PSALM CXXXIX.

FATHER! to Thee my inmost thoughts, as to myself, are known,
Asleep, awake, in life, in death, I cannot be alone,

I cannot be alone.

I cannot breathe a secret word, which Thou, Lord, dost not hear;

In danger's hour my God is nigh; I need not, will not fear.
I know that Thou art with me now-yet how I cannot say—
Before, behind, on every side, protecting every way.
Where can go to hide from Thee, my Heavenly Father, where?
Ascend to heaven, or sink to hell? Behold! my God is there.
O could I take the wings of light, and seek the farthest wave,
As soon my Father's hand would move my trembling form to save.
Or should I think my sins to hide beneath the veil of night,
Thy presence would the cloud dispel, and darkness turn to light.

O search me, Lord! and know my thoughts, forbid my feet to stray, But lead me from the paths of sin to everlasting day.

THE DEAF AND DUMB BOY.

AN EXTRACT FROM A LETTER.

C. E. B.

ON Thursday I was invited by a friend to accompany her on a visit to the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, which is beautifully situated on the summit of a hill at the distance of about five miles from the City Hall, New York. The whole of the arrangements of the building, and the exhibitions of the pupils in the different departments, were such as to give us a very favorable opinion of the Institution and instructers. Some of the scholars appear to have carried the art of expression by signs to perfection. It was wonderful to see how minute and how graphic were their descriptions of objects, events and ideas, by the natural language of the countenance and by artificial motions of the fingers.

With one little fellow we were particularly delighted. He is a mute genius. He is in the art of description by signs what Dickens is in literature. He gave us a most exact representation of

whatever animal or inanimate object we named. I wrote on the slate, "Squirrel." In an instant we were in the midst of deep woods. We could almost see the tall trees rising about us, and feel the cooling and soothing influence of their shade. All was silent-save when an acorn dropped upon the dry leaves, or some little tenant of the solitude, startled by the fancy or the instinctive foreboding of an approaching object of dread, ran chirping into the wall. Our attention was soon attracted to a small striped nuteater, briskly hopping from tree to tree, till coming to an old oak he glided stealthily down its trunk, and, seizing an acorn from amongst the multitude which covered the ground, ran to a neighboring rock, where, perching himself quietly, with his long bushy tail spread over him like a shade, he commenced boring through the shell with his long, sharp teeth, and turning it round and round in his slender paws. At a short distance, a hunter is perceived entering the forest, with fowling-piece, belt and powder flask, and bag heavy with the fruits of his morning's successful sport. He stops, wipes his face with his handkerchief, loads his gun, and looks narrowly above and around, till he spies the squirrel enjoy. ing his simple lunch. But the little creature hears the leaves rustling and the underbrush crackling as it is pushed aside, and dropping his nut, speeds away to the nearest tree. The sportsman follows, keeping his gun levelled, till his prey stops again in a favorable position on a lofty branch, when he fires, but misses his aim. With all expedition and no little appearance of chagrin he loads anew, and taking more careful aim brings his victim to the ground.

Now all this picture was given to us-if you can credit it—in the space of two minutes, by this deaf mute and merely by the help of signs. So also puss catching a mouse, and many other objects and actions of men and animals were represented, as if by the pencil or the pen.

I could have spent weeks in intercourse with this little fellow. I never felt before so much impressed with the power of mind, nor so much ashamed of the use I have made of my own more liberal physical endowments. I rode back to the city musing upon the parable of the talents, which for the time seemed to me as not inaptly symbolizing the senses-as instruments of the soul. I felt

conscious that this less favored fellow-creature had made incomparably more use of his three, than I had done of my five. Indeed a similar feeling has come over me after an interview with little Laura, at our own deservedly famous Institution for the Blind.

C.

ENGLISH SERMONS ON DR. CHANNING'S DEATH.

WE resume the attempt to give, within such space as our pages allow, a sketch of the notices taken of Dr. Channing's death in English pulpits, so far as the press has made us acquainted with their character; and that we may have the more room for extracts, we proceed in continuation of our former article, without any farther introductory remarks.

Rev. Mr. ROBBERDS, senior minister of the Cross Street Chapel, Manchester, dedicates his Sermon,-"The Voice of the Dead"— founded on the last words of Hebrews xi. 4, "to the Divinity Students in Manchester New College," as 66 commemorative of an earnest and devoted Christian minister." After adducing various illustrations of the sentiment of the text, he cites the proof of its truth which is now added in the departure of one who "being dead, yet speaketh" through what he has done and written, and will speak through "the voice of the printed page" to future generations.

"But why," he asks, "should he thus be made the theme of particular discourse in a Christian pulpit? Why should a portion of that time which we especially set apart for moral and religious edification, be spent in thus calling him to mind? Why should our thoughts, after having been engaged in the worship of God, be so largely given to this individual human being? Why should he be made our text, rather than some holy truth of God's word?

I might reply,—because a great and gifted mind is itself a grand truth of God's unwritten word; because it is itself a glorious testimony to that Divine Spirit which has breathed into man an understanding and feeling soul; because it is itself a hymn of praise to the great Bestower of all its capacities, and Quickener of all its energies; and because it is also an eloquent discourse on the true interest and honor of man, showing us what part of our nature is

most worth our cultivation, and will produce for us the richest harvests.

But that is not my answer, or, at least, my only answer.'

Nor is it that he "devoted his great powers of mind and speech to the defence and diffusion of theological views which he, in common with" the preacher, "held to be both true and important.”

No, my friends, not so much for his intellectual endowments, not so much for his genius and eloquence, as for the generous earnestness with which he devoted the powers which God had given him to the best interests of his fellow-men, and for the moral courage with which he stood up against all the prejudices that surrounded him, and vindicated the great principles of justice and humanity, do I feel the claims of Dr. Channing on our reverential and grateful remembrance. I look to him, not as the theologian of this or that school, but as the Christian philanthropist and reformer, coming from his own adoring contemplations of the universal Father, and burning with eagerness to awaken in all men the feelings and dispositions proper to them as the children of that Father, coming from the feet of the Saviour, where he has sat a listening and loving learner, and glowing with a holy zeal to make states and nations, no less than individuals, put on the yoke of that Saviour. I look to him as the fearless advocate and champion of the oppressed, the enslaved, and the despised. I honor him for his unswerving faith in the essential and everlasting obligation of that which is itself right and just, however custom may have sanctioned, and popular opinion demanded, a departure from it in favor of the seemingly expedient. I honor him for his generous faith in the capabilities of human nature, and for his untiring energy of effort to make men watch over themselves, and treat one another, with the reverence, tenderness, and care, due to the elements of greatness and goodness which they have within them. In short, I honor him for his uniform consistency, in all his writings, with the great principles which he has held forth for the adoption of others."

Dr. Channing's desire to apprehend and unfold "great principles, in both morality and religion," is made the subject of remark, especially as seen in the effect upon his style and in the character of his convictions. Passing thence to express the sorrow that must be felt at his removal, Mr. Robberds tempers the utterance of grief with the language of gratitude and hope.

"But let not our sorrow be without a thankful recollection of all that he has already done for the instruction and improvement of his fellow-men. In the midst of our regret that he can speak and write no more, let us rejoice in the wide circulation which his

writings had already attained. Let us rejoice in the prospect of their still wider circulation, and of the good which they will continue and increasingly continue to do. Let us rejoice in the thought of the large audience which he has thus found in the present, and the still larger which he seems likely to find in the rising generation. Let us hope much from the effect which, though dead, thus speaking he may produce upon many a young and ingenuous mind. Let us hope that, by the voice still remaining to him, the voice which the grave cannot silence, he will awaken in many hearts the love of truth and goodness, a zeal like his own for the honor of God, and the well-being of man. Yes, let us hope that the fervent and generous spirit which breathes in his pages, will transfuse itself into not few of his readers, and stir them up, in their respective spheres of action, to like labors of Christian philanthropy, in union with a like heartiness and trust of Christian piety."

The preacher pursues these and similar trains of thought through the remaining paragraphs of the sermon, particularly directing the minds of his hearers to "the blessed rest into which he, who can now instruct us only with the voice of the dead, has himself entered."

The next Discourse which we shall notice, though not delivered in an English chapel nor by an English minister, may properly be included with those which represent the feeling produced by the annunciation of Dr. Channing's death in England, for it breathes the same strain of affectionate admiration. Rev. Dr. DRUMMOND, one of the Unitarian ministers of Dublin, being called to preach the anniversary sermons before the Unitarian Society for the Diffusion of Christian Knowledge, at Belfast, Ireland, embraced the occasion to give his views of the "religion," writings, and character of Dr. Channing. He took for his text the same words which had been already chosen by Mr. Robberds; and after suitable prefatory remarks thus introduced the name which was the theme of his discourse.

"Of all the men of modern times with whose spirits our own would wish to mingle, Channing stands in the first rank-that distinguished Christian divine, whose name is in all our churches

* These sermons were delivered on Sunday, December 4, 1842. The morning discourse was upon "the Right and the Duty of Free and Unshackled Inquiry in Religion," and was doubtless suggested by the recent success of those who are laboring to cripple the resources of the Irish Unitarians. It is written with force and spirit.