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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-