good, ' to be prized aboA-e all price ' ; but it is also a moral good, and is to be diffused b}' nothing so effectually' as by that spirit of love which makes man dear to man, and by which Christianit}', in proportion as it is better under- stood, will bind together all orders of societ}'." " Boston, Novemhcr 30, 1827.^ I desire to do something to make our two countries better acquainted with each other, and I know no way so effectual as a free interchange of thought between those who witliout vanity ma}^ lay claim to some enlargement of mind. " I see what is called national spirit working a thousand evils, but it is never worse emplo3'ed than in separating two countries which are the chosen abodes of freedom, and which are intrusted with the dearest interests of the human race. I know that this feeling of nationality has done good, especially in rude ages, when men could not take in a larger idea than that of tribe or countr}-, and when no other motive of a generous kind could counteract selfish and sordid tendencies. I can admire Roman patriotism, unjust and cruel as it was ; for it carried the individual in a meas- ure out of himself, or, more properly, gaA'e a generous cast to his selfishness ; but I should mourn if I thought the human mind capa- ble of nothing nobler, and I am sure tliat Christianity is meant to 1 To Miss Jane E. Roscoe. POSITION OF ENGLAND. 597 pour a quite different and more celestial fervor through the soul. We owe to nationalitj- national independence, not civil and personal liberty ; and this last is the great interest and hope of human nature. Let its friends, liowever separated by oceans or tongues, feel them- selves brethren, and cherish a union stronger than that of country. " Tliis ma}' be thought an interest for men only to think and write about. But believing, as I do, that liberty is a moral good, to be promoted, not Iw the sword, but b^^ magnanimit}' of thouglit and feeling, by a conviction of what we were made for, of the dig- nity of our intellectual and moral being, I feel that woman ma}' do her full share towards the liberation of the world." " /September 24, 1838.* I anticipate from steam navigation in- creased intercourse between the two countries of a higher character than has subsisted 3'et. Hitherto we have exchanged commercial agents, and have known one another b}' specimens of the money- getting tribe, and those not the best. I hope the intelligent, refined, religious, elevated, will now represent the two countries to each other. If our mother will send some of her worthiest sons to see us, I am sure thej' will not make her grieve over a degenerate pos- terity. She will recognize in us, perhaps, some of her own faults, and the faults of youth goaded to excess by peculiar temptations ; but I am inclined to believe that she will find few of her works to take more pride in than in this same rebellious but vigorous republic of ours. I call it her work, not merely because she sent out a gen- erous stock that has shot up into a great people, but because our institutions are the expansions of her own free principles." " Boston, October 25, 1840.^ Your little island is too small a basis for so vast an empire, and it is hard to find a statesman equal to the comprehension of so many and such complicated interests. You meet the fate of all conquering states. To keep what 3'ou have, you must grasp more, and every new acquisition is a new point for assault. Your business with China is a sad one, Eng- land is to reconcile the world to her ascendency in the East, by showing herself the friend, guardian, civilizer of less improved races. That she should be the chief cultivator of a ph3'sical and moral poison, should labor to force it on a less improved people, and should then turn against this defenceless people the terrors of European warfare, — all this does little credit to her humanity, and shows that in pushing her trade she cares very little for the influ- ence she exerts on the world. Believing, as 1 do, that England rests on her moral strength, I lament this wound on her good name, 1 To Lant Carpenter, D. D, 2 To William Rathbone, Esq, 598 POLITICS. as well as shudder at the miseries she is about to inflict in another hemisphere." '■'• Newport^ July 11, 1841.^ In regard to 3'our Chartists, I have a strong interest in them ; but I do not know that I can serve them, except by recommending, as I have tried to do, the cause and rights of the depressed and injured to the sympathj' and con- sciences of their fellow-creatures. " I differ from the Chartists in their fundamental point, immediate universal suffrage. Suffrage is not merel}- a power given to the individual for protection of his own rights, but a power of acting on the most sacred rights and interests of the whole community ; and if he is palpabhj disqualified to act on these justly and wisely, the power should not be granted. Every individual ought, however, to have the means of qualifying himself for suffrage. The state ought to spare no pains to raise every member from that brutal ignorance and degradation which unfits him for all public action. The cry of the Chartists should be for immediate universal education, and for such an education as would prepare them for the elective franchise. In the Chartist book which you refer to, I was greatly pleased and encouraged by finding that this party had discovered the true means of freedom. Nothing but general illumination can give them in- fluence. Enlighten a people, and even under the worst institutions they will be felt. The elective franchise brings no liberty to a grossly ignorant multitude. They are only made the tools of those who can bribe or inflame them, and generally fall into the hands of their enemies. I hope the Chartist project of education will be carried out. If a generous enthusiasm could lead to the formation of a fraternity of teachers among them, who, from love to their brethren, and in a spirit of self-sacrifice, would give themselves up to the instruction of the young, much good might be accomplished, "I could point out passages in the Ch.artist pamphlet which I disapproved. Nothing, however, gave me so much sorrow as the apparent want of a just feeling of the importance of reUgion to the people. Religion is important, essential, to us all, our light and life, and the only source of dignity, freedom, and peace. I do not, however, wonder, that so many of the people look on religion as their foe, for it has been a state instrument, a political machine, and is used to keep them down, and not to raise them up. But can they read the New Testament and help seeing that Jesus Christ treated the distinctions of this world with contempt, — that he lived among the poor as his brethren, — that he came to unite all 1 To Joseph Sturge, Esq. ENGLAND AND AMERICA. 599 men in brotherhood, — that he utterly' reprobates the passion for power, through which the few have always trodden on the many, — that his religion is the peaceful reniedj' for all oppression, and that, even where it does not break the j^oke, it can give to the oppressed dignity and peace? " Christianit}' — not as taught by the state, but as taught by its Founder — is eminently the friend of the multitude, — their charter, their emancipator, as well as the foundation of immortal hope. I do not wonder at the existence of scepticism among the Chartists ; but it is a mournful and discouraging fact, and, to my mind, one of the saddest effects of the unnatural social system which crushes them. I know, however, that the evil is but a temporary one. Some reformer who will comprehend the liberal, enlarged spirit of Christianit}', and utter it in words of fire, may, at any moment, spring up amongst them. If not, time, experience, and the good providence of God, will work their deliverance." " September '2Q, 1841.^ These general views give me great hope about England. AVhen I think of the great amount of intellect, good principle, benevolence, power, wealth, among you, I feel as if you must work your wa}' through your difficulties. How^ I know not ; for I am too far off, and perhaps were I on the spot I should be as much perplexed ; but one thing I know, — that there was never be- fore, in an equal space, such an amount of good influences as in England, — never so man}- people interested in upholding order, — never so many clear thinkers. Out of all this something must grow. I have great faith, too, in our Anglo-Saxon blood. We Anglo-Saxons have much that is bad in us. I doubt whether, through this race, the world is to be saved ; but for practical energj', for skill in surmounting difficulties, for richness of resource, we are unrivalled, - That England, with her immense wealth, and with half the world under her sway, should sink under her present difficulties, I cannot believe. We Americans should solve the problem some- how or other, and 3'ou are not behind us." 1842.2 u jj. giygg ^ijg enlightened part of our community much pleasure to observe of late in the English press a disposition to be more just to our country; not that our appetite for praise is very craving, but because it seems important to us that nations between which such strong bonds of union subsist as between England and America, and to which the interests of freedom and reformed Chris- tianity are specially confided by Providence, should not be alienated from each other b}- the aspersions of malignit}- and party spirit. A 1 To Miss Harriet Martineau. 2 -pg jyugg jane E. Roscoe. 600 POLITICS. man who can visit this countiy, and not see in our institutions and manners the means of developing the noblest faculties and senti- ments of human nature, must be incapable of just and high think- ing ; and I pity an American who can leave j'our shores without a grateful sense of the unparalleled services you have rendered to the cause of human improvement, and without rejoicing in the powerful springs of happiness and moral and intellectual progress which are in operation among 3'ou." Dr. Channing's sympathies were nowise limited to England, warm as was his grateful reverence for the motlier-land of the Anglo-Saxons, but cordially embraced all Continental Europe. Heart and hand he held himself pledged, as a faithful brother, to the great part}' of Liberalism spread throughout civilized nations, and liis earnest prayer was for universal freedom by conservative reform, — if, indeed, peace could cure the corruptions of centuries. During the great crisis of 1830 he thus expressed his feelings : — "Amidst the stupendous events of our age, when the whole civilized world is heaving like an ocean, and the great question of human freedom is at issue, I see not how they who love their race can be indifferent. A great war is going on, that of opinions and principles, and we have too much reason to dread that this will bring on a war of arms and bloodshed. I have no fear as to the result, but I shudder at this means of gaining even the greatest good." When the news, therefore, of the " Three Days " in Paris reached Newport, his heart leaped up within him in exulting hope ; the era of emancipation he had so long been looking for, it seemed to him, had dawned ; and he returned much earlier than usual to Boston to exchange congratulations with the friends of constitutional liberty, and to pour out from his pulpit the bright anticipations with which his mind was crowded. To his sorrow, he found but slight response to his enthusiasm, and felt more deeply than ever before how be- numbing to high honor and humanity is the heav}' pressure of mercenariness. With some of his intimate friends, indeed, and especially with Charles Follen, he held earnest communion on the magnificent opportunity opened to the Continental nations ; and his aspirations were constant, that France might be found worth}' of her great vocation. The Revolution of 1830 appeared to him to be, in its principles, methods, aims, and especially in its pervading spirit, a great advance upon its predecessor ; and he looked for- ward confidingly to the redeeming power which it was to exert upon Italy, Germany, and Poland. The reappearance of Lafayette, in THE THREE DAYS IN PARIS. 601 so commanding a position, gratified him exceedingly ; and the mingled firmness and calmness of the French people showed, he thought, a fine development of moral feeling and enlightened judg- ment. That the freemen of America, especiall}' the 3-oung, should be so moderate in their expressions of joy, astonished him. He went back, in memor}-, to his boyish days, when the Cambridge collegians had processions, speeches, and bonfires. Now, all was still. One evening, during this period, a graduate called upon him. " Well, Mr. Ilillard," said he, with an accent of sarcasm, which few, probably, ever heard from his lips, "are 3'ou, too, so old and so ivise, like the j-oung men at Harvard, as to have no foolish en- thusiasm to throw away upon the heroes of the Polytechnic School? " " Sir," answered Hillard, " you seem to me to be the onlv ^oung man I know." " Always young for libert}-, I trust," replied Dr. Chan- ning, with a bright smile, and a ringing tone, as he pressed him warmly by the hand. Dr. Channing's sermons, at this period, were strongly tinged, through their whole course of thought, with fresh hopes for the ele- vation of the people. He sought to teach his hearers how to " honor all men,"^ and to rouse them to a deeper interest in man as man. People complained of the present tameness of life, he taught, because they were indolent and worldly ; but now, as ever, existence was rich with romantic interest, and heroes might to-day, as in past ages, renovate their race by embodying great principles in great actions. The age of chivahy might reappear in a far sub- limer and purer form, and make these daj-s splendid by a manifes- tation of loyalty, courage, energy, self-sacrifice, in industry', trade, and social intercourse. In a word, he seized the occasion to bring home to his fellow-men the possibility of conforming internal legis- lation, foreign politics, and all human relations to the heavenly- model of Christian brotherhood. Extracts from letters will indicate the just and liberal S3'mpathy with which he watched the progress of the Continental nations of Europe, " Boston, September 22, 1830. I am ver}' much interested b}^ the news from France. With man}', man}' fears, I have more hopes, it seems to me, than an3'bod3^" ^'-August 1, 1831. You have heard, I suppose, that the Poles have been unsuccessful in a battle with the Russians. Perhaps the right side will not prevail now, but it will b3' and b3-. We must 1 Works, Vol. II. pp. 299-314. One Volume Edition, pp. 96-116. 602 POLITICS. never despair. I am waiting with great solicitude for tlie next news." 1832. "I enclose some money for the Poles. I grieve that I can do no more at present. My heart aches for these suffer- ing patriots. We will try to aid them more bj- and b}'." " Boston, December 8, 1832.^ In regard to Poland, our distance from her, and our inability to render her any physical aid, have checked our sympathies. We have, however, one mode of aiding her, if we understood and would use it. The public opinion of nations is growing more and more powerful, and a general expres- sion of honor from the civilized and Christian world would be heard and respected even at St. Petersburg. Is not the time coming when governments will solemnl3- protest against cruelt}' and oppression, wherever practised, and will feel themselves debtors to the cause of humanity as truly as individuals ? " '■'■April 22, 1837.^ Your observations on society in German}- satisfied me that the good work of improvement is going on. I should infer that you had found persons of rank more alive to their responsibilities, more disposed to sympathize with their inferiors, than I have imagined. This I should rejoice in, even if it opposed my republican theories ; but it does not. I cannot doubt that despotic institutions have been \qyj much mitigated and unproved by the existence of more liberal ones, just as Protestantism has reformed Catholicism. Nor do I believe that absolute princes and nobles are doing better from calculation merely, — from the desire of securing their power by showing it to be beneficial. This, no doubt, has its influence ; but from better principles the}' desire also to introduce into their own domains the improvements which are springing up elsewhere. It is one good fruit of the present free communication among nations, that nothing good can be shut up. I shall not be surprised to learn that there is even more virtue and happiness in some parts of Europe than here " Your letter delighted me b}' the accounts you gave me of the condition of the lowest class in some parts of German}', and of the results of efforts for juvenile reformation. I beg you to keep these objects steadily in view. Your work is to serve your country, by spreading among us a knowledge of what is done for the elevation of men elsewhere. The ignorance here on such matters is wonder- ful, and confined to no class ; there are philanthropic spirits pre- pared to carry out any great ideas." 1 To Miss Jane E. Iloscoe. - To George Ticknor, Esq. THE GERMAN CHARACTER. 603 ^'•September 10, 1841.^ I have followed one rule in life, — to speak for 1113 self, to avoid identif^'ing myself with others, to take on myself the responsibility of my own views alone. Shall I, by publishing in the , be considered as fighting under any standard but my own? Unless the individual be made exclusively responsible, I cannot, indeed, think of writing ; for I can sa}- noth- ing on political subjects without showing ni}' republican heart. I have of course thouglit much of the French Revolution. I look at it, I will not say in peculiar lights, but in a ditfcrent Avay from the common one, and I think I should like to give in an article some juster views of it. In connection with this subject, my ethical, religious, — not sectarian, — as well as political views, would come out. I can do nothing unless I am free, — unless I can sa}' what I think and feel in the language in which truth naturally clothes itself in my mmd. The article, then, if I write it, will aim at no con- cealment, will not affect the style of a different country, but will be a simple, frank utterance to a free people of what a distant freeman thinks on the most pregnant, solemn portion of history'. " I wish to give the impressions of a man who has lived through the Revohition^ and to show how far our views and hopes of society ought to be modified by it. The enemies of reform use it as their chief weapon, and I think wrongfull}'. In pursuing the subject, I ma}' find myself in an error, and shall, I trust, cheerfuU}' accept tlie truth. No theory will blind me to the atrocities of the Revolu- tion." " March 1, 1842.^ I beg you to continue 3'our sketches of Ger- man character. I have much love for this people, without under- standing them as well as I wish. I think of them as more genial, kindh', unconscious, single-hearted, and confiding, than we are. The grandest principle of our nature, the sense of the infinite, seems to be more developed in them, and their writings express a.\ deeper consciousness, a keener perception of the unity of the uni- verse. We in this country, perhaps, see the best of them, that is, we see men who have been obliged to leave their native land for their devotion to freedom and impatience of wrong. In these we see notliing of what is thought to be the defect of their country ; I mean, want of decision, of energ}', of will, the energy which realizes one's speculations and convictions as to the right, true, and good. Dr. FoUen was distinguished b^^ the heroic luill. It is not easy to reconcile all we hear about the Germans. Most accounts make them more sensual than we are, and mournfully defective in purity. 1 To the Rev. James Martineau. ^ To George Combe, Esq. 604 POLITICS. I hope 3'ou will continue j'our inquiries as to the last particular. Licentiousness seems to be the great stain on our civilization, and there can be nothing worse." Looking upon Christendom as a growing whole, where the vital- it}' of ever}- part reacts upon ever}- other, and longing for tlie era of freedom and order made one by universal justice to all human interests and to every individual, Dr. Channing was anxious that the United States should work out thoroughly the social problem assigned to her, and thus aid her sister nations upward to more friendly and honorable institutions. His thoughts in regard to the reciprocal influence of the Old World and the New are thus ex- pressed. " October^ 1839.^ You speak in your last of the increased con- nection between Europe and America. The great question I ask myself is. Which of the two continents will exert the greatest influ- ence on the other? I suppose, at first, there will be an increase of the aristocratic spirit and feeling in our cities, which are already too much disposed to sympathize with the exclusives abroad. Our literature, too, in its state of childhood, may for a time be more dependent on foreign literature. The natural development of our institutions and national character will be more interfered with. Spiritual objects will, for a time, be more lost sight of. But I trust freedom is a mightier and more contagious principle than the oppo- site, and that, in the long run, its iufluence will be more felt. The present stage of civilization is a necessary one, and will follow its own course ; but the ver}^ fact of its necessity gives me hope. I wish, indeed, to see some nobler aims, a higher direction of this newly developed activity. But the child grows strong in mind as well as body by acting on matter and seeking physical good, and the race may need the same discipline. We must try, that the Old World may hear some generous, inspiring tones from the New." Enthusiastic at once and patient, eager for progress, yet rev- erencing existing good, liberal in sympathy and cheering words to every method of reform, buoyant in hope amid all vicissitudes, fearing only the crippling influence of fear, trusting Providence perfectly. Dr. Channing looked steadily forward to the brightening future. The following letters will show how truly he described himself as " always young for liberty." " Juhj 28, 1839.2 ^ly ^^itij i,-^ ^ijg progress of ti-uth, humanity, and piet}- is in no degree shaken ; but the state of the world joins 1 To Dr. Charles Follen. 2 To the Rev. Henry Channing. REFORM AND CONSERVATISM. 605 with all history in showing me that the great designs of Providence unfold slowly, — that is, slowly to us, creatures of a day, — and that another, perhaps ver}' distant, age is to witness that triumph of the spirit of Christianity which we expect. We all see that civil libert}' has not produced that sudden melioration and exaltation of human nature which was confidently hoped ; nor has religious lib- erty borne all the fruits we hoped. Still, a good work is going on. Slavery and bigotr}' and worldliness will not reign forever." ^^ Newport^ October 5, 1840.^ I am glad when our good and wise men go abroad, as they must do something to bring on that blessed da}' when the friends of humanity and religion in all countries, forgetting all inferior distinctions, will unite in the work of recover- ing the world from error, misery, and sin." '•'•Boston^ October 24, 1840.^ Mr. Robertson gave a noble char- acter to the Westminster. What gratified me particularly in that work was its enlarged, candid, liberal tone of thought. It was just to conservatism, just to the past, — rare merits among us liberals. Perhaps we have been as bigoted as our opponents ; nor is it to be wondered at. The terrible abuses of the past, contrasted with the bright hues which the imagination throws over the future, have naturally enough put us out of patience. But our faith in human nature should teach us that it cannot have existed so many ages without putting forth much that is glorious and worthy of grateful commemoration, and the law of progress teaches us that the seeds of something better are to be looked for in the past. I confess I need these lessons myself. I am so accustomed to measure what has been, and is, by the idea of the good, the perfect, which Chris- tianity gives me, that a deep discontent gets possession of me, and I find no peace but in flying to brighter coming ages. I ought to be more just, and some articles in the Westminster have helped me in this particular. I do not mean that this is its only merit ; but in this way it has done much for the liberal cause ; for nothing serves a cause more than to give a large wisdom to its advocates. ' ' I desire much that there should be a powerful work among you, devoted to liberal principles. Are they not to pass through a severe trial? Are they not suffering the natural consequences of having promised much more than they have performed ? Are they not suffering from the follies and vices of their professed friends? Is not conservatism more distrustful? Is there not a point at which commerce ceases to liberalize, and becomes a pillar of aris- tocracy ? Is not the worldliness of this commercial age altogether 1 To Francis Wayland, D. D. ^ Ho Miss Harriet Martineau. 606 POLITICS. irreconcilable with religious inquiry, and a thirst for higher truth? And are there no signs of a wider prevalence of the principle of authority? .... The conclusion is, that nothing can be done but by spreading large views, great truths, — by waking up in men some consciousness of what they were made for, and of the design of their union in societ}'. How to lift their heads above the mist they now live in, is the question. Much may be done by a trul}^ good review. Amidst all apparent reactions, tliere is decided progress I wish I could promise something, but I am tr}'- ing to give m^'self to the work for which I have been living all m}^ life. Whether I shall do an3-thing I know not, for all efforts ex- haust me ; but I must cease from spending my strength in occa- sional labors. There are, however, one or two topics which I have long wanted to discuss. One is, the position of the present age, what place it holds in the world's histor}-, what are its relations to the past and future, its work, its prospects. In other words, I would help the age to understand itself." '''"September 26, 1841.^ I suppose I should pass for a wiser man, if I hoped less on most subjects. Wisdom is thought to be fear- ful, — an old woman with wrinkled, anxious brow. But under an empire of infinite goodness, it seems as rational to trust the signs of good as those of evil. I look more and more at the great laws of our own nature and of universal nature, and I am sure these are working for glorious results. The present dark appearances may be traced very much to the increased activity of the human mind. Men see, think, inquire, want, claim, and therefore murmur more. They understand more their rights and wrongs, and are enlightened enough to trace to bad institutions what the}' used to refer to fixed laws of nature. In their greater activity, they run against one another. In such a state of things there must be much partial development, much half-truth, much conflict of the old and the new. But I am very slow to believe that the growth of men's powers is an evil, that they are to suffer ultimately from looking farther into things, from comprehending more what is due to them, from becoming more active and efficient." '■'■August 10, 1842. Happily, the outward striking events which alarm us are of little importance, comi)ared with the silent changes which are going on in society, in its modes of thought, of industry, of education, of intercourse, — changes which often escape our observation, but which determine the coming ages. How little we understand our own times or their tendencies ! My ignorance be- comes hope under the perfect government of God." 1 To Miss Harriet Martineau. DR. TUCKERMAN AND MR. PHILLIPS. 607 Chapter VI. —FRIENDS. Friendship reveals its perfect form, and puts forth its richest bloom and fruit, only where universal philanthropy and cordial private attachments blend in one person. This rare union was beautifully manifested in Dr. Channing. We have seen how diffu- sive was his humanity, and with what unmeasured sympathy he joined hands in the wide circle of mankind, interlinked the earth round through the ages. We are now to see the truth and tenderness of his affection in intimate relations. To a degree which is uncom- mon in days so anxious, restless, and fluent as our own, he kept firm and fresh the friendships of his 3'outh and early manhood. Dr. Tuckerman was once asked whether he knew Dr. Channing. "Know him!" he replied; "he, Mr. Phillips, and I are like three spirits in one." And each of the friends referred to would have described, in equally strong terras, the nearness of their com- munion. Classmates in college, and in the opening years of mature life settled in one neighborhood, attraction and accident had most closely intertwined their thoughts, feelings, and actions. In their characters, pursuits, conditions, there was just that proportion of affinity and contrast which produces full accord. Of his cordial reverence for each of those chosen companions, Dr. Channing has fortunately left memorials which will unite their names and images indissolubly.^ But this biography would be imperfect without bearing on its pages some briglit token of the relation which did so much to conth'm and fulfil their varied virtues. Of Mr. PhiUips, Dr. Channing once wrote to an acquaintance : "He is one of the intuitive men, whom I take delight in much more than in the merely logical. In truth, he is a remarkable man, an earnest lover of his fellow-creatures, and possessed with an invincible trust in their progress, an enlightened and fervent friend of liberty, undiscouraged by the dark omens which are the trials of human faith, and deeply interested in whatever affects the rights and improvement of the great body of the people. That noble intellect was made for a world of light, that noble heart for a society of truth and honor, in which it might expand joyfully and freely." To Dr. Tuckerman, Dr. Channing thus expresses his warm affection: " Your friendship is among my greatest blessings, — I was about to say earthly blessings ; but Christian friendship is of heaven." 1 Works, Vol. V. pp. 101, 102; Vol. VI. pp. 93-137. One Volume Edition, pp.818, 819; 678-599. 608 FRIENDS. The hearts, minds, homes, of these three friends, were freely open to one another ; they were, in the best sense of the words, each other's father-confessors ; their spiritual wealth was in common, — the^' were truly one. To this trio was added, in later 3'ears, Charles Follen, — dear to each, but bound to Dr. Channing by ties of peculiar nearness. Of this honored man, also, his friend has left an imperishable monu- ment.-^ But a record of his regard should appear here. In a letter to Dr. Follen, he wrote : — " There are few with whom I feel myself so strongly united, and the years are fast flying in which I can enjoy such friendships on earth. But we cannot dispose of ourselves here. We will cherish unity of spirit ; and this will secure a meeting at last." And immediatel}' after Dr. Follen's death, he thus manifested the sense of his own loss : — " February 1, 1841. My sensibilities have been drawn on a good deal of late. You have heard of the death of , an almost over- whelming blow to us all, which I was summoned to mitigate by sympathy and spiritual counsels. Then came the burning of the Lexington ; and that called me to weep, not for others only, but for myself. The loss of Dr. Follen is, indeed, one of the greatest bereavements of my life. In his case, I had found tluit spiritual ties may be as strong as those of nature. He was one of the few men who won my heart and confidence at first. I saw almost intui- tively that he was a true man, — that he had an unconquerable force of soul joined with the sweetest affections, — that he was not the slave of opinions or circumstances, but that he obeyed freely a divine law in his own soul. He has done me good." Finall}^ after reading the beautiful life, in which, with such transparent truth and depth and delicacy of natural feeling, the magnanimous character of Charles Follen is revealed, Dr. Channing paid this tribute of unreserved admiration to his memory : — " Germmitown, May 11, 1842. ^ I received your letter, by a sin- gular coincidence, just as I was finishing the reading of your biog- raphy It brings before me, in the colors of truth and nature, the friend whom I honored and loved above most friends. It gives to the world one bright proof more of the reality, beauty, and grandeur of disinterested vutue. Such sweetness and such noble- 1 Works, Vol. v., pp. 248-259. One Volume Edition, pp. 613-618. 2 To Mrs. Charles Follen, ENLARGING CIRCLE OF FRIENDS. 609 ness have seldom been joined Such a history, indeed, awakens self-reproach. I feel myself in the presence of supreme virtue. I feel how little I have sacrificed, in comparison, to truth, freedom, the cause of humanity. But I rejoice that humanity has fouud more fervent friends, and the}' speak to me from a better world, I hope not in vain." With numerous other friends among his peers in age, and among those younger as well as older than himself, Dr. Channing was united by cordial confidence. Absorbed in subjects of profound interest, both speculative and practical, naturally diflident, refined even to fastidiousness in his tastes, quickl}- appreciatiug all forms of character, and keenly sensitive to the morbid feeliugs by which untuned spirits communicate their discord even to one who has attained to unit}', he was yet so tender, generous, tolerant, thought- ful, conscieutious, and full of respect and hope, that, though by no means social, he yet found continually enlarging round him the cir- cle of those to whom he was closely- knit by honor, mutual trust, and warm afli'ection. Many whom his reserve at first repelled became the most devotedly attached to him, as acquaintance revealed to their observation his traits of justice, magnanimity, and unwavering disiuterestedness. Especially with women of high and eularged tempers, whose minds were trained by study and experience, did he joyfully feel himself at home. To them he could freely unveil his native enthusiasm, his fine perceptions of order and fitness, his love of beauty in nature and art, his romantic longings for a pure-toned society, his hopes of humanity made glorious by heavenly virtue. And his profound reverence for woman's nature and function gave that charm of unaffected courtesy to his manner, look, and tone, which won them liberally to exchange their cherished thoughts, as with an equal. It was in these friendships with women, therefore, that many of his brightest hours were passed. Full extracts from his correspondence will best show the richness of his sympathies. They may be thus suitably introduced. " I send a line, — only a line, — that aou may have a visible token of remembrance. Our frail nature, I know, likes this ; and yet 3-011 need it not. You mingle much with our thoughts, and still more, wiien not thought of, you are with us. Do you not know what it is to have a kind of latent remembrance of friends, even when they are not directly present to the mind? We have a secret consciousness of their existence, which makes the world a brighter spot to us. A light comes from them, as from the sun, when other things are thought of." 39 610 FRIENDS. " Boston^ July 7, 1824.^ Were not the associations so serious, the vanity of your sex might be gratified 113- thinking that the actual cleit}' of a large part of the Catholic world is a woman, ' the blessed Marj^' and that among Protestants no human being receives a hom- age so nearly apjDroaching worship as Mother Anne from the Shak- ers. Are these facts to be explained by the desire which our weak, suffering nature has for a parental deity, and by the more intense, lovely, and touching exhibition of parental love in woman than in man ? " '''•July 19, 1824. I suppose 3'ou have heard that has suc- ceeded in finding that great comfort of life, a good house, sufficiently spacious, and pleasantly' situated. I alwa3-s think that a woman looks on such a house with something of the feeling with which a sovereign survey's his empire, and not without some reason, for within that little province, home, her power is as absolute, and its order and happiness are even more dependent on her wisdom and virtue. A house is a mirror of a woman's mind, and it is natural that she should desire one in which the presiding genius may be seen to some advantage." ''Boston, October 28, 1825. ^ May it not be one of the recom- penses and joys of good men after death, to know the influence of their characters and lives on those whom they left behind ? And if so, I am sure the benevolent spirit, of whicli you have given us an affecting record, must derive from this world a happiness not un- worthy of heaven. It is rare to meet with the union of so much sensibility with such innocence and freedom from all excess, as in Mr. Goodier. He belonged to that small class which we call fault- less ; and his blamelessness was not owing to a want of ardor or a natural moderation of desire which supplied the place of self- government. There is a character of truth and reaHty in his expressions of religious feeling, of which we feel the need in those forced and feverish ' experiences' which form the staple of religious biography." ''Boston, November 30, 1828.^ I had heard, before receiving your letter, of your f;ither's indisposition, and have received frequent accounts of his state of health. Do assure him of my atfcctionate and respectful remembrances. I can well understand the greatness of his literary privations. But philanthropy sustained by religion is a more durable and a nobler excitement than literature, and fur- nishes the mind and heart with more unfailing objects of interest ; and I know that your father has this spring of consolation and joy. 1 To the Misses Roscoe. -' To Miss Jane E. Roscoe. STRENGTH AMIDST SUFFERING. " 611 He lias not, indeed, succeeded in some plans of reform veiy dear to him. But his labors will not be lost. It is no small thing to set minds to work on great subjects ; and of one thing I am more and more satisfied, that liberal and philanthropic principles are not advancing less surely because they make their wa}' slowl}-. At least, I see them often suffering by men's acting upon them precipi- tately, or without a sufficient comprehension of their nature and bearings." " September 9, 1829.^ I was very much gratified by 3'our account of 3'our father's pursuits, and of the serenity of his mind under so much infirmity of bod^'. What a delightful and encouraging exam- ple of the power of moral and intellectual culture, of piet}', philan- throp3', and of sensibility to the good and beautiful, over wliat are called the evils of life ! I rejoice with him in the recent triumphs of tolerant and liberal principles. Assure him of mj^ affectionate respect." '•'• January 22, 1830. The office to which your letter calls me, of ministering to a mind diseased, is, you well know, one of the most difficult, because physical maladies almost alwa3-s have a large share ni mental ones, and because inward suffering so often springs from an indi\idualit3', a peculiarit3' of mind, which another cannot easil3' comprehend. I think, however, that tlie desolateness, the sinking of soul, which you describe, is sufficiently common to be in some sense understood. Shall I tell 3-ou that I have felt it, that I have walked through thicker darkness, that I have known what loneliness of heart is? I sa3' this that I ma3' not be thought a stranger to the hidden woe which I desire to assuage. I believe, in this desolation which you so aff'ectingl3' reveal, a self-sustaining, self-resisting power must spring up in our own breasts. No foreign agency can do for us what we need. S3'mpath3', tenderness, unless singularly wise, may only debilitate us. An energy must be put forth within. We must rel3' on our own resources " If I were called to give counsel to a susceptible and highly gifted woman, wounded in her tenderest affection and read3- to de- spond, I should say. Understand and honor 30urself. Feel that you have within you a spirit too divine ever to be given up in despair, or to be sacrificed to an3' earthl3' disappointment. Feel how unjust 3'ou are to yourself in suffering any human being to arrest in its progress such a mind as yours. Remember that 3'ou were made to love infinitely and to love forever, and let no ill-requited afl^ection shut up this unfathomed fountain. 1 To Miss Jane E. Roscoe. 612 " FRIENDS. " It ma}- be 3'our lot to suffer through your whole present behig ; but be conscientiously faithful to the duties of a suffering state, and you will every moment strengthen the ties which bind you to the Infinite Parent, to his glorious spiritual family, and will hasten the period in which purer love, happier friendship, than we can know here will be yours. I would not repress your desire of death. I know no privilege so great as that of dying ; but it is a privilege to those in whom evil is more and more sulidued, and who go more and more beyond themselves. This disinterested, self-sacrificing philanthropy I should rejoice to awaken in you and in myself, a deeper consciousness of our own spiritual nature, more self-subsist- ence, a trust in the godlike principle within us which forms the very essence of our being, and in the infinite love of God to this ray of Divinity in his creatures. Nothing can injure us but unfaithfulness to ourselves, but the want of a just awe of our own minds. Through the want of this, we become slaves to circumstances and to fellow- beings. In cherishing it, I find m3'self strong and free." " St. Croix, March 12, 1831.^ Your accounts of are the saddest I have received. I feel as if she were one of m}' family. And is one so blameless, so disinterested, so useful, so lovely, to be taken from us? I do hope that she is to be spared. I can slowly give up the excellent. What a loss she will be ! It is a great hap- piness to me to believe that I have contributed something to the excellence of her character. She had a conversation with me, in which she was solicitous to express how much she felt herself in- debted to me for whatever improvement she had made, and espe- cially for her first deep impressions of religion. I doubt not her grateful spirit exaggerated the obligation ; but to have done any- thing to fit such a spirit for heaven is an inexpressible privilege. I did not imagine, till she told me, that my influence had been so happy. "Ma}' I not hope, that, in other cases, I have done unknown good? This is one of the consolations of the Christian minister, when no striking visible effects follow his labors. He may have comforted sorrow of which he never dreamed, touched strings in the heart which have vibrated unheard, and pierced the conscience with salutary but unuttered pangs. In truth, all the friends of hu- manit}' and religion are probably instruments of greater good than they see, and the rewards of a future world ma}' be the discovery of a beneficent influence which they exerted without suspecting it." '■'•December 25, 1831. May I here be allowed to refer to two 1 To Mrs. C. Codman. MISS HANNAH ADAMS. 613 highly vahied and honored friends, who within a few daj's have been taken from ns, and whose characters have helped to confirm to me these cheering views of the influence of Christ. These excel- lent women bore strongly on their characters the impress of Jesus. The}' became what they were under the influence of his spirit and virtue, and may therefore properh' find a place in a discourse dedi- cated to the commemoration of his birth. "The name of Miss Hannah Adams is familiar to j'ou all, for her literary claims have been recognized abroad as well as at home. She worshipped with us until infirmity obliged her to deny herself the privilege of visiting the house of God, and considered herself to tlie last as connected with this congregation. Her heart was early touched by the religion of Christ, and it was her interest in this subject which guided all her literary labors. Her first work w^as ' A View or History of Religions ' ; and in conducting the diflS- cult task of recording the variety' of opinions and denominations to which Christianity has given birth, she showed how strongl}^ the spirit of its great Founder had taken possession of her mind. In no instance has she breathed the slightest scorn or unkindness towards those who differed from her most widely, nor has any class of Christians complained of the least want of candor and upright- ness in expounding their views. " Her character was marked b}' the spirit of love. It was this which gave to her friends the chief interest in her character. Un- der the power of this principle, she looked on the creation of God with a delight almost peculiar to herself. I have never heard from human lips such sincere, unaffected, overfloAving joy in the beauti- ful and beneficent works of God, as has broken from hers. This same love bound her by strong, indestructible bonds to those in whose character she saw tlie proofs of true goodness. Her admi- ration of virtue rose to enthusiasm. She had been distinguished b}- the kindness and friendsliip of one whom none can forget that ever saw him, — the late Mr. Buckminster, — and the tender, reveren- tial feeling with which she clung to his memor^^ was a delightful proof of the constancy of human affection. I believe that in no breast, beyond his immediate relatives, was his image so sacredly cherished as in hers. " She was too sensible even to kindness, especiall}' from those whom she honored. Her gratitude rushed forth as an overflowing stream, and could often find no utterance but in tears. The friends who visited her in her old age, and amidst her infirmities, especially her youthful friends, seemed to her ministering angels ; and she would speak of their kindness to her with a brightness of counte- 614 FRIENDS. nance not unworthy of an angel. I doubt not that her nature was singularl}' susceptible ; but it was the character of Christ which brought out this fine nature, and which aided her, in narrow cir- cumstances, with poor liealth, with an irritable constitution, and a diffidence singularly trembling and shrinking, to maintain to the last hour this strength of love, and to devote herself to labors so useful to mankind. " I pass now to another friend, who this last week has been taken from us ; and, though I am not accustomed to spealc in this place of m}"^ deceased parishioners who have lived and died in private walks, I may be permitted to speak one word of Mrs. Catherine Codman. When I look round in this congregation, how few do I see of those among whom I was first established as a minister ! And now that friend is gone by whom for so man}^ years my labors have been cheered, and requited by an aflfection which could not have been surpassed. She, too, bore the impress of her Saviour. She, too, was filled with his spirit of love. Her benevolence had no bound. Its error was, that it was prone to overflow the limits which Providence had assigned. To the sick, suflTering, and poor, she was as a mother and friend. Her wealth she regarded as a trust for the destitute, her life was a ministry of kindness and mercy. "■ But perhaps the most beautiful view of her character was the fulness with which her affection and love flowed forth towards all the diversities of sect, partj", and denomination in the Christian world. She was of no sect. Her personal friends, her intimate friends, were found among all denominations. Goodness, wher- ever and in whatever form it was manifested, was an attraction she could not resist, and much of the happiness of her life was found in the quick and strong sympathy with the spirit and virtue of Christ manifested in those who widely difl'ered on the disputable points of theolog}'. Clouds of human infirmity ma}^ have passed over her pure and benevolent spirit, but they could dim only for a moment the brightness of her Christian virtue. That was an enduring light, and I trust it is shining now in its true home with unquenchable splendor." ^'- Boston^ November 11, 1832.^ My dear Sir, — I received 3-our letter b^' Dr. Spurzheim last summer. I am sony that I must send you so sad a reply. Last night he died. The event can hardly shock 3'ou more than it has done us. His death has spread a gen- eral sorrow. Perhaps it is to be ascribed in part to the interest he 1 To William Rathbone, Esq. DR. SPURZHEIM. 615 awakened here. The kind reception which he and his lectures met with led him to overtask himself; he labored when he ought to have kept his room, and when at last he was confined, he unhappily chose to be his own physician, and refused to apply the remedies which his disease required. His disease was fever, which very soon produced wandering of mind. It must be consoling to his friends to know that he received ever}^ attention and enjoyed every accommodation. In truth, he could not have closed his days among a people more sensible of his worth. He had not only secured respect as a man of science, but endeared himself by his amiable manners, his philanthropj', and singleness of heart. The funeral discourse will be pronounced by his countryman, Dr. Follen, and the religious services are assigned to my friend, Dr. Tuckerman, in whom Dr. Spurzheim took great pleasure. " Unfortunately-, I saw little of your friend. On his arrival, I was at my country residence, where I became seriousl}' ill. On my return to this cit}', four weeks ago, I had an interview with him as soon as I was strong enough to see him, and before I was able to repeat it he was too ill to visit me. The good man was taken away in the midst of his hopes. His success among us had led him to look on this country as the finest field for his labors, and he thought of devoting several years to the diffusion of his doctrines in the New World. When I speak of his success, I do not mean that he made many converts, but he found in many a disposition to inquire candidl}' into his system, whilst very many professed to receive important aid and instruction from his analysis and views of human nature. Our consolation under his loss is, that the world is not the only state for benevolent exertion. " Your friend." ^'■Boston^ January 7, 1834. has passed through the school of suffering, and his piety manifests itself in nothing more than in his entire submission to the will of God. He has helped you and your husband, I trust, to look up to that Infinite Being as your Father, and as the Father of your dear children. Yes, they were, and, still more, are, his children. Your love to them, deep, in- tense, as it was, he inspired. It came to you from the Fountain of all love, and it is but a faint image of the unbounded parental goodness with which he regarded and still regards j'our children. How much stronger must his interest in them be than yours ! Can the creature's love approach the Creator's, — the stream equal the inexhaustible source ? He gave these children to you, in kindness both to you and them, and in the same kindness he has taken them 616 FRIENDS. away. They were born into this world to accomphsh a great jDiir- pose, the unfolding of an immortal nature ; the\^ are born into another to accomplish it more fully. The}- have not lived in vain, though their lives were so short, nor is the care you have spent on them lost. The faculties which you helped to open endure, and will endure forever, and you must be grateful for having com- menced a glorious Avork which is to go on forever. They arc safe in the arms of a better Parent. Leave them there with holy trust. "Let it be your care to carry on in yourself the work which is now advancing in them. They are making progress ; so must you. This is the true way to unite yourself to them. Their best powers and affections are expanding, as you believe, under the care of God. Let yours expand too, for you are the object of the same care. You are to join them again, not by an ineffectual sorrow, but by a sorrow which shall soften and refine the heart, and which shall seek consolation in greater faithfulness to God and your fellow-creatures. I would that I could comfort you, my dear ; but I should rejoice still more, could I aid you in making affliction the instrument of a new virtue, of a firmer faith in Christ, of a deeper sympathy with your fellow-creatures, of a more eflicient benevolence, and of a more confiding love of God. I pray God that you and your husband may derive precious fruits from suffer- ing, — that you maj- enter with a holier resolution on the warfare against all evil in your hearts and lives, — that you may glow with the love of a higher, purer virtue. Our deepest misery is in our- selves, in our unfaithfulness to the inward monitor and to our Divine Teacher ; and affliction is meant to reprove and purify. Let it do its work, and it will bind us to the departed more closely than when the}- lived." '■'■Newport, June 15, 1834. I write yon from the Island. A few warm days in Boston made me feel that I should be better here. The heat of other places withers me. Here it is blended with sometliing reviving. I am alone. Some seasons of entire seclu- sion I think do us good, and though I do not seek them, I welcome them, when they come, as aids to Christian virtue. " Solitude here naturally brings to my mind the changes I have passed through since I grew up on this island. Yesterday I went into town to see , and change seemed written on all I saw. The old inansion where we used to meet my mother Gibbs's smile and kindness in our childhood, and which the family parted with last year, was so transformed, that I could hardly believe it was the same house. 1 talked with about grandfather and mother. LIFE'S CHxVNGES. 617 What lessons of frailty, separation, and death ! These thonghts, however, produce in my mind no lasting depression. I feel that it is only the outward, the material, which is transitory, and that notliing good, lovely, pure, which I delighted in, has perished. " 1 am struck, amidst these clianges, with the continuance of the order and beauty of the natural world, and see in this a manifesta- tion of the immutableness of God, and a pledge of the duration of that principle which is nobler than nature, the human soul. The island is now to me what it was half a century ago, only more beautiful. Years have only strengthened my enjoyment of the universe, and of this dear spot in the boundless creation ; and this enjoyment is to me one sign that I was made to be an everlasting inhabitant of the universe. Such proofs of immortality are faint, indeed, in comparison with the flood of light shed on this great trnth by Jesus Christ. Still, I delight to meet traces of it every- where, to see it written on nature, and revealed in all the higher principles of the soul. This thought of an endless being, of ever enlarging knowledge and love, of never ceasing approach to God, of continually exte^nding connections with his works and with the good and excellent, — how should it inspire and exalt us ! I wish I could fix it more deeply and habitually in my mind. It does not interfere with our most common occupations and pleasures ; for, to a reflecting mind, our whole being — including the past, present, and future — has a unity and most intimate dependence ; and ever}' right use of our powers, no matter how or where, is carrying us forward to our perfection. "It is Sunday, a day which always favors such thoughts ; but in the country, wiiere it produces more than the usual stillness of rural life, and in my loneliness, you will not wonder that my mind rises to the pure, peaceful mansions which were brought near this day by the resurrection of Christ. There, I trust, dear L , we shall meet, and be joined to the good who have gone before us." ''July, 1836.1 You say my letters have not pained you by praise. To me it requires more courage to praise than to reprove. The meanness of flattery is so great, that I am anxious to avoid not only the thing itself, but its appearance. A letter of compli- ment, which I feel to be due, is to me the most dhficult composi- tion. I often err in this respect. I know from my own experience that there are those who need the encouragement of praise. There are more than is thouglit, who feel the burden of human imperfec- 1 To Miss Harriet Martineau. 618 FRIENDS. tion too sorel}', who receive strength from approbation. I shrink from saving to these even all that I think. Happ}' thej', who, from just confidence in right action, and from the habit of carrjing out their convictions, need little foreign support ! "And now, m}' friend, must I sa}' farewell? Am I to see and hear you no more? This I will not believe. If the steam naviga- tion shall be established across the Atlantic, I ma}' one day see England, and I shall delight to renew our intercourse. If not, we shall be joined, I hope, in spirit, joined in devotion to the same great cause of humanit}', joined in sympathy' with our race, joined in the uncompromising association of the great truths by which men are to be made free and regenerated, now and for- ever. "May the best of Heaven's blessings descend on 3'ou ! May your as^jirations after truth and goodness never cease to be more and more fulfilled ! It will rejoice me to learn that 3'our visit among us has increased 3'our resources for wise and loft}- action on other minds. "When 3'ou can write to me from a prompting of jour own spirit, do write. I shall be happy to learn that I have not faded from your memorj' and heart. "Once more, m}' dear friend, farewell. May prosperous winds carry 3'ou to 30 ur loved home ! "Your sincere friend." "/w/y 29, 1836.^ My dear Friend, —I thought I had spoken m3' last word to you on this side the Atlantic ; but I have this moment received your letter, and must write a line of acknowledg- ment. I thank you for this expression of 3'Our heart. Without the least tendency to distrust, without the least dejection at the idea of neglect, with entire gratitude for my lot, I still feel that I have not the power which so man3' others have of awakening love, except in a very narrow circle. I knew that I enjoyed 3-our esteem, but I expected to fade with my native land, not from 3-our thoughts, but from j-onr heart. Your letter satisfies me that I shall have one more friend in England I shall not feel far from you ; for what a nearness is there in the consciousness of working in the same spirit ! and then how near is our common home ! Deep as m3^ feeling of imperfection is, I do hope to meet the good in our Father's house. In this hope let us work with him and for him, and for his children, for the poor and miserable, for the outwardly enslaved, and them that wear heavier chains within. ^ To Miss Harriet Martineau. GRATITUDE IN BEREAVEMENT. 619 If it should ever seem to me that I can aid you in 3'our work, be assured I will write. Farewell." '•'-January 23, 1837. We know how deeply you and yours are wounded by your late bereavement. The lovely boy was a centre to all your hearts, binding you all more closely together. Could affection have been a shield, he would still be with ^-ou. But he needed no shield. A greater love than yours watched over him, and has taken him away. Why he was taken in the dawn of his being, we cannot tell. The secrets of that world into which he has entered can alone explain it. Our world does not seem to have been intended for the education of all. To many it is only a birthplace. They are born to be translated, to receive their- educa- tion elsewhere. Can we not trust our loving Father to choose the place where his children shall be trained? Is it not enough to know tliat they are in his hands? What! shall we with our faint love distrust Him who has inspired us with all the affection which we bear our children, and whose goodness is shadowed- forth dimly by the strongest human love ? " W^e sometimes speak as if the child, dying so earl}', had ac- complished no purpose ; but we err. The child does much. How much has this little boy done for you all ! How much warmth he has slied througli your hearts ! How many holy feelings he has awakened ! How much happiness he has given ! What a lovely image he has left behind ! And what a new bond has he formed between 30U and the future world ! Is all this nothing? Have we no cause to thank God for every pure being he has revealed and endeared to us? Let us weep for the departed, but let not the sense of loss make us forget how much has been given, and what a precious hope is left. So unwise and unthankful a grief would show that we needed it. If we have not faith enough to strengthen and comfort us under the loss of a friend, then it is time that the friend was taken. AVe have not learned wisdom from the gift. We need another school, that of its loss. " Give my love to . They must feel that this affliction has not come without its purpose. Death is a solemn teaclier ; but who of us can dispense with its lessons? What other teacher can so disenchant the world, so expand our views, give such convic- tions of immortality, so spiritualize our minds, so prostrate us with a sense of dependence and unworthiness before God? Such an event is an era in the history of parents, and it has often stamped a new character on the whole following life. I wish them every consolation, and, still more, I hope that they may find a blessed, sanctifying influence in affliction." 620 FRIENDS. '■'■Boston^ February 21, 1837, My dear Sir, — I have this mo- ment heard of tlie death of my dear, very dear friend, your daugli- ter, and I cannot forbear writing to 3'ou immediately, to express my sympatliy with you on this sad occasion, and my liope tliat you will be sustained under this severe trial. When I look back to the life and character of this dear friend, I see one of the loveliest exempli- fications of the spirit of Christianity which it has been my happiness to meet. She was in the habit of opening her mind to me with great freedom, and I valued highly the privilege of access to a spirit so pure, so gentle, so overflowing with love, so strict in its demands on itself, so generous and indulgent to others. After her free communications, I felt how far she had outstripped me in the Christian faith. Her piet}' was singularl3' filial, though her deli- cate, sensitive nature was often pained by the consciousness of unworthiness. Her sympathy with Christian goodness and holi- ness, wherever manifested, was such as I have seldom witnessed. She trul}' loved Christ in all who bore his image. I can speak of Uer as I can of few others, for she spoke to me almost with the confidence of a child. I think of her now as a blessed saint ; and wei'e the heavens opened to me, and were I to see her among the just made perfect, I could hardly have a stronger confidence in her happiness than I have. " My dear sir, you must labor to penetrate be3'ond the outward appearances and circumstances of death to her spirit. That was a region of light. How she loved 3'ou I well know. Her expres- sions of filial love were touching. To have had such a daughter is a blessing for which there cannot be too fervent gratitude. AVill 3'ou express to your afflicted daughters m}' sincere sympathy ? "I remain, respectfulh', your friend." '■'■May 17, 1837.^ I am not only cheered, but edified, by the sight of one so advanced in 3'ears, and so burdened with i)h\sical infirmit3', 3'et enjoying so fully the powers and the i)leasures of the intellect, so strong in faith, so calm, and bearing such practical testimony to the power of religion. It is my earnest desire that a life so happ3' and useful in its decline may be continued. " With great respect, your friend." " Boston. November 'd, 1837.^ Age? retaining the freshness of youth, is one of the most interesting spectacles on earth. Within a few days I have lost a much revered friend, sevent3'-cight 3'ears old, who, after his seventieth year, wrote two valuable books on theology, and who, to the last, delighted in the stud3' of nature, and entered into all 1 To Noiih Worcester, D. 1). 2 Xo Mrs. Joanna Baillie. J. BLANCO WHITE. 621 the great movements of the age with an earnestness distinguished front the fervor of youth only by greater calmness and a firmer trust. I never saw him without feeling that I had gained a wisdom which books could not teach. May you, my dear madam, continue to strengthen our hope of immortality by showing us how the spirit can retain its beauty in life, even to the moment when it is with- drawn from human intercourse. " With great respect and sincere affection." ''•August 24, 1838.^ My dear Sir, — I received, a few days ao-o, your last letter, written with a trembling hand ; and whilst I wlis' touched and gratified by tliis proof of your regard, I could not but regret that I had subjected you to so exhausting a labor. You must console yourself by thinking that you did good. I trust I shall be the better for this testimony to your principles, this breathing of your spirit, this expression of calm reliance on God's perpetual in- spiration and fatherly love. I hope it is not to be the last testi- mony. Should Providence renew in any measure your strength, you must give me a few lines, for you have not many friends more interested in you than myself. The conflicts of a mind, seeking, struggling for truth amidst peculiar obstructions, and sacrificing to it, not merely outward good, but friendship, confidence, love, are to me more aff'ecting than all outward warfare. 1 trust you have received my late letter, written on hearing of your great debility, in which I begged you to forget, or not to think of answering, the preceding Vne. That will show you how little importance I attach to my criticisms on your communications to Mr. Ripley. I sometimes think of visiting England, and one of the great pleasures I have promised myself has been that of seeing j'ou ; but a higher will disposes of us, and who would reverse it? I thank God that he continues to you, amidst your trials, the strength of your faculties. So long as we can think clearly, we can carry on the great work of life, we can turn suflTering to a glorious account, we can gather from triumphs over the body a new consciousness of the divinity of the spirit. 1 have sometimes thought that ray gratitude to God was never more lively than in iUncss ; and how many under this trial have had a new rev- elation of his presence! May he grant j^ou these consolations! You feel, undoubtedly, as we all do on approaching our end here, as if you might have done more for the great cause to which your life had been devoted. To a friend of his race, who looks round on the amount of guilt and error in the world, how little he seems 1 To J. Blanco White. 622 FRIENDS. to have achieved ! But let us thank God, if in anything we have served our brethren ; and ma}' we not sa}^ in the disproi)ortlon of our desires to our doings, that we are destined to a higher eHicienc}-, — to a world where our powers, now so imprisoned, will expand freely and jo3'full3'? But I will not wear}' with reflections with which you are so familiar. I commend you affectionately to God, the never-failing Fountain of light, truth, peace, love, and blessed- ness. " Ver}' truly and respectfuU}', your friend." " November^ 1839. You are wrong in thinking of peace as some- thing which is to come only in the future life. There is no reason for expecting it hereafter but its having begun now. Every true surrender of selfish principles to God and the inward monitor is the beginning of heaven and heaven's peace. The best proof of a heaven to come is its dawning within us now. We are blinded by common errors to the degree of celestial good which is to be found on earth. I do not tell 3'ou to labor for it ; for a selfish impatience may remove it from us. I would say, accept your inward and out- ward trials as appointed by the Friend of your soul for its progress and perfection, and use them for this end, not doubtingly or im- petuously, but confidingly ; and just as fast as the power of Chris- tian virtue grows within 3'ou, peace and heaven will come, unless, for some greater good, present happiness be ol)structed by physical causes. Be of good cheer. Be not weary in well-doing. Be not anxious." " Boston^ Januarrj 21, 1840. Your faith has met unusual trials, and has not failed. I know few things which so darken our views of the moral government of God as the experience of baseness and treachery in people who have won our confidence. We are tempted to question the realit}- of human virtue, to suspect the hollowness of all appearances of truth and piet}-, and it is but a step to call in question the moral purpose for which we are placed on earth. But you have been saved from this rock ; and in proportion as man has failed you, you have clung more earnestly to God. I have felt the power of this temptation. AV^hen I see how many of my race are debased, false, earthly, living without God, the question comes to me, ' Is God indeed the friend and lover of all human souls, and is he working for their salvation ? ' But I trust. One of the most blessed influences of Christianit}' is, that it assures us of the Divine grace towards the most fallen ; and just as far as we can realize this, our love flows out towards the most guilty. " You ask me for thoughts which may strengthen you. Your DR. CHARLES FOLLEN. 623 experience of life and of God's goodness is a far better teacher than any suggestions of a fellow-being. The thought on which I delight to dwell, as I advance in life, is, that God is within me, — always present to my soul, to teach, to relnike, to aid, to bless, — that he truly desires my salvation from all inward evils, that he is ever ready to give his spirit, that there is no part of my lot which may not carry me forward to perfection, and that outward things are of little or no moment, provided this great work of God goes on witliin. The body and the world vanish more and more, and the soul, the immortal principle, made to bear God's image, to partake of his truth, goodness, purity, and happiness, comes out to my con- sciousness more and more distinctly ; and in feeling God's inti- mate presence with this, to enlighten, quicken, and save, I find strength, and hope, and peace. That Christians aim at too little, and hope too little from God and from their own souls, I feel more and more. Another reformation, I believe, is to come, though you and I may not live to see it." " Boston, April 13, 1840.^ My dear Sir, —I wrote to you some time ago, and, though I have received no answer, write again, as you have given me reason to think that a letter from a friend is some alleviation of j-our sufferings " I sent you a discourse, which I hope 3-ou received, occasioned by the death of Dr. Follen. He was one of ray dearest friends, and I cannot hope to replace him. Perhaps I have never known so true a friend of freedom, of the Right. He took part in the ill- advised revolutionary movements of Germany, — after Napoleon's fjvll, — occasioned by the refusal of the sovereigns to redeem their pledge of new constitutions to the people who had restored them. Though little more tlian twenty years old, his disinterestedness, courage, abilit}', placed him among the principal leaders. He was compelled to take refuge in Switzerland, where he was again and again demanded by the Holy Alliance. He at length found safety here, but not the reward due to his loyalty to freedom. In obedi- ence to his highest convictions of duty he joined the Antislavery Society, which you know has been persecuted in the Free States, because of the irritation excited by it in the Slave States, and by this act made himself unpopular, and obstructed his success in life. We were not w^orthy of such a man. He lived, not prosperous, yet greatly blessed in domestic life, and cheered by his own magnani- mous spirit, — and died to receive acknowledgments of his worth, which should have been granted in life. He suffered for his prin- 1 To J. Blanco White. 624 FRIENDS. ciples, and yet in his case I can see that virtue was its own great reward '' I have written a long letter, not for an answer, but in the hope of administering a moment's pleasure. " With sincere respect, your friend." " July 4, 1840.-^ Your father is associated in ni}' mind with the great movements of our times, with the struggles for civil and re- ligious liberty and for a purer Christianity, and with the most im- portant institutions for human improvement. I think of him as full of aniniation and hope, as alive to whatever touched the interests of his race, and as capable of great exertion. His family must be grateful that he was spared to them so long, and that Provi- dence opened to him spheres of action so congenial with his holiest and best affections. The manner of his death gave, at first, a shock to us all ; but may it not be the design of God, in surround- ing those who are dear to us with outward painful circumstances, to drive us, as it were, to that which is inward, spiritual, endear- ing, over which waves and storms and the accidents of time and place have no power?" '•'•July 21, 1840.^ My dear Sir, — I was grateful to you for j^our letter of Ma}-, received a short time since, and yet I could not but regret that you had made a painful effort. I write 3011, not to lay you under the least obligation to reply, but because \o\x have expressed an interest in my letters. I feel that 3'ou have a right to an}' alleviation of 3'our sufferings I can give. Your experience dif- fers from mine, for I have had little acute pain. I do not know that I ever suggested to 3'ou a fanc}' which has sometimes come into my head. I have thought that, b}- analyzing a pain, I have been able to find an element of pleasure in it. I have thought, too, that by looking a pain fully in the face and compre- hending it, I have diminished its intensity. Distinct percepfion, instead of aggravating, decreases evil. This I have found when reading accounts of terrible accidents, which have, at first, made me shudder. B}- taking them to pieces, and conceiving each part distinctl}', I have been able to think of them calmly, and to feel that I, too, could pass through them. Sympathy increases by the process, but not fear. The sympathy weakens the personal fear ; but this is not the whole explanation. The soul, by resisting the first shudder, and by placing itself near the terrible through an act of the will, puts forth energies which reveal it to itself, and make it conscious of something within, mightier than suffering. The 1 To Miss Carpenter. 2 Xo J. Blanco Wliite. POWER OF MUSIC. (325 power of distinct knowledge in giving courage, I have never seen insisted on, and 3-et it is a part of ni}' experience. The unknown, the vague, the dark, what imagination invests with infinity, this terrifies ; and the remark applies not to physical evils, but to all others. " You speak in your letter of the relief you have found in music. Have you met with a very curious book, ' The Correspondence of Goethe with a Child ' ? Her name was Bettina. I fell in with the work on a journey, and ran through it, omitting a good deal. It interested me as a psychologist, for it gives quite a new specimen of mind. A good deal in it relates to music, much of which I could not understand, and much of which sounded like extravagance, but I felt that there was a truth at bottom, and I wanted to under- stand more. I am no musician, and want a good ear, and yet I am conscious of a power in music which I want words to describe. It touches chords, reaches depths in the soul, which lie beyond all other influences, — extends my consciousness, and has sometimes given me a pleasure which I may have found in nothing else. Nothing in my experience is more m3'sterious, more inexplicable. An instinct has always led men to transfer it to heaven, and I sus- pect the Christian, under its power, has often attained to a singular consciousness of his immortality. Facts of this nature make me feel what an infinite mystery our nature is, and how little our books of science reveal it to us. "I was gratified in reading, in the Christian Teacher, an article on the Midsummer Night's Dream from your pen. You there speak of Don Quixote. That work has never produced its full effect on me, on account of my deep interest in the hero, which makes me indignant at the contumelious treatment he receives. I sympathize with and venerate the knight too much to laugh at him, and wish to join him in discomfiting his assailants. Was the author aware of his Avork at the moment of beginning it? His first delin- ' eation of Quixote is that of a madman ; you are not at all prepared for his loftiness of mind. Did not Cervantes start with the first conception, and lay out the adventures of his hero in correspond- ence with it? Did not the nobler conception steal on him after- wards? Whether this suggestion has been made, I do not know; but the parts do not cohere in my mind. I love the Don too much to enjoy his historj-. " I still hope to bear that you have found relief. As I have told you, it gives me much pleasure to hear from 3'ou ; but you must write only when you can find some pleasure in the exercise. " With respect, your sincere friend." 40 626 FRIENDS. '■'■Boston^ Jane 20, 1841.^ My dear Sir, — Your letter of May 24, just received, has given me pain, tliough it was expected. Your previous letter had prepared me to hear of Mr. White's departure. I ouglit not to feel pain at an event which has terminated such severe sufferings, and converted his faith into fruition. But we cannot dismiss a friend from our home, much more from the world, without some sadness. I confess I have a feeling of disappoint- ment at this event. I have for 3-ears cherished the hope of seeing Mr. White. When I have thought of crossing the ocean, the pleas- ure of intercourse with him has risen to m}' mind, among the chief I should find in P^ngland. Perhaps there was not a man in your country whom I wanted so much to see. I felt that no mind could open to me so interesting and instructive a history. I know by ex- perience some of the conflicts of spirit through which he passed, and I longed to put a thousand questions to him about the processes througli which he arrived at tliis and another conviction. I vener- ated the rare heroism with which he sought truth. But he is gone, and I am to know him only in another world. The account you give me of his trust and patience has done me good. I am little moved by passionate pietv in death ; but how grand is the entire submission of so calm, reflecting a man, in such deep suffering! M3' own trust seems to have gained strength. I rejoice that lie has committed his manuscripts to yon^ for j'ou understand him better than anybody. I shall wait impatiently' for his autobiography. I besought him again and again to leave some record of his inward history ; and I expect from it singular benefits. Not that I shall agree with him in all his speculations : I diffei'ed from him a good deal ; but I do not know that I ever read anything from liis pen which I did not find instructive. He understood the controversy between Romanism and Protestantism as few do. Ver^' few of us get to the heart of this quarrel. Most Protestants fight Romanism under its own standard. " 1 have sometimes observed on the beach, which I am in the habit of visiting, a solemn, unceasing undertone, quite distinct from the dashings of the separate, successive waves ; and so, in certain minds, I observe a deep undertone of truth, even when they ex- press particular views which seem to me discordant or lalse. I had always this feeling about Mr. White. I could not always agree with him, but I felt that he never lost his grasp of the greatest truths. " I S3'mpathize sincerely with 3'ou in your loss. IIow much have you lost ! The daih' privilege of communion with a great and good i To the Rev. J. H. Thorn. DEATH OF J. BLANCO WHITE. 627 mind is a daily light shed over our path. I know something of your affliction, for in tlie short space of two 3-ears God has taken from me two friends, Dr. Follen and Dr. Tuckerman, who were knit to me in true Christian brotherhood. But we will not say we have lost such friends. They live within us in sweet and tender remembrances. They live around us in the fruits of their holy labors. They live above us, and call us, in the tones of a friend- ship which Heaven has refined, to strengthen our union with them b}' sharing their progress in truth and virtue. I shall write a line to Mrs. Rathbone, to whom I feel myself a debtor, for her kindness to our common friend. When 30U have leisure, 1 shall be glad to know more particularly^ what writings Mr. White left. " Ver}' sincerely, your friend." '■''June 21, 1841.^ You gave me great comfort by your account of Mr. White. Perhaps you hardly knew hoAV dear he was to me. I had never seen him, but the imagination and heart had wo^en a tie as strong as real intercourse produces. I read, many years ago, Mr. White's letters on Spain, and when I was told that the inward history of a Catholic priest, given in that book, had been drawn in part from the author's exi)erience, I felt a strong interest in him, and the sentiment has received strength in his successive writings, from accounts of his friends, and especially from his correspond- ence. I wished to see him, perhaps, more than any man in your country. The struggles of his mind for truth, which were continued for so many years, tlie vast tracts of opinion over which ho had passed, and the infinite variety of thought and emotion which his experience must have embraced, made me look on him as a man who had crowded many lives into one, or who had traversed all lands and seas, and been driven by all their storms, who had en- joyed or suffered all climates, and, after his long, perilous voyage, had found a quiet haven. I felt that he could answer questions which no other man could. Then the reports brought me of his sweet, mild spirit, which had withstood a life of controvers}-, shed over him a peculiar moral beauty. His writings, too, had prepared me to expect a rich, fresh intellect. He always rose to my mind when I thought of a visit to your country', and now he has vanished, and it is well that he has gone. " I rejoice to think that he found such a shelter in his last hours. All England, I am sure, could not have furnished him a more loving home to live and die in, more ftxithful friends, more Christian sympathy. He was privileged, and so were you. To minister to 1 To Mrs. William Rathbone. 628 FRIENDS. the last sufferings of a good great man, to witness the triumph of faith, patience, love, over the last agonies, to be looked on with affection by the dying whom we revere, to feel that we have formed a close, tender union with an immortal spirit, — these are privileges indeed. Were I authorized, I would thank j'ou, your husband, your children, for 3'our offices of love to our departed friend. " The passage which he dictated to you for me showed the vigor and originality of his intellect. I prize it as a testimony of per- sonal regard, as well as for its own sake." "What strangely various forms love takes! In most people, affection is a chief ground of faith in immortality. The loss of friends carries them into the future world. Love cannot let the departed go. It clings to them in a better world, seizes on every proof of that world, and sighs for reunion. Some of ni}- Jewish friends, of singularl}' strong affections, speak of their departed as of their living friends, and seem to have no more doubts of their blessedness than of their own existence. But in you affection takes the form of anxiety and fear, just as some tender parents think only of the perils of children who are separated from them, I cannot enter into jour state of mind, for ni}- own experience has been wholl}' different. " My faith in immortalit3^ rests very little on mere affection, but very much on the fact of human excellence. The sight of emi- nent virtue carries me up to heaven at once. Indeed, virtue and heaven are ver}' much one in my sight. It seems to me as natural for virtue to live as for the animal to breathe, and much more. Virtue is the only thing in the universe of the continuance of which I am sure, for it is of the very essence of God, E\erything else may pass away ; this cannot," '•'- Ncuiport^ Jane 27, 1841.^ There is presumption in attempting to explain particular dispensations of God. He is to be judged by his vast universal laws, not by this or that fact. A¥e sometimes, however, seem to catch glimpses of particular fitness in a trial to the sufferer Perhaps the greatness of mental suffering is of itself proof of its being needed, A nature ca[)able of sufl'ering is capable of proportionate doing, while at the same time this nature ma}' carry within itself obstructions to its high destiny. " I am, however, less and less disposed to undertake the interpre- tation of particular events. I have been reading Nichol's Archi- tecture of the Heavens, which you named to me, and it has filled me with adoration, humility, and hope. It reveals a stupendousness 1 To Mrs. E. L. FoUen. v^ THE EVILS OF LIFE. 629 in God's works, a silent, slow, solemn unfolding of his purposes, before which I bow in a kindred silence. I cease to wonder that six thousand years have not done more for the race, when I see so clearly that a thousand years are but a day to the Eternal. The connections of human life stretch before us, and are lost in the end- less aoes which are needed to accomplish God's designs. And yet I do not feel myself sinking into insignificance under the weight of these thouohts. I am amazed by the grandeur of the human spunt, which out'of a few signs detected by the telescope can construct the universe. My joy and reverence assure me that this universe is my school and everlasting home ".Since I saw you, I have made a long visit to Philadelphia and New York, and I return with an unchiUcd faith, I trust with a brighter hope. Everywhere there are spirits kindled by great thoughts, by generous svmpathies. The mass, indeed, are of the world ; but the good are of a higher order than formerly. This is the grand, cheering fact. Tremendous evils are to be contended with ; but there are men and women who can look them in the face and not fear, who have within them a consciousness of something mightier than all the evil. How it refreshes me to meet with a strong, hope- ful soul ! . . . . "I am glad you are approaching the end of your interesting, holy task. " Be not troubled at the thought of the book passiug into unworthy hands. Remember the Great Teacher knew that his seed was to be sown on rocks, and among thorns ; still he rejoiced to scatter it, for some was to fall on the good and honest heart. Besides, the seed on the rock is not always lost. It finds, some- times, a little chasm into which to strike its root. Let us not dis- trust. Let us not despise even the worldly. They have in them all that we have, sometimes more ; and who knows but that your book is to reach the unknown divinity within them ? " ''August 2, 1841.^ In regard to the evils of life, they trouble me less and less. I see pain and death everywhere. All animated nature suffers and dies. Life begins and ends in pain. Then pain has a great work to do. Then there is a vast good before us, to outweigh and annihilate it. Its universality reconciles me to it. I do not ask to be exempted from the common lot. In this, as in all things, I wish to go with my race. I pretend not to explain events, but I do see glorious issues of suffering, and these are enough. Once, had I been called upon to create the earth, I should have done as the many would now, — I should have laid it out in 1 To Mrs. E. L. FoUen. 630 FRIENDS. pleasure-grounds, and given man Milton's occupation of tending /flowers, &c., &c. But I am now satisfied with this wild earth, its awful mountains and depths, steeps and torrents. I am not sorry to learn that God's end is a virtue far higher than I should have prescribed." " Boston, December 21, 1841.^ I became a subscriber to the Antislavery Standard soon after I learned that it had passed into your hands, and perhaps the occasion will allow me to express the strong interest I take in 30U and 3'our labors. You have suffered much for a great cause ; but 3'ou have not suffered without the sympathy, respect, and affection of some, I hope not a few, whose feelings have not been expressed. Among these I may number myself. 1 now regret, that, when you were so near me, I saAV so little of you. I know that you have higher supports and consola- tions than the sympathy of your fellow-creatures, nor do I offer mine because I attach any great value to it ; but it is a relief to my own mind to thank 30U for what 30U have done for the oppressed, and to express the pleasure, I hope profit, which I have received from the various efforts of your mind. " I have been delighted to see in your 'Letters' in the Standard such sure marks of a fresh, living, hopeful spirit, — to see that the flow of genial, noble feeling has been in no degree checked by the outward discouragements of life. The world's frowns can do us ■"/"tit'fte Tiarm, if they do not blight our spirits; and we are under / obligations to all who teach us, not in words, but in life, that there ^ is an inward power which can withstand all the adverse forces of the w^orld. With the best wishes for your health and success, I remain your sincere friend." ''March 12, 1842."^ My dear Friend, — You see I reciprocate your 'fiuiiiliar and affectionate phrase'; and I do it heartily. There are, indeed, few people whom I address in this way, for I fear to use language stronger than my feelings ; and I shrink so much from the appearance of flattering words, that I not seldom smother affections which struggle for utterance. But I grow freer as I grow older. Age has no freezing influence, and the inward fountain gushes out more naturally. To you I ought to open m3^ heart, after what you have told me of the good which a loving, cheering word does you. I confess I had thought of you as raised more than most of us above the need of sympathy. I had heard so often of your brave endurance of adversity, and was conscious of having suffered so little myself for truth and humanif3-, that I 1 To Mrs. L. M. CliilJ. - To the same. THE SPIRIT AND THE WOKLD. 631 almost questioned my right to send you encouraging words, and certainly did not expect so affectionate a response. I thank you for your gratitude. It shows me that I can do more than I believed by expressions of esteem and admiration. If I can lift up and strengthen such a spirit, how can I keep silence?" " Lenox, August 18, 1842. I would not make you ' of the world,' if I could, that you might escape all dissatisfaction with thnigs as they are, and might plunge unrepiningly into the current which is hurrying on the multitude they know not where. Never lose your faith in°the high purpose of your being, in man's infinite destiny. But I desire to carry your faith farther. I wish you to confide in tlie wisdom and goodness of that Providence which has seen fit to connect the spirit with the body, to place the heir of heaven for a time on earth, to subject us to necessities, toils, outward cares, and numberless details, and which has ordained these as a part of the processes by which we may be carried forward and upward. To you the outward worid and the inward are in hostility. Believe that they may be made friends. Believe that persevering effort in a vocation, that the exercise of judgment and invention, and the practice of forbearance and kindness, in common affairs, may be so united with the highest speculation, so hallowed by pure aims, that they may bring about a more complete and harmonious devel- opment of your nature than what you would call a purely spiritual mode of life. We are to bend circumstances, common relations, to our great end, and it may be done To become interested in men, we must act with them from pure motives, must mix with them, now to co-operate with, now to resist them. You need not fear. You will find courage and strength, if you will commit your- self to a good course. We should all shrink from our vocation, could we at the beginning foresee the difficulties in our path. But trial brings strength. Unexpected resources spring up by the side of unexpected obstacles." ^^ Lenox, August, 1842.1 Qur letters have informed us of the removal of your venerated mother. We feel that the change was a blessing ; that it was time for the weary traveller to rest, — for the discipUne of life, so unusually protracted, to end,— for the spirit to leave the body which had so long hung on it as a weight. What a change is death to one who has approached it through ex- treme old age ! How hard it is to conceive of a friend, on whom the furrows" have been deepening and the head whitening for so many years, laying aside all debiUty, all the infirmities of age, and 1 To Mrs. George Lee. 632 FRIENDS. entering a new existence of perpetual health, freshness, and, may we not sa}', ^-outh ! I remember, when my grandfather died, at about ninety-four years old, the thouglit darted through ni}' mind, ' How shall I know him without that gra}' head, those deep lines of time on his countenance ? ' These seemed to enter almost into his identity. Yet our new senses will recognize our old friends with a quickness little comprehended now. To you this event, so iTiUcli to be desired, is an affliction, a bereavement. How peculiar the relation of a mother ! She was our first friend, and from tlie hour of our birth, amidst all life's changes, and the inconstancy of other loves, that faithful, tender heart never forsook us, to its last throb. A parent's love is the best t^'pe of the immutableness of the Divine." " Lenox^ August^ 1842. I am as well as usual, and enjo}' what I call health, the more for its interruption. You speak of yourself as au ' automaton.' It is thus that the heart rests after painful excitement and deep sorrow. It is well for us that none of our emotions can retain uninterrupted vividness, and, especially, that the more vehement exhaust themselves. By this kind provision we are saved from being absorbed in a particular feeling, from shutting up the soul in a particular event. Our whole nature is brought into action. A false, sad notion has injured man}', that we owe it to departed friends to die to those who remain, to die to our race, to feed on dark pictures of life, to reject the blessings which our kind Father has strewed in our path, because some have been taken from us. It ought to be the influence of bereavement, of the vanishing of loved ones from our sight, to give us more rev- erent and quickening conceptions of the spiritual nature of the undying soul, of that vast futurity through which our faculties and affections are to expand into a divine life and felicit}- ; and under this hope, we should desire to enter on a nobler field of action now. The departed have gone to see, to love, and serve the Infinite Father with a new fervor and elevation of spirit, and we should strive to sympathize with them, to be joined with them by partici- pation of their progress. We are apt to feel as if nothing we could do on earth bears a relation to what the good are doing in a higher world ; but it is not so. Heaven and earth are not so for apnrt. Every disinterested act, every sacrifice to duty, ever}- exertion for the good of ' one of the least of Christ's brethren,' every new in- sight into God's works, every new impulse given to the love of truth and goodness, associates us with the departed, brings us nearer to them, and is as truly heavenly as if we were acting, not on earth, but in heaven. These are common truths, but we do SELF-REBUKE. 633 not feel them. The spiritual tie between us and the departed is not felt as it should be. Our union with them daily grows stronger, if we daily make progress in what thej^ are growmg in." "I am never surprised to hear of misgivings, doubts, or self- distrust, the great trial of life to man}^ ; and at the same time, one of the grand signs of our destin}* is, that our conception of vu-tue, holiness, outstrips our powers of immediate attainment. The very improvement of our moral sense becomes a source of fear ; our ver}' progress in goodness, by opening new spheres of duty, may sometimes discourage us. Humility alwaj's grows witli virtue, with increasing knowledge of God. I have but one great trial of life, and tliat is, the disproportion between my idea of duty and my practice. Our fear from tiiis source is in part unreasonable. Our idea of the perfect, the holy, is not to be our standard of self-judg- ment any farther than we have power to realize it. Perfection is revealed to us, not to torture us from our falling short of it, but to be a kindling, imposing object, to be seized by faith as our certain destiny, if we are faithful to the light and strength now given. " We are not to repine or fear, because in our childhood we want maturity of wisdom or strength, — but we are to be animated by the thought of what we may become. Still, after making all allow- ances, we must suffer from self-rebuke. Our own hearts often con- demn us. Our pure, spiritual resolves, how often they fail us ! But we must never despair. The consciousness of error is encour- aging, — it shows a measure of moral life in us. " Self-rebuke is God's voice, his call to new effort, his promise of aid. It is to me a most sustaining idea, that I am always guarded by God, and shall receive more and more aid in proportion as I am receptive of it. When the sight or voice of a friend stirs up my spirit, when nature touches and elevates my heart, when a word from some inspired author reaches the depth of my moral nature, when disappointment corrects and purifies my views of life, &e., — on all these occasions, I feel that God speaks to me. I see in' them pledges of his earnest parental desire for my redemption. I see in them the workings of Omnipotence for ni}' good, the breath- ings of his spirit, confirmation of its precious promises, that heavenly aid is most freely given to human weakness. I am strong only in my consciousness of union with God."^ 1 To Mrs. George Lee. 634 HOME LIFE. Chapter VII. — HOME LIFE. And now let us enter the home cu'cle, and look upon the daily life of a man thus aspiring to oneness with God b^' reception of his influence and co-operation with his plans, thus longing for full illu- mination, thus universal in humanity, thus earnest for tlie emancipa- tion of ever^' brotlier, thus firm while liberal in justice, thus gener- ous, compassionate, elate with hope, unchangingly faithful. In the following letter to his sister. Dr. Channing manifests the affection- ateness which was the undertone of his harmonious character. "As I advance in years, though I form new ties and am enlar- ging my interests in others, I turn to my early, and especially my domestic, friends with increasing tenderness. I find more to love in those I have longest known. This is a good sign. In truth, when I look on my own famil}^, and make them a standard of the race, I feel that the accounts of human depravity must be exaggerated." In the spring of ever}' year, exhausted by his winter's work, and pierced bv the raw east winds of the Massachusetts seaboard. Dr. Channing found himself compelled to revisit Rliode Island. In April, he writes to a friend : — "This season is one in which I always lose strength, and am obHged to give up for a time m^' common duties. As soon as the warmth of the weather will admit, I shall retreat to the countr}', and there give mj'self three or four months' repose, that I may be prepared for a new campaign." Another languid month has gone, and then he can thus pour out his grateful satisfaction in the sense of returning health and spirits : — "I write 3'ou from our dear native island, — a spot which be- comes more and more dear to me. Whilst the generation with which I grew up has disappeared, nature is the same ; and even when a bo}-, it seems to me that m}' chief interest clung to the fields, the ocean, the beach. What I want at tliis season of the year is repose, and I know no part of our country which has more of tranquil beauty than this." And again : — " August, 1832.^ I am spending this, as I do all my summers, about sixty or seventy' miles from Boston, on my native island, 1 To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. PHYSICAL DEPRESSION. 635 called Rhode Island, a spot of which I suppose yo ^^^^ " J^J heard, but which is to me the most interesting on ear h I believe it is vmiversuUy acknowledged to be the most beautitul p ace on onr whole range of sea-coast. It has one of the finest harbors in the world, and is situated in a broad bay, which embosoms many isl- ands, of which this is the queen. Its surface reminds me more of ^e o'entle, graceful slopes of your country, than any scene I have 'sit^d in Imerica; and its climate is more English, being quite n^d, though affording us often those bright skies f which j^u see so few in England. No spot in our country which I know has -so equal a temperature. These advantages, together with fine beaches for batling, make it quite a resort for invalids and the '^fuftiaeuoe is in the very centre of this beautiful ^land, five miles from the town; and when I tell you that a son of your Gil- pin, the celebrated writer on the picturesque gave us some its towards lavin- out our garden, and that it has been cultivated by SCO 1 and Idsh gardeners, you will easily conceive that though we ave so remote from you, our outward world does not gi-eatly differ In natural beauty, my island does not seem to me inferior to the Isle of Wight. In cultivation, it will bear no comparison. Our farmers are slovenly, spreading their labor over large forms, satisfied to live well, and caring little for posterity or for improve- ment Here I spend four or five months annually, enjoying my tranquillity almost too much, almost reproaching myselt for being so happy,'when I am doing so little for the happiness of others. It was extreme refinement of conscience only that could have made Dr. Channing feel even a transient pang of self-reproach for These periods of Involuntary retirement. The alternative each .e^was death or long repose. The thought constantly suggeste^^ by intimate acquaintance with him was, " How is the f ail body of this man kept living by his desire to finish his woik! The finest fibre only united the spiritual force and the materia frame, and he felt no hberty to snap the tie till his mission was discharged. Dut^- governed him in the care of health as in all relations. I eel- ino'that early imprudence had made him an invalid, he husbanded conscientiously his scanty store of strength, though every year compelled to pay in weeks and months of inaction the penalty for ex"?ions beyU his power, but which he felt no freedom to oi-ego The robust might have thought him a valetudinarian but close observers could'not but revere the touching patience and quiet reso- hit on with which he daily, hourly, sacrificed desire to judgment, a'^ curbed an aspiring, bounding temper to keep a gentle pace. 636 HOME LIFE. Critics have blamed him that he left no large finished works. But they who were near him felt shamed by an energy that, amidst such constant hindrances, accomplished so much. It is onl}' bj- incidental allusions scattered along his correspondence for years, that one can form an adequate conception of the clog which hung upon him throughout his manhood. But justice to the noble spirit, who so uncomplainingly bore the load of mortality', demands that this fact of his unremitted physical depression should be fully understood. A few extracts from his letters will show the nature of his malady, and the gentle firmness with which he wore his fetters. '■'■ July, 1825. The pulse, habitually languid, begins to fly under the exertion of preaching, and fever and increased indigestion follow." '■'■ Broohline, September 16, 1825. Last night I found my usual sleep restored to me, which I esteem a great blessing. The tran- quillity of the mind hy day is certainly- aided by its repose at night, and could I bring back the slumbers of childhood, I should not despair of getting something of a childlike lightness of spirit in my waking hours." " November, 1825. I resume m}^ public labors, though not with- out some cause of apprehension. The effect of my interesting engagements is to take away sleep almost wholly for nights. This has been one of the symptoms of my failing health." " October, 1827. I have borne so long the burden of that half- health, which makes a man una^)le to say whether he is sick or well, and which restrains all the soarings and continued efforts of the mind, that I earnestl}- desire some release from it." 1828. "M}' health continues to form no small part of the disci-' pline to which Providence sees fit to subject me. I have bright days in which I form plans of extensive exertion, and perhaps my very ardor suddenl}' reduces me to a state of debility in which I hardh' dare to expect ever again to accomplish anything." " St. Croix, April 6, 1831. I believe I must make up mv mind to carry with me this feeble bod3' to the grave. Sometimes, when I am obliged to stop in the midst of an interesting subject, I wish I had more health. But if we are to live forever, we need not be impatient. That word /o/vi-er.' Does it never break upon you with something of the power of sudden thunder, and startle you into a strange awe? O how wonderful that immortality does not move us more ! " WRITING UNDER LANGUOR. 637 " Odoher 1831.1 j have experienced during this depression of the body, what I have sometimes known before, a singular clear- ness and brightness of mind on the most interestu.g subjects. Without the least enthusiasm, or indulgence of imaguiation, I have thouoht of human immortality with a calm elevation and happu.es .^^ioh I think cannot be common. There was a jealousy- and dread of a dreamy, visionary state of mind, and a deep consciousness hat all emotions in view of futurity which could not }^^^ min-le with and bear on common life were useless. Ihe physiolo- gists tell us, that, in cases of this kind, the nervous sj'stem, or iratever part of the body ministers to thought, is under some p mdiar excitement. May it not be, that, in this depression ot the an mal life, the mind is more free fi'om the influence of matter^ is Zr itself and gives us some earnest of what it is to be? One 7Z. rowever, f learn. If a change of the present animal system c^i give us suJh glimpses and enjoyments, what may we not hope from the spiritual body, the more refined organization of which Paul speaks ? " " December 28, 1833. In truth, I have not, for a long time, had such health. I dare not draw upon it largely, and spend much of the day in exercise. Still, my progress, though turned to so little account is a oreat good to me. To be able to move without a rsdolness of etfoft in every step, and to study a Uttle without entire exhaustion, is so much of a novelty, that I enjoy it more than the healthy do their perfect strength." - Philadelphia, May 27, 1835. At this moment I am somewhat worn down by preaching two sermons two successive Sunday s. There seemed a call for effort, and I do not regret that I made it ; but I must sutfer." ^^ Boston, May, 1838. I have been taken from my labors for neariy two months, and am good for little, though slowly rising. I look forward to my retreat on the island with increased joy. In that quiet, I can use my powers with less injury than amidst the excitements of the city." 1841 " The tract has been better received by the public than I had reason to expect, for I wrote under great languor, with a con- tinual consciousness of inabihty to give sufficient force and expres- sion to my thoughts. This is a cross I have often to beai^ and 3et some of my productions, which have been wrung fo^/^^ J^/ painful effort in hours of feebleness, have done good. M) tliree 1 To Joseph Tuckerman, D. D. 638 HOME LIFE. Lectures for the Laboring Classes were written with the feeling of a feeble man carrying a load up hill ; and yet I have testimonies from the mechanics of England to their usefulness." Pains have been taken thus to exhibit Dr. Channing's constant feebleness of body, because, unless his physical condition is con- ceived, his character cannot be rightly apprehended. His seem- ingh' inactive life was not a chosen, but an imposed, form of existence. Essentially, he was a person of strong will, keenly sensitive, large in affection, earnest in purpose, brave, though prudent, and indomitable in cheerful trust. Fluent in enthusiasm, guided on by a bright ideal, sympathizing profoundly with his race in their trials and struggles, refreshed in faith from on high, he was designed, apparently, to have poured abroad a vWqv of good in- fluence in varied action. But the accidents of birth in an age of unsettled opinions, and still more of a shattered constitution, diverted his energies into a broad, deep lake of contemplation. Regarding his life as a whole, and considering how he was hemmed in at once b}'. speculative difficulties and bodily infirmity, it is in- deed remarkable that he should have so identified himself with his fellow-men in all lands and conditions, and have made his power so widel}' felt. But to no one as to himself did his success seem par- tial ; for he measured it by his grand designs. He knew only, that, under his circumstances, he had done his best, and humbly deferred to the ever-widening future the accomplishment of his hopes. This view of Dr. Channing is so interesting and instruc- tive, that it may be well to illustrate its truth bj- quite full extracts from his correspondence. In nothing did his real greatness shine forth more purely than in his submission to the necessity of a com- parativel}' passive life. " Boston, June 28, 1824, Yesterday I preached without sparing mj'self, letting a great subject bear me where it would, and the ex- haustion was only temporary. Can it be that I am to be spared to accomplish some of the labors on which I have set my heart ? " " November 12, 1824. Yesterday' I delivered a short sermon without suffering. This I esteem among the very hnppy events of my life. It is true that infirmity and inaction, when a[)[)ointed by God, are to be received as good, and I am persuaded that some of us are more deeply instructed in heavenly wisdom by being laid aside as useless, than by being left to successful and honored labors ; but when our Master recalls us to his work, is it not right to rejoice? " " October 10, 1825. I have resolved on any sacrifice but that of duty, which health may require. I have hope that I ma}- do some- RELIGION OF MEDITATION. 639 thino- ; but my thirst for study and exertion, wlaicli sometimes rises to a'passion, must be indulged very moderately, if at all. It is all rjo-ht, however. The Great Disposer knows our whole nature, and looks through our whole duration. I doubt not, that, if the present trial yields its proper fruits, I shall be ultimately a wiser and more efficient being than if I were to follow my own course now." " November, 1825. Repose, repose, is becoming almost too favor- ite a word with me. It is to me food and medicine. I do not mean inaction, but a calm exercise of my powers and affections. Ihe affections are about as exhausting as the intellect, and a little more so when strongly excited. I trust that I am not only to gam wisdom in this respect, but to put it in practice. I fear that a less animated mode of preaching may be less impressive. But the ques- tion is, if continued labor of a less impressive kind may not do more o-ood than a few efforts, destroying the power of exertion, and followed by long intervals of relaxation. You see I am grown rational." " Rhode Island, August 17, 1827.^ I almost envy you the happi- ness of continued activity, and of such exertions as show their fruits. Most of us hope we do good ; but we live by faith rather than by sioht. Now and then we have affecting proof that what seemed to us" lost seed has struck root, and that our words have found then- way far into men's minds. You, from the nature of the materials you work upon,— to say nothing of your mode of working, — see striking changes '' I am still at this paradise, — for such Rhode Island is to me. I mean paradise externally, rather than internally. I do not find refuge here from the great conflict of human nature, from the war of '"the spirit against the flesh.' But to some minds quiet retreat brings advantages for that struggle. The Divine principle within us seems to be called forth by the marks of the Divinity in the creation, and the religion of meditation — not the highest religion, indeed, but still not worthless — is nourished. I am aware that a virtue which leans so much on outward condition is not to be compared with that which wins its crown on the field of battle, and grows stronger by exposure. But we must make our way as we ean ; and I trust that a temporary shelter does not disgrace a soldier of Jesus Christ. The eff-ect of tlie quiet thought to which I give myself here is to make me more sensible to the thick darkness which overspreads the Christian world. I seem to discover as many errors in practical as in dogmatic religion. The false theology, 1 To Joseph Tuckerman, D. D. 640 HOME LIFE. which has prevailed for ages, is burying us still in night. But the corruptions which we are trying to expose in the popular sj'stem are perhaps but superficial, compared with those Avhich remain unrecog- nized, and which we all inherit. Tiie true reformation, I apprehend, is yet to come. But enougli." " St. Croix, February 12, 1831.^ Hardly a day passes without spreading and strengtliening my sympathies with the mass of men, the poor, the forsalcen. The sights which are most familiar here turn my thoughts continually' on the need of great revolutions in our present social order. The selfish, all-grasping sjDirit, which every- where sacrifices the many to the few, or leaves the many to suffer without pity, or the means of improving their lot, must be resisted as it has not been. " You are right in not being willing to exchange ^'our daily walks for my luxuries and ease, though I was half angry and half amused at the manner in which 3-ou speak of my present situation. You seem to think I am acting the part of Corydon ; but I never had any great relish for Arcadia. Man's business is among men ; and if I have gone to solitudes, it was not to sigh among shades, but to use my little power as well as I could. To me the country is the best article in the materia medica. Its quiet is to me what sleep is to 3'ou. In society, I soon become exhausted. Earnest conversation makes me fevered, and so does breathing the close air of a heated, crowded room. I am obliged, too, to live more at home from the necessity of observing a regimen To one who finds so man}- little trials in society which he can hardly speak of, it is well to walk in a quiet, retii'cd path. I have never found that my lonel}- way of life has alienated me from my race. On the contrary, I think that, to me, it has been the spring or nutriment of philanthrop}'. It has kept me from factitious tastes, and from attaching importance to the artifi- cial distinctions of life " You will ask me, I know, what I do in my retirement. I wish I could give a better report. I am not idle, but my mind is not in one of its productive moods. I am folloAving out some great views. Do not smile or scold because I am only accumulating. Suppose I leave tlie world before communicating more. Think you that in the future w(jild there will bo no room for wliat we now learn ? A mind which is toiling in solitude, if it gain trutli, is preparing itself for larger reception of truth hereafter, and will be perpetually- exalted and useful." ^'■February., 1834.'^ In truth, who can sympathize with an intel- 1 To Joseph Tuckerman, D. D. ^ To Orville Dewey, D. D. MATURITY OF MIND. 641 lectual laborer, disappointed in his dearest hopes, as I can? .... Unhappily, the care of the bod}- does not allow any systematic ex- ertion of mind ; and 3'et I do not complain. To mj'self, the mind seems to be making progress. I trnst this is not one of the delu- sions of age. I am hardly old enough to be cheated in this particular." ^^ June G, 1835. I made a great effort at Philadelphia, and preached three Sundays in succession, which I have not dune for a long time. The people were anxious to hear, and I willing to take the hazard of unusual exertion ; and, though I was much ex- hausted, I believe I did not suffer essentially. On these Qccasions 1 long for greater strength. Knowing, as I do, that I have great and life-giving truths to deliver, 1 want to toil as I have never done. I can tell 30U from my own experience, that a good constitution is the best estate ; and 3'ou must do what 3'ou can to earn it. How- ever, it is a comfort to know, that, where there is a fervent heart and a strong purpose, much may be done with a weak body." '•'• Oakland^ June 22, 1840.^ I have long learned to estimate life by the capacity of action it affords. To me there has been but one serious drawback on the enjoyments of a very privileged lot, and tliat has been the inability to work without an almost constant feel- ing of exhaustion ; the inabilit}' to reahze, as yet, any of my great purposes. When I see one who can work with spirit and joy, I could almost envy him ; and yet I have never questioned that Prov- idence which has laid on me m}- burden." " January 1, 1842.^ Since I wrote to you, I have had an illness, from which I have been creeping up slowl}- these two months. My suffering was nothing, compared with yours. Still, I take pleasure in remembering what a privilege it seemed to me to live, to think, to feel, to lift up my heart under much pain. It seems you cannot continue writing ; but this will not make life useless. There is often a mysterious growth of the mind, which we can trace to no particular efforts or studies, which we can hardly define, though we are conscious of it. We understand ourselves and the past, and our friends and the world better. I have sometimes been tempted to think that the most profitable portions of mj- life were those when I seemed to do the least. There is a certain maturity of mind, dis- tinct from acquisitions of knowledge, which is worth all the fruits of study, and which comes we hardly know how. Perhaps I give an individual experience ; but I state it because it has helped to reconcile me to inaction." 1 To Miss Harriet Martineau. 2 To the same. 41 642 HOME LIFE. " Lenox^ Juhj 13, 1842. I like much the Transcendental tenden- cies of our family. I do not wish tliat we were more like the world. At the same time I wish we may be working men, bringing some- thing to pass, lovers of our race not in word and feeling only, but in act, and useful in the plain, homely walks of life, whilst we soar into higher regions. To unite noble speculation with wise and noble action, this is the idea of a great and good man ; let us try to realize it. The old adage, that sails profit nothing without bal- last, we must remember. Unhappily, some are all l)allast, and go to the bottom ; some of us are all sails, and run adrift." '•'■ Lenox ^ August^ 1842. You are in danger of suffering from high aims. Because they are not to be accomplished instantly, be- cause the power of doing the whole work of life is not unfolded at once, you droop. You shrink from the toil and conflict by which this power is to be won. I understand what you mean b}' want of energy, for I have felt it all my life. The difficulty in both of us is physical, to a great degree. I hardly know what it is to do any- thing without a sense of exhaustion. The light, buojant spirit with which many men do their work, I have experienced just enough to make me comprehend it, and to be conscious of m^' want of it. What then? I have felt it a privilege to work, even under exhaustion ; and power has grown b^- such work." The expression used in one of the preceding letters, — " the re- ligion of meditation, — not the highest religion indeed, but still not worthless," — gives us the clue to Dr. Channing's life. Cut off from the large range of study and action, which in early years had opened such glorious prospects, he meekl}- turned his powers upon the inward toils of self-purification. If not in tins life, then in another Avould he. Heaven willing, be prepared for the widest services of love. In a letter to Ur. Tuckerman, he says with all'ect- ing humility : — '-'- June 17, 1828. I am now at my pleasant retreat, hoping for strength to do something, but not anxious. I feel that religion is obscured by much error, and I would do what I can in the cause of reformation. But a deep feeling of deficiency and un worthiness checks the hope that God will employ me for the communication of any great light. It is sometiiing, however, to sec the darkness, and to awaken others to seek a better future." Calmly, trustfully, he consecrated himself to attain pei'fection, with an enthusiasm that grew more intense, the more it was con- centrated. Neither restless nor sluggish, unantici[)ating, yet watchful, he trained himself to faultless practice of the scale of SPIRITUAL GROWTH. 643 moral liarmou}', and serenity kept liis faculties in tune. In the fol- lowing words he but describes his own experience. " Tliere is a thirst for something better. This is the first step. The next is far harder, — I mean the resolution to mali;e the sacri- fices which progress demands. There is an immense space between desire and self-denial." He obe3-ed in its strict sense the law, "Renounce and be blessed," and enjoyed in fullest measure the liberty of self-com- mand. A remarkable person, in a state of mystic illumination, while passing penetrating judgments on a number of distinguished men, once said of Dr. Channing, that " he was kept from the highest goodness by his love of rectitude." Very probably he would him- self have verified the correctness of this criticism. There certainly had been periods of life when he had restrained himself, as he was aware, too stitfly, though every year of maturing virtue rendered him more free. But in his company the tliought would constantly occur, " How much richer is the latent nature of this man than the manifestations of it which he allows to appear, or than he is liim- self aware of! " An earnestness, a susceptibility to profound emo- tion, an exuberance of sanguine cheerfulness, a chivalrous daring, a stern yet smiling heroism, a poetic glow, flashed out at times through his guarded evenness of deportment, giving promise of a higher style of greatness than that which he revealed. And yet, when one beheld his composed consistency, his attempered strength, most self-relying when least outwardly sustained, his presence of mind and foresight, his calm contentment, and, above all, his steady growth, the question rose, whether his energy of will and wisdom were not most displayed in this willingness to wait. Too early buds are blighted. His summer had not come. Seemingly he had sacrificed impulse to method, fulness of force to order ; but had he not thereby attained to peace, "that highest and most strenuous action of the soul, in which all the powers and affections are blended in beautiful proportion, and sustain and perfect one another"?^ It was Dr. Channing's desire and purpose to write a book on the growth of a religious spirit, in which, in a partly biographical, partly didactic form, he would have illustrated his own experience in regard to the true function of conscience. He had discovered that the monarchical principle in human nature becomes desi)otic, when not checked by the representative element of the natural 1 Works, Vol. I. p. 205. One Volume Edition, p. 574 644 HOME LIFE. affections, and the constitutional law of enlightened reason. He had learned thoroughly the benefits of moral gymnastics in solitary self-discipline ; but he had learned also that the useful exertion of all faculties combined, in pursuit of worthy ends amidst our fellows, is the highest training for symmetric goodness. A few hints from his private papers will show this tendency of his thoughts in later years. "The idea of improvement, progress, perfection, must become plain, palpable, all-animating. It must inspire and quicken our desires. The whole force of the soul must be reserved for Love. This idea of celestial virtue, lofty, venerable, must fix the purpose of universal goodness, and sustain the firm resistance to all sin. The consciousness of being appointed for this sublime end is to give a tone to the whole mind, to protect us from the debasing influ- ences of selfishness, to communicate worth and beauty to the hum- blest duties, to kindle and elevate all our affections, to surround us with a sense of the charm, dignity, glory, of life, to lift us up, to carry us forward. We must devote the whole body of sin to death, and choose perfect goodness as our supreme end. The promotion of that virtue which is central and universal, that is, love in its purest form, secures most fall and rapid advancement, and mingles joy with every effort of self-control and of progress. The passions are never so easily subdued as when checked by a generous, disin- terested, sublime purpose, with which the soul is filled." " There is a mystery in the growth of the spirit, as of the body ; and if we supply the needed nutriment, the process in each goes on without our consciousness. The moral nature is fed by right action amidst present duties, rather than by direct efforts put forth on the character. Improvement is less promoted by constant self-watch- ing, than by a generous pouring forth of our minds and hearts on grand objects. Great men are produced by great ends. There is a danger of selfish sensitiveness to our own imperfections. The best remedy for habitual self-indulgence is to i)lunge ourselves un- reservedly into some work of well-doing which involves hardships and demands self-sacrifice. We improve without intending, with- out knowing it, by mere intercourse with great minds. Perhaps direct effort is chiefly important as preparing us for these more gently pervading influences. The best growth is that which we do not rigidly determine. Accordingly, there is to be a wise abandon- ment of ourselves to good influences. We must not too anxiously seek self- formation. This may prevent free, natural development. There may be nervousness about spiritual, as well as physical health, a killing of our strength of will by medicines, a want of DEVOUTNESS. 645 trust in wholesome aliment, air, exercise, and liglit. Nature society, events, beautiful examples, all carry forward the mind open to good impressions. A latent consciousness of then- benefits makes our surrender to their charm an act of virtue. A\ e grow wise every moment without intending it, if our hearts are set upon perfection, as taste grows in the artist by communion with beautiful objects. A purpose may guide us witliout perpetual thought of it. We must put forth our full energy, we must seek a right direction of all our powers. But the great means of improvement is to pre- pare ourselves for the celestial light forever shed abroad, for deeper insioht into virtues, wherever manifested, for higher aspirations, ho\A^ever suggested, for the inward monitions which carry us on- ward, for inspirations, for Divine impulses." " Reverie," said Dr. Channing to a friend, " was once the hectic of my soul, —meditation has been its Ufe." In these constrained seasons of rest and retirement, when he was seeking to put away every motive, association, habit, that obscured with earthly fumes the firmament of the spirit, when amid inaction he was training himself to eneroy, resolution, self-sacrifice, courage, and in solitude was longing to" extend and multiply his ties of spiritual intercourse with mankind, he was brought ever nearer and nearer to the living God. His trains of meditation, like ascending and descending an- gels, linked earth with heaven. Without mysticism, rapture, or any Vorm of extravagant emotion, he felt that he was daily walking in 'closest intimacy with "a Being worthy of the heart's whole treasure of love, to whom he might consecrate his whole existence, in approaching whom Ave enter an atmosphere of purity and bright- ness, in sympathizing with whom we cherish only noble sentiments, in devoting ourselves to whom we espouse great and enduring in- terests, in whose character we find the spring of an ever-enlarging philanthropy, and by attachment to whom all our other attachments are hallowed, protected, and supplied with tender and sublime con- solations under bereavement and blighted hope."^ Dr. Channing's private papers, as well as his published writings, are so pervaded by piety, that to select particular illustrations seems like attempting to condense from a single flower the ray that calls out its tints and perfume, while the earth and air are radiant with sunshine. Yet the picture of his life would be imperfect with- out giving one or two extracts as indications of this central trait of his charattter. It may be said, in a word, however, that with him devoutness was no fitful, intermitted state, a sudden summer be- 1 Works, Vol. I. p. 204. One Volume Edition, p. 573. 646 HOME LIFE. tween polar nights of apathy ; his thoughts anrl deeds, conversation and social pleasures, as well as his solitary hours, were made peren- niall}' fruitful by a glowing consciousness of tlie Divine presence, " I must be alive to God ; I must feel the infinitel}' near connec- tion that binds the spirit to the Heavenly Father. I must tliirst for him, as the Perfect Goodness, — as the centre, fulness, foun- tain, of all that is great and lovel}". Tlie explanation of the habit- ual insensibility to God, in which multitudes live, is, that the state of mind into which the}' are forced by the present condition of man- kind is hostile to the religious feeling. Amidst prevalent selfish- ness, we do not feel the generosity of the Divine love. But we can even now gain glimpses of the Perfection of which the law of right is the essence. God is the Infinite Moral Will, — pure, unmixed Goodness, — pure Reason and Love, abiding in the peace of calm, unchanging, eternal rectitude. We are to enter into the depths of his love to every liviug creature. To conceive vagueh' of goodness is not enough. The Divine love is the love of a God, infinite love, infinite in its energy, intenseness, variety, extent, duration, its all- vivifying, all-recreating power. This love embraces, pervades, every beiug. It is universal, impartial, immutalile. Doss not such a love imply that every spirit is to be unfolded everlastingly? Should not every intelligent being be looked upon with infinite faith? Are we not surrounded by manifestations of the unlimited disinterestedness of God, which should fill our hearts with gratitude and devotedness? Let every being remind us of perfect good, of the interminable, glorious future, in which the light of the Divine love is to be shed abroad forever more brightly throughout the uni- verse. We can never form even a faint conception of the Heavenly Father, until we rise to the idea of perfect goodness as the fountain of a love that pours forth forever rich, free, unbounded connnuni- cations of its own blessedness, that warms, embraces, quickens, exalts all creatures. God is the ever-living, ever-animating centre of this glorious universe, from which we cannot in thought for a moment separate him. To strive towards this Sovereign IMoral Will, to commune with him, is our highest good, our supreme end, our immortal life." " Is the all-sacrificing love of Jesus Christ the manifestation of Divine goodness most suited to move us, most within reach of our hearts? Is it by living in this, and conforming ourselves to this hi daily life, that the glory of the All-loving Father most fully beams on us? Is sympathy with this love of Christ a revelation of God to our hearts? Is it through a like sacrifice that the true sense of the All-Good is to be unfolded within us ? We must have THE LOVE OF GOD. 647 the faith of Jesus in the divinity of duty. This spiritual act of faith, carried out in the performance of duty, will open to us a heavenly glory in goodness. God's will must be trusted and obeyed ; then does he ^come forth to us, manifest himself to us. Do we love him by feeling his presence, or feel his presence by loving him? The love of God must be sought from love, from a conscious union with him, that thirsts for its own increase. His goodness calls us to goodness, to all that is lovely, generous, great, self-sacrificing ; and goodness exercised creates new capacities for goodness ; we grow by beneficence. God hides himself from us, that our love to him may be moral, rather than instinctive, selfish, personal. He reveals himself as the inspirer of conscience, as the fulness and fountain of virtue ; and he cannot be loved, except as virtue, good- ness, moral perfection, is loved. Is not the very spirit of piety the devotion of the soul to moral good? Our Father, the Father in whom Christ dwelt, is not so much to be thought of as the Crea- tor acting abroad, but as acting within, the life of our spirits, the awakener of love. In the immensity of the universe, and its count- less, endless blessings, we are to see emblems of his spiritual in- terest in his spiritual children. All his perfections bring him into nearest union with every soul. Moral consciousness only can help us to comprehend the infinite interest of tlie Father in every indi- vidual spirit, his desire for its unbounded glory, progress, felicity. His love can be conceived of only when we feel that the soul by its moral endowments is fitted to bear God's image in goodness, and to ascend for ever and ever in immortal love." " To see God, to know him, is not to see anything outward, but to recognize him as a spirit in all his acts, as the designer in all his designs; in every thing and event to perceive the present, living energy of the Heavenly Father. The universality, infinity, impar- tiality, perfect justice, perfect love of God is to be acknowledged tlu-oughout all processes of nature and humanity. He is Light ; we are tcT behold his bright revelation of himself in his use of all crea- tures. It is by viewing all things as coming from the spirit of God, that we are to learn his boundless knowledge and inexhaustible love. The infinite connections which unite all creatures are the sign of God's all-pervading energy. The animalcule lives by the operation of infinite laws. Until we combine all finite particulars in the idea of the infinite unity, — until we look at the design of the Heavenly Father, in the whole creation, to awaken the infinite prin- ciple in man, to train up his spiritual children to immortal goodness, until we see in all his laws a welcome summons to universal, disinterested love, — we cannot know God. To see God in the 648 HOME LIFE. universe is to see in it the unity of one infinite thought, purpose, spirit, pervading it, — a glor^- of goodness brighter than all suns, — a harmon}' of power more majestic than all the combined forces of creation, — a happiness richer than all means of happiness, — a love which in itself is J03'. To know God, we must consider his great end, which is to unite all beings b}' universal justice and love, — to bring all spirits into harmony' by moral bonds, — to reconcile all that is partial, narrow, selfish, separate, — to make all spirits one b}- love." " Prayer gives intensity to the consciousness of our connection with God, — lifts us out of our narrowness into communion with the Infinite, — teaches us to regard our interests as embraced within the immense designs of Providence, — opens to us a view of our relations to the universe and all spirits. We come to Ilirn who has the well-being of all creatures in his control, in whom the whole good of the universe is concentrated. Can we approach him ab- sorbed in selfish wants? We come to the Spiritual Father, who desires our perfection, whose law of rectitude is immutable, whose will of goodness is supreme, who abhors evil. Must not ever}' desire become purified in such a presence ? God always regards us in our connections with other beings ; every gift l)estowed upon us, or withheld from us, will aflfect them as well as us. Should not our petition be, then, to receive onl}' what the Universal Father sees to be best for all as for ourselves ? The true spirit of prayer is a submission of ourselves to the good of the whole, to the pur- poses of Infinite Love." These fragments, from manuscripts which might fill volumes, must suffice here to show how truly — to use his own words — Dr. Channing had attained, ''in the universal action of the soul, to conscious harmony with God and the creation, an alliance of love with all beings, a sympathy with all that is pure and happy, a sur- render of every separate will and interest, a participation of the spirit and life of the universe, an entire concoid of purpose with the Infinite Original."' It was from the centre of all-creating, all- redeeming, all-sanctifying goodness, that he sought habitually to regard events and persons. He longed to be made wise with the science of Divine order in its progressive developments. He trained himself to be, in the highest sense of the wore]. Just, to escape from partiality and prejudice into the open air of truth, to see the relative worth of objects and occasions, to measure accidents by i)rinciples, to divine the future from the confluent tendencies of the past, to 1 Works, Vol. I. p. 205. One Volume Edition, p. 574. LOVE OF NATURE. 649 "f watch the ongoings of Providence. Through the still hours of his meditative summers, in untiring contemplation, he passed in review men and measures at Iiome and abroad ; and from the conscious- ness of liis own failures and triumphs, learned patience and hope for his race. In this effort to become " a follower of God, like a dear child," Dr. Channing found constant refreshment in communion with nat- ural beauty. His letters overflow with allusions like these to his delioht in outward scenes : — " I have been walking amidst our trees and flowers, admiring the perfection of God's works, and seeing his glory in all that he has made. O could his rational offspring fulfll their pui'pose and reach their perfection, as do these humbler productions of his wis- dom and love ! But are we to despair? The plant is short-lived and not free. Can we expect a free, immortal being to develop himself as early and regularly as the material, finite germ?" " I am now enjoying the great luxury of my life, — quiet in the midst of nature. I am debarred b}' my health from man^' of the pleasures of life, but this is a balance for all. It grows dearer the older I grow, and I am old enough to know the value of a happiness over which time has no power. Here I feel m}' own spiritual nature, feel myself one with the universe. I suppose there is no great virtue in the sentiments of love to God and to man which spring up almost involuntarilv in such scenes. But the}' help to reveal us to ourselves, and are prophecies which concur wonderfully with the promises of Christianity." "I sometimes think that I have a peculiar enjovment of a fine atmosphei-e. It is to me a spiritual pleasure, rather than physical, and seems to me not unworthy our future existence. Did you ever read the life of that noble Platonist, Henry More ? He seemed to consider the breathing of the air on him as something more than an emblem of the H0I3' Spirit ; and I can understand how he was led to associate with it some peculiar influence from above." " You hope much aid to your intellect from the beautiful prospect 3'our new house is to give you. Do not be too confident. The intellect, in the common sense of the word, may be less aided than the imagination and the heart. I am now spending the summer in the country, and I find myself lured perpetually from my books and papers to saunter among the shrubbery, to listen to the wind among the branches, to eye flowers whose names I cannot remember, to let the affections rise or expand at will. I begin to think there is more wisdom in these aflTections than in much that people call phi- v^ ^ 650 HOME LIFE. losophy ; but perhaps you have not lived long enough to learn this, and may blame your beautiful prospect for troubling the intellect." "I hope you enjoy this beautiful September as much as I do. What a blessing such a day as this is ! So much a creature of the senses am I still, that I find on such a morning that it is easier to hope in God, and to anticipate a boundless good for m}- race." "You want to hear our news, but the best and happiest life is that which gives nothing to speak of. My life is more and more inward, and this cannot be thrown into the shape of news. How can I convey to you the music of the trees this moment in mj- ear, made l)y a fresh south wind after a shower last night? And 3-et this is one of my events. . Do you understand me, when I say that this solid earth and all that it contains seem to me more and more evanescent, at the very moment that the}' reveal to me the Everlasting?" " I hope you carry jour spiritualit}'^ into nature, that 3'ou feel the sacredness of nature, that you see in it the infinity of its Author, that its vast laws expand and elevate you, that 3'ou recog- nize in these the expressions of the highest truth." "The return of spring is more interesting and touching to me than in former years. I certainlj' do not love nature less, but more, as the time approaches for leaving it. Is not this a sign that I shall not leave it, that I am preparing to enjoy it in higher forms?" Thus inwardly and outwardly at peace, life continually opened before Dr. Channing more rich in beauty. He surprised one by his expansiveness. Each year, in look, movement, tone, manner, he seemed younger. His interests grew fresher and more varied ; his sympathies more quick and pliant. He learned to trust good impulses, threw the reins loose on the necks of his tamed atlec- tions, and allowed himself freer enjoyment. By increasing purity and harmony, he became ever more at home in the universe. This bright youthfulness of spirit thus manifests itself : — '■'■March 5, 182G. To me the season has been a golden one, for I have been able to work a little, to preach more than I have done for years, and to resume ])artially my old habits of ai^plication. I ought to say, that I find life a gift increasing in value. 1 have not found it a cup foaming and sparkling at the top, and growing vapid as I have drunk. In truth, I dislike altogether this old-fashioned simile. Life is not a little cup dipped from the stream of time. It is itself a stream ; and though at its birth it may dance and send LIGHT AMID DARKNESS. 651 forth cheerful murmurs as it does not afterwards, still it is intended to flow, as it advances, through more beautiful regions, and to adorn its shores with richer verdure and more abundant harvests. Do not sa}' that this end is frustrated. I do believe there are multitudes who have not found infancj' and youth as happy as later 3'ears." '•'Oakland, September^ 1828. I look back on ni}' summer with much pleasure. To me it has been a bright one. I have seldom had my powers more at command ; and the health and cheerfulness of my family, and the enjoyments of solitude on the sea-shore or in the lields have given almost a perpetual succession of agreeable emotions. I welcome and am grateful for such pleasures ; per- haps the more because I do not look forward to them. I live as in the midst of death, expecting to stay here but a short time, and knowing that suffering may till up this short space. There is not quite the joy of surprise, but something unexpected, in this calm and blessed flow of life." '•''Oaldand^ Jane 20, 1834. Our cup runneth over. Life is truly a blessing to us. Could I but see others as happy, what a world this would be ! But it is a good world, notwithstanding the dark- ness hanging over it. The longer I live, the more 1 see the light breaking through the clouds. I am sure the sun is above them." '•'• Boston, November 16, 1834. M}' children are growing so fast, that they are constant remembrancers to me of my having made progress towards another world ; and yet I cannot feel old. It is by reason, not sensation, that I am reminded of m}- age. I never felt less like leaving the world, and 3-et I cannot continue long. Happily, the future opens on me still more brightly. Immortality seems to me yet more real ; and, whilst I have much to attach me here, I desire a better life. Without being discouraged as to the prospects of society, I feel that neither of us can hope to see so much of heaven on earth, as to make us wish to live always here. What infinite thanks we owe to Him who has brought life and immortality to light ! " '■'■Boston, 1837. There are clouds not a few in our sky. But I have lived too long to be surprised, or to repine at this. It seems to me that existence continues to be an increasing good, — that the longer I live, the more I enjo}' ; and I incline to believe that this is better than a life of unvaried gratification would have been. The spring is just opening upon us, and this season has long awakened in me most delightful sensations. I sometimes look around and ^ 652 HOME LIFE. feci as if the mere privilege of viewing the heavens and the earth were enough to constitute existence a blessing." '■'• Oakland, 1839. Indeed, life has been an improving gift from my 3'outh ; and one reason I believe to be, that my youth was not a happy one. I look back to no bright dawn of life which grad- ually ' faded into common da}-.' The light which I now live in rose at a later period. A rigid domestic discipHne, sanctioned by the times, gloomy views of religion, the sellish passions, collisions with companions perhaps worse than myself, — these, and other things, darkened my boyhood. Then came altered circumstances, dependence, unwise and excessive labors for independence, and the symptoms of the weakness and disease which have followed me through life. Amidst this darkness, it pleased God that the light should rise. The work of spiritual regeneration, the discovery of the supreme good, of the great and glorious end of life, aspirations after truth and virtue, which are pledges and beginnings of immor- tality, the consciousness of something divine within me, then began, faintly indeed, and through manj' struggles and sulferings have gone on. " Since beginning this letter, I have visited a beach, the favorite haunt of m\' boyhood. There I saw the same unchanged beauty and grandeur which moved my youthful soul ; but I could look back onl3' to be conscious of beholding them now with a deeper, purer joy. So much for what would be called an unhappy youth ! Perhaps I owe to it much of my present happiness. 1 know not that in indulgence, prosperity', and buoyant health, I should have heeded the inward revelations or engaged in the inward conflicts to which I owe so much." '•'■Oakland^ 1839. There is a pleasure in the consciousness of progress, however slow. To see something growing under our hands is a solace, even in great weakness. During this summer, I have been able to give little more than an hour a day to my work ; but I have been all the happier for m^' pains. "I love life, perhaps, too much ; perhaps I cling to it too strongl}- for a Christian and a philosoi)her. I Avelcoine every new day with new gratitude. I almost wonder at myself, when I think of the pleasure which the dawn gives me, after having witnessed it so many years. This blessed light of heaven, how dear it is to me ! and this earth which I have trodden so long, with what affection I look on it ! I have but a moment ago cast my eyes on the lawn in front of my house, and the sight of it, gemmed with dew and heightening by its brilliancy the shadows of the trees which fall SUMMERS AT OAKLAND. 653 upon it, awakened emotions more vivid, perliaps, than I experienced in 3"0uth. I do not like the ancients calling the earth vwther. She is so fresh, j-outhful, livuig, and rejoicing ! I do, indeed, antici- pate a more glorious world than this ; but still my first familiar home is very precious to me, nor can I think of lea\ang its sun and sky, and fields and ocean, without regret. Mj' interest, not in outward nature oiil_y, but in human nature, in its destinies, in the progress of science, in the struggles of freedom and religion, has increased up to this moment, and I am now in my sixtieth year." '■'■Oakland^ Sepfeinb?r, 1840. I am growing old, as 1 hear, though I cannot acknowledge it to ra3-self. But I have so little time to spend on eartli, that I wish to see more of my friends. I should rejoice to leave recollections which will cheer them, and which especially will aid them to prepare for the close of their own journey." '■'■June, 1841. We old folks seem to have the advantage of the j^oung. AVe can enjoy with less excitement. I find, too, a great increase of satisfaction, as I advance, in the clearer sight of things which time and refiection have brought. In my earlier years, I see that I walked in a mist. Shall we make this discovery perpet- ually as we ascend?" '■''OaUand, Juhj 31, 1841. I incline to visit new scenes. As we grow old, we must resist the chains of habit. Peace be with 30U. Live daily, constantly, with a high purpose, putting forth moral energy in the minute conflicts of desire with the sense of right. This is the way to keep our spiritual weapons bright and strong." "■ Buston., December, 1841. My cheerfulness is of that quiet, uniform character which makes no show on paper. It does not depend on good stories, queer speeches, laughable incidents ; nor is it made up of flashes, but shines gentl}-, steadil}'." '-'■ January 1, 1842. I wish yon a happy new jear, and man^', many such. I say many, for I trust life is to be to you what it has been to me, an improving gift. Youth is not its happiest period; at least, it ought not to be." But it was not for his own sake only, and for the peaceful spir- itual discipluie which he there enjoyed, that Dr. Channing prized so higlily his summers at Oakland. The consciousness of youth- ful freshness inspired from natural beauty made him anxious to secure for his children the opportunity of passing as large a portion of the j-ear as possible in the country. He felt that he had owed so much, from boyhood onward, to the silent teachings of the 654 HOME LIFE. universe, that he could not bear to see the young spirits intrusted to his charge cooped up in the brick i)risons of our ovei'grown cities. Fidelity to private relations was thus a strong motive for his periods of retirement. He was a most devoted and loving father, and an ever-wakeful spirit of duty watched over and guarded his parental affections. Almost at the close of life he wrote : — "The more we recede from childhood, the more our hearts are drawn back to it by tender remembrances, by the contrast of its beauty and joyousness with what we see of later _years, and by our increased knowledge of the solemnity and grandeur of that existence on which the little creatures are entering so unconsciously. I am a parent, but I sometimes feel as if the affection which springs from tlwuyht were stronger than that of instinct." Extracts from his letters will best enable us to tmderstand his re- lations to his children, and his views of their education. '■'•Portsmouth^ R. /., July 10, 1824. I have not forgotten the cordial pressure of your hand the night before I left Boston, when I told you I had heard of my family on their way home, and was to join them the next day ; and now that thej- are round me, and my heart is overflowing with a quiet joy, I feel as if I should find some relief and a new delight in talking to one whose s^-mpathy is so dear to me. " Both the children have one sign of health, which I hope is a sure one, — an exuberant, irrepressible animation. It seems to be one purpose of infancy, that it should be a fountain of spirits and exhilaration for the drooping and care-worn travellers of adult life. If anything in life makes me wonder, it is the immense difference produced by a few years between the child and the man. I cannot, by any effort, revive the feelings of my infant mind. The holiday life of my children strikes me as a mystery. When I see the slightest excitement stirring up the living principle in them so pow- erfully, when 1 sec the flexible, graceful Ibrm, so instinct witli spirit, and the countenance so beaming, so lighted up with joys and hopes as transient and swift-winged as they are alisorbing, I see a mode of existence so ditferent from my own, that it perplexes as much as it delights me. Perha[)s I do not enjoy it the less for comiuvheud- ing it so little. I see a simple jo3% which I can trace to no earthly source, and which appears to come fresh from heaven. It seems to me, I could never have been so happy as my children are. I feel as if so bright an infancy, tliough not distinctly recollected, would still oiler to memory a track of liglit, as if some vernal airs from RELATIONS TO HIS CHILDREN. 655 that early paradise would give vague ideas of a different existence from the present. " When I see m}' children living without end or aim, and living so happily, I almost distrust that laborious wisdom on whicli we adults plume ourselves. Does not the Christian become a child, in the sense of acquiring the liglitness of spirit, tlie freedom from anx- iety, which belongs to infancy, — the child owing it to temperament and ignorance, the Christian to a strong faith, — the child casting its little burdens on a human, the Christian his greater ones on a heavenly parent? I wonder, too, if the good man, as he advances in truth and goodness, does not revert to the guileless simplicity', the quick commerce between the soul, the countenance, and the voice, which belongs to infancy, — whether he does not find that the reserve, caution, policy, prudence, to which men look for success, are shallow expedients, the offspring of a purblind wisdom, and that the ingenuous exposure of a pure and disinterested mind is the surest way to all noble ends which was ever discovered. Dear , what a letter ! You will think me half as much a child as those I have written about. I have spoken of the joyousness of our first years as poets do of spring, — forgetting that, with the flowers and balmy gales, there are chilly winds and days of gloom. But you will not be an unkind critic, especially when you remember that I have ex- changed the stillness of a deserted house for the ga}' sounds and affectionate faces which now surround me." 1824. '• Our connection with children was meant to be a happy one, aixl for that end a confiding spirit is necessary. It is unavoid- able, at their age, that they should fall into a great man3' errors, and that, under the influence of strong, absorbing impressions, they should seem to lose the good ones which we have made. But the very volatility that troubles us should give comfort ; for these new and threatening impressions will soon in turn resign their place to others, and we must wait in hope for the propitious moment of re- newing and deepening those which seem to have passed away." 1824. "As to the period of beginning religious instruction, much must depend on the capacity of the child ; and I have the general impression, that much more is to be done towards develop- ing the religious character by av/akening feelings, and forming habits congenial with piety, than by making this the subject of direct inculcation. Filial affection and gratitude, general kindness, and the sense of duty, are excellent preparatives for religion, and may be called into exercise before any just ideas of God can be given." 656 HOME LIFE. 1824. " I incline more and more to the use of generous motives, and of appeals to the best feelings in children. We must call out in them the sense of honor. I believe that the seeds of genorosit}^ may early be sown, and that the sensibility to what is good and great ma}' early be awakened. When you look bade into very early life, do 3'ou not discover the traces and dawnings of some truly exalted sentiments ? " 1825. " P'or their sakes we must educate ourselves. Do not let us forget that the habitual state of mind and feeling which we express before them will do more, vastly more, than any direct in- struction, to form their character. Let us strive, then, to give to our own sentiments and motives the elevation which we wish our children to possess." 1825. " Sometimes I think that the clouds are lifted a little from the subject of education. We know too little of the perfeclion of the human being, and of his manifold nature, to judge Acry clearly of the means to that great end. But we must feel that our nature has a better guide and wiser protector than ourselves. We must follow our light, be it more or less, confiding to a higher power, and new gleams will break upon us. The defects of our short-sighted- ness will be more than supplied by Omniscience. Here I anchor m^' soul. I feel myself more and more lost in the immensity of God's sj'stem, — more ignorant, bUnd, helpless; but I do not despair. There is infinite intelligence watching over one and all, an intelli- gence which has decreed to make us all partakers of itself, if we are true to the incipient light which now dawns upon us, and which wall be in the place of our own wisdom, wherever the narrowness of our faculties forbids our self-direction." 1826. "I am inclined to prefer very much the oral method of instruction, if I may so call it. Could we use books less and talk- ing more, one of the chief objects in earl}- teaching would be at- tained more certainly, — I mean disfinctness of conception. I attach as much importance to this as Mrs. Hamilton, and, in truth, her views on the first steps of intellectual development agree with my own, perhaps, more than an}' I have seen." 1826. " Nothing but time can give us a feeling of security as to the character of the young. We begin, perhaps, with ascribing a kind of omnipotence to education, and think that we can turn out a human mind, such as we wish it, almost as surely as a mechanic can turn out from his machinery a good piece of work. But we learn, as we grow older, that the human mind is more comi)lex and deli- cate in nature, and especially naore independent and self-active, than SELF-GOVERNMENT. 657 we had imagined. Free-will, that glory and peril of a rational be- ing, belongs to the child as truly as to the man ; and the child must be the chief agent in the production of its own virtue, and it has power to resist all influences. This is right. It is well that no mind is put into the hands of another to be moulded at pleasure." 1828. " I believe much in giving the young tlie elements of every science or branch of knowledge. I have never learnt anything which has not been useful to me, and 1 often groan over the defi- ciencies of my education. would probably slight the physical sciences, and give himself to moral ones and to general literature. But physical science is of great value. I lament that I cannot keep pace with the discoveries of the age. The universe is a divine volume, and I wish I could look on it with a more intelligent eye. Were I able to be a student, I should devote regularly a part of my life to the pursuit of natural science." 1829. "I dislike boarding-schools as much as you can; but I wish my children to mix freely with those of their own age ; nor have I many fears, whilst they come home, after ever.y talk or play abroad, and lay open to us the impressions they have received. I believe we must try children a great deal. When I see amidst what infinite influences, impulses, trials, vicissitudes, we are all plunged by our all-wise Parent, I feel that by an anxious caution, such as I sometimes see, I should fail to act in his spirit, and to co-operate with his providence." 1835.^ " Remember that it is the distinction of a man to govern himself, and that a man who cannot keep to his resolutions and pursue his course of study or action firmly and steadily must take a low place in'tiie world, and, what is worse, in his own esteem. " I beseech you in ever3- temptation to be true, honest, frank, upright. Whatever you may suffer, speak the truth. Be worthy' of the entire confidence of your associates. Consider what is right as what must be done. It is not necessary that you should keep your property, or even j'our life, but it is necessary that you should hold fast your integrity. " Enter on the school with the firm purpose of obeying all the laws. Do nothing which you need to hide. Make it a matter of honor and principle to do nothing which can injure the institution of which you are a member. Breathe no spirit of disaffection into your associates. Be the friend of good order. If at an}' time you think yourself aggrieved by your teachers, go to them frankly, and urge j'our complaints calmly and respectfully. 1 To his son. 42 V 658 HOME LIFE. "Treat _your companions generous!}' and honestly; sympathize M'ith them, and seek tlieir good-will as far as your principles will admit. But never sacrifice these. Never be laughed out of your virtue. Take your ground openly, manfully, and you will at length command respect. Do not let your companions depress 3-our ideas of right. They cannot do you a greater injury. "Reverence God, love him, and live as in his presence. Every morning 3'ou will be remembered in our prayers. Ever}' morning remember us in yours. At that hour, let us meet at the mercy-seat of our common Father." These extracts show the blended firmness and freedom, cordial- it}' and dignity, with which Dr. Channing treated his children. He sought to gain tlieir confidence by perfect honor and truth in all their intercourse. He taught them self-respect and courtesy, by the respectfulness and sweetness of his own manner. Strictly trained in his own early years, he had experienced the benefit of inflexible justice. His children saw that they must not dispute his positive commands, nor question his mature decisions. But the affcctionateness of his look and tone, the familiarity to which he welcomed them, his disinterestedness and elevation above arbitrary caprice, gave a charm to his autliority, and inspired a trust in his care and counsel, like reliance upon Providence. If in any case he found — which rarely happened, so deliberate was he — that his discipline had been injudicious, he would frankly tell his children that he had been unjust. He encouraged them to open their hearts, allowed full liberty in the expression of opinions, unfolded his own views, invited and listened to their objections, taught them to think. In a word, he made them his companions, and sought to win their unreserved friendship. Dr. Channing's attachment to the young, indeed, was very strong, and continually doe[)ening. In walking in Boston, one of his greatest pleasures was to pass among the crowds of children in the Mall, and to watch their bright looks and bounding movements. And in the summer he always endeavored to surround his children with a group of young friends. In a letter he says, "Our days are vei'v bright and happy ; the house is filled with children ; and the more of good children, the ])etter." He miuglcd in tlu'ir scenes of merriment with cordial delight, contributed to ever\- innocent sport, was inexhaustibly ingenious in inventing entertainment, and received them, on their return fiom rambles and pleasure excur- sions, with a quick response to their joy, that seemed to rival their own buoyancy of spirit. As years passed on, and the children who, suuuncr by sunnner, visited Oakland, became }outIis and HOSPITALITY. 659 maidens, he read with them, made them companions of his walks, passed liours with tliem in animated .conversation, became as far as i)ossihle tlieir confidential adviser, discussed character, manners, private interests, and public affairs, and souglit to raise them up to higli-toned honor, purity, and benignant gentleness. A little child, during one of these visits, threw herself into tlie arms of an elder friend, and, smiling through lier tears, exclaimed, " O, this is heaven ! " so did she feel subdued by the atmosphere of love whicli he diffused. And a young girl wrote: "He welcomed me witli a kindness that took away all fear, a kindness that I felt I might trust forever, for it was like that which must belong to spirits in eternity. His daily life is illuminated by a holiness which makes his actions as impulsive and peaceful as a child's ; it is a hai)pincss to be in his presence." Dr. Channing's hospitality was nowise limited to the companions of his cliildi'en. The spirit of his mother-in-law pervaded Oakland, and the rule was to keep eveiy room filled witli guests during the bright season. Wlien the family mansion overflowed, friends found lodgings in the immediate neighborhood. Visitors, too, from New- port, and strangers from abroad, sought his society. 80 that every pleasant evening was sure to find a circle of intelligent and relined. persons colL'cted in tlie parlors, piazza, and garden. In this kind of intercourse, much that was most beautiful in tlie character of Dr. Channiug appeared. The absorbing thoughts of the student, the reserve of the recluse, were put aside ; and with variety of information and of interests, gracious dignity, tolerance of all forms of character and opinion, and simjjle frankness, he welcomed those Avho sought him to participation in his truth and peace. His sym- pathy was ihost tender, delicate, discriminating ; his wisdom wake- ful and large. One of his highh'- valued friends has spoken of his "perfect sincerity, his cordial reception, his politeness and cour- tesy, his habitual attention to the wants and habits of others, the warm pi'essnre of his hand, his voice so rich and musical, the light of his deep-meaning eye." But it would be difficult to convey an adequate impression of the benignity, considerateness, and rev- erence which gave its peculiar tone to his manner. A freshness and brightness, as of the spirit Avorld, seemed to float around him, and to sanctify all within its sphere. The feminine element, so strong in all men of genius, was dominant in his social nature. This attracted him, as has been several times remarked, to women. The romantic devotion, the untiring faithfulness, the grace, of his affection in the nearest relation, made his daily life verdant with beaut}-. And at all times, and on all occasions, he showed himself 660 HOME LIFE. the Christian gentleman. In his inmost heart he honored woman. To a sister he saj-s : " You women, I sometimes think, are in all respects our superiors. Certainl}-, the world would be a dull place without you. Woman brought her love and her smile from Para- dise, and these are worth more than the thornless roses and vernal airs she left." And again, to Sismondi he writes: '•! am some- what proud of my countrywomen ; and you, I think, have known some who will show, that, if man has degenerated in the Western world, woman has met a better fate." With characteristic diffidence, Dr. Channing distrusted his power of giving pleasure in the social circle. "■ Before the multitude I am strong," said he once to a friend, " but weak before the indi- vidual." In this particular, as in others, he judged himself too strictly. Anecdote, wit, fancy, sprightliness, graceful trifling, indeed, made no part of his conversation, and would have been out of keeping with his refined spirituality. But the richness, origi- nality', force, of his intellect and character, appeared in their full beauty. He talked often better than he wrote, for he allowed him- self more freedom ; and the quickening touch of another spirit, especially of a youthful one, awoke whole crow^ds of brilliant thoughts, which lay entranced in the palace-halls of his memory. This topic has been eloquently treated by one whose personal expe- rience gave point to his words. ^ " He sought and longed for a perfectly free communication ; and no conversation interested him more than that which, in forgetful- ness of him and of one's self, and of everything extraneous, was a kind of monologue, a kind of reverie, the purest and most abstract idealism. Least of all must it be supposed that there was any assumption about him, or any stiff formaUty or precision, — any- thing that said, 'Now let us talk great talk.' Never. He did talk greatly, because he could not help it. But his manner of doing it, his manner in everything, was the most simple, the most unpre- tending, imaginable. At the same time he possessed a nature the most truly social. He regretted anything in himself or in others that repressed it. More than once has he said to me, ' I am too serious.' He longed to feel upon his spirit the free and genial breath of society. And all who have known him well must have observed, for the last lifteen years of his life, the in(-reasing liveli- ness, versatility, and happiness of his social nature. The earliest days of his manliood were his darkest, — days of illness and seclu- 1 Dr. Dewey's Discourse on the Character and Writings of Clianning, pp. 31-34. POWER IN CONVERSATION. 661 sion. They spread around him a shadow of silence, and over many of his after days a shadow of reserve. But into that shadow every later year of his life seems to have poured new and more cheering light. " 1 have alluded to his social intercourse ; but to unfold his char- acter, I must speak more distinctlj' of his conversation. It was the best image of himself, better even than his preaching or his writing; because it was the free, unrestrained, almost unintentional outpouring of his mind, and that on themes as elevated as those of his more studied efforts. I have said that he regarded preaching as the (jreat action of his life. Conversation was the ordinary action of his life. It was not his relaxation, but his action. It was that which showed the man, as the daily pursuit, the daily business, shows other men. Prevented as he was b^' ill health, and perhaps by constitutional indisposition, from mingling with the ostensible enterprises and movements of the social world around him, this was specifically his mode of action, his dailj' vocation. And those who have not conversed much with him can scarcely know what he was, can scarcely" appreciate the richness or the beauty of his nature. " I wish it were in m}- power to give any idea of the extraor- dinary character of this conversation. On m}^ first acquaintance with him, it was my happiness to pass a number of weeks under his own roof. His health was then delicate ; he went abroad but little ; but his mind was left untouched by the frailty of his bod}' ; and I found it constantly' occupied and struggling with great ques- tions. On the highest philosoph}-, on the highest religion, on the highest wisdom of life, all the day long he pursued the questions which these themes present, without ever slackening, or ever turn- ing aside to ordiuar^' and commonplace talk. The range of his subjects was as great as their elevation ; from the most recondite point in philosophy — the difference between relative and absolute truth — to the forms of philanthropic enterprise and political devel- opment around him. But his favorite themes were man and the New Testament; man, — his condition and the philosophy of his condition ; the New Testament, — Jesus Christ, his teaching, and the sublimest contemplation of God. Sometimes his mind ran upon the same theme, almost without interruption, for an entire week ; yet there was never anj- weariness in listening but the weari- ness of exhaustion. His view of ever}- subject was original. I do not mean that it was singular, but that it was his own, thoroughly digested in his own mind ; and I wish it were a little better under- stood that this is the only originalitj' possible to any mind. His 662 HOME LIFE. imagination, at the same time, kindled everything into hfe, pre- sented everything in new and multiform lights, spread around every point in debate such a world of illustration, that it seemed ever new, while it was ever the same. While it was ever the same, I say ; and yet to a mind suffused and overflowing, like his, with the very poetry of every theme, that is the trial j^oint, — to adhere with severe, philosophical accuracy to the vei-y question. To say that he went beyond the reach of all other men of similar genius is more than I do say ; but certainly I was led to admire the remark- abh' sober and rational character of his understanding, even more than the beauty and wealth of his imngination. I must add, to complete the view, that the style of his conversation seemed to me as pej-fect as that of his writing ; and I sometimes thouglit, at the close of a day, and I still think, that, if the conversation of that day could have been taken and printed from his lips, it would have conveyed to the world as striking a proof of his great powers as an^'thing that has ever proceeded from his [)en. "I must not leave it to be supposed that in all this there was anything of the lecturer, the speech-maker, the maker of orations by the fireside ; any talking, as if it were a duty to talk wisely or gravely or instructive!}-, or as if he thought light and gay conver- sation a sin or an offence : nothing could be fartiier from the truth. His conversation was singular!}' involuntary. The stream flowed and flowed on, because there was a fountain behind ; out of that abundance he spake. Or if he had any intent, his manner was as that of one who would clear up his own thought, or would sul)mit it to the judgment of another. He never aimed apparently to be religious, or spiritual, or instructive ; and yet he was all these in the highest degree. You have heard of persons of whom it was said, that 'they could talk of nothing but religion.' The expres- sion, you must have seen, was meant for praise ; but it is a praise which I have no desire to claim for the subject of our present thoughts. And yet his conversation, though he never entered upon it with that view, was the very religion of life, the very i-eligion of nature, the very religion of politics, society, business, the i-(!ligion of every theme, — that is, the highest and most sacred thought of every theme that he touched upon. So lofty, so commanding was his thouglit, so did it soar above all around it, so deep was its im- pression, that a conversation with him was often an event in life, a high beacon that shed its light over the track of future years. I remember conversations with him, I remember single ])hrases, and the tone in which the}' were uttered, as having made ni)on me an impression be}'ond the effect of whole volumes of moral disqui- A DAY AT OAKLAND. 663 sition. If I were asked to convey an idea of this impression by repeating his words, the attempt were vain, because it would be impossible to give the manner and the tone. But those may ima- ghie something of tliis who remember the feeling awakened by his sim[)le reading of a hymn ; who recollect how, to a dull and lifeless hymn, or to that which had been made so by ordinary repetition, he communicated a character altogether new ; how it became, as it were, a new creation, beneath the breathing fervor of his touching emotion and utterance. '' Indeed, there was this same singular impressiveness about his whole character. I have presented to you the picture of a man retired, reserved, isolated in appearance ; of one who, for the most part, sat in his own dwelling, wrapped in meditation, or engaged in intellectual and elevated converse. But this was a being, though calm and reserved in exterior, all alive with energies, all alive with emotions, all alive with the feeling of what was going on in society around him, and in the whole wide world in which he lived. Calm he was in manner, self-restrained in fact, and in a degree as re- markable as his emotion was strong. Such was his self-control, that I thought at first it was coldness ; the quiet and subdued tones of his voice fell on my ear almost like tones of apathy. But I soon learneil to correct that error. I soon perceived that he was accus- tomed to put a strong guard upon his feelings, precisely because they needed that guard. I saw that his self-government was the fruit of much discipline. I had no doubt that in the bosom of his youth there had been a burning volcano. I had no doubt, though I never saw tears in his e3-es, that there were tears in his heart. I know, of nothing more touching than this restrained emotion of the strongest natures. And thus it was with every trait in his character ; there was something in it that laid a powerful hold upon all wiio came within the sphere of its influence." Tluis tranquilly passed Dr. Channing's days at Oakland. Up usually, in the morning, before any of his guests were risen, his quick step was heard upon the gravel walk, and, looking from the window, one saw him, with his shawl or gown wrai)ped round his shoulders and the dogs gambolling by his side, passing amid the shrubbery, and stopping each moment to gaze, as a newly opened flower, a gleam of sunshine on the dewy lawn, or some passing bird scattering drops from the branches, caught his eye. His own ex- Ijression — "When I see my friends after the night's separation, let me receive them as new gifts from God, as raised from the dead " — describes precisely the character of his greeting. The beaming eyes, the radiant smile, the grasp of the hand, the joyous 664 HOME LIFE. tone, all spoke to the spirit, saying, "What an inestimable priv- ilege it is to live together in this glorious home which our Father gives us each clay anew ! " Without a word or look that was not as spontaneous as the delight of a child, he seemed so softened with religious sensibility, that his very "good morning" was a welcome to prayer. We stroll with him under the deep shade of the hedges, look into the green-house, admire the white lilies, as, with their pyramid of spotless bells they drink in the golden light, watch the bees as they buzz around the hive and come and go with their treasures, bend down a branch to peep at the 3oung birds in their nest, bask for a few moments in the sunshine, and then enter the breakfast-room, where with perfect freedom the members of the household gather early or late, according to inclination. His simple meal of coarse wheat bread and cream, with a cup of tea, is lightly despatched, and then he passes into the little room where his books and papers are awaiting him. For an hour or more he writes down thoughts suggested in the wakeful hours of night or in his morning walk. The family are now ready for prayers, and guests and domestics, young and old, are assembled in the parlor. There, with the Bible upon his lap and some child by his side, whose hand and e^-e he guides across the page, he reads with the expressiveness of livel}' feeling a favor- ite passage from the Psalms or New Testament, illustrating obscure points with a few words of explanation. All then kneel, and a short petition is offered, so simple that the 30ungest and most ignorant can take in its meaning, so profound in sincerity that the most spiritual find their longings fully expressed, so precise that the special want of each member of the circle seems felt and remembered with appreciating sympathy. After a few pleasant words, on plans for turning the bright hours to the best use, tlie happ3' group disperses, the children or young people to their les- sons, he to his work. Elvery hour or half-liour, more or less, according to the state of his health or the beauty of the day, he throws his gown around him, and takes a turn in the garden. At these times, an observer is struck with the calm concentration of his look, and the deliberateness of his step. Occasionally the lips move, words are murmured, and slight gestures of the hand show the intense working of the mind. He feels the enlarging, purify- ing, illuminating influence of the sky, and air, and sun ; and his inmost spirit responds to the harmonious growth of the universe. Calmer, brighter, in a few moments he is seated again at his table, and his rapidly flying pen shows how full is the current of his thoughts. A few hours of this labor exhaust him for the da}', and, VISIT TO THE BEACH. 665 relnctantl}' putting aside his papers, he summons his j'oung friends. The}- are reading together some history- or work on philosoph}', and in the summer-house or piazza the time glides swiftly away till dinner, in earnest consideration of the lessons of the past, or the profound problems of existence. And now the long summer afternoon invites all abroad to pleas- ure-excursions. If the wind is from the south, and the distant roar gives token that the ocean is swelled by the influence of a storm at sea, preparations are made for a visit to the beach. Happy the guest who is to ride with Dr. Channing in his chaise ! It is a most plain vehicle, indeed, and the horse knows well that he may trespass almost without remonstrance on his master's good nature ; but who can regret the slowness of a drive which prolongs the delight of this conversation ? Under the genial influence of nature and local associations, all restraints are loosed, and he pours forth from the springs of his experience the fullest streams of wisdom and graceful eloquence. One is irresistibly prompted to open the inmost secret to this father-confessor, to ask light on perplexed passages of life, strength in peculiar trials, and comfort in heavy sorrows. And this trust is met by a kindness so delicate, so impersonal, 3'et so penetrating, that the spirit feels that it is known even better than it knows itself. Morbid feelings, long prisoned in the breast, are healed and raised to vigorous freedom by the bracing air of his good sense. His disinterestedness, wide as the sk}- and horizon, makes small our anxieties ; and meannesses vanish beneath his love, as fog-wreaths melt awa}- at noon. And now we are on the beach. AYith what untiring delight he watches the combing waves, the long sweep of foam, the glitter of the retiring waters, and lifts his voice in exultation amid the rushing sounds of wind and ocean ! But he is not content with the even swell upon the sands. He must show his guest the favorite spots among the rocks ; and as he springs from point to point, buoyant with enthusiasm, or stands watching while the billows gather up their force, plunge headlong, and are dashed back in spra}-, it is hard to remember that this eager guide is an invalid of threescore years. On other afternoons, a dri\e to Quaker Hill, to gaze abroad over the serene landscape and the island-dotted bay, or a stroll through the glen amid the cool shadows, or a ramble in the woods, or visits to friends in the neighboring farm-houses, occupy the time till near sunset. That sacred hour he prefers to pass in a grassy path beyond the garden, where the view is unobstructed of the western heavens ; and he is slow to seek the house, until the last crimson cloud is pale, and the amber tints have faded. Music, 666 HOME LIFE. to the charms of which he was every j'ear becoming more sensi- tive, reading charades, and games with the young people, cheerful talk, consume the evening until his earlj- hour of retirement, and then, summoning all to look at the moonliglit and stars through the evergreens, he smilingly gives his benediction. Thus passed the weeks and months of summer. Sunday brought the change of deeper quiet, abstinence from long excursions, soli- tude, and attendance at the neighboring meeting-house. Witliout any superstitious reverence. Dr. Channing felt his own need of the daj' of rest. " It is the Sabbath," he writes ; " the remembrancer of our imraortalit}', the soul's holida}', when it should renew itself in happier regions. May it awaken a new consciousness of what we are and of what we shall be ! How gratefull3' we should wel- come this peaceful, sacred day ! After the week's chafing cares and bustle, what a privilege to pause and be refreshed with thoughts of lieaven ! How should I rejoice to go with a message of life and immortality to my fellow-beings ! " The members of his family took an active part in the Sunday school ; and he himself preached whenever his strength permitted. On these occasions, he used no notes, but appealed with hearty directness to 'his simple audience. But though the pleasure which he took in testifying his friendly regard to his neighbors made these services interesting to him, he found that his love of exact statements, and his habit of weighing opposite views, checked his freedom in extemporaneous discourse. He estimated his own success in this mode of preach- ing much more humbly, however, than did his hearers ; for visitors, attracted from Newi)ort by his celebrity, were often more im- pressed with the apostolic fervor and earnest piety and love of these village sermons, than with the eloquence of his more elaborate addresses. And now scarlet and golden leaves litter the paths, the dark evergreens rise sombrely, morning fogs lie heavy on the lawn, and chill autumn winds, through the tlnn hedges, remind him that his season of recreation is ended. To his society in Boston will he now carry back the truth he has garnered. Arrived in Boston, Dr. Channing's first hours were always passed with his mother. Throughout his life, it has been seen how deep and constant was his filial atfection ; but every year seemed only to brighten its beauty with new reverence, tenderness, regard for her wishes, and assiduous care. In a letter of consolation, he says : — 1827. "I can understand the affliction of which you write, though I have not experienced it. God has seen fit to spare my HIS MOTHER. 667 mother, but I cannot expect her to continue long, and I feel wliat a change will be made in my life by her removal. A mother's love is, in some views, more touching than any other. It has more of the immutableness of the Divine goodness. It is a love which began with our very being, and follows us all our days, which no waywardness can alienate, which burns undunmed to the last hour. And will it not survive the grave? Is not a true, dis- interested parental love too like the love which God bears his offspring to be blotted out? Then our parents never die to us. The sacred tie may be strengthened rather than dissolved." A few years later he wrote in his journal : — '■'-May 2G, 1834. Yesterday mj' mother died. What a change in my condition ! During my whole life, her love has been uni'e- mitted. For how many years has she borne me in her thoughts and heart ! I have been privileged in so long ministering to her comfort, and I trust that she has received some happiness from my affection. "And now the friend of my whole life, who, amidst all fluctua- tions of other friendships, never changed, with whose very being I was entwined, is gone. The first voice I ever heard I shall hear no more ; the arms that first sustained me are motionless ; the expressive eye is quenched. The room where for years I received her counsels and blessings holds only her lifeless frame. Her chair is vacant ! " Dear friend, whose heart yearned over me through all trials, thou art gone ! I can no longer press th3' hand, read thy coun- tenance, hear thy words of pious gratitude, offer prayers with thee to our common Father ! '' She, who gave a unit}^ to n\y wdiole being, who by her pres- ence, interest, affection, bound together all the events of my life, has left me. Who can be to me what she has been? To whom can I be what I have been to her? A tie is broken wiiich cannot be replaced on earth. O that we could have prolonged her da3S in comfort ! But she has gone to One who loved her better than we could. To His will we resign her," To an absent sister he thus expressed his feelings : — '■'■May 28, 1834. Tliis afternoon we followed mother's remains to Cambridge, where she wished to be buried b}' the side of her mother. It is at the grave that we feel what Christianit}' has done for us. What anguish would overwhelm us at the moment of com- mitting the dust to the dust, if we felt that we were shutting up in everlasting darkness, silence, death, all that was our friend ! I 668 HOME LIFE. felt that the spirit was not there, — that what we most loved and revered was not there. Thanks to God for the hope of immor- tality ! How many of our friends are now gathered into that better world ! It seems at sueh moments as if we could never again shut ourselves up in this narrow sphere. "I think of her last year with great pleasure and thankfulness. Her character seemed to improve, which is not the ordinarj' expe- rience of age. She extended, instead of narrowing, her interests, and found an increasing happiness in her social affections. The kindness of her friends touched her heart more and more, and she sometimes wanted words to express her gratitude to God for sur- rounding her with so many who were thoughtful of her happiness. Her conversation attracted as many visitors as she could see with comfort, and 3et it never seemed to enter her mind that she was capable of giving pleasure. She ascribed to the pure good-will of others what was cliiefl}' owing to herself. I look on her last days as her best days. We must be grateful that we have not waited for her death to learn her worth ; but have, in some measure, given testi- monies of love which have done much to brighten her declining years. " Thus we are without a mother. What a change ! Our earliest, oldest, unfailing friend has gone. She to whom we seemed to be- long in a pecuHar sense is gone ; but gone full of years and honors, after a favored life, a venerable age, and a larger experience of happiness than falls to the lot of most human beings. I trust mother's death will not loosen our union. She was a centre to us. Let her memory be a bond. One of our consoling recollections is, that her peace was never disturbed for a moment by discord among her children." Of his mother's life and character he gave this brief, but truthful sketch, in a letter to a friend : — '■'■ June^ 1834.^ I have just lost my mother. She had attained to the age of eighty-two, and the time had come for her to leave us ; and 3-et I do not feel the loss the less on this account, for her faculties had almost wholly esea[)ed the influence of time, and her affections were gaining strength to the last hour. She never en- joyed life more than in her age. Released from the cares of domestic life, she was allowed to give up herself to her friends, in the quiet of her apartment; and there her cheerful spirit, bright conversation, and strong interest in others drew round her a numer- ous circle, comprising many young, in wliom slio took great delight. She was the mother of ton children, of whom nine attained to adult 1 To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. RESERVE OF MANNER. 669 years, and seven survived her. She was left a widow, in narrow circumstances, with six sons and three daughters, the oldest about nineteen. But her energy and sound judgment established over them a salutary control, and she lived to see them prosperous in the world be^'ond what is common in such large families, devoted to her happiness, tenderly alive to her worth, united together in uninterrupted concord, sincere believers in Christianity, and none, I trust, strangers to its power. " At one period of her life, m}' mother's singular directness gave some appearance of hardness to her character, which time softened down. Her sensibility more and more broke through the restraints which her aversion to pretension had imposed ; so that the winter of her age seemed warmed and brightened with the fervor of youth- ful feeling. I never witnessed in her such overflowings of gratitude to God and of social affection as in her last years. An improve- ment seemed going on in her character like that which death pro- duced in her countenance, — for at the moment of death a beautiful serenity overspread her features, and her brow became almost as smooth as in 3'outh. " Such is the friend I have lost, — my earliest, oldest friend, — who alone of all human beings has sympathized with me through every stage of my life, and whose love seemed to connect my whole existence. Beautiful, sacred bond of parent and child ! How true is it that the most precious gifts and beneficent ordinations of God are to be met with in our common paths ! Under ever}' roof are to be found these relations which are meant to be the springs of sub- lime virtue and the sincerest happiness." By the death of his mother. Dr. Channing became the head of the famil}' ; and the dignity, tender affection, faithfulness, with which he fulfilled the duties of this position could not be surpassed. With thoughtful sympathy', he made the trials, joys, responsibilities, of his brethren and sisters, nephews and nieces, his own. His generosit}- to each and all was unlimited, and grew with their need of his aid, counsel, or countenance. His respect for the personal independence of others, dislike of any approach to flattering atten- tions, aversion to patronage, stern sincerity, threvv' sometimes a reserve over his manner, which restrained the free coannunications of those whom he most desired to attract. But nothing rejoiced him more than hearty trust in his affection. He longed to be loved again with the purity and truthfulness with which he himself loved, and was deeply pained when he failed to put others at their ease. Speaking of this trait, he savs : — " I expect my friends to confide in the constancy of my aflTection, 670 HOME LIFE. as much as I do m3'self. I feel as if the}' must know what goes on in my heart, so distinct is ni}' own consciousness of m}- strength of attachment. I foi'get that I am not very transparent, and cannot therefore be excused from outward signs of regard." " My reserve has sometimes prevented me from doing justice to my own lieart, and given me the appearance of coldness when I have been deeply- touched by kindness. I recommend to j'ou no forced expressions of feeling, but when the emotion comes to the lips, give it utterance." "I cannot express to j'ou the satisfaction I should find in the freest intercourse of mind with you. I wish it for both our sakes, and I cannot blame myself for not having established such an in- tercourse of thought and feeling. I do not mean by this that I blame you. There are often mysterious bars to the free communi- cation of souls. I sometimes want power to open other minds to me, when I am most desirous to do it." A close observer has well described the cloud of abstraction in which Dr. Channing sometimes appeared to dwell apart from com- mon interests, and by which even friends felt placed at a distance. " Intimacy Avith him was a rare thing ; and even where it existed, it was attended witli restraints not usual in the closest friendship. Where there was perfect freedotn of mind in intercourse with him, there was not the perfect freedom of manner that ordinarily follows it. It has been said of AVasliington, that none of his military com- panions coukl freely lay their hand upon his shoulder. The same was true of Channing. Pie was a person of a delicate frame, but of a great presence "■It is extremely- difficult to be at once a man of deep, earnest, continued thought, and a man of society. When fixed attention to some theme has been channelling its way in the mind all the day long, it is not easy at evening to turn it into the varied flow of eas}'^ and perhaps sportive conversation, yielding itself to all the impulses of surrounding and miscellaneous society. The very fibres of the soul have been strained till they are stiffened Add to all this the effect of a certain factitious reverence in society for him who bears the clerical office ; let it be such as to forbid, if I may say so, the free encounter of Avits with the literary, professional, or intelligent men that surround him ; let them choose to exclude him from their occasions of natural and unrestrained intercourse ; and it will be strange if he escape the influence of such a combination of causes. One ma}' have a nature the most bland, gentle, and affec- tionate that ever existed, and yet it will not be strange, if, in such circumstances, he shuts himself up in his own thoughts, and, HIS RELATIONS TO OTHERS. 671 indeed, acquires a habit of pursuing out his own train of thoughts, so that he seems to be alone, even in society. I think, indeed, that this habit contributed, more than anything else, to impart to Dr. Channing the air of isolation, and to those around him the feeling of constraint. He was always pursuing out his own thought ; he seemed, without intending it, to use other men ; everytliing came into his crucible, and Avas melted and moulded into his form." ^ But it was the predominance of the ethical element in Dr. Channing's nature, which chiefly explains the awe induced b}' his presence. Ever-wakeful conscience gazed down upon one through his whole expression, and there seemed no covert from the calm penetration of his aye. Pretension felt abashed, self-seeking hum- bled, before the ideal of goodness shining out from his spirit. In his look and air there was an intentness, an expectancy, a concen- trated force, which, while thej' stimulated thought, checked desire of expression. Plis truthfulness made the interview solemn as a visit to the shrine of an oracle. And yet there was no appearance of severe inspection or stoical hardness. On the contrary, no ti-ait was more remarkable than his delicate regard for individual privacy, his modest oversight of weaknesses, his deference even for the friv- olous and 3-oung. Amidst keen self-reproach one felt strengthened with new consciousness of moral life, new aspirations after integ- rity. It was plain that his reverence for the central power of good, in ever}- spirit, was yet stronger than his quick sense of supei'ficial attainments in character. How habitually self-distrustful he was in his relations to others will appear by a few extracts from his letters. " Among my gifts, I never considered that of counsel as holding a high place ; and I have come to think that duty is so far an indi- vidual thing, so dependent on the inward frame and on peculiarities which only he who has them knows, that I have less sohcitude than ever to be an adviser." "This is all very vague, and sometimes we injure a friend by giving him the idea of a danger without putting a finger on tlie pre- cise fault. I suspect, however, that w^e cannot serve one another much beyond such general hints. A man may be set to work, turned upon himself, by such remarks; but, unless his own conscious- ness reveals his difficulty, he can hardly learn it from abroad." "You know me to be above affectation, and to have sufficient self-reliance in certain cases. But I continually see people who, in the ordinary' concerns of life, and very important ones too, are wiser than I am ; and I fear to do injury rather than good by inteiference." ' I")r. Dewey's Discourse on the Character and Writings of Channing-, pp. 27, 28. 672 HOME LIFE. His unaffected respect for others made Dr. Channing most un- willing to censure or to listen to words of condemnation. The levity with which character is discussed, and private affairs are can- vassed, was shocking to his nice sense of honor. He was utterly intolerant of gossip and scandal, and ever prompt to defend an assailed reputation, or to explain unfavorable reports. To a friend he writes : — "I would have speech free as the wind in regard to principles, institutions, great truths, abuses, oppressions ; but in regard to in- dividual acts and character, I feel more and more the duty of cau- tion. I have faith in m\' fellow-creatures ; but it is exercised in the recognition of a deep, imperishable goodness amidst man}' and sometimes gi-eat imperfections. I forgive ever^iihing to the gener- ous and disinterested. Still more, I admire and love, even where I see veiy partial developments of character, and sometimes unac- countable mixtures of evil with goodness. I believe in their future perfection. How I should rejoice to see it now ! " In further illustration of this trait, the Discourse from which free extracts have been alread}' made may be again quoted. " His was a goodness of heart the most gentle, tender, and con- siderate. I do not believe that one unkind action can be found in his life. I never heard him utter a hai-sh and hasty word concern- ing any human being. But here I must still discriminate. In some respects he was a severe judge of men. Calmly and considerately his opinion was expressed ; but it was strong and clear, and doubt- less unsparing. He seemed at times a rigorous censor. Especially towards sensual aberrations he was so. and had some right to be, since he showed no indulgence towards himself. But his rigor was always tempered with pity. Informed, on an occasion, of a person who had fallen in this respect, • Yes,' he said, ' I know that he has dishonored himself.' with such a tone of rebuke and sorrow united as I can never forget. That was doubtless an awfully severe moral judgment which he once pronounced on the nature of retribution, but it was not harsh nor cruel. A representation of the pains to be inflicted by conscience in another life having been mentioned, as very impressive, ' Yes,' he said, ' and it is all true ; but, after all, does not the heaWest retribution for sin lie in the sin itself, — lie in being a sinner, — lie in the darkness and moral annihilation which sin causes, although the offender be unconscious of it ?' Terrible thought I but one breathing lenitv and compassion, while, at the same time, none but a mind awfully- impressed b}- the evil of sin could have suggested it. But so were all things tempered in him. He was doubtless, from the very elevation of his seutimeuts, a strict SELF-KXOWLEDGE. 673 and fearful judge of the characters of men ; but how candid, con- siderate, and forbearing he was, all who have conversed much with him must know." ^ Dr. Channing judged himself, indeed, far more strictly than he did others, and demanded more of his own will. His magnanimity in acknowledging limitations and errors, accepting criticism, and lea\'ing his reputation to the just care of his fellow-men, may be shown b}- the following extracts from his correspondence. " I have come to think but little about the judgments people form of me ; for they can know but little of the actions on which thej- pass sentence. I expect frequent misrepresentation as a matter of course. I wish to be influenced by indirect rather than direct judg- ments about me. To explain myself. When I do right, all good minds virtuiJly approve me, whether the\' know what I have done or not. Their love of virtue is a love of me. as far as I am virtuous. So when I do wrong, though wholly undetected, all good minds con- demn me as trul\- as if the}' witnessed the particular deed. This is the only judgment to be hoped or feared, and this is infallible. I wish to take refuge from superficial censures in this As to 3'our want of faith, is it of the same nature with mine ? I have faith in great principles, and faith in their ultimate triumph ; but I often want faith in the s^'mpath}* of indi^nduals with whom I converse, and shrink from expressing the truth, lest it should meet no response. This I am trying to overcome." " You have begun well to tell me of my errors. TThat you have begun half in sport I should be glad to have you carri- on in earnest. I would know myself, if possible : for I think that I am prepared for the knowledge, by m\- strong confidence in the capacity of refor- mation which belongs to our nature, and which God is most readj- to assist." " I ask you to retaliate m}- severities by setting all my defects and sins before me. If I do not profit, I will promise to be grateful." " I thank vou for your remarks on my Lectures. You were right in thinking that I like the greatest freedom of criticism. My prin- cipal objection to criticism is, tliat it recalls my mind to what I have written. When a work of mine is fairly through the press, I wish to shake hands with it and sa}- a last word of blessing, and to know it no more." '• I thank yon for your remarks on my article. They were only too sparing. Do read the article when it comes out. You will find that in almost every instance I have followed your suggestions, and 1 Dr. Dewey's Discourse on the Character and Writings of Channing. 43 674 HOME LIFE. I feel m}^ work to be improved. I need a counsellor. My mind is sometimes too fervent for accurac}' or caution of expression, and, fallen as we are on evil times, every word needs to be weighed." " I am unwilling to owe reputation to concealment of any kind. I have not shrunk from saying what I think true, for the sake of nursing my good name." Playful irony was a means of reproof that Dr. Channing occasion- ally used with great effect in his immediate circle ; but there was such a light of kindness in his e3'e and smile, and such a purit\', in- nocence, and childlike sportiveness in his allusions, that the most sensitive could not feel pained. His silence, too, in the presence of unreasonable emotion, was more impressive than most earnest speech. Only on extreme occasions did he express indignation, and then it was tempered with pity. His habitual mildness was strik- ingly manifested once to a sceptic, who was reproaching Jesus Christ for his " angr^- denunciations." In answer, Dr. Clianning opened the New Testament and read the passages referred to aloud. As soon as he had finished, his hearer said, " O, if that was the tone in which he spoke, it alters the case ! " He recognized that justice might be at once firm, and free from personal passion. This con- sistent gentleness of manner, however, was the result of self-com- mand. B}' temperament he was ardent, even to impetuosit}', and nothing in his cliaracter was more beautiful than the serene benig- nity with which he controlled his quick impulses. Enlightened will, indeed, presided over all his native instincts. " 1 had naturally," he once said, " not a little physical fear, but I have outgrown it. A sudden emergency- might prove me a coward ; but give me time to survey the foe or danger, and I should not trem- ble." Probably he mistook sensibility and imagination lor fear ; but if so, he had certainly- verified in experience his own words, — "I call that mind free, which, through confidence in God and in the power of virtue, has cast off all fear but that of wrong-doing, which no menace or peril can inthrall, which is calm in the midst of tumults, and possesses itself though all else be lost." ^ When the Hon. Josiah Quincy was delivering a centennial address upon the settle- ment of Boston, in the Old South church, the alarm Avas given that one of the galleries was falling beneath the pressure of the multi- tude. The consternation and ui)roar in the vast crowd were ap- palling. " Dr. Channing rose," said a friend who was near him, " looked around, saw the impossibility of escape, and then remained standing, ' calm and self-possessed,' without a change in his couu- 1 Works, Vol. IV. p. 73. One VoUime Edition, p. 174. FORBEARANCE UNDER INJURIES. 675 ^ tenance or attitude, till the agitation had subsided." Veiy seldom, too, was he known to exhibit tlie usual signs of grief. In the midst of persons excited by a pathetic appeal, some one said to him, , " How can you be so unmoved?" " M}' tears," he answered, " do \x not lie so near my eyes." Once, however, when a ver\' dear sister- in-law was taken away, he went to visit his mother, and, kneeling down by the side of her chair, was for a time borne awa}' bv the flood of his sorrow. And on retiring from his mother's death-bed, he could onl}' utter, while his ej'es were suffused and his voice trem- bled, " In such an hour may j-ou have the consolation of knowing that you have been a good son." A friend, who carried him the dreadful news of Charles Follen's death, relates that an expression of agony convulsed his features ; but instantly he covered his face with his hands, and then, looking up with a most radiant and tri- umphant smile, he said, "It is all well." Thus, in most trying scenes, the spirit shone out unclouded. Dr. Channing's perfect self-control was shown, also, in his for- bearance under injuries. In relation to a slander that was once circulated about him, he thus wrote to a friend : — " Boston^ November 9, 1837. I like to know the evil that is said of me, because much of it may be traced to misapprehension of what really took place, and because sometimes part of it has a foundation in real defects of character, and may be used for self- knowledge and self-reform I shall not be angered. Dis- appointment with me in such cases is sorrowful, never angry, and the impression of wrong is soon effaced by the subjects of deep, absorbing interest which every da}' pour in on my mind. I have the placableness of a short memory, if not of a Christian spirit. This must not trouble , for it does not trouble me. I only ask for light to make my path plain. Happily, on this point I am sure of myself, which I cannot sa}' of other defects. I make it my rule to spend my whole income^ to lay up nothing. At the same time, I hold myself bound not to exceed m}- income, and it is pos- sible that in my case, as in others, the self-denial and economy necessary to keep within this bound may pass with some for mean- ness. On this head I have no solicitude, because, from the nature of the case, I am sure, not only of my motives, but of my conduct. This may explain reports to my injury." " Boston., Norember 26, 1837. As to the reports themselves, they do not disturb me. I have gone through the hardening pro- cess to whicli all public men are exposed in our country, and not in vain. I am accustomed to the free use which sects, parties, and individuals make of my name, and I hope that something higher 676 HOME LIFE. than habit keeps me calm. I have, too, an excellent specific against injuries of this kind, namel}', a short memory, aided by absorption in ver}^ interesting subjects. We visionaries, as we are called, have this privilege, from living in the air, that the harsh sounds from earth make onh' a slight impression on the ear I have no desire to know the particular reports, because the}' can- not help me to understand myself. Sometimes this common liar, rumor, does tell truths, and I hold m3self bound to be instructed by an enemy. But in the present case I think I know m3'self. And here let me say that I have regretted sending you my last let- ter on one account. I spoke there of my rules or habits of expense. The love I have for you and makes me willing to speak to you of such personal affairs, but to the world, to my harsh judges, to evil reporters, I have no explanation to make. My reputation, if it is good for anything, will take care of itself. I beg you, therefore, to say nothing of that part of my letter to any person. Be not anxious to vindicate me, except on the ground of your own observation. I can furnish you no weapons. I know' how many evil rumors are spread about me ; not that I have enemies, for I doubt whether one human being cherishes any malignity towards me ; but my retired hal)its favor much misapprehension, and then my defects, with a little exaggeration, furnish good topics for the gossip of the day. These rumors I leave to themselves. I would not on any account undergo the labor of ' ferreting ' them out, I only ask that my friends will do me justice. I am ashamed to talk so much of myself, and here let the subject drop." Most strange, indeed, it was that any one could have ever sus- pected this generous, hospitable, open-handed man of illiberality in money matters. To his relatives, to the deserving and strug- gling, to the poor, to charitable enterprises, he gave without stint. In llie minutest practical affiiirs, as in his highest professed princi- ples, his life was love. Possibly an explanation of this gratuitous calumny may be found in domestic circumstances to which he once had occasion thus to refer : — ^'■January, 1842. I am unable to make the loan which you request. The little property which can be called strictly my own is loaned to relatives, and liad I more, the same disposition would be made of it. Tlie property which passes for mine, but which is my wife's, I regard and treat as hers. I never invest it, but leave it to the care of friends, as was the case before our marriage, and, indeed, her control and use of it are essentially the same as at that period. I could serve such a cause as yours only by a donation, HIS AVERSION TO EXCLUSIVENESS. 677 or by loaning income. But, I am sorry to say, neither of these modes of assistance is in my power. Our rule is, to la}- up noth- ing, to add nothing to our propert}-, to expend our whole income, and to seek secure, not productive, investments of property. I make this communication for you, and you onl}-, because I wish you to understand that it is no inditference to your cause which leads me to withhold the aid you ask. It would rejoice me to assist you, — to give something more than good-wishes to an ex- periment so interesting to a Christian." From his position as the minister of a leading congregation and a distinguished man of letters, as well as from the social relations into which he was brought b}- birth and bv marriage. Dr. Channing was connected with the highest class of Boston society ; and refine- ment of feeUng, tastes, and habits made him value at their full worth all means of elegance. But, as }ias been full}' shown, his whole thought and aim were to thi'ow open and diffuse the privi- leges of cultivated life. He had an utter aversion to the exclu- siveness and arrogance of fashion. A few passages from his correspondence will show his desire to lessen the distance between himself and his less-favored brethren. " April, 1835. I wish more and more a simple, unostentatious style of living. The inconsistency of our habits with Christianity strikes me more and more. They separate us from our fellow- creatures, instead of spreading our sympathy and keeping love in perpetual exercise. I wish to bear witness to the spirit of Chris- tianity, and to urge on men the dut}' of living for their own and others' perfection as they have not done, and m}' own habits must not war with my teaching. My aim is to spend nothing on myself which health and usefulness do not require." " Mai/, 1835. I am pained by the narrow, exclusive spirit which prevails even in our republic. Whilst we value the society of the more cultivated, let us look on every human being as one of our family." '■'■June 22, 1835. So you are building a house. By what sym- pathy* is it that we are both carrying on the same work at once? I hope, however, your practical wisdom has kept you from my error. My house threatens to swell be3ond my means, so that I cannot think of it with a perfectl}' quiet conscience. This is the only point in which I am in danger of extravagance. I spend nothing on luxuries, amusements, shows. M3' food is the sim- plest ; m}' clothes sometimes call for rebuke from atfectionate friends, not for their want of neatness, but for their venerable age. 678 HOME LIFE. But one indulgence I want, — a good house, open to the sun and ah-, with apartments large enough for breathing freely, and com- manding something of earth and sky. A friend of mine repeated to me the saving of a cliild, — ' Motlier, the country has more sky than the town.' Now I want sk}-, and my house, though in a city, gives me a fine sweep of prospect, and an air almost as free as the country. "■I do not, however, suffer even a house to be an essential. When I think of Him who had not where to la^- his head, and of the millions of fellow-creatures living in outward and inward destitution, I feel doubts and misgivings in enjoying the many accommodations which respectabilit}' is thought to require. To a Christian, to one who hungers and thirsts after moral excellence, what perplexities and obstructions are offered by the present con- dition of society ! How hard to realize our conception of disin- terested virtue ! How the fetters of custom, forged by a self- indulgent world, weigh on us, and inthrall the purer and more generous feelings ! Were I entering on life, instead of approach- ing its end, with my present views and feelings, and with no ties, I should strive for a condition which, without severing me from societ}', would leave me more free to act from mj- own spirit, to follow faithfulh' and uncompromisingly the highest manifestations of virtue made to my mind. I mean not, however, to repine. I have not been wholly a slave to outward and inferior inlkiences, and there is a world of true, perfect freedom." " October^ 1835. Had I more strength and wealth, I should de- vote myself to the improvement of the mass of the people, especially the laboring classes ; but I cannot speak to them, and my means are scattered by so many claims, that I cannot sustain others to labor among them." " June, 1pathy with humanity, his religious faith, the eminent Christian graces which adorned his character, and the persuasive power with which he preached the gospel of Christ : and we feel a profound sense of gratitude for the peculiar privileges which we have so long had, in hearing his voice, receiving his instructions, and in being guided, warmed, and animated by his discourses and his life. THE FUNERAL SERVICES. 699 " Resolved, That, as members of this communit}', we mourn the vanishing from earth of a great moral and intellectual light, in the death of one who has uniformly devoted great powers to good ends, whose bosom glowed with love for the whole human family, who has been the eloquent and fearless advocate of truth, libert}', and humanity, whose admirable writings have had no other object than the highest good of mankind, who has done so much to make men wiser, happier, and better, and who has commended the religion of Christ to so many hearts and minds, by his profound and beautiful expositions of its doctrines and spiiit. '■'• Jiesolved, That we deeply sympathize with the family of our departed friend in their irreparable loss, and earnestl}' pra}' that the consolations of that religion, of which he was so faithful a min- ister, may be extended to them in proportion to the magnitude of their bereavement. " Resolved, That the Standing Committee of the Proprietors, the Deacons of the Church, and the Clerk and Treasurer, be a committee to make arrangements for a public funeral and appropriate services in the church, provided it be agreeable to the family of the deceased. '•'•Resolved, That Hon. Judge Davis, Mr. Rollins, and the Clerk be a committee to present a copy of the foregoing resolutions to the family of the late Dr. Channing, and that the Clerk also transmit a cop3' to Rev. Mr. Gannett. " A true copy. " Attest, Geo. S. Hillard, Proprietors' Clerk. " Boston, October 5, 1842." The discourse was b}' Mr. Gannett, whose " words of simple tnith" were the eulogy best befitting the place and occasion. At the close of the services, the vast assembly", by a spontaneous im- pulse, passed slowlj' up the middle aisle, to gaze for the last time upon the countenance, now cahnl}' turned upward to the pulpit, whence its light of love had for so many 3ears shone down. Across the waxen brow the dark brown locks la}' softly as in life ; and he looked so like one entranced in a dream of glor}-, that the hand was slow to close the coffin-lid above a fleshly temple, whose portal the spirit still seemed to brighten with its train. ^ As the procession moved from the church, the bell of the Catholic cathedral was tolled ; and it was grateful, at such a moment, to remember the just and cordial words in which Dr. Channing had offered his tribute of honor to the devoted Cheverus.^ ^ See Note C, at the end of the volume. 2 Works, Vol. I. pp. 178, 179. One Voiunie Edition, p. 563. 700 INSCRIPTIONS. At twilight, among the shades of Mount Auburn, the hands of relatives bore the bier, deposited the coffin, and covered with earth the remains of Channing. A monument of fine white marble, designed b}' Washington Allston, and erected by the Federal Street congregation, marks his burial-place. It bears the following inscriptions, prepared bj^ Mr. George Ticknor : — On one side of the Monument. pjcrc rest tlje remains of WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING, Born, 7 April, 1780, AT Newport, R. I. ; Ordained, 1 June, 1803, AS A MINISTER OF JeSUS ChRIST TO THE Society worshipping God IN Federal Street, Boston: Died, 2 October, 1842, while on a journey, at Bennington, Vermont. On the other side. hx fflcmorg of WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING, honored throughout Christendom, FOR HIS eloquence AND COURAGE IN MAINTAINING AND ADVANCING THE Great Cause of Truth, Religion, and Human Freedom, This Monument IS gratefully and reverently ERECTED BY THE Christian Society, OF which, during nearly forty years, HE was Pastor. ISrOTES. Note A. — (See Page 665.) It is the tradition, that the rocks near the beach at Newport, which Dr. Chan- ning was so fond of visiting, were much frequented by Bishop Berkeley, and that some of his works were there composed. Note B. — (See Page 697.) I FEEL as if it were insulting the memory of my uncle to refer, even, to the assertion, that on his death-bed he changed his opinions. But the urgency of many correspondents induces me here to say, once for all, that there was no foundation ichatever for such a rumor. Weakness, the violence of fever, and the earnest desire for his restoration, prevented conversation on his part and ours. But every word, act, look, showed us how perfect was his peace. Every word that he is known to have spoken, indicating his own religious opinions and feel- ings, is recorded on the preceding pages. This distinct statement should for- ever put an end to the calumny referred to, among all honest men. W. H. C. Note C. — (See Page 699.) This Life would be incomplete without referring to the portraits and en- gravings of Dr. Channing now in existence. Great injustice has been done him in most of these representations. " The romantic and tender beauty " of his expression, as well as the power of thouglit in his countenance, has never been adequately given in any portrait ; and most of the engravings must be pro- nounced caricatures. Tlie engraving in the first volume of the " Memoir," published in Boston in 1848, is from an unfinished picture by Allston, in possession of his son, painted in 1811. The picture is full of ideal beauty, purity, devoutness, and youthful fervor, and nmch of this expression is preserved in the engraving. It is considered a very correct likeness by those who can look back to that period of Dr. Channing's life. The Albertype in this book is a photographic reproduction of a picture by S. Gambardella, painted in 1839, now in the possession of his daughter, Mrs. Mary C. Eustis. Tiiis picture is the one by vvhicli Dr. Channing, as he appeared in later years, will be chiefly known. Seen under unfavorable lights, there is a harshness and look of abstraction in this picture which are not agreeable ; but in a mellow liglit, it preserves many characteristics of the original not elsewhere to be found. At least two copies of this picture have been made bj^ Gambardella, but both very inferior to the original likeness. One of them belonged to the late Hon. T. H. Perkins, of Boston. The other was sent to Glasgow, and engraved for the edition of Dr. Channing's Works published by Hedderwick & Co. But the engraving is equally devoid of likeness and of elevated expression. 702 NOTES. There is a likeness by Gilbert Stuart, in possession of the family, taken in middle life, which is vdry wanting in refined expression. It can never be re- iiarded as in any sense a portrait of Dr. Clianning, save to tliose wlio, from familiarity, have learned to trace out some resemblances through its defects. The picture by Chester Harding is, perhaps, better known than any other, as it has been copied, and also engraved, by Hougland. Kut no just views of the original can be obtained from tliis picture, or from the engraving. A very unfinished picture, — a profile by George Flagg, — formerly in pos- session of the late Rev. Dr. Parkraan, of Boston, gives a general image of the original. There is also a picture by Ingham, in possession of the family, painted from a sketch after death, and from memory, in 1843, which, though incorrect in some of the features and deficient in strength, recalls to those familiar with the origi- nal the sweetness and deep sentiment of his expression. Strangers, however, would never receive from it a just impression of Dr. Clianning. A pencil sketch by Malbone, taken in early youth, presents a very pleasing contrast, by its air of full health and vigorous youthfulness, with those taken at a later period. Tiie bust of Persico, though tame and weak in character, is, in some respects, of value. The profile view is especially to be commended. The forehead is wanting in breadth and fulness. But, as a whole, this bust should rank next to the Gambardella picture. No daguerreotj'pe or pliotograph of Dr. Clianning was ever taken from life. Dr. Channing thus writes to his son of the various attempts to represent him : — "November 20, 1835. I gave Mr. Persico no encouragement to make an ex- periment on my head. It is too thin, and has too little beauty for this art. Painting, I think, can take greater liberties than sculpture, and even painting has made poor work with my face. I am certainly not vain of my exterior. My countenance would not make me many friends, I fear. What has troubled me in my different portraits is, not tliat they liave not given me a more intellectual expression, but that so little benevolence has beamed from the features. I have learned, with the Apostle, to prefer charity to all knowledge ; and, if I am to be handed down to posterity, I should be pleased to speak from the stone or can- vas, or rather to breathe from it, good-will to mankind." " August 3, 1836. I am sitting for my likeness, — a wearisome task; but I was willing, as so many poor likenesses had been made, to try once more for a good one." 1838. " Mr. Gambardella has succeeded in his work. My friends are entirely satisfied with the picture. It is not only a good likeness, but a meritorious work of art. After so many unsuccessful attempts, this poor face is faithfully transferred to canvas, and, on the whole, is better worth looking at than I supposed." W. F. C. INDEX. Abolition, a practical manifestation of Christ's spirit, 454. Garrison's watch- word, 521. See " Antislaverj'." Abolitionism, to ijrow among the middle classes, 542. Uncertainty of its future history, 542. To gain by opposition, 542. His doubts of the expediency of agitating it in Congress, 544. Abolitionists, interest in, 528, 566. Ob- jections to, 529, 540, 565. Defence of, by S. J. May, 52y, 530. Their objec- tionable mode of action, 531. Little sympatiiy with their spirit, 540. Their inconsistency, 540. Judged by the char- acter of tiie times, not unduly intolerant, 541. Their earnestness, 541. The in- fluential part of the community not with them, 542. Little good to come from their political action, 545. Their busi- ness with the conscience, 545. To do good by establishing principles, 546. Channing becomes identified with, 563. Not understood, 564. Letter to, 564. Reasons why thej- should disavow resort to force, 566. Their pacific principles, 565, 566. Their principles resting on the worth of man, 568. His relations with the, 509. Readiness to co-operate with, 570. Accumulation, evils of the passion for, 517, 518, 586, 587. Adams, Hanrtah, her works and character, 613. Adams, John, his administration, 35. And liberty, 35. Address of Harvard stu- dents to, 36. His Position as President, in reference to European complications, 51. Adams, John Quincy. defender of the right of petition, 544. Affection, importance of the outward mani- festation of, in married life, 322. Africans, the evils they suffer, and modes for their relief, 133. Their capacity for development, 541. Akott, A. Bronson, his school, 501. His qualifications for a teacher, 502. The lesson taught by his life, 514. Alien and Sedition Laws show govern- ment's weakness, 51. Allston. Wasliington, sketch of Channing as a boy, 18, 19. As a college student, 24. Caricature by, 24. Letter to, by Channing, on his choice of a profession, 38. Marries Ann Channing, 314. His poverty, 678. His conversation, 685. Designer of Channing's monument. 700. Almsgiving, objections to, 263. Evils of, 264. Injudicious, better than the extinc- tion of sympathy, 264. Alton, Lovejoy's death at, 551. Ambition, inconsistent with the spirit of Christianity, 100. Ames, Fisher, the eloquence of, 135. Anglo-Saxons, character of, 599. Anthology Club, contributor to, 409. Antislaverv, the movement in America, 520. In' Great Britain, 521. First book taking the ground of, 527. His interest in the cause of, 527, 528, 531. Progress of the cause, 532. Its supporters at- tacked, 532. Attempts to prohibit the circulation of its newspapers, 532. Mobs against, 533. Societies, unwise proceed- ings of, 536. Female Antislaverv So- ciety's meeting broken up by a mob, 538. Convention, N. E., meeting of. 540. Two aspects of the cause, 544. To triumph through public conscience and religion, 544. Spiritual truths involved in the movement, 545. Advanced by preach- ing Christianity. 546. Interview of the Massachusetts Society with the legisla- ture, 569. Antram, Mary, 4. Appleton, Nathan, letter to, on mercantile education, 496, 497. Apprentices, their temptations, 492. Their library, 492. Inducements to, to attend chunh, 492. Arbitration, 470. -Arian, Channing an, 274. .Armstrong, Rev. Genrge, letter to, 405. .Aspirations, 70, 308. Atheists, assertion of their rights to free- dom of' thought and sjieech, 505, 506. Atonement, Liberal Christian view of. rep- resented bv Bible News and Butler, 213. Not infinite, 213. Austin, James T., Attorney-General in the case of Abner Kneeland, 503. Speech on Lovejoy's death, 562. Baim.ie, Mrs. Joanna, Channing's letter to, on self-distrust, 406; on liis own works, 407; on death of Lord Bvron, 413; on character of Walter Scoff,' 416; on Christianity, 429; on the power of 704 INDEX. Christ's character, 444 ; on the elevation of the lower classes, 509; on the death of his mother, 608; on tlie death of Noah Worcester, 620; on Rhode Island, 634, 635. Ballon, Rev. Adin, letter to, on "Frater- nal Community," 511. Baltimore, sermon at, 300. Temperance movement in, 520. Bellamy, Joseph, compares progress of theology to hat-making, 82. Belsham, Thomas, his view of Jesus Chi'ist, 195, 197. Dr. Chauuing not a sympa- thizer with, 427. Beneticent Association, the, formation of, 465. Its purpose, 465. Benevolence, with care might become a principle of action, 64. Sources of the happiness of true, 153. Benignity, the Divine, 375. Bennington, sickness at, 694. Bereavement, consolations in, 619, 620, 632. The true influence of, 632. Berne, beauty of, 344. Berrj'-Street Conference, Address at for- mation of. 218. Berry-Street Vestry, 296. Bible News, 187. Substantially represents Liberal Christian views, 212. Affirms Jesus to be distinct from God, 212. Bible Society, formation of, in Massachu- setts, 289." Extracts from its reports, 289, 290, 291. Bible, study of the, as the only source of divine knowledge, 71. Birney, James G., driven from Cincinnati by a mob, 543. Bleecker, Harmanus, letter to, on the influ- ence of trade, 519. On Congress, 585. On Repudiation, 589. Blessedness a reward of usefulness, 152. Bonaparte, report of the defeat of, 51. Fol- lowing that of victories, 52. His personal character inspired gloomy forebodings, 174; lost sight of, through his splendid victories, 176. Channing's joy in the overthrow of, 277; sermon, 278; essay on, 411; his spirit in writing it, 432. Bond, George, 563. Boston, Channing a minister in, 98. His mother moves to, 110. Moral and intel- lectual activity of, 313, 593. Address to the citizens on the refusal of Faneuil Hall for a public meeting, 553. Moral sound- ness of, on the principles of liberty, 554, 556. Public opinion in, 554, 555. Free dis- cussion secured in, 563. His connection with society in, 677. His fears for, 679. Thoughts about, 680. His love for, 680. His daily life in, 681. Boston Farm School, volume of sermons prepared in aid of, 412. Boyhood of Dr. Channing, 10-21. Boys, Address before the Society for the Education of Indigent, 261. Brattle Street Society, desires him as col- league to Dr. Thae'her, 93. Invites him to preach again, 94. His letter declining invitation of, 94. His funeral semion on Buckminster before, 124. Brookline, 97. Brotherhood, the tie of, 90. Brownson, 0. A., tries to form a working- men's congregation, 481. Attempts to sta}' the tide of infidelity, 482. Chan- ning's interest in, 482; and in the efforts he made, 514. Buckminster, J. S., Dr. Kirkland on, 116. The style of preaching of, 122. Letter from to Channing, 122. Death of, 124. Funeral Sermon on, 124. Letter on the death of, 124. The papers of, 125. Rule of, for ])osthumous publication, 125. The best-read theological student in tlie coun- try, 291. First Dexter Lecturer at Cam- bridge, 292. Burns, Wm., letter to, on the New Era of Christianity, 443. Letter to, on St. Si- monism, 5il. Bush, George, letter to, on Unitarian con- cessions, 426. Butler, Joseph (Bishop), influence of his sermons on human nature, 87. Excel- lence of, as a writer, 129. Byron, Lord, character of, 413. Cabot, George, 135. Calvinism, serious objections to its teach- ings, 186. Calvinist, Channing never a, 75. The name might be made one of reproach, 199. Cambridge, 1, 21. Cappe, Mrs., letter to, on Wordsworth, 276. Carpenter, Lant, character of the reply to Magee by, 273. Letter of Channing to, on ills own proposed work on Jlan, 417. Letter to, on condition of United States, 592; on the relations of England and the United States, 597. Letter to his daugh- ter on death of. 624. Carpenter, Miss Mary, letter to, on her father's death, 624." Catechism, prepares a, 121. Centinel, Boston, 35. Centre Harbor, N. H., Letter from, 329. Chaloner, Mary, grandmother of Channing, 4. Character of, 4. Widow of James Robinson, 4. Champlin, Geo., character of, 8. Channing, Ann, marries Washington All- ston, 314. Death of, 317. Reflections on her character and death, 317, 318. Channing, Francis, his brother, 19. Letter by, on his departure to Richmond, 43. Letter by, on iiis enthusiasm, 61. Letter to, in reiply, 61. Lawyer at Cambridge, 77. His pleasure in the society of, 90. Mutual agreement to aid their mother, 110. His adviser and supporter in politi- cal trials, 135. Is taken sick, 314. Dies, 315. Character of, and reflections on the death of, 316. INDEX. 705 Channing, Rev. Henry, his uncle, 19. Let- ters of, on his character and conduct, 20, 21 ; on Channing as a college student, 38. Gives charge at his ordination, 96. Letter to, on faith in progress, 604. Channing, John, of Dorsetsliire, England, 4. Channing, John, Jr., 4. Merchant of New- port, 4. Channing, Jlrs. Wm. (See EHer}', Lucy.) Letter to, 43. Moves to Boston, ilO. Lter wit and vivacitj', 113. Letter to, 126; on leaving for Europe, 333; on the death of his ciiild, 351 ; on his birthdav, 353. His affection for, 666. Death o"f, 667. Character and life of, 668, 669. Channing, William, lawyer at Newport, father of Dr. Channing, 4. Marriage, 4. Attorney-General and District Attorney for Rhode Island, 4. Character of, by Hon. Asher Robbins, 4; by Wm. Ellery, 4; by Dr. Channing, 6. Religious char- acter, 7. Owner of slaves, 7. A Federalist, 7, 13. Description of his person, 5, 8. Sweetness of manner, 12. Death of, 19. Channing, William Ellery, birth at Newport, 1. Description of, as a boy, 10. School days, 11. Character as a pupil, 12. Home education, 12. Early inclinations to the ministry, 13. Character as a boy, 16. Influences of solitary thought, 16. Description of, as a boy of fourteen, 17. Personal and physical courage, 17, 674. Charity, 18. Repugnance to cruelty to animals, 18. Description of, as a boy, bv Wasliington Allston, 18, 19. Prep- aration for college, 19. Death of his father, 19. Letter from his brother on the same, 20. An earnest student, 21. Enters Harvard College, 21. Ambition for excellence, 23. Personal description of, when in college, by W. Allston, 24. Humor, 24. Description of, bv Dr. Pierce. 25; by Judge Story, 25. 26. A classical student, 26. Fond' of historical and literary 'studies, 26. Early eloquence, 26. First orator at Commencement, 26. A student of elocution and rhetoric, 27. A member of literary societies in college, 27. Religious influences in college, 29. Liter- ary studies, 32. A new spiritual birth, 32. Longing for something worthy, 32. A moral and social reformer, 33. Essay on electricity, 33. Fondness for geometry, 33,34. A student of metaphysics, 34 ; of Shakespeare, 34. A fervent politician, 34. Makes a political speech, 35. Draws up an address to President John Adams, 35. Early a lover of free thought, 36. Com- mencement oration, 36. Political dis- cussion forbidden in it, 37. Declines it in consequence, 37. Gains some conces- sions, 38. Discusses the topics suggested by the French Revolution, 38. Choice of a profession, 38. Letter to Allston, 38. Thinks of being a physician, 38. De- cides on his course, 39. A lover of truth, 39. Narration of his own experi 46 ence as a student and in deciding on his profession, 39. College friendships, 40, 41. Goes to Richmond as a tutor, 43. Ob- jections to slavery, 46. In contact with opposing political views, 47. Views en- larged by discussion, 47. Letter on the condition of Europe at the close of 18th century, 48-51. Duties as a tutor, 52. Life in Richmond, 54. A close student at night, 53. Power of self-control, 53. Course of his studies in literature, 55. His philanthropy, 63. His ideas of common property, 64-67. Enthusiasm of his plans, 08." A student of the evi- dences of Christianity, 70. Begins a commentary on the Scriptures, 70. Be- fins a religious correspondence with oseph McKean, 71. A student of specu- lative doctrines, 72. Called over-ortho- dox and a heretic, 72. His mental loneliness, 72. Return to Newport, 76. Continues theological studies, 76. Be- comes head of the family, 77. Begins family devotions, 77. Struggles with excitabilit}- of disposition, 77. Abstemi- ous in his mode of life, 77. Lays down rules for self-discipline, 77. Made Re- gent of Harvard University, 84. De- scription of his appearance in 1802, 84. Flis habits as a student, 87, 88. An exact and methodical thinker, 87. Admitted to First Church in Cambridge, 90. Re- ceives "approbation" from Cambridge Association, 9L Held from Calvinism by doctrine of Trinity, 91. Begins to preach, 92. His first sermon, 9-3. In- vited to settle by Brattle Street and Fed- eral Street Societies in Boston, 93. De- clines the Brattle Street invitation, 94, 95. Accepts the Federal Street invitation, 96. And is ordained, 96. A minister in Bos- ton, 98. His manner, 98. His excessive studiousness, 99. His self-examination, 100-102. Extracts from his journals, 103-106. Invites his mother to his home, 110. His care for his family, 111. His rules for self-discipline, 112. His sense of dut}', 113. Not at home in festivity or society, 98, 113. His consideration for others, 114. His popularitj' as a preacher, 116. Growth of his powers as a preacher, 117. His interest in his people, 118-121; in the children, 121. Liberality in ex- changes, 122. Preaches Buckminster's funeral sermon, 124; and prepares his sermons for the press, 125. Estimates of his own love of praise and of his failures, 128. His enumeration of needed social reforms, 131-133. Discusses political principles in his sermons, 134. 135. Adds by it to his influence, 135. His spiritual development, 140-181. His sympathy with the tendencies of his age, 181. Re- sents charge of concealing his sentiments, 197. Gives his views of Christ, 197. Replies to Dr. Worcester, 205. Defends Unitarian preaching, 206. His charac- 706 INDEX. ter as a controversialist and theoloojian, 268. Led into controversy by devotion to free inquirv, 2(58. His own idea of his controversial writings, 209. Illustrations of the mildness of his character, 271; of his magnaninuty, 272. More a man of sentiment than a philosopher, 274. A student of German literature, 275. His indebtedness to Wordsworth, 275. De- votedly attached to the Union, 280. A lover of peace, 281; but not opposed to defensive war, 283. Active in forming the Peace Society, 281 ; and in other philanthropic movements and missionary enterprises, 288. Delivers an address be- fore the Massachusetts Bible Society, and is one of its officers, 28i). Is appointed Dexter Lecturer, but soon resigns, 291. Is interested in the Theological School, 292. A member of the Corporation of Harvard College, 293. Plans for union and co-operative usefulness in his societv, 296. Is invited to New York, 312. De- clines the invitation, 313. His mar- riage, 319. Birth and death of a child, 323. Birth of a daughter, 323. Birth of sons, 327. Is obliged to travel for health, 327. Travels in New England, 329. Leaves for Europe, 332. Loses a child, 350. Returns home, 355. Receives de- gree of D. D. from Harvard College, 357. Resumes his ministry, 357. His interest in it, 361. His distaste for sanctimonious dignity, 303. His high estimate of the needs and duties of his. profession, 369. His manner as a preacher, 383-389. His benignity, 383. His sincerity, 384. His living sense of spiritual realities, 384. Asks relief in his pul])it labors, 389. Receives a colleague, 391. Relinquishes part of his salary, 394. His relations to his society, 394-397. Asks to be relieved from his public functions, 398. His esti- mate of his work as an author, 405-407. Accidental nature of his general writings, 408. Character of his miscellaneous writ- ings, 411. Plans a work on Man, 417- His review of his own time, 420. His firmness. 425. Statement of the work he projected, 436. Did not try to teach a definite system, 439. A social reformer, 456. Interested in prison reforms, 471 In the elevation of the laboring classes, 481, 482, 483. His interest in education, 492-500. His vindication of free speech in the case of Abner Kneeland, 503-505. In that of Rev. John Pierpont, 507, 508. Connected with the antislavery move- ment, 520. His impressions of slavery in the West Indies, 521-525. Sermon on antislavery, 533. Reasons for not publishing his sermon, 534. Defence of the arrangement of his book, 538. His book on Slavery, 539, 543. Writes to Henry Clay on the annexation of Texas, 548. Foresees danger of destruction of the Union from it, 550. Vindicates the right of public assembly, 553. Defends the public opinion of Boston, 554; the freedom of the press, 554. Addres.ses a meeting at Faneuil Hall on the death of Lovejoy, 558. Writes the resolutions of the meeting, 559. Identified with the Abolitionists, 563. His increasing interest in politics, 573. His belief in popular institutions, 582, 583. His friendships, 607; with women, G09. His physical depression from ill-health, 634- 639. His delight in activity, 639. His sj'mpathies with the poor constantly in- creasing, 640. His consecration of him- self to attain perfection, 642 His attachment to children, 658. His hos- pitality, 659. Character of his conver- sation, 660-662; its power, 663. His daily life, 663, 664. The reserve of his manner, 669, 670, 671. The greatness of his presence, 670. His personal char- acter as a censor of wrong-doing, 672; of himself, 673. His habit of irony, 674. His mildness, 674. His forbearance, 675. His rule about money, 075, 676. His habit of self-denial, 677. His life as a minister and student in Boston. 681-084. His social pleasures, 685. Manifesta- tions of public interest in his views, 686. His manner in ])rivale, in conver- sation, and in the pul]iit, 68:), 690. Hap- piness of the close of his life, 691, 693, 094. Taken sick at Bennington, 694. His sickness, 695-697. His death, 698. Funeral services, 698, 699. Resolutions of his society, 698. Channing, Wm. F., letter to, from Judge Storj-, describing Channing and his col- lege life, 22. Chapman, Mrs., 569, 570. Character, evil effects of war on, 179. True greatness of, in obedience to God's pur- pose, 241. Capacity of attaining great- ness of, an indication of immortality, 246. Religious, im]iortant to a minister, .307. Charity, ways of improving jniblic, 1-31, 132. Does not require exclusion of Unitarians from (Christian fellowship. 211. The most useful, not in almsgiving, 263. A test of religion, 265. Universal, a character- istic of our religion, 205. Chartists, their views. 480, 598. Cheerfulness, prayer tor, 109. Child, death of a, 323. Birth of a, 323. Death of a, 350. 351. Letter to a friend on the death of a, 619. Child, Lydia Maria, letter to, on social re- form, 456. Letter of, on Dr. Channjug's connection with the antislavery cause, 527. Letters tc, of sympathy for her sufferings in the antislavery cause, 630. Children, duties of a minister to, 120. His interest in, and respect for. 121. Prepares a catechism for, 121. The capacity of, for education not determined by birth, 201. Value of benevolent institutions for, 202. True views of a Christian parent on their INDEX. 707 birth, 325. The baptism of, its meaning, 326. Duties of a parent to, 349. Rela- tion of, with parents, not dissolved by death, 351. Objections to the employ- ment of, in manufactories, 490, 491. What tlieir lives do for us, 619. Relations to liis own, ()54, 655, 656, 658. Value in educa- tion of appeals to their best feelings, 656. Christ, prayers of thankfulness for, 108. His redemption in a change of heart, 118. A gift of God's love, 161. Holiness of the life of, 162. The life of, the strong- est evidence of his gospel, 162. The character of, 163. The proof of his son- ship, 163, l(i4. Majestic claims of, 164. Dignity of, 164. 105. The light of the world, 166. Character of the teachings of, 168. The relations of, to the race, 169. To the churcli, 170. The end of his coming to make men real friends, 173. Unites human nature witli the di- vine, 238. To bring in a divine life, 308. To deliver the world from moral evil, 182. The authorized teacher of mankind, 194. Different views of his nature and rank held by Unitarians, 196. Not a believer in the simple humanity of, 197 ; nor dis- tressed by Trinitarian views, 444. Ac- cording to Trinitarian view, 210. Ac- cording to Unitarian view, 210. Accord- ing to the Bible News, 212. How atiirmed by the Scriptures to be Son of God, 213. Unites human nature with the divine, 238. The spirit of, 251. Love of, for man, 251. A mediator, 253. Sent by God, 310. That he is God, opposed to the principle of Christian belief, 310. The glor}' of, 311. Not a inere man, 311. The character of, to be unfolded by the minister, 377. A manifestation of man's glory, 439. The moral perfection of, his great peculiarity, 444. Understood himself, 447. The separation of his mind from his surroundings, 448. A mere fable without miracles, 449. The perfect char- acter of, the great miracle, 450. Reliance on the authority of, natural, 451. A being of moral perfection, 452. Christian, meaning of the word, 69. Es- sential difference between Orthodox and Liberal, 220. Duties of the Liberal, 221. Christian Disciple, what is proposed in, 188. Contributor to, 410. Merged in the Christian Examiner, 410. Christian Examiner, 410. His essays in, 410. Christianity, requires an active life, 69. Its great roots love to God and man, 70. Its evidence a growing evidence, 163. Its universality a proof of its divine origin, 166. True, the best defence of a nation, 177. A spiritual svstem, 183. Views of the true spirit of, 189, 190, 239. Liberal, 218. The highest interest of human be- ings, 219. Its great end to exalt the human character, 250. Pure, 421. In- jured by narrow views of exhibiting it, 429. A religion of a liberal spirit, 430. Essential, 433. Not easily set forth ia simplicity, 434. Its adaptation to man's spiritual nature an evidence of its divine origin, 444. The value of historical, 446 Universal love, 457. In its relations to society, 459, 463. Fraternal union the spirit of, 463. Increasing power of the spirit of, 518, 519. The friend of the mul- titude, 599. The power of, felt at the grave, 667. Favors unostentatious liv- ing, 677. Christian libertj', 216. Christian Register, incorrect in statement of Dr. Channing's first appearance as a preacher, 92. Christian union, 215. Christian virtue, 443. Church of Christ, signification of the, 171. Scripture use of the term, 223. Object of the institution of, 223. Character of the union between churches, 224. His idea of the true, 436. Circumstances, decided by man for himself, 62. Citizens, their right to assemble to defend their rights, 553. Clarke. l3r. Samuel, a representative of Liberal Christian views, 212. His belief concerning God, 212. Clay, Henry, open letter written to, on an- nexation of Texas, 548. Points of objec- tion to the letter, 549. Clerical office, etfect of society's reverence for the, 670. Codman, Mrs. Catherine, letter to, on the approaching death of a friend, 612. Her character, 614. Codman, Rev. John, sermon at ordination of, 136. Coleridge, Samuel T., letter of, to Allston about Channing, 343. Colleague, vote of the Society in favor of a, .391. Replvof Dr. Channing to the vote, 391. The 'advantages of a, 391. E. S. Gannett settled as, 392. College life of Channing, 22-40. College societies, value of, bv .Judge White, 28. In Harvard College,"27-29. College studies, need of connecting religious and moral influences with. 294. Colonization Society, powerless to redeem the United States, 526. Its legitimate objects, 571. Objections to, 572. Future of, 572. Combe, George, letter to, on his Constitu- tion of Man, 440. Letter to, 442; on evils of government, 585 ; on repudiation, 589; on the character of the American people, 593, 594; on his sketches of German character, 603. Commerce, the morals of, 586. Common schools, Channing's interest in, 499. Community life, its difficulties, 512. Its advantages, 513. Concealment of opinions charged against 708 INDEX. Liberal ministers in the Panoplist, 195; bv Dr. Worcester, 206. Reply to the charge, l'J7, 2UG. Contick'uce in God, taught by the fall of Bonaparte, 27!i. Congregationalism, principle of, 223. Se- curity of Cliristian freedom, 224. Congress, weakness of the Continental, 582. Fully and ignorance of, 585. Connecticut Kiver, contrasted with the White, 329. Conscience, liberty of, 217. The supreme power in man, 438. Conscientiousness, the source of his serious- ness of manner, 99. In his discharge of pastoral duties. 118-120. Its effect on the discharge of his duties, 141. In relation to slavery, 528. 534. Constitution, Federal, adoption of, by Rhode Island, 146. The principles of the Republic belied by its compromises, 525. Constitution of Man, views of the book, in a letter to Geo. Combe, 440. Success of the book, 442. Controversy, aversion to, on his part, and on that of other preachers of liis time, 198, 225. Mischiefs of the Trinitarian, 200. Conversion, 74. Use of the technical ex- pression, 75. His life a process of, 75. Corporal Punishment, Vogel on, 11. His indignation against, 11. Amusing an- ecdote illustrating its Heedlessness, 53. Coultas, Harland, letter to, on inquiry, 4.35. Courtesy, importance of, 513. Frequent lack of, in Congress, 540; its bad effect on the country, 541. Cumberhmd, 336. Currency, evils of inflated, 587, 588. Dana, Chief Justice, his house Channing's home in college, 29. Davis, Thomas,' death of, 121. Davis, .ludge, interest of, in Berry-Street Vestrv, 2!I7. Hesolutions bv, on Chan- ning's death, 098. Dawes, .Judge, description of Wm. Chan- ning as a lawyer, 6. Death, its tc;u h'iugs, 619. Dcgeraudo, Iiaron, letter to, on religion in l-'rance, 432. De Gilder, Rachel, a family servant, 14. Intiuence of her character on Channing, 14. Deism of certain popular writers, 57. Democratic party, 37. Prominent in Vir- ginia, 47. Departed, associations with the, 632. Despotism, sources of its strength, 576. Of party, 583. Dewey, Orville, letter to, on defects in the ministry. 367. On ("liamiing as a preacli- er, 384, 385; on liis manner, 670; and character, 072 Letter to, on the min- istry, 404; on his review of Channing's works, 406 ; on Wordsworth and Cole- ridge, 417; on the narrowing effect of money-getting, 509; on an intellectual laborer's disappointment, 041. Dexter Lecturer, Buckminster the first, 291. Channing his successor, 291. Differences between Trinitarians and Uni- tarians often verbal, 210. More in sound than idea, 214. Discipline, purpose of, 155. Disinterestedness, Dr. Hopkins's theory of, 80. Doctrines, the greatest disputes about, have not related to their truth, 200. False, need firm resistance, 424. Domestic service, 679. Domestic ties, breaking of his, 313. For- mation of new, 319. Don Quixote, his opinion of, 625. Dressing plainly, reasons for, 078. Duchess, a colored slave, 7. Dudleian Lecture, on the Evidences of Re- vealed Religion, 300. Duelling, an outrage on institutions, faith, and manners, 470. Earnestness, power of, in a minister, 138, 366. Genuine, rarely seen, 139. Eddy, a Baptist of Newport, 14. After- wards a Unitarian, 14. Education, value of a liberal, 40. Power of, to substitute benevolence for selfish- ness, 64. The nobleness of human facul- ties an argument for, 261. National, a means of elevating the laboring classes, 484. True, 487. Of the yie.oph, 488. Is to unfold men's faculties, 488. The de- mand for better, 493. The great objects of, 494. Mercantile, 495. True character of, 502. Universal, more needed than universal suffrage, 598. Of children, his ideas on the, 655-657. Agreement of his views on, with Mrs. Hamilton's, 656. Edwards, Jonathan, 80. Indebted to Hop- kins for his later views of religion, 80. Energy of his intellect, 87. Ellery, Lucy, daughter of Wm. Ellery, wife of Wm. Channing, mother of lir. Channing, 4. Character of, 9. His de- scription of, 10. See Channing, Jlrs. Wm. Ellery, William, grandfather of Channing, a lawyer, 1. Delegate from Rhode Isl- and t() Continental Congress, 2. Signer of Declaration of Independence, 2. Member of Congress, 2. ("haracter of, 2,3. Collector "of Newport, 3. Letter to Channing on his father's death, 20. Letter on Godwin's Political .luslice, 67. Letter to, on his own ill-lualtli, 90. Reputed a llopUinsian, 91. Letter to, 183, 184. Letter to, on his sister's mar- riage, 314. Elo(iU('uce, his youthful, 26; stimulated by debates of Virginia legislature, 62. True INDEX. 709 pulpit, -30:3. False, 304. True, not in stvie but ill conviction, 306. In love of trtitli, 303. Embargo, the period of the, 134. Emerson, Joseph, classmate of Dr. Chan- ninji:, 25. Emerson, Ralph Waldo, lectures of, 684. Emotions, tendency of, to e.Khaust them- selves a wise provision of Providence, 632. England, 344. Relations with, 5!J7. Dis- grace of the opium trafKc to, 597. Ser- vices of, to human improvement, 600. Entluisiasm, 71. Development of youth- ful, 574. Error, opposition to, 424. Evil, origin of, 455. Many forms of hu- man, the souri'e of the interest and dig- nity of life, 455. The impression of its greater prevalence due to publicity, 517. Adheres to all institutions, 584. Has a work to do for man, 621). E.xchanges, the freedom of his, 122. E.xclusion from the churcli, 201. Executive patronage, 582. Dangerous to the balance of the Constitution, 583. Faith, of happiness, not the surest, 102. Needed in prayer, 382. Sustaining power of, 622. Familv, his care of his, 111. Love for his, 634." Fanaticism, often accompanies a good cause, 533. Faneuil Hail, refused for a meeting on Lovejoj-'s death, 552. Address to citi- zens on the refusal, 553. Public meeting to consider the refusal, 556. Meeting ill, on Lovejoy's death, 557. Description of the meeting. 561-6i)3. Fashion, its restrii tions, 346. Federalism, 47, 48, 134. Influence of, on his political opiuious, 581. Federalist party, possessors of wealth, tal- ent, and influence, 35. Chaiining devoted to it, 47. Opposed to negotiations with France, 51. Ihoroughlv iu svmpathv with it, 134. Federal Street Society, invites Channing to be pastor, 93. He accepts the invita- tion, !)5. Enlarges, 116. New church erected for, 116. Vote of, releasing him from service to go abroad, 328. Services in the church when lie ])ivaches, .'iSf?. Votes to settle a coileague, •i!)!. K/.ra Stiles (j:iniiett (U'daiued associate pastor, 392. Votes and correspondence in rela- tion to C'lianniug's relinquishment of his salary, and his relations to the society, 394-401. Iteply of, to his request to be relieved from his public fuiutious, 400. Formation of an association of the mem- bers of, for benevolent purposes, 465. Relations of, to antislavery questions, 570. Resolutions of, on Channiug's death, 698. Funeral services at church of, 098, 69'J. Fenelon, his ideal of a divine, GO. Chati- ning's desire to be such, 74. His essay ou,'^411. Ferguson, Adam, on civil society, 33. Useful in guiding his thought, 87.' Florence, 345. Letter from, 353. Follen, Charles, letter to, on the ministry, 366. Letter to, on a workiugmen's con- gregation, 482. Petitioner for Knee- land's pardon, 504. Letter to, on the prospects of the age, 516; on a new newspaper, 516; on Abolitionism, 530; on the arrangement of his book on Slav- ery, 538 ; on justice to slaveholders, 543 ; oil the relation of the spirit of Chris- tianity to antislavery, 546; on slavery agitation in (,'ongress, 547; on his letter to Clay, 548; on the difliciilties of the Abolitionists, 564, 571. His growth as a reformer, 574. Interest in Uevolutioa of 1830, 600. Distinguished by his will, 603. Letter to, on the reciprocal influence of the Old World and the New, 604. Friendship with, 608. Character, 008, 62 i. Reception of the news of the death ot; 675. Follen, Mrs. E. L., letter to, 573; on Lenox, 691; on her husband, 608; on special providences, 627 ; on the evils of life, 629. France, controversy between, and United States, 34. Desperate condition of the republic in, 48. Military despotism of, 174. Evils of an alliance with, 181. Channing passes through, 344. Her moral power over the world, 430. Re- ligion in, 431, 432. See "Revolution, French." Free inquirers, 503. Free Institutions, danger of, in their capa- city to be abused, 258. Unfaithfulness to, in America, 507. The foundation of, 575. All the evil in the United States not to be charged to, 592. Free speech, sympathy with, in case of Parker, 453; of Abner Kneiland, 503; of John Pierpont, 507, 508. Funda- mental idea of, 560. Defence of, in word and by the press, 566, 567. In what it mav be exercised. 672. Future life, 237. Ideas of the, 441. Gannett, Ezra Stiles, ordained associate pastor with Channing, 392. Testimony of, to him, 393. (Jhanning's testimony to the uiitiriiig fidelity of, 393. Ill-health of, 398. Becomes the active pastor, 401. Eulogy of, on Channing, 699. Garrison, Wm. Lloyd, a printer, publisher of the "Genius of Emancipation " and of the " Liberator," 521. ( 'oad jutors of, 526. Seized by a mob, 538, 569. Generosity, instances of his personal. 111, 113, 129, 130, 295, 675; to the members of his family, 316, 670, 677. Geneva, letter from, 344. German character, 603. 710 INDEX. Gerry, Elbridge, 48, 49. Ghent, sermon on the Treaty of, 280. Gibbs, Mrs., mother-in-law of Channing, 319. Cliaracter of, :i2(). Gibbs, Ruth, marries Channing, 319. Glory of a state, the development of hu- man nature, 266. God, our Father, 143, 155. The happiness of being loved by, 147. Blessedness of access to, 148. Unworthy views of, the spring of corruption in religion, I'JO. Goodness of, one of the last lessons learned, 190. Scriptural ideas of, 210. Dr. Samuel Clarke's ideas of the Su- preme, 212. Walking with, 227. Re- semblance to, 228. As a parent, 374. Moral purposes of, towards man, 376. As revealed in nature and the uni- verse, 439. Relations of, with man, 444. Kneeland prosecuted for denial of, 503. To be judged by His universal laws rather than by "particular dispensations, 628. The knowledge of, and the love of, 647. Godwin, William, his Caleb Williams, 57. Political justice, 67. Goethe, his Correspondence with a Child, 625. Goodier. character of, 610. Gospel, the truths of the, neglected by man- kind, 70. Its fitness for a universal reli- gion, 167. The demands of the, 251. Government, duty of the community to pro- vide itself with the best, 581. Channing a believer in popular, 582. The Federal, 582. The relations of the States in, 582. Grandparents, 1, 4. Grassmere Water, 338-340. Village, 342. Green Mountains. 331. Griffin, Rev. Edward D., Pastor of Park Street Church, 272. Grimsel, 345. Guild, Benj., 328. Harit.s as a student, 33, 34. In his course of reading, 55. In his early ministry, 99. During his ministrv, 681. As a writer, 409, 664, 681, 682. " Hallett, Benj. F., 559. Happiness of being loved by God, 147. Of a religious 'life, 232. True, 243. Only in goodness, 250. Hardships, the blessings of, 156. Prove and exalt human character, 157. Hartford, Convention at, 280. Harvard College, enters as Freshman at, 21. Life at, from 1794-98, 22-42. Letter of Judge Story on, 22. Channing on the intellectual condition of, at that time, 30 ; Judge White on, 30, 31. Influence of political questions on the students, 35. Address by a committee of students to President John Adams, 35. Faculty on the Federal side, 37. ( 'banning a member of the (Corporation, 293. Improvements suggested bj- him in the system of educa- tion in, 497, 498. Hastv-Pudding Club, origin of, bv Judge White, 29. ' Hazard, Rowland G., letter to, on the Colonization Society, 57. F.xtract from his Essav on Channing, 683. Heaven, happiness of, 152, 153, 2-32. Er- roneous views of, 233. Its inhabitants not necessarily perfect, 234. Will not change, but improve our nature, 235. A progressive state, 235, 236. The king- dovn of. a reign of benevolence, 256. Helm's Crag, 340. Hemans, Mrs. Felicia, letters to, 406, 415. Character of her works, 415. Heresy, what it is, 202. Campbell's dis- sertation on, 202. Hicks, Elias, 448. Higginson, Stephen, Jr., 97. Highest classes, degraded condition of the, 509. SelHshly tmiid, 519. Continually filled from the lower, 679. Hillard, George S., speaks in Faneuil Hall on Lovejoy's death, 562. Clerk of Fed- eral Street Society, 699. Conversation with, on the "Three Days " in Paris, 601. Hitchcock, Dr., character of, 8. Holiness, growth in, 149. Harmony of, 151. Taught as a blessing in the Scrip- tures, 250. Hoi lis Street Society, its controversy with John Pierpont, 507, 508. Holmes, Dr. Abiel, minister of First Church in Cambridge, 90. A moderate Cal- vinist, 90. At Mr. Chanuing's ordina- tion, 96. Home life. 111, 6.34-697. Homesickness, description of, 54. Honesty of mind, in proportion to earnest- ness of inquiry, 157. The distinction of a good and great man, 159. Hopkins, Dr., 14. His denunciations of slavery, 14, 15. Character and descrip- tion of his manner by Channing, 15, 80,84. His theorv of disinterestedness, 80. His Hdelity to his doctrine, 81. Il- lustrations of his generosity, 81. His views of divine agency irreconcilable with human freedom, 81. Style as a preacher, 81, 82. An intense student, 82. Facetious, 82. Not an optimist, 82. A strong Federalist, 83. A man of hon- esty, 83. Impatient of o]iposition as he grew older, 83. His last words, 83. Hopkinsian, not a, 92. Humanity, his interest in, 131-133. Hmnan liature, the principle of religion in, 154. A duty to estimate it highly, 100. Its worth attested, 160. Its sacr'edness attested by Scripture and acquaintance with men, 161. Its virtues and e.Kcellences displayed, 163. Its greatness revealed by Jesus Christ, 249. ' The great capaci- ties of, 238. His views of, during the Unitarian controversy, 274. Like the divine, 377. As varied as external nature, 437. Just views of, important to the understanding of nature, 4J38. INDEX. 711 Humilitv, true, 159. Demands a high esti- mate of our Tiatiirc, 161. The spirit of, needed in the ministry, 1381. Husbands and wives, mutual duties of, ••522. Huteheson, Francis, influence of, 33. Phi- losophy of, 80. Useful in determining his thoughts, 87. Ill-health, at Richmond, 53, 76, 89. In- stances of, 115, 116. His power dimin- ished by, 115. Continuance of, 327. Renders" him unable to discharge his full work, 389, 034, 635, 636. Imagination, the function of, in religion, 446. Immigrants, methods for aiding, 132. Immortality, indicated by man's capacities and faculties, 244; by his desire of ac- quaintance with God," 245; by his moral sensibility, 245; by his love of the in- finite, 246; by iiis capacity of attaining greatness of "character, 246 ; in frequent triumphs over death, 247 ; in the con- stant progress to perfection, 248. The proof of, dependent on revelatian rather than nature, 617. Affection a ground of, to many, 628. His own faith in, rests on human excellence, 628. Grows more real to him with age, 651. Independence (of the world), necessary to a politician, 54. Industry and property, his interest in es- tablishing just relations between, 509- 514. Infallibility, inconsistency of Protestants in claiming, 218. Spirit of, the worst evil of Popery, 578. Inquiry, the aim of free, 182. Its impor- tance, 193. Its influence, 193. Theologi- cal, not attractive to the people, 367. Inspiration of a writer, the reward of toil, 682. Institute of 1770, 27. Intemperance to be prevented by better physical education, 474. By intellectual im"provemenl, 475. Admits of perfect cure, 476. Intolerance illustrated in Dr. Worcester's letter, 211. Investigator, The, organ of Free Inquirers, 503. ' Inward struggles, revealed in his preach- ing, 141. In regard to the dogmas in which he was educated, 182. Jacobins, 37. Hostility of, to the Presi- dent, 51. James Iliver, description of scenery on its banks, 57. Jay, John, at Newport, 13. Jenyns, Soame, irrefutable arguments of, 66. Jesus. See Christ. Jouffroy, on Dr. Price's Dissertations, 34. Jungfrau, 345. Juniata, 687. Justice, an essential attribute of God, 145. Divine, one with benevolence, 225. KiRKLAND, John T., on Channing and Buckminster, 116. Style of tlie preach- ing of, 122. Presitient of Harvard University, 123. Sanctions Channing's political preaching, 134. Kneeland, Abner, case of, 50-3-507. Prose- cution of, 503. Sentence, 504. Petition for the pardon of, 504, 505. Laboring Classes. See "Workingmen." Lafavette, 600. Lakes, the English, 337. Lancaster, letter from, 336. Castle of, 336. Language, importance of strictness in using, 190. Law, Wm., mystic piety of, 87. Laws in a free country the voice of the people, 560. Lectures, suitable subjects for courses of, 120. Lee, Mrs. George, account by, of Chan- ning's religious meetings, 2i)9. Letter to, on her mother's death, 631; on bereavement, 632. Legislatures, their ignorance of finance, 587. Prodigality and i-ecklessness of, 588. Lenox, a summer in, 689, 690, 691. The region about, 692. Lexington, Normal School at, 500, 501. Liljeral Christians, meaning of the term, 195. Objections to assuming it. 195. Liberator, The, established by Garrison, 621. Its struggles, 525. Letter in, to the Abolitionists, 564. Liberty, the great social good, 347. The valiie of, 537. Rests ou a free press, 595. Not the growth of violence, 596. To be diffused by the spirit of love, 596. "Always young for," 601. Life, the "purpose of, 142. "Value of its discipline, 156. Its value to be esti- mated by the capacity of action it gives, 641. A gift of co"nstantly increasing value, 650. His love of life. 652. Literary pursuits in Richmond, 55. Liverpool, 336. Locke, John, 34. Price a corrective of, 34. London, letter from, on his chihlrcn, 349. Loneliness while a tutor at Richmoiul, 73. Loring, Ellis Gray, a friend of freedom, 504. Author ofa petition for Kneeland's pardon, 504. Letter to, on Kneeland's case, .506. Loughrigg, 338. Love, tlie harmonizing principle of the uni- verse, 143. Of tiod, a rational senti- ment, 146; and a cheerful principle, 147. Christ a gift of God's, 161. Of truth consistent" with the reception of 712 INDEX. errors, 208. The fountain of spiritual life, ;i70. Lovejoy, Elijah P., death of, 551. Faneuil Hall refused for a meeting; on, 552. Com- ments on the murder of, 555 ; Clianning's address on, 557. Resolutions on, 559. Lyceum, the, a promise of something better, proves intellectual life, 498. Magee, Wm. (Bishop of Raphoe), Car- penter's reply to, 27-J. Man, the divinity in the nature of, 63. Capacities of, for goodness, 239. The sublime destiny of, 247. Christ's love for, 251. Dignity of the nature of, 205. Greatness of the destiny of, 377. The child ot God, 439. Assertion of the worth of, the strength of antislavery, 568. Channing's desire for the elevation of, 679. Mann, Horace, letter to, on education, 499. Secretary of Mass. Board of Education, 590. Manners as a student, 26. As a minister, 98, 130. Due to conscientiousness, 99. As a preacher, 117. Manual labor, schools for, the true manner of educating the laborer, 489. Marriage, his, 319. Views of the relation, 320. Its indissolubleness, 321. Marshall, John, Ciiief Justice, 44. Char- acter of, 51. Answers to a Freeholder, 51. Martiiieau, Harriet, letter to, 435. An- ecdote by, 509. Letter to, on her novel "The Hour and the Man," 572. Crit- icism of her travels in America, 591. Letter to, oti England, 599 ; on West- minster Review, 605; on hopefulness, 606. Letters of farewell to, 617, 618. Letter to, on the estimate of life, 641 : on growth of mind, 641 ; on Penrisvl- vania, (i87. Norwegian tale bv, 688, 089. "Crofton Boys," by. 088. 689^ Martineaii, Rev. James, lectures of, 435. Letters to, 435, 447. Letter to, on mira- cles, 454; on French Revolution, 603. I'aper bv, on live points of Calvinism, 689. May, Rev. Samuel .Joseph, Character of, 528. Letter of, on Dr. Channing's in- tei'est in antislavery, 528-530. An Abo- litionist, 528. x\gent of the Ant.islaverv Society, 530, 569." McKcan, Joi-ei)h, minister at ^lilton, 70. Lcller to, on religions zeal, 71. M'Duliie, Gov., liieory of, that slavery is the salety of property at the North, 542. Meal, .labcz, tribute of, to Dr. Channing, 485. Mediator, Christ an ever-living, 253-256. Meditation, value of, to personal character, 402. To protitable conversation, 402. The religion ot, not the highest form, 639, 642. The li c ot the soul', 645. Meditations, 91). 103, 104, 105, 112, 118. On his birthday, 120. On a new year, 126. On the death of his brother, 316; sister, 318; child, 3.50; mother, 667. On God and Christ, 646. Mendon Community, 454. Mercy an essential attribute of God, 144. Methodism, Channing opposed to its spirit of domination, 427. The belief that its day is drawing to a close, 436. Milton, essay on, 411. Mind, source of maturitv of, 641. Minister, the duties of a, 42, 402. Useful- ness of, to society, 74. Channing as a, 98. The needs of, in respect to personal character, 101. Duties of, in regard to politics, 134. "The Good," a sermon, 130. Character of a good, 137-139. De- liciencies of nian}-, 140. True spirit for the, 302. Mind of, should be habitually under religious influences, 307. Objects to be sought by. 307. Private character of, makes the influence of Christianity, 360. Responsibility of, 362. Need of com- munication with intelligent laymen, 368. Moral greatness needed by, 369. The true authorit}' of, 370. Duty of, in the reproof of evil, 373. In the quickening of his own spirit, 373. Love for man as man, the true spirit of, 376. Rousing moral principle the success of, 378. The relative rank of the duties of, 402. A teacher, a student, 402. Danger of being a gossip, 403. Lost by yielding to the temptation to be agreeable to his hearers, 403. Consolation of, when he sees no visible result of his labors. 612. Ministry, responsibility of the, 99. LVeful- ness in, how to be developed, 100. Rules for increasing his own usefulness in, 118. His gradual growth through his, 136. Mechanical sluggishness the great dan- ger of, 305. The purpose of, 300, 307, 304. His review of his, 310, 420. In- creased sense of the importance of the, 300. His own aim in the, 3()5. Estimate of the professiiu of the, 366. Success ill the, depends on heartiness, 366. Priv- ileges of the, 372. His enthusiasm in and desire to increase the, 380. A spirit of martyrdom needtui to, 381. Ministry at Large, origin of, 4(i5. Its pur- pose, 477. Need of its spirit to Uiiitari- anism, 479-481. Miracles of Christ, in harmony with and conlirm his truth, 440; aiul his char- acter, 450. .Adapted to man's nuu-al wants, 447. The rejection ot, the rejec- tion of Christ, 449. The religion and character of Christ the great evidence of^ 451. How Christ is a moral miracle, 4.52. No inconsister.cy between, and the spiritiuil basis of Christianity, 454. Mis-iouri ('ompromise, a surrender to slave- holding politicians. 52(!. Mobs, evils of their toleration by the re- spectable, 533. In behalf of slavery, in a free nation, show a low public sentiment, 533. Deserving reprobation, 533, 576. INDEX. 713 The spirit of, 560. Convent, at Charles- town, 575, 577. The perils of, 577. The lessons of, 579. Moore, Thomas, objections to his doctrine about genius, 414. Morality, union of, with piety, 231. Flows from religion, 438. Moral nature, the voice of God, 442. Jloral purpose, force of, 241. Morals, improvement of, among young men in Boston. 4'J2. Of laborers' and mechanics' sons and apprentices growing worse, 403. Suggestions for the improve- ment of, 493. Motiier's love, a, G32, 6G7. Mount Auburn, 90. Burial at, 700. Mt. Benedict, sermon on the destruction of the convent on, 575. Music, the power of, 625. Naples, 345. Nature, the influence of, 688. General ignorance of the power of, 693. The mode of teaching of, 694. Continuance of the beautv of, amid human changes, a proof of immortalitv, 617. His love of, 57. 58, 649, 650. Nece.ssity, philosophical, Martineau's pro- test against, 447. Nelson, victory of, 51. New Hampshire, grandeur of its moun- tains, 330. New London, 19, 20. Revival in, 21. His feelings towards, 21. Newport, birthplace of Channing, 1. De- scription of the beach, 42, 79. Descrip- tion of, 79. Scenery of, 332. Changes in, 610, 634. New York, Unitarian church established, 312. Invites Clianning to be its minis- ter, 312. His reply, declining the invi- tation, 313. Riots 'in, 531. Niagara Falls, liis impressions of, 686, 687. Nicliol's "Architecture of the Heavens," 448, 628. Non-resistance, not a right principle, 466, 467. Oakland, his life at, 653, 663-665. Ocean, life on the, 333. The restlessness of, 334. After a gale, 335. Old World, the influence of, in the New, 604. Olney, Miss Ruth P., letter to, on Shelley, 414; on the idea of death, 440. Onion River, 330. Opponents, good-will to, must not be lost in diti'ercnce of opinion, 203. Treatment of, 271 42i. Requirements from, 425. Opportunities of the present age as great as of tiie past, 601. Oration at graduation, 38. Ordination of Channing, 96. Orthodoxy-, the error of those who oppose, 308. Osgood, Dr., pleased with Channing's pul- pit appearance and service, 92. Makes ordaining praj'er at his ordination, 96. Sanctions his political preaching, 134. Ossipee Mountain, 329. O'Sullivan, John L., letter to, on war, 469; on the evils of party, 585. Owen, his social svstem, 510. Objections to, 510, 511. Panoplist, reply to a review in, 194. Assertions of the review, 195. Parentage of Clianning, 1-10. Paris, 344. Parish Library, the usefulness of forming a, 296. • ^ Park, Edwards A., letter to, on Dr. Hop- kins, 80. Parker, Theodore, makes truth unnecessa- ril}' repugnant by exaggerations, 449. Review of tlie Discourse of, on the Tran- sient and Permanent in Christianity, 449- 451. Sympathy with his efforts to preach his sincere belief, 453. Party, power of, in the United States, 582. Danger of, making government the mo- nopoly of a few, 583. Government not a trustworthy means of human eleva- tion, 584. Success the great object of, 585. Pastoral visiting, value of, 302, 402. May be a dissipation, 402. Patten, Dr., minister of Channing, 15. Reminiscences of Dr. Hopkins, b\', 81- 83. ^ Pauperism, removal of, 477. Excluded by slavery, 510. Peabody, Miss E. P., letter to, on John Woolman and Nichol's "Architecture of the Heavens," 448; on Theodore Par- ker, 449; on clear convictions, 451, 453; on education, 502. Peabody, Mary T., letter to, on Normal School at Lexington, 500. Peace, on earth. 172. The blessings of, 281. jMovement, 284. Heaven's, may come in this life, 622. Peace Society of Jlassachusetts, formation of, 284. Memorial of, to Congress, 285. Pell, Ferris, letter to, 405. Pennsylvania, 687. Perfection, man's spiritual, the end of Providence, 154. Consists in knowl- edge, love, and activity, 154. Tlie con- stant progress toward-^, an indication of immortality. 248. .Man's true, the idea of the moral sciences, 437. Petition, right of, outraged bv Consress, 543. Vindicated l)y .1. (J. Adams, 544. Phi Beta Kappa, Dr. Clianning a member of, 28. Declines to give an oration be- fore, 135. Philadelphia, penitentiary in, 473. Beset- ting sin of, 508. Philanthroiiv, cliaracter of true, 181. Con- solation of, 610. 714 INDEX. Phillips, Jonathan, 557. His character, 607. Phillips, Wendell, speech in Faneuil Hall on Lovejo3''s death, 562. Philosophers, German, 275. Philosophical opinions of Channing, 438, 439. Pickering, Timoth}', 49. Pierce, teacher of Lexington Normal School, his character as a teacher, 500. Pierce, Dr. John, description of Channing as a student, 25. Description of Dr. Tappan, 86. Opinions held of Chan- ning's orthodoxy, when "approbated," by, 91. Testimony to Channing's inter- est in the cause of peace, 284. Pierpont, John, controversy of, with Hollis Street Church, 507. Letter to, giving counsel, after the result, 507. Piety, spiritual, 18L The dignity of, 228. One with active goodness, 229. Uuion of, with morality, 230. An essential ele- ment of high character, 294. Instances of Channing's, 646. Plumer, Wm., Jr., letter to, on the inter- est of the laity in religion, 367; on a proposed work, 418. Poles, sympathy with the, 601, 602. Political influences, in college, in forming his character, 34. In Virginia, 47. In life, 134. Political institutions, value of, 48. Political power, should be withheld from the unfit, 581. Political sermons, Channing a preacher of, 134. Politics, a minister's relation to, 134. His habits in regard to their discussion, 134. The Christian has no right to be indif- ferent to, 501. The body of religion, 574. Poor, how to improve their social condition, 131; and develop their capacity, 132; to exalt their life, 132. Each rich family should care for one familv of, 132. Jus- tice to the, 260. Duties to the, 263. Poperv. its worst evil, 578. Portsmouth, R. I., letters from, 332, 366. Potter, Elisha, character of, 8. Poverty, Channing's own experience of, 53. Praj'er, examples of, 107-109. For self- knowledge, 309. For sympathy with men, 309. Fulness of the Divine 8]iirit, 310. The end of public, 382. Dehni- tion of, 382. Breathes a spiritual want, 382. Requires faith and consciousness of want, 382. The spirit of, 648. Preacher, must draw from his own experi- ence, 305. Description of Channing's manner and power as, 384, 386-389; as an extemporaneous, 666. Preaching, his early impression of the want of sincerity in, 15. Favorable im- pression made by his first, 92. Character and power of his earl}', 92, 122. Politi- cal, and reasons for it, 134. Character of his ordinary, 141, 142. Of Unitari- ans, defended against charges of vague- ness, 207. The eloquence and effective- ness of his mature, 300. Characteristics of good, 303. Impression the test of, 303. Change in the character of his, 365. True, 379. Press, vindication of freedom of the, 554. Price, Richard, doctrine of ideas of, 34. Useful in determining his thought, 87. Priestle}', Joseph, influence on the Uni- tarian movement, 427. Channing not a sj'mpathizer with, 427. Speculations of, on man's moral nature, injurious to the cause of trutii, 447. Princeton College, 4, 6. Prison discipline, 471-474. Privateering, a barbarous custom, 288. Professional life, the struggles and disap' pointments of, 514. Progress, his faith in, 604, 606. Property, community of, letter on, 63. Fa- vored bv Christianitv, 66. Prophet, the function of the, 368. Dr. Channing a, 417. Prospect Hill, the view from, 90. Prostitutes, need of a home for, 132. Providence, manifested in the progress of society, 171. Public opinion, its power in England, 595. Punishment, object of, 471. Quaker Hill, 665. (^inkers, of Philadelphia, 448. Quincy, Josiah, letter to, on education at Cambridge, 497. Incident at his centen- nial address, 674. Randolph, David Meade, 43. United States Marshal for Virginia, 44. Life in his family, 44, 76. Randolph, Mrs. D. M., opposed to slavery, 45, 46. Rathbone, William, letter to, on social progress, 515; on the Federal govern- ment, 582; on the morals of commerce, 586; on the relation of education to trade, 590; on the opium tratKc, 597; on the death of Spurzheim, 614. Rathbone, Mrs. Wm., letter to, on execu- tive power, 583. On the death of J. Blanco White, 627. Reason, the same principle in God and man, 502. Redwood Library, 79. Reformer, his stirinking from the work of a, 456. His spirit ns a, 457. His creed as a, 515. His caution as a, 527. The development of the, 574. Reforms, Social, 456-520. Society in Fed- eral Street Church for promoting, 464. Time needed to produce, 517. No limit to, 520. Regeneration, what it implies, 145. Its re- sults, 146. Is progressive, 146. INDEX. 715 Religion, another name for happiness, 42. The rectification of the soul, 149. Signs of growtii in, 150. Beauty of real, 151. Principle of, in human nature, 154. Re- quirements for a universal, 1G8. Cnn- sists of, 188. Freedom of inquiry in, 191. Not inconsistent with useful" pur- suits, 229. The glory of our nature, 294. Importance of its investigation by others than the clergy, .367. Central truths of, 374, 377. Not always to be identified witli its loud professors, 414. Channing's idea that it is a life, 428. Pure and rational, necessary to freedom, 432. A product of imagination as well as reason, 44G. Narrowed into bigotry, an obstacle to truth, 578. Religious inlluences in college, 29. Religious meetings held by him, described by an auditor, 299. Religious union to be desired, 118. Religious zeal, letter on, 71. Remington, Ann, grandmother of Chan- ning, 1. Reproof, the minister's duty in respect to, 373. Repudiation, dangers of, in United States, 587. Resurrection of Christ, the certainty of, 44G. Reverie, au enemy to virtue, 58, 59. His sense of its ill effects, (545. Revival at New London, 21. The true, 374. Revolution, English, essav on, referred to, 34. , French, his father early hopeful of it, 7. Disappointed, 8. Influence of, on society and Harvard College, 30, 31. Efforts made in college to counter- act its pi'inciples, 31. Topics suggested by it discussed in Commencement ora- tion, 38. Interest of America in its decis- ion, 50. Agreement of his views on, with those of Wordsworth, 277. Good done by, 518. Naturally followed by a re- action, 519. Encouraging aspects of, 520. Of 1830, GOO. "His impressions on, 603. Richmond, life in, 42-76. Society in, 44. Slight interest in religion in, 73. One church in, 73. Prevalence of infi- delity, 74. His description of his life in, 7G. Robbins, Asher, on the character of Wm. Channing, 4. Robertson, character given to Westminster Review by, 605. Robertson's Charles the Fifth, as an histor- ical guide, 55. Robinson. James, husband of Jlary Cha- loner, 4. Rochambeau, Count, at Newport, 17. Rogers, D. D., 328. Rogers, teacher of Channing, 11. School of, 17. Rome, 345. Letter from, on death of a child and a sister-in-law, 350. Roscoe, Miss Jane E., letter to, on non- resistance, 4G6: on prison discipline, 471, 472; onautislavery, 521 ; on acquaintance between England and the United States, 59G; on the relations between England and the United States, 599 ; on P(>iand, 602; on the influences of character, GIO; on her father, 610, 611. Roscoe, the Misses, letter on woman in re- ligion, GIO. Roscoe, Wm., his work on prison discipline, 471, 472. Rousseau, as a writer, 57. Russell, William, a reader, 685. Rydal, 342. St. Soion, religion of, 511. Letter to Wm. Burns on, 511. Salvation, the work of the individual soul, .362. Sandy Hill (N. Y.), letter from, 330. Santa Cruz, slavery in, 610, 511. Illustra- tions of slavery in, 521-523. Sawyer, Artemas, classmate of Channing, 25. Sceptici-m, prevalence of, in college and .society, 1794-1798, 30, 31. School lite, his own, 11. Advice to his son on the conduct of, G57, G58. Scott, Walter, estimate of the character and works of, 416. The ideal of a man of the world, 417. Scriptures, the standard of truth, 183. That Jesus is the Christ, the great truth of the, 209. Do not teach the mode of Christ's derivation, 213. Importance of a rational interpretation of, 221. Secession, the deliberate purpose of the South, 544. Sectarianism, his freedom from, 91, 422. The guilt of, 215. His disgust at, 428. Influence of nature in repressing, 429. Sects, multiplicity of, not produced by in- quiry, 192. Heads of, ambitious, 192. Sedgwick, Jlrs. Charles, impressions of Channing from her journal, G89, 690. Her hymn, 690. Sedgwick, Mrs. Susan, her hymn, 690. Self-consecration, his early act of, 74. In mature ministry, 306. In sermon on re- turn from Europe, 358. Self-denial, illustrations of his habit of, 111, 116, 677. Self-discipline, rules for, 77, 78. Practice of, 103-lOG. Further rules for, 112, •301. Its results upon himself, 663. Self-distrust, letter on, AOH. Self-examination, habit of, 99. Prayer of, 309. Selfishness, not necessarv in man, 64. .Self-rebuke, God's call to effort, 633. Self-scrutiny, usefulness of, 59. Seminoles, letter to Worcester on the war against the, 287. Sensibility, GO. Moral, a preparation for love of God, 154. 716 INDEX. Sentiments, important as indicating state of heart, 18:J. Seriousness, his, 98. A pain to himself, 11.3, G(K). ' Senter, Dr. Isaac, 8. Sewali, Sanuicl K., 530, 552. Siiaw, Lemuel, Judij;e, 506. Shaw, William S., letter to, on colleji^e life and the choice of his profession, 41, 42; on Virginians, 45; on French Republic, 48; on life in Riciimond, 54; on sensi- bility, 51); on community of property, 63; on want of a friend, 72. Shelley, Percy B., letter on, 414. Sincerity, his sense of the value of, 384. Sismondi, JI. J. (J. L. Simonde de, letter to, on the moral power of France, 430; on essential Christianity, 432; on social reform, 517; on C(mimercial depression, 587. Remark to, on the women of America, G60. Skiddaw, 340, 341. Slaithwaite, letter to the Mechanic Insti- tute of, 483. Slave, tlie jjliysical condition of, not worse than tiiat of others, 524. The moral dan- gers of a, 525. Slavery, in Virginia, 45. Opposition of in- telligent slaveholders to, 46. Evil prac- tices of, 46. His indignation against, 46. Destructive of man's moral agency, 47. Fatal influence of, on whites, 47. Ex- cludes pauperism, 510. In St. Croix, 510, 521-523. Origin of. 520. Character of, in America, 520. True grounds of opposition to, and illustrations of its ill effects, 521-523. Discipline of, 523. Ameliorations of. 524. Tiie infinite evils of, to the slave, 524, 625. Im- provement in, in West Indies, 525. To be destroyed by moral convictions of the civilized world, 525, 535. Pidjlication of his book on, 530, 537, 5-38. Public in- difference to its evils, 533. Purpose of his book, 53!), 54G. His convictions in pub- lishing the book on. 543. Obstacles to right feeling on, at the North, 543. 547. Pros|)ects ol its abolition in the District of Cohnnbia. 544. -Agitation of the ques- tion in Congress, 547. Slave States, barbarity of their laws, 523. Smitii. Samuel S., President of Princeton College. 6. Smyth, Professor, censures of, on demo- cr.ilic iii-titutions, reply to the, 582, 58!. Social improvements, i)lans for, 131-133. Social iufiuenci'.s of his youth, 12-15. Society, tiie progress of, m inifosts Provi- dence. 171, 172. Perfect, 244. Unity of everv state of, 345. Its restraints, 346. Reflections on, 347. The best condition of, 348. In its relations to Cliristianity, 450. Its spirit not the love of man as man, 461. The truths which are to reno- vate it, 508. Not saved by peual laws, but by the labors of Christian love, 579' Changes in, GOG. Solitary confinement, objections to, 472, 473. More effective in slavery than the lash, 524. Soul, greatness of the, 445. Speculation, evil ef^'ects of, 58:). 590. Rage of the spirit of, in tiie United States, 592. Spirit, the, and the world, may be friends, 631. Spirit of God, 119. Sjiirit of the Pilgrims, 271. Spiritual body, wliat mav be hoped from the, 637. Spiritual growth, the mystery of the pro- gi-ess of, G44. Spiritual influences not irresistible, but per- suasive. 228. Spiritual lile, prayer for. 109. Spui-zheim, letter to W. Rathbone on the death of, 614. Sickness, death, and fu- neral of, 615. Standing armies, objections to, 40. Stansfield, Hamer, letter to, on tiie laboring classes, 485-487. State of heart, determines acceptance with God, 184. Stiles, Dr. Ezra, minister at Newport, 7, 13. President of Yale College. 13. In- fluence of, on Clianning, 13. Character of, by him, 14. Removal to New Ha- ven, 15. Stone Chapel, service in. in commemoration of the fall of Bonaparte. 278. Story, Joseph, classmate of Channing, 22. Letter to, on college life in 1794, 25. Description of Channing in college, 25. Channing's estimate of. 27. Account of Channing's associations in college, and influence of college life on him, 31. On his position as a student, 33. On his inteiest in political questions. 34. On his oration at graduation, 38. Declines the use of wine, .38. Strong, Caleb, Governor of jMassachusetts, 13.5'. Stuart, Closes, letter on religious liberty, 271. Stuart, , excites Dr. Iloiikins's indig- nation by atheism, 83. Students, requirements of, in Harvard Col- lege, 22. Studies in divinity, 69. Sturge, .Joseph, letter to, on the Chartists, 598. Sturgis. Hon. Wm., 563. Suffering, source of strength in, Gil, 612. Suffrage, the errors of the party of, 580. Ciianuin:;" not in fa\or of unrestricted, 581). Right of. too far extenf, 570. Thornely, Thomas, letter to, on accumula- tion, 518; on repudiation, 587. Thought, means of promoting original, 88. " Three Days " in Paris, 000. Thursday lecture crowded when Channing preached, 116. Thurston, Father, Baptist minister of New- port, and a temperance reformer, illus- tration of his principles, 15. Ticknor, George, description of Chan- ning's ordination, by, 90. On the pub- lication of Mr. Buckminster's sernmns, 125. Letter of Channing to, giving his estimate of his own works, 407. Letter to, on education, 494; on the encouraging prospects of the time, 516; on the evils of the thirst for gain, 586; on improve- ments in despotic nations, 002. Author of the inscription on Channing's monu- ment, 700. Toussaint, his character, 572. Trade, the most powerful influence in so- ciety, 519. Travellers, presumptuousness and dogmat- ism of, 591. Travelling, the art and object of, 345, 346. Trevilcock, W., letter to, on Clianning's relation to Unitarians, 427. Trinitarian, never a, 75, 91. Trinitarianism but a mystical form of Uni- tarian doctrine, 214. Trinity, scheme of, not assailed, 199. Truth, pursuit of, requires patience, 88. Duty of seeking, 157. Sense of its value necessary to honesty of mind, 157. How to be sought, 158. The temper it is designed to promote, ]84. Love of di- vine, 208. Greater good than peace, 424. A clear conviction of, essential to a re- ligious teacher, 451. Tuckerman, Joseph, classmate of Dr. Chan- ning, 26. Gives " right hand " at his ordination, 96. In the Ministrv at Large, 381, 404. Letters to, 418, 42,5', 441. His Ministry at Large, originated, 405. Let- ter to, on prison discipline, 473. The spirit of his ministry, 479. Letter to, on A. Kneeland's case, 506; on slavery in St. Croix, 510; on West Indian emanci- pation, 571; criticising i\Iiss Martineau's travels, 591. His intimate friend in life, 607. Character of, 607. Letter to, on the relations between the mind and body, 637; on activity, 639; on sym- pathy with the poor, 040; on hope for more active work, 642. His spiritual growth, 643. Desire to write a book on the subject, 643, 644. His harmony with God, 646-648. Letter to, on Channing's indifference to his own writings, 684. Tvler. John, evils of his veto of National "Bank Bill, 585. Ulles-Water, 337. Uniformity, produced by inquirj' rather than constraint, 192. Union, dissolution of the, deprecated, 281. Danger of its destruction through an- nexation of Texas, 550. Its preserva- tion less valuable than the rights of humanity, 551. Unitarian," meaning in calling himself a, 428. Unitarian Controversy, 181. A contro- versy, not with intidels, but between believers, 220. Unitarian Orthodoxy, reasons for, 435. Unitarianism, of Belsham, 195. Of Bos- ton ministers, 196. Defence of, in reply to the Panoplist, 196-205. Distinction between, and Trinitarianism, 210. Needs 718 INDEX. imagination and poetical enthusiasm, 276. Has suffered by Biblical criticism and theological controversj', 270. His view of, as an advance towards Chris- tianity, 428. Characterized by spirit of freedom and individuality, 4-32. De- scribed in a letter to Kev. J. H. Thom, 4-34. Adapted to the wants of the great mass of human beings, 480. Unitarians, cannot be excluded from the Church of Clirist, 208. Duties of, in de- fending the Gospel, 221. United States, relations of the States to the Federal government, 582. Peculiari- ties of the people, 592. Prospects of de- velopment. 592. Material tendencies of the people, 593. Clianning"s earnestness that tlieir standard should be high, 594. Comparison of, with Great Britain, 595. Institutions of, the means of developing human nature, 600. Unit3' in varietj% 269. Universal brotherhood, anticipated by Channing, 439. Unworthiness, consciousness of, reconciles to outward evil, 101. Usefulness, future rewards of, 152. Of the good, not finished at death, 237. Vestry-hall, proposal for building a, 296. The value and uses of, 296. Address at the dedication, 298. Virginians, manners and character of, 45. Virtue, acting from a sense of duty, 61. Voting. See "Suffrage." Waj-ker, Dr. James, his lectures, 684. Walter, Arthur Mavnard, classmate of Dr. Channing, 40.' Letters of, 40, 61. Letter of, in retrard to conjmunitv, 03. War, horrors of^ 50. Of 1812, not to be justified, 178. Demoralizing influences of, 179. Evils of civil, 281. Guilt of an unnecessary, 282. Hepugnant to Chris- tianity, 282. Defensive, not condemned, 283. Unlawfulness of, review of a book on the, 466. Letters on the evils of, 467-409. Ware, Henry, Jr., on Channing, 136. Pro- fessor at Cambridge, 380. Letter of Channing to, 380. Washington at Newport, 13. A first-rate general, 51. Impossibility of familiarity with, 670. Wayland, Francis, letter to, on war, 468; on suffrage. 580; on union in improv- ing the world, 605. Wealth, dangers of the worship of, 509. Wednesday' Evening Association, 465. Wells, Rev. E. M. P., 557. Wengern Alp, 345. West Indies, emancipation in, 571. Westminster Review, its character, 005. Westmoreland, 336. Wheeler, David, 448. White, D. A., letter on Channing as a member of college literary societies, 27- 29. Value of college societies, 28. Let- ter describing Channing after his return to Cambridge, 84; on his theological studies and o|)portunities, 86. On Chan- ning not a sympatliizer with Hopkin- sianism, 91. Hears Channing preach, for the first time, 92. White, J. Blanco, letters to, 419, 425; on historical Christianity. 446; on book on Slavery, 540 ; on approacliing death, 621 ; on Charles Folleii, 623; on pain, 624. Letter to J. H. Thom, on the death of, 626; to Mrs. Wm. Kathbone, on the same, 627. White River (Vt.), letter from, 329. De- scription of, 330. Whitman, Bernard, two letters on religious liberty, 271. Wife, first letter to, 33. Ruth Gibbs, 319. Wilde, Jaidge S. S., in the case of Knee- land, 503. Instructions of, to the jury, 504. Wilkesbarre, 688. WiUard, President, reasons of, for estab- lishing the office of Regent, 86. Williams, Caleb, recommended, 57. Williams, Wm., classmate of Channing, 25. Letter of, on him as a student, 34. Windermere, Lake, 337, 339. Winnipiseogee, Lake, 329. Witherspoon, Dr., o. Wolstonecraft, Mrs., letters of, superior to Sterne's, 56. The greatest woman of her age, 50. Her " Riglits of Woman " to be studied, 56. Her princii)les on marriage fatal to societ}', 50. Of a masculine mind but feeling heart, 57. Woman, the sense of hersacredness aroused at school, 11; continued through life, 320. Rulers of the world, 32. Faith in the power of disinterested virtue of, 33. The state of, in United States, favorable to domestic happiness. 320. His respect for the rights of. 320 ' The deity of the Catholics a. 610. Home her empire, 610. His honor for, 600. Woolman, .lohn, Charles Lamb on the writ- ings of, 448. Worcester, Noah, Bible News b}'. 187. Let- ter to, on estaljlishiiig tiie " Christian Disciple," 187. Editor of ''Christian Disciple," 284. Father of the peace movement, 284. Letter to, on war, 469; on the book on Slavery, 539; on his growing old, 620. Worcester, Rev. Samuel, reply to letter of, 205. Object of his letter. '206. Wishes to widen the breach between believers, 209, 210. Spirit of his letters to, 272. His remarks on the death of, 273. Words, often mistaken for idi'as. 88. Wordsworth, William, a mental benefactor of Channing, 275. The ICxcursion of, 275. The character of, 276. The influ- INDEX. 719 enceof, over Channing, 276. Sympathy of Channiny with his views of Napoleon and the Freucli Kevolution, 277. Clian- ning's affection for, ;j-ll. Visit to, 34-3. luHuence upon, of a remark of Channing, Worivingmen, hatred of the rich, one cause of a tendency to intidelity in, 481. So- cieties for, 482. Tlie lot of, easier tlian tliat of business or professional men, 514. Dangers of tlieir life, 514 Cir- culation of Chauuing's boolcs among, 686. Wright, Francis, deacon of Federal Street Society, 93. Writing, rules for effective sermon, 301. Wyoming, 087, 688. Young men, movements for the benetit of, 492, 493. Should be admitted to be voters with solemn acts, 581. Zeal, should pervade ministerial duties, 138. Christian, 139. True, 140. University Press : John Wilsou & Son, Cambridge. DATE DUE ■£ ji^mtM^ U '^*''^'*Si. MTff^T*^^ mmmmmm p**** m^ mr^ GAYLORD L PRINTED IN U.S.A. *w Lzi .L >0 O