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Our limits forbid our proceeding further. We may notice in conclusion, that the whole execution of the work is very beautiful; and that the two first parts contain, together, above sixty Engravings.

ON THE SPIRIT AND MANNERS OF THE EARLY CRISTIANS, AS EXEMPLIFIED IN THE APOLOGY OF TERTULLIAN.

CHRISTIANITY, from the period of its institution, manifested its specific object. it never was intended to foster the pride of the human heart, by allowing its disciples to speculate on its most sublime doctrines and principles; but, by a direct application of its revelations to practical purposes, to restore that dignity and harmony to the soul, which had been so affectingly debased and interrupted. A candid appeal to the sacred Scriptures will shew, that the abuse of Christianity, not its legitimate tendency, laid the foundation of that immense structure of prejudices and superstitions, which has been rearing its head, through successive ages. In defending our religion, therefore, from the attacks of its enemies, reference must be made to the period when its influence was most extensively operative. A fountain, more worthy of being celebrated by genius, than that of Castalia, eighteen centuries ago, poured its refreshing streams upon the world; and, although in their passage to ourselves, they may have contracted some pollutions, the fountain remains the same, and we find pleasure in travelling nearer to its source, to taste its waters in their state of greater purity.

Our design, in this essay, will be the examination of the spirit and manners of the early christians, as they are developed in the apology of Tertullian, one of their most able

advocates in the second century, who, to a correct acquaintance with the language of Rome, is said to have added a lively imagination, impetuous eloquence, an elevated style, and strength of reasoning. Although our limits will forbid our entering largely upon the consideration of his character, yet as the relation it sustains to excellence, will confer proportionable value upon his writings, it may be proper to remark, that he possessed, in addition to the fore-mentioned qualifications, an extensive acquaintance with the scriptures, and at the time he wrote his apology, was distinguished for his piety.

An individual who becomes the defender of any opinions or practices, which are opposed by others; and who, in the prosecution of his design, submits a written statement to the public eye, is supposed to advance such propositions only, as cannot be easily falsified; otherwise, he will be the destroyer of the interests of the cause entrusted to his care. It is no small credit to the christianity of the second century, that, while the edicts of emperors were consigning multitudes to the torture and to death, Tertullian could call upon the whole nation to witness, that no specific charge could be brought against them. The laws of Rome, extending to every description of crime which had attracted the notice of the legislature, from the foundation of the state, were searched in vain for a punishment suitable to the offence of Christianity. Prejudice and ignorance framed the accusation, and brutal violence exacted the penalty. "Not even those who are under the influence of any thing criminal," says Tertullian, "dare to defend it. Our nature would conceal a criminal action, either through fear or shame. Those who do evil, love to be concealed, and dread detection; and when they are accused, will deny the charge; and even when subject to torture, will not always readily confess. But if they are condemned, how great is their sorrow! They excuse themselves, and impute the propensities of their unfortunate dispositions to fate, or to the stars, unwillingly taking that to themselves, which they ac

knowledge to be evil. But in what respect is this like the Christian's character? He is ashamed of nothing, he repents of nothing. If he be defamed, he rejoices- if accused, he defends not himself-being questioned, he willingly confesses-being condemned, he returns thanks to his judges. What kind of evil is this, which has none of its inherent qualities--fear, shame, equivocation, repentance, or grief? What description of crime is this, the perpetrator of which rejoices in it the charge of which is prayed for, and the penalty of which is felicity?"

An Apostle once said, "who is he that overcometh the world, but he who believeth that Jesus is the Son of God?" If this be the proper effect of true faith, then Christians, in this early period, were sincere believers. Defamed by the promoters of a false philosophy, and persecuted by the bulk of the people, they seemed to require no ordinary talent and influence to effect the improvement of their circumstances; and we should suppose this important object would be attempted by men of learning and genius, if any could flourish on such an unpropitious soil. Such there were, and they put forth their powers to rescue the cause of Christ from undeserved contempt. But let their motives be observed. Why did the Christians wish that their principles and conduct should be vindicated? Not that their party might have the ascendancy, but that the truth might appear; not that they might have the favour of emperors and statesmen, but that the honour of God might be promoted. Nothing is requested for our cause itself," says their eloquent advocate, "because its condition excites no surprise. Christianity acknowledges itself to be in a state of pilgrimage upon the earth, and to have come among strangers strongly inimical to its interests. It is of a Divine original, and has its abode, its hope, its beauty, and its dignity in heaven-one thing alone it claims, that it may not be condemned through the ignorance of man respecting its true character."

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A heavenly teacher has told us, that "this is life eternal, to know the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom he

hath sent;" and for the unreserved worship of the Deity in this simple character, the flood of persecution rolled its murderous waves over the hated Church. We who live in an enlightened age, and in a country where scarcely any vestiges of idolatry are remaining, can form but a very inadequate conception of the peculiar situation of the seceders from the common faith of that age. The very land on which they resided was consecrated to the service of false deities, and every spot on which the eye could rest bore the name of a celestial guardian. The polite idolater, as well as his rude inferior, held the traditions received from their forefathers with religious reverence; and to speak lightly of the country's gods, was to throw contempt upon every thing held sacred, and to endanger the interests of the com. munity at large. In the presence of the temples, the priests, the sacrifices, and the various rites of the pagan worship, the disciples of Christ were to declare,—“ this is life eternal, to know the only true God and Jesus Christ whom he hath sent." Did they shrink from a duty fraught with ruin and death? When they thought of men, perhaps they did, but when their faith beheld the almighty Being whom they adored, and their affections estimated the value of the Saviour, they hesitated no longer; but exclaimed, "This one God is our God for ever and ever, he will be our guide, even unto death."

That such was the spirit of the christians in this early age, the writings of Tertullian and others abundantly prove. He wrote his apology in a time of great persecution, and there shows the absurdity of polytheism, the sublime conceptions which the disciples of Christ had of the Deity, and their determination to hold fast the profession of their faith, without wavering. Surely this was true religion, supported by principle, attended by affliction, and cheered by the expectation of eternal happiness.

To be continued.

THE RECLUSE.

A Fragment.

WITHIN the forest's wilds I saw his cell-
Returning from the chase I loved so well,
My steps had wandered from the haunts of men,
To the lone desert and the savage glen.

I feared at first it was the caverned lair

Of savage beast that nursed its fierceness there;
Nor deemed that man, in his most sullen mood,
Could cherish life in such grim solitude.

The dusky might was throwing fast around
Her deepening shadows o'er the darkened ground;
The moon, enveloped in a humid vest,

Lost half her light, and fitful lent the rest,
As grief obscures the brightness of the eye,
And dims the glance that beams so shiningly.
A storm seemed gathering, and th' awakened blast
Muttered deep howlings as it hurried past.

But now a dubious light, before unseen,
Tho' it had shone-so faint its light had been,-
Obliquely glancing from the cavern, shewed

That man held there (strange choice!) his lone abode,
Within the mountain's side that cell was made,

And rugged trees formed round a gloomy shade.
Betwixt their branches tremblingly I passed,
And stood within that tomb-like house at last.
A rude earth lamp, whose ray my path had led,
A lurid glare around the cavern shed:
Flick'ring and reeling burnt its fitful flame,
As thro' the opening, gustful breezes came.

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