Newspaper Page Text
No. 42— You Vl.]
From the Christian Watchman.
INCONSISTENCY IN PROFESSORS
OF RELIGION.
The sue rode high and had dissipated the
squalls of spring. Nature dressed in her
gayest robes invited me to puisne an object
which required me to visit a distant port.
1 stepped on board the Volant, a fine ves
sel commanded by Captain . He
had all the careless Poiighness of a sea far
ing man without the revolting vices com
mon in that profession. At our first inter
view, I perceived him a gentleman without
polish, possessed of humanity without its
weakness, capable of friendship, requiring
none pf the common pledges for its securi
ty, ynd sociable without affectation. A
long voyage and much intercourse confirm
ed my conjectures concerning him, and left
upon my heart the traces of high esteem.
A geotlemao who took passage, with us,
who appeared to have read some, and seen
a little of the world, put every means in
requisition to exert an influence over all on
board. He was a disciple of the French
schools, and professed an unbounded hatred
to Revelation. He was admirably qualified
for his undertaking. He had some knowl
edge of the ancient and modern Philoso
phers, unbounded effrontery, great loqua
tvit, and an air of the inmost
confidence when he advanced a position.
One-fine evening, heing a dead calm, the
passengeVs, the officers and the hands mix
ing promiscuously upon deck, in the midst
of desultory conversation, nur enlightened
reformer made a number of remarks upon
Ihe unreasonableness of Revelation, and en
deavoured to support them by references to
scripture facts. He particularly referred
to the villany of old Alosps and the ferocity
of his slaves, who destroyed the nations of
Canaan without provocation, and then laid
it to God. 1 asked him whether be believ
ed the books of MoSes, to be authenlick his
tory. ffe hesitated to answer. I said, as a
fair disputant he 5 was hound to take In
ground, and 1 would take mine, adding, if .
you do not believe them, your conduct is
scarcely rational, to vent your ill feelings
upon those who yon do not believe ever to
have had existence. He said, he believed
the facts stated, bm it was naturally and
morally impossible for God to have any
hand in it. I a-ked him whether he believ
ed in the being of God, and that he exercis
ed any control over the affairs of this world,
such as plagues, famines, earthquakes,
thunder gusts, and such evils. He replied
in the affirmative. I asked whether it were
supposable that God could be angry with
and chastise men or nations for any sin they
might commit. He said yes. I asked whai <
was the difference between God's making
use of o r e nation to scourge another, and 1
employing a famine, a plague, or an earth i
quake for such a purpose? He wa* silent
for a few minutes, and as the passengers and
crew enjoyed a laugh at his expen-e, he
lost his temper ar.d became very abusive.
The Captain interfered and informed him,
if he wished to debate the subject as a gen
tleman, there was liberty for him to do it;
but he would not suffer indeceut abue on
hoard the ship which he commanded. The
dgbate ended, and we retired to our res-
births for the night. ” Next morn
irtfr, just as the sun was pouring obliquely,
a blaze of glory upon the bosom of the
ocean,’ disturbed with nothing but a gentle
ripple, I saw our Captain abaft, leaning over
the taffeyel and gazing'in the wake of the
ship, in that .attitude which indicated deep
thought rather than interest from any iran
sieut circumstance connected with the state
of (he water or the vessel. Good morning,
Captain, how do you do? Good morning,
Sir—Poor fellow, I pity him from my heart.
Mr Come hither and I’M
tell you why. It is possible he may have
fallen into bad hands, like myself. Some
corrupt professors may have made him an
enemv to that Book, which, however we
may hate, we cannot reason down. My fa
,ther was a Presbyterian minister in the
jtolate.of Massachusetts. He was, accord
mg to report, a good man and a faithful pa 9
tor. I remember but little of him, he died
when I was eight years of age, but he lives
yet in the affection of a few of the old peo
ple. J have his library and manuscript
sermons. I have a melancholy, painful
-grafificafion in looking them over when I
am in port. I indulge in this sometimes
till my heart is ready to burst in thinking
tiow much em and suffering I might have
avoided, had such a father lived to be the
gnide and tutor of my youth. Well! he is
gone, and the sea imy home. A paternal
uncle, an old rascal!—forgive me, Sir, my
feelings are naturally quick,—A paternal
uncle, a Deacon of his Church, who lived
in the village and kept a store, took me into
his family, that my education and morals
might not be neglected. Every one ap
plauded this act of humanity and generosity.
Young was now provided for, they
said. This man, Sir, was of a very singu
lar composition. He was uncommonly re
ligious without any consistency. He was a
standard for.alLthe neighbourhood, of or
thodox sentiments, and would defend them
with tears and arguments which procured
hitn'a name for being the’fhost piohs man in
all the village. We had (amity prayer
twice a day; and on Sunday, if the young
the missionary.
people were trifling, they were severely
reprimanded; but all this was mixed with
passioD, caprice, covetousness and injustice.
In the store there were as many different
prices of articles as there were probabilities
of successful fraud. Intimate friends who
were not likely to purchase elsewhere, and
the poor who could .not, because they
wanted credit, were sure to pay high. Be
ing a relative and supposed dependant, I
had his confidence, and was frequently em
ployed to fill op the spirit casks with water
at night; I have been engaged to suit sand
to the colour of the sugar and many such
little offices. I have heard him declare
when about to spII an article that it cost
him much more than l knew be gave for it.
I remember numerous instances of false
hood and lying, which, there is not a fellow
before the mast of this ship hut would tp
ashamed of. My father, Sir, had given me
an abhorrence for falsehood and drunken
ness, but my employer would encourage in
his store a set of base fellows, tippling for
half a day, while their poor wires and fain
ilies were half starved, and half naked, and
when they were intoxicated charge them
more than was just. I judged, Sir, of Ihe
nature of religion from the conduct of those
who professed it, and as this man was in
high reputation, I concluded that he was as
good if not better than others. I hated the
oame of religion, and associated it with ev
pry thing that was vile; hut the following
circiiDslanco fixed my resolution and sealed
my fete. One day a tippler entered the
store, who had already drank too much. I
knew his family, and IVIt for the poor chil
dren who were pinched with cold and hun
ger. He called to me rather roughly for a
glass of spirit. I pleasantly told him he
had better send some crackers and cheee
to his children. His rage had no bound-.
Myself !M:d father were objects of the mbs!
indecent a hose, which terminated with beat
log me with a cord which he took from the
head of a cask. “You,” said be, “are a
limb of the old priest, I was forced to coo
.tribute during his life to votir support- and
that of the rest of the chicks. Hold your
tongue and get me what I want, or I will
wring off your bastard’s head ” My uncle
heard all this, came and shook hands with
him, handed him a chair, and assured me if
ever 1 took such liberty with one of his
friends again, he would severely chastise
me. and dismiss me his house. I made no
reply. Night Came, and at eleven o’clock
I lett (he hated habitation, a friendless hoy,
and the next morning at sunrise, 1 was in
Boston. 1 went on board the brig Fanny,
that forenoon, and in her I took my first
trip. As I had been leuderly treated in my
early days at (he parsonage, you will guess
I had something to encounter. I used
sometimes to sigh under my hard-hips;
curses and oaths at eight seemed at first a
poor preparative for rest. But these men
were better than the Deacon; they were
what they professed In he, and he was a vile
hypocrite. I now. Sir, substituted Paine,
Voltaire, and Vnluey, for the Bible, the
ocean for tfip peaceful village, and Ihe
rough, honest infidelity of a ship’s crew, for
the family of an artful hypocrite. Since
those days I have read and thought much.
Some mouths ago, being on deck one dark
squally night, the thought of my father took
possession of my mind and heart. I had
read some papers he left, expressive of hi*
religious sentiments, and his reasons for
them. The inquiry rushed upon me, was
he an honest man ? Was he n man of judge
ment? Report furnishes an affirmative to
both. Why then his sentiments ought to
be examined. A hypocrite has driven me
to infidelity ; but there are hypocrites in
every department. My father recommend
edjthe. Bible; I will read it, and judge for
myself. I did so, and, though I am no
Christian, yet I believe that Book is true,
and came from God. I was glad to hear it
defended last night. You have safe ground,
Sir; I know all their arguments. Remove
from religion the erronrs Os Establishments,
the follies of fanaticks, and the inconsisten
cies of false professors, and infidelity is
starved and gagged. If ever I should visit
the village where the old hypocrite lives,
I’ll stir up a fine breeze with him. Forgive
me, Sir, (hat would be wrong perhaps. I
was a fool that it did not occur to me that
no system is to be judged of from the con
duct of those who hold it. I either ought
to have examined religion for myself, or
have placed dependence, if too young for
the task, upon the wise and virtuous. But*
Sir, youth is rash ; and I am yet too precip
itate and violent. A ship is a bad school
for self-government. I hope God will for
give the old man and me, and enable me to
forgive him; he is my father’s brother af
ter all. I have done wrong myself in a
thousand instances, and if I had gone to Da
vy’s locker, I had met with a bad birth, and
worse crew than ever manned a pirate.
“ One sinner destroyeth much good.”
—■w’xxtcetxxo—-
GEORGE TAMOREE.
A civil war has broken out in Atooi, one
of ihe Sandwich islands, formerly un
der the dominion of king Tamoree, whose
death we announced. George -Tamoree,
(son of the old king, who was educated at
the Foreign Mission School at Cornwall,
1 Connecticut, was at the head of the rebel
lion, the occasion of which Was as follows.
Os all the dispositions and hfbiutitt ® nd Gospel to every creature.--/,-™, Christ.
habits which lead to politic# prospentj, Religion and Morality are indispensable supports. -.Washington.
MOUNT ZION, (HANCOCK COUNTV,~6EORGIA,) MONDAY, APRIL 25, 1825.
The old king at his dfeath, having no con
fidence in George, bequeathed his proper
ty aDd the tslaod of Atooi to Kritnokoo
(sometimes called Billy- Pitt) and another
chief, in trust fpr Ribo-riho, who was then
in England. George probably regarded
this arrangement as a violation of his rights.
In connexion, therefore, with two other
chiefs and a party of the natives of Atooi,
he rebelled, and attempted to take posses
sion of the fort at Wimaah one of the strong
holds of Atooi, but was repulsed by Krimo
koo, who immediately after sent td Woa
hoo for reinforcemeqts. A thousand men
soon arrived, attacked George and his par
ty’, routed them, killed cine of the insurgent
chiefs, and took another captive, while
George fled to the mountains, where, at
the latest intelligence, he had escaped the
vigilance of his pursuers. The missiona
ries express no apprehensions in regard to
their own persona! safety or the general
tranquillity of the islands. The affair has
doubtless terminated lorig before this,
with the capture of George and his par-
The Missionaries have retained through
out this affair the entire confidence of all
the principal chiefs.
If has been said in some of the papers,
that George was sent out to the Sandwich
islands by the American Board of Foreign
missions, and an impression has been left
that he was m some way connected with
the mission to those islands. This is not
true. His history is briefly this : When
he was about seven years old, his father,
(she late king Tamoree) who was partial
to the Americans, and desirous that his son
should receive an education, committed him
to the Captain of an American ship, who
agreed to bring him to this country, and
educate him. To defray the expenses of
of his education. Tamoree gave the Cap*
tain several thousand dollars. George ar
rived in Boston about the year 1801, and
was sent to Worcester, where he remain
edat school till the property was all ex
pended, and Ihe Captain died. He WHS
then removed from one-family and place
to another in the neighbourhood of Wor
cester, till at length becoming dissatisfied
with his situation, he went to Boston and
enlisted in the naval service of the United
States. This wa-during nur last war with
Great Britain. He was in the Enterprise
during her action with the Boxer, and was
badly wounded in that engagement. He
also served on hoard the G’urriere in Ihe
Mediterranean, and assisted in capturing
an Algerine frigate. After the termina
tion of the war, be was again thrown upon
the world, and destitute of friends, ragged,
dirty and in want, he was found in the Na
vy Yard at Charlestown; by some benevo
lent persons who, having bexome acquaint
ed with his early history, look him under
their protection, and soon after committed
hint to the care of the American Board of
Counmi-sioners for Foreign Missions, who
resolved to give him an education, and send
him back to his father. Accordingly he
went to Cornwall,-and was there instructed
in the common branches of learning, and in
the doctrines and duties of Christianity. His
conduct, however, was the occasion of
much grief to his friends. In 1819, he
wpnl out with the missionaries to the Sand
wich Islands On his arrival at Atooi, he
was joyfully received by his father, who
manifested (be warmest gratitude to the
missionaries for their agency io restoring
to him his long lost son, and was ever af
terwards their firm friend and supporter.
But George soon became so dissipated and
worthless, that his father lost all confidence
in him, and at his death, was unwilling as
we have seen, that he should be bis suc
cessor.
From this briefstatement it will be seen
that the American Board are not at all re
sponsible for the conduct of George, for
he has never been in their employment,
and has never enjoyed their confidence.—
By educating him and restoring him to bis
father, they expected to secure the friend,
ship of a chief whose good offices would be
of important service to (heir missionaries.
In this they have not been disappointed.
[AT. V. Observer.
Extract from Irving's Orations.
RETRIBUTIONS OF ETERNITY.
In all the passages where Christ speaks
of the two states of retribution, it is always
with the strongest possible assurance of
their eternity. His words are, * everlasting
punishment, everlasting fire prepared for
Ihe devil and his angels;’ ‘into hell, into
the fire that never shall be quenched,
where their worm dieth not, and their fire
is not quenched.’ This last expression, the
most direful of all, he repeats three tiroes
in the compass of one short discourse. The
opposite condition of the righteous is de
scribed in terms equally expressive of eter
nal endurance. I do not remember, and
have not been able to discover, any one
passage of scripture where it is written that
Ihe conditions of good and ill which follow
judgement will have an end. On (be con
trary, wherever in the writings of the apos
ties they are alluded to, they are spoken
of as irreversible aud irremediable. Nev
ertheless there arc passages having an in
direct reference to this subject, which have
been thought to speak a different language,
and, seizing hold of (hem, some Christians,
with Origen at their head, have given to
the words Eternity and Everlasting, a lim
ited sense. The passages I refer to are in
Paul’s writings, where he speaks of the
universality “ of the free gift through Jesus.
Christ, unto justification of* life;” nod “As
in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be
made alive.” This latter passage receives
its explanation from that nhich immediate
ly follows; ‘ Every man in his own order,
Christ the first fruits, afterward they that
are Christ’s at bis coming.’ No place in
the “ all who shall be made alive in Christ,”
being fouttd for those who are not his. And
in very troth, all are made alive in Christ.
For without his subjugation of death and
the grave, we are given to understand that
all men would have continued subject to
their dominion. So that he is the Prince
of life to all, though to some a life of hap
piness, to others a life of sorrow. The for
mer passage cannot be mistaken by any
person who will read the fifth chapter of
the Romans, in which it is found, where
those who shall reign in life by Jesus-Christ
are only such as receive abundance of
grace, and of the gift of righteousness. The
true interpretation of these, and other pas
sages where Christ is said to have died for
all, is this, That he hath offered the gift
of eternal life as a frpe donation to the
world, without any preference or hinder
ance of any one. But there would be no
use or value in the donation, if it were not
to deliver us from some slate to which we
lay exposed. If eternal life would have
come of course to all, then it would have
been vain glorious in Christ to have taken
the merit of btingitig it within our reach.
But in bringing it within the reach of all,
he may be said as truly to have died for
all and given life to all, as a king who gives
a constitution to all his subjects, may Le
said to give liberty to them all; though it
be well known that a free constitution
contains within its bosom, bonds and
imprisonment and death to those who
do crimes deserving of such condemnation.
So the constitution of Christ is a constitu
tion of everlasting life and glory to all who
know it, although it contain wittiio its
breast,death and damnation to those who
commit crimes deserving of such a fate.
It will bear a question; that so far as
revelation is to lie believed, it bears that
the conditions of the righteous and wicked
are irreversible. The whole structure of
revelation bears it engraven upon every
part of it. If there bad been a time at
which hell was to have been unpeopled,
that were so important an era as to have
merited the amplest details; andyet a hint
of it is not given. If the punishment of
hell were meant for the reformation of Ihe
reprobate people, then certainly they
would not have been committed to the dev
il and his angels, who are but indifferent
reformers; and some insight would have
been given us into the means and nature of
the reformation, instead of assurances that
the smoke of their torment ascendeth up
forever and ever. 1 nnderstand how this
world is a state of probation, because we
constantly stand exposed to good and evil,
with notices from God of both, with power
from him to perform the one and inclina
tions of nature to perform the other. But
it were not a slate of probation, if there
were a second state of probation to follow
after. For probation doth not lead to pro
bation, but to issues. It is very extraordi
nary (bat heaven is presented always upon
the condition of our abiding steadfast and
immoveable, if, whether we abide so ornot,
this heaven will come to each one of us.
There must be another gospel preached in
that state of purgatory, other opportuni
lies of good afforded by these angels of the
devil, to whose company they are consign
ed, before the purificatian can take place
upon which theyjeign that they shall pass
into heaven.
SCOTCH ELOQUENCE.
The preaching and writings of the Rev.
Edward Irving, minister of the Caledonian
Church, Hatton Garden, London, have re
cently awakened much attention in the re
ligious world. He has a manner and style
peculiar to himself; so that his qualifies
lions have been disputed, and his singular
merits have been received with an almost
unexampled difference of opinion. Mr.
Canning declared that he is the only man
who conveys to him an idea of what Paul
must hare appeared when he addressed
the Athenians.” The British Monitor
says of him ;
“ Mr. Irving’s countenance is full of the
most commanding expression. Like his
writings, there is a wild irregularity about
it, but it is the irregularity of genius. It is
like the mountain cataract of bis own ro
mantick country—it is bold, vigorous, sub
lime, and even appalling. There is noth
ing of the brook’s clear crystal about it;
but there are moments too, when it seems
to reach its resting place, and to subside
into a calm serenity, as the sky reflected
in a sleepy wave. This is peculiarly visi
hie when he descants upon the charms of
“ Divine Philosophy.” At such a moment,
so placid is his appearance, that the most
incredulous must feel with the poet—
[Prtce $3 HO per aim.
“ How charming is Divine philosophy !
Not liarsli and ciabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical, as is Apollo’s lute ;
And S perpetual feast of nectar’d sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns.”
The action of ME Irving is said to com
bine those requisites so rarely found united
—grace and power.
“ In his lonely musings, when he would
describe the beatitudes of a solitary Bfe— 1
when be reasons with his willing follow
er, — when he lead# him ‘ from nature op
to nature’s God,’ there is in his action a
waning kindness which soon obtains a gen
tle ascendency over the minds of faiVaudi
ence. This wa9 beautifully illustrated in
the delivery of the latter part of the fol
lowing passage :
“ ‘ Now, if you be aroused to think, let
us argue together, and bring things to an
issue. What hinders yon front giving vour
habits to the Divine Institutions? Early
habits hinder, the world’s customary sash-
and passion hinders, and a
whole insurrectionary host of feeliogs mus
ter against the change- Well, he it granted
that a troop of joys most be put to flight,
and a whole host of pleas and feelings be
subdued, then what is lost ? Is honour lst ?
Is fortune lost ? Is God’s providence cared
away ? Hath the world slipped from be
neath your feet, and does the air of H< av
en no longer breathe fresh around yon ?
Has life deceased, or are your faculties of
happiness foregone ? Change— thje dread
of charge, is all. The change of society
and habits, with the loss of some; few per
ishable gayetirs. Non fi t us reason tegeth-”
er. Is it not that as great'a change, beu ‘
Jtour physician chaotbr fs you up, aod res
tricts your company to nurses, and your di
et to simples ? Is not that as great a change,
when you leave the dissipated city, out
worn with its excitements, and live with
solitude and inconvenience in yoi;r summer
quarters? And is not that a greaterchange,
which stern law makes when it mures up
our per=on, and gives uS outcasts tocompa
ny with ? and w here is the festive life of
those who sail the wide Oceans ? and where
tbe gayeties of the caropaigniogsoidier ?
and how does the wandering beggar brook
his scanty life ? If, for the sake of a pained
limb you will undergo the change, will you
not for the removal of eternal pHins of spir
it and of flesh ? If. for a summer of refresh
ment amongst tbe green of ‘earth and the
freshness of ocean, ye will undergo the
change, will ve not for the rich contents of
Heaven ? And if, at the command of law
ye will, and if for gain the sailor will, and
for honour the soldier will, and for neces
sity the strolling beggar will,—men and
brethren, wjll ye not, to avoid Hell, to
reach HeuveD, to please the voice of God
to gain the inheritance of wealth and hon
our, and to feed your spirits’ starved ue
cessite?—oh men, will ye not muster reso
lution to enterprise the change?’’
He has a dialect almost peculiar to him
self and his language generally bespeaks
an educated mind and a powerful imagina
tion. The extracts from bis writings
which we have seen are replete with Scot
ticisms, roost of which will probably .be uo
pleasing to American ears. Tbe Monitor,
before quoted, says;—
“His style, however; is unlike any
Scotchman’s with whose writings we ure
acquainted. It is strange; but it is grand,
original, and occasionally beautiful ; it has
much of the fervour and vigorous imagina
tion of Burke ; it has not Ihe continuity of
Alisoo, nor the unfailing argument of Chal
mers. Like Grattan he abounds in striking
metaphor, hut he seldom attempts Jhe an
tithesis in which Grattan so much delight
ed. His thoughts are often sublime, cloth
ed occasionally in the most brilliant lan
guage, but more often recommended by
eoergetick and nervous declamation. Hts
language is always the phrase of an educa
ted mind. It has charms for all men ; th&
most highly gifted orators of the day, yet
each differing in the attributes of bis elo
quence, Canning, Brougham, Sir J Mackin
tosh, and Charles Phillips, are all to be
seen struggling for admission to Hatton-
Garden Church, and all equally attentive
to, and equally interested with, the preach
er. Yet in their oratory these men have
scarcely a single quality in common. The
poli-hed phrase and stinging epithet* of
Canning—the irregular but irresistible
strength of Brougham—lhe stately period
and splendid declamation of Mackintosh
and the beautiful imaginings, and the rain
bow pictures of Phillips— all find something
congenial in the style or manner of oor
preacher. We are anxious to abstain from
quoting more than may be just sufficient
to satisfy our readers of Mr. Irving’s gen
eral style, and of the truth of the opinion
which we have already hazarded. The
passage which we now cite, is contained in
the argument fhr Judgement to come, and
it is, we think, a just specimen of oor au
thor’s style, and of his bold and rtsolute
censuring where he feels disapprobation to
have been merited;—
Ol sensual life it is not necessary <to
speuk at length,seeing it is so familiar toeve
ry man, having been at some time or other
the very darling of bis heart. JPconsisls
in the delight which the body has with all
the sensual object* of the earth; tbe delight*
of touch and fleshly intercourse: tiie gra-