Is it because you would not hide the flowers Haply, in pity of our naked globe, You lend the shelter of your vestal robe, Haply grown weary of your dark abode, Yet no, ah no! though gentlest things you be, Though frail your wings, you ask no shelt'ring nest, The autumn's luscious fruitage has decay'd, Dead leaves are strewn where late their shadows play'd, The cutting frost, your hardy pioneer, Is busy in the fields with dart and spear! But earth is not all winter, though the trees Although no more, the air now dull and cold, Warm are a thousand hearts, a thousand homes, Go, visit other worlds, or build on seas Go, ere the spring puts forth its infant leaves, Hail spring! hail summer! glorious autumn, hail! J. H. JUN. CONVERSATIONS UPON CHRISTIAN UNITARIANISM, BETWEEN A FATHER AND HIS FAMILY.-No. I. [IT may be objected to the juvenile queries in these Conversations, that they are forced and unnatural; and that the minds of children cannot be supposed to understand, much less feel interested in, the subjects under discussion. To those who have carefully watched the gradual unfolding of youth's opening powers, marked the almost imperceptible developement of its growing capacities, its thirstings after knowledge and information, and the curiosity and eagerness with which it inquires after everything new, this objection, should such a one exist, will be easily confuted. Very young children often evince a seriousness of thought and reflection which is truly surprising, and ask questions that puzzle many an elderly person to reply to. The writer was at one period intimately acquainted with a little girl not more than five years old, who was educated in the Calvinistic faith, and attended closely with an aunt the English Church. The child, possessing a peculiarly contemplative turn of mind, experienced much delight in religious discourse, especially in conversing upon the Unitarian creed. "I can't tell -," she remarked one day to the author of these Conversations, "but I never feel half so comfortable in my chapel, as I feel in yours." Being asked why? she answered, "Because Dr. always speaks as if there were three Gods; now, the Bible tells me there is only one. I am often, also, not sure which I ought to say my prayers to; if I say them to all the three, I fear to ask more of one than another. And yet, all the time there is something in my heart that tells me how it is Miss I should pray to the God whom Jesus Christ prayed to." Ah! I daresay, there is something in all our hearts which echoes back the sentiment of the infantile querist.] "Do you accompany us to chapel to-morrow, Charles?" asked Mr. Mornton of his nephew, a sensible, intelligent lad of fourteen. The latter coloured, and hesitated; "I really do not know, sir; I half promised to go with Horace Melville to hear Mr. A." "Very well, my dear boy, in that respect you may act as you please; I do not wish to exercise any undue influence over your young mind." "But I shall attend with you all in the evening," resumed the former; "nay, if you desire it, shall send an apology to Melville; I cannot forget what my father's wishes were;" and a tear glittered in his eye at the remembrance of a parent so truly beloved. "Your excellent father, Charles," replied Mr. Mornton, kindly taking his hand, wished your mind to be left perfectly free and unbiassed; the change effected in his, was the result of conviction alone, produced by an impartial and careful examination of the Scriptures of truth; let not filial devotion interfere with the duties which you owe to your conscience and Heaven; search candidly the Oracles of God, peruse the best authors on both sides of the question, then judge for yourself." "I often think, Papa," observed Sophia Mornton, a shrewd, clever girl of eleven, "that it doesn't signify very much what we believe, if we love God, and do our duty, and try to act up to our belief; error in opinion cannot be a great sin." "Sophia, how can you talk so?" said her brother Henry, who was exactly a year older than his sister; "it must surely be of vast importance what a person believes; must it not, Papa?" "There is nothing, my dear children, more necessary than that truth should have serious and thorough investigation, in order that correct views of religion may be obtained; allowed errors in faith can never be harmless; one of the great objects of our Saour's mission being, to infuse in the minds of the people just views of God and his providence, and to correct the mistakes which they had imbibed concerning their nature: errors in principle very often tend to errors in practice, as a bad tree produces bad fruit." "All that is true," returned his daughter; "but I meant, that a good life is better than a right faith." "But why would you separate them, Sophia? Should we not endeavour, by God's help, to combine the two?" "Then, Papa," lisped Minna, a sweet prattler of five years, "will only those who go to our chapel go to heaven? and if I were to attend the Church, would Jesus Christ not bless me as he blessed other little children?" "God forbid, my dear little girl, that I should limit the mercy of Infinite Goodness; every one who believes in the Saviour, and lives according to the light they have enjoyed, will be accepted of him. You remember his own words that I read to you yesterday, 'they shall come from the east, and from the west, and from the north, and from the south, and shall sit down in the kingdom of God.' Our duty is, to endeavour to get at truth, to obtain right views of God's moral government; not to rest satisfied with a cold, barren faith, handed down to us from our ancestors, but to search for ourselves the Gospel record, and to live in conformity with what Heaven's law requires." "But how," observed Charles, "can any individual, in this world, tell when he arrives at truth?" "It would be presumption in any human being to presume himself to be infallibly in the right, and his brethren altogether in error. Our views of things in this state must necessarily be very limited and imperfect; here we only know in part, and see through a glass darkly; but, what we believe to be true, is truth to us." "I understand you, now Papa," said Sophia, "and shall for the future read my Bible more attentively, that I may satisfy myself from it why I believe Unitarianism to be the religion of Jesus." Mr. Herbert, the father of Charles, had early imbibed the doctrines of Calvinism; in which faith he had sedulously educated his motherless boy. Impelled by curiosity alone, he one evening, about a twelvemonth before his death, accompanied a friend to the Unitarian Chapel of D- where the Rev. Mr.- from Gwas to preach. The discourse was from these affecting words of our Saviour, "O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me, nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt." In the powerfully impressive language of the speaker, that fell upon the ear in tones of almost more than mortal eloquence, there was no parade or ostentation, no false rhetoric or show of oratory, nothing but the plain simplicity of Gospel truth. Every word he uttered seemed to come from the heart; and in his whole manner, there was such an earnest, deep sincerity, as communicated its influence to the breasts of the most insensible. Never before, had Mr. Herbert listened to any preacher with such wrapt attention. He heard truths such as he had never heard till then. His Almighty Father was portrayed as a God of Love; the Saviour, as his glorious representative, though "a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief;" and as his eyes were rivetted upon the gifted individual, who poured forth the words of truth and soberness, he seemed to him as the messenger of hope and peace. From that hour Mr. Herbert made the subject of religion his peculiar study; he read and re-read the Scriptures of the Old and New Testament; the result may be anticipated, he became a decided Unitarian; and it was the first wish of his heart, that his only child might become a convert to these all-animating views in which he himself so truly delighted and believed. When he found himself stretched on that bed from which he was never to rise, he sent for his brother-in-law, Mr. Mornton, whom he appointed guardian to his orphan boy, and to whom he imparted his latest wish concerning that dear and precious charge. "Let him," faintly articulated the dying man, "do as I did-search the word of God; leave his mind free and unfettered; exercise no undue influence over his opinions; give him the best authors of that denomination of Christians to peruse, and trust the rest to God." "And now, Charles," he murmured still more feebly, "behold how a Unitarian can die;" and he closed his eyes in peace upon this world forever. Two months had elapsed since Mr. Herbert's death. It was a calm, beautiful evening in the end of June; the sky was perfectly serene; a few light clouds alone floated in the air; the last rays of a departing sun gave softer beauties to the varied scenery; all was still, and peaceful, and happy. Mr. Mornton was seated with the children under an aged oak, whose wide-spread branches overhung the entrance to a romantic glen that bounded the western |