Shall I speak of him as pastor and preacher? With every particular, touching the traits of his character upon these interesting points, you are well acquainted. Your generous affection and kindness through the long period of his ministry, may be taken as sufficient evidence, that you "esteemed him highly in love for his work's sake." It may be thought needless to say, and yet it is grateful to remember, with what tenderness and vigilance he regarded your welfare; with what joy of heart and thanksgiving to God he beheld the enlargement of this church, in consequence of repeated and very powerful revivals. I think, too, that your affections will rise in gratitude to the infinite fountain of blessings, as you recollect, with what kindness and affectionate fidelity be attended the sick, guiding their meditations and devotions; with what sympathy of feeling, and fervency of prayer, and strength of faith, he commended the dying to the compassion and grace of an almighty Redeemer. Nor can you soon forget with what effect he administered the only satisfying consolation to mourners, teach ing them to "ascribe righteousness unto their Maker," and directing their sorrowful hearts to Him who has said unto his disciples, "peace I leave with you, my peace give I unto you." In literature, science, and theology, bis attainments were extensive and high. They must have been the result of study, employed by natural talents of a superior order, and animated, there is good reason to believe, by the love of that religion which he taught in the name of his Lord and Master. The refinement of his literary taste was adapted to that style of composition which expresses truth in the plainest language without vulgarity. That good sense which is derived from experience and scripture, with correctness of expression and great perspicuity, constituted a prominent feature of his discourses. Hence, as I have thought, arose the remark frequently made by persons of no pretentions to critical skill upon these subjects, that they could always and easily understand him." Regulated by the taste which he had so judiciously cherished for the communication of light, as far as possible to every mind, be seems not to have been studious of rhetorical ornament in his compositions for popular instruction. The flowers of rhetoric he viewed as mere blossoms, not fruit. For a moment, they may please a vain fancy, but uever strengthen the mind with nutritious food; never prepare the heart to feel the evil of sin and its need of salvation. For the public delivery of divine truth, he was favoured, though not with the greatest strength, yet with uncommon clearness of voice. Persons whose ears were, in some measure, impaired by infirmity or age, could, therefore, hear him better, and perceive his meaning with greater facility and exactness, than they could distinguish the words and apprebend the sentiments expressed by many others, whose voices had more force, but were less clear, and uttered with an articulation less distinct. When he found that age, with its inevitable decays, was rendering it difficult for him to perform, to his own satisfaction, the many parochial duties required by a numerous people, he desired and received a colleague, your surviving and highly esteemed pastor. This greatly alleviated his burden, and unquestionably added much to the comfort of his declining years. Your kindness to himself and his family he tenderly felt, and often mentioned with gratitude to God and to you. On the subject of attainments in personal piety, it may be said, that God only has a perfect knowledge of the heart, amidst the darkness and deceptions of the present life. This should caution us to beware of confidence and presumption in the opinions we form, concerning the spiritual state of others, exclusive of those unhappy individuals whose notorious impiety makes us certain that they are yet" dead in trespasses and sins." Let me add, that I come not here to celebrate the praises of the deceased. His name and his memory have no need of my feeble efforts in their commendation. The decision of his spiritual state is with a righteous Judge. He is gone to a tribunal before which no cloak of hypocrisy can ever be sufficient to conceal the heart. To the same tribunal, brethren, must we soon be called. Let us effectually seek preparation for an acquittal there, through "him that hath loved us, and given himself for us." But you and I, unless I err greatly, bave seen a long and uniform testimony, that the venerable man of whom I speak, did live near to God, and did very steadily enjoy the light of the divine countenance. His religion bore the stamp of cheerfulness united with humility. It was the sunshine of a day generally clear, but mild in temperature, and rarely overcast with clouds. I know not whether religion was as much, with him, an every day topic of conversation, as it is with some others. But there appeared to be an habitual and predominating savor of divine things. His acquaintance with the scriptures has not, I suppose, been often exceeded. His devotional services and sermons were, of course, richly stored with the sure word of God. He used to say, " if we correctly employed the scriptures, in our public la* Rev. CALEB J. TENNEY, installed co!league pastor, March 27th, 1816. bours, we might be certain of having some thing right." I have seen him under trials, when I thought I had rarely found equal evidence of divine support. In the retired and free conversation of friendship, he has given such an account of his religious views and experience; of his doctrinal belief; of his evidence for hope; and of his supreme desire to please Christ in the work assign ed him; as seemed in a high degree evangelical, as well as instructive. I do not advert to such facts for the purpose of proving his piety. I have no disposition to imagine that one of his acquaintance has a doubt upon that point. But I mention them, because I trust, that you delight with me to meditate on that state of mind which enables the believer to" rejoice evermore," though passing to glory through much tribulation." now His support under trials was just no mentioned. One instance, in particular, is recollected as worthy to be noticed here, out of many that might be mentioned. You doubtless remember numbers in which the graces of heavenly piety were manitested, affording that precious consolation which this world has certainly no power to impart. His eldest son was a youth of the most flattering promise. He was one of those wise children that make a glad father, You who are parents can realize, in some measure, the strength of that hold which be must have had upon parental affection. I knew him well. During two years and a half, he was my much respected and beloved pupil. But, like us, he was mortal; "neither is there any discharge in that war." He sunk gradually by disease into the arms of death. On the morning of his decease, I went into the house, not knowing that he was gone. I soon entered the room in which the corpse lay. I stood by it, feeling the necessity of bowing in submission to the sovereignty of God, under a stroke so mysterious. The father was the other side of the apartment, with his face opposite to the door through which I passed, and did not observe me when I entered. Soon perceiving me, however, he came, and look. ing at the deceased with a calmness and serenity which seemed to be emanations of the heavenly and gracious presence, said; "I have cause to bless God. I have not known the time since the childhood of that youth, in which he was not a person of prayer." The conversation which followed bore strong evidence of proceeding from a mind at peace with God; of a mind that could honestly say, "though he slay me, yet will I trust in him." To me it appeared as if such supports must come from a source far above and beyond what nature and reason, education and refinement can possibly produce. Many of you know the devout and heavenly state of mind which he manifes ted during his lucid intervals, whether partial or entire, since the first of those strokes was given that terminated in mortality. Numerous are the causes which derange the mental faculties, without producing violent distraction. A fever and paralysis are some of these causes. The understanding and power of attention to present objects, lose their wonted energies. Events now taking place are little regarded, and soon cease to be recollected. At the same time friends are known. The person suffering this affliction, calls them by name, and gives rational answers. But he seems to be lost as to the place in which he is, and the infirmities which lay him low. Present events vanish like dreams of the night. Persons in this situation are generally observed to talk much, though incolerently. Subjects most familiar to them when in health, still occupy their minds. About these they speak. We now see, without disguise, what their habits of feeling and thought had been. The pions are observed to speak of God and religion. They show that their babits of thinking and affection had been heavenly; and that divine things, the word, and worship, and praise of God had formed the leading employment of their souls. Such was eminently the fact with this servant of God. The scriptures were much in his mind, and often repeated. Prayer employed his tongue, though frequently in broken accents. But it was not the prayer of terror and alarm. It appeared to be that of confidence in God, and full of hope in Christ." Answers to Correspondents. T. T.D-n's communication is returned to the place directed. ANONYMOUS is informed that the secret to which he alludes has already been in our possession three or four months; a regard to expediency has prevented its disclosure. M. S., L. L.; and several communications without signatures, are received. THE CHRISTIAN SPECTATOR. No. II.] FEBRUARY 1, 1822. Keligious Communications. For the Christian Spectator. No. I. [VOL. IV. deemer; look back to those happy days which immediately succeeded your espousals to Christ. Can you summon a distinct impression of what then passed in your minds? If you can, you have already a clearer view of the meaning of the Christian's first love, than any person who has never had such experience, can gain from the best description. Still, something more is necessary than barely to advert to early experience. For it is not every feeling that may swell the bosom of the young convert, that is to be taken into the account. There may be an exultation of feeling produced by the novel If we would gain some idea of stern reproof and unbending requisition, mingled and tempered with perfect tenderness of affection, we have but to peruse the letters which Christ indicted to the seven churches of Asia. How admirable a specimen of this divine combination, is found in the address to the church of Ephesus. Nothing can be more affecting than the kindness with which Christ pronounces his approbation of all that was good in the feelings, doctrines, labors, and patience of that church ;-ty of the scene and the hope of gaining and nothing more dignified and overawing than his reproof for their relapse and his call to repentance: 'Nevertheless, I have somewhat a gainst thee, because thou hast left thy first love.' This language is addressed to us as truly as to those who dwelt at Ephesus. The countenance which then smiled with the complacency of heaven on all that was commendable among them, now beams alike on all that is good among us. And the same eye that detected their faults, like a flame of fire now penetrates our hearts. Moved, then, at once by the goodness and the severity of our God and Saviour, let us open our hearts to the instruction he has left us on the subject of our first love. To do this effectually, it may be useful to consider I. What is meant by the Christian's first love. Disciples of the ReVol. 4.-No. II. 8 future bliss, which is distinct from love to Christ. Indeed, he who embraces the hypocrite's hope, may experience as great exultation of animal feeling as he who is truly united to Christ. It is obvious, too, that what results merely from novelty, in the true convert, cannot continue when the novelty has passed away. These intimations may lead us to distinguish between what properly belongs to our first love, and ought to remain permanent, and what merely accompanies the scene—is of a doubtful character while it lasts— and must necessarily vanish with the lapse of time. The following are some of the characteristics that mark the first love of a true convert. He has admiring views of Christ. The clearness of views and degree of admiration, may greatly vary in different persons. But by no new-born soul is he any longer regarded as an ideal character-or one of jarring at tributes--or one with whom we have no concern. On the contrary, he is regarded as standing in a most endearing relation to us-as possessed of the most glorious and harmonious attributes the chief among ten thousand and altogether lovely. He is admired, adored, and loved in all his offices, as prophet,priest,king, judge, and final rewarder. The new convert is sometimes lost in delightful astonishment while contemplating the perfections of his Saviour;-and scarcely less astonished at himself, that he should never before have had this realizing view of the character so plainly delineated in the scriptures. As he now reads the passages that treat of him, they seem to bring the divine Saviour right before the mind, as a living, present, adorable, and most lovely being. And with this admiring view, the affections go forth with that peculiar glow which is denominated the Christian's first love. There is a delight in his conscious presence, often so enrapturing as to kindle the hope that no external circumstances nor selfish object can ever interrupt or destroy it. All creation seems clothed with his presence, and beaming with his glory. It is enough, exclaims the happy soul, that I may be permitted to behold the light of his countenance. It changes earth into heaven. It is too much, for so worthless and guilty a being, to hope thus forever to bask in the bright and healing beams of the sun of righteousness. In the fervor of first love, there is mingled an inexpressible gratitude to the divine Saviour. Christ, with all his majestic and lovely perfections, has freely offered himself to be ours; our prophet, our priest, our king, our present joy, our endless bliss. This the soul feels; and that all here enjoyed and all hoped for in heaven, is the purchase of his obedience unto death. Peculiarly is it grateful for converting grace and justifying mercy. Looking back to its recent state of total alienation-its stupid insensi bility and mad rebellion, it can no otherwise account for a change that now seems almost incredible in the face of its own consciousness, than by exclaiming, 'even so,' divine Saviour, "for so it seemeth good in thy sight'— eternity will be short enough to speak forth the gratitude I owe thy grace. The early feelings of a true convert are also marked by a delightful submission. Such a Saviour is worthy of being my king. I am not worthy to be his subject: but if he will deign to call me such, it shall be my felicity to take the station his pleasure may assign. I ask not the privilege to choose my own condition or employment. My most privileged happiness shall be to accomplish his pleasure. No employment can be delightful but that which he shall sanction. Beneath his notice as I am, if he can have any preference what I should do-where or what I should be, no condition can make me happy but that which he shall prefer. Submission like this, though varying in degree in different persons, is a mark of the love we have described. The soul ceases to insist upon even its own salvation as a condition of loving Christ. Not that it ceases to have a preference between heaven and hell. The preference is tenfold greater than ever; for by its joyful anticipation, it is now brought to feel something of the worth of heaven. But it has a greater preference for the glory of Christ; and is ready to say, shall not the Judge of all the earth do right? Let him do as seemeth him good. This love is marked by a weanedness from the world. Look back, Christian, to the memorable era in your existence, when your feet were taken from the horrible pit and the miry clay. Was it in the days of mirthful youth? What then, to you, were the pleasures of sin? Did they still charm? The jovial song-the dance-the gay attire-the sprightly jest; did your soul still thrill with anticipated joy from sources like these? No; if truly converted, you were ready to say, let rivers of waters run down mine eyes, that I ever wasted my time, prostituted my affections, and doted for happiness on such vanities. What are they to the crystal rivers of pleasures of which I now drink. Or was your conversion at a later period, when immersed in the scenes of an idolatrous world? What then became of idols? Could you still say to gold, thou art my god? Did you still look to any thing this fleeting world can give, as a chief source of delight? No; you had found a pearl of great price; you were unexpectedly enriched by the gift of Christ beyond what earth could make you. Though not disposed to despise the good things he gives as needful to the present state, you could say to them, ye are no longer my God. Earth dwindled to a trifle. Its largest hopes seemed vanity. You received it as a transient scene-a short night's resting place while on your pilgrimage to a better world. Its wealth, its honors, its pomp, became as fleeting shadows that perish in the grasping. You pitied those you saw still engrossed in their pursuit, and felt that your eyes had been opened to discern the delusion, and your heart weaned from sublunary trifles. This first love to Christ, is marked by an endearing affection to all who bear his image. Loving Christ, not merely as the great source of happiness, but because of his perfect excellence, we love all who bear his resemblance. Again we appeal to the experience of the Christian reader. Was it not thus with you when first you saw the Lord? Were you not ready to greet every disciple of Jesus with a cordial welcome? Those whom you might before have hated, did they not become amiable in your view? Those whom you might have despised, did you not respect? Those with whom you scorned or was ashamed to associate, did you not seek as companions? The distinctions of wealth, talent, occupation, fame, whatever sunders wide the classes of the chil dren of this world-were not these icy barriers all melted down before the love that glowed in your bosom toward the image of your Saviour whereever you could behold it. This love is marked by a fervent desire that others should be converted. The young convert can hardly abide the thought that any of his acquaintance should remain strangers to the delights and the Saviour he has found. No more can he abide the thought that they should forbear to glorify him. Come,' he pleads, 'come, taste and see that the Lord is gracious.' In the fervour of his aspirations, he fancies he can go to them individually, and tell them of joys they can no longer forego, and of a lovely Redeemer whom they can no longer refuse to embrace, and worship, and glorify. He wishes all creation should praise him, and be happy in so divine an employment. This love is marked by a surprising pleasure in reading God's word. It seems a new book. There he beholds, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord. With David he exclaims, 'O, how love I thy law! it is my meditation all the day.' The veil is taken from his heart, the scales have fallen from his eyes; and while reading the sacred word, he seems conversing with his God face to face. he understands; the subject he now feels; and faith carries him forward to the complete fulfilment of the promises that meet his heart. The language Having thus noticed some of the characteristics of this first love, we will proceed to show, II. That there is no necessity of leaving our first love. This position may be substantiated by the following proofs. Christ's language in the message to the Church at Ephesus, and through them to us, proves it. He brings it as a heavy charge against us, that we should leave our first love. But if it were impracticable to retain it, he would only compassionate our loss, not reprove our guilt. It deserves particular notice, that he does not |