Here is a man, an ordained minister, who has read Mr. Parker's "Experience," and does not loath him. This is all which need be said on that subject. He is Secretary of the American Unitarian Association, and their editor. He is unquestionably Theodore Parker's choice for that office. He and the Secretary differed widely, and none more so, Mr. Parker somewhere tells us, on religious subjects; but these subjects must have been externals, or speculations, for all which is vital in the religion of Christendom Mr. Parker had rejected, and the Secretary can only say that he thinks Mr. Parker's "Christology" and "Anthropology' were "defective." We wish, just here, to quote one page from Theodore Parker's book, (Experience, &c.) promising not to pain our readers any further at present with "A Look at the Life" of this man. He is describing the influence of "the traditions of the various churches," that is, of the faith and practice of evangelical sects, with which he tells his people of the Music Hall, they "have broken." He says of such influence (p. 119): "2. It leads to Ecclesiastical Ritualism. This is the more common form in New England, especially in hard men and women. They join a church, and crowd the ecclesiastical meetings. Bodily presence there is thought a virtue; they keep the Sunday severely idle; their ecclesiastical decorum is awful as a winter's night at the North Pole of cold; with terrible punctuality they attend to the ordinance of bread and wine, looking grim and senseless as the death's head on the tombstones close by. Their babies are sprinkled with water, or themselves plunged all over in it; they have morningprayers and evening-prayers, grace before meat and after meat; nay, they give money for the theological purposes of their sect, and religiously hate men not of their household of faith. Their pious feeling has spent itself in secreting this abnormal shell of ritualism, which now cumbers them worse than Saul's armor on the stripling shepherd lad. What can such Pachyderms of the Church accomplish that is good, with such an elephantiasis to swell, and bark, and fetter every limb? Their religious feeling runs to shell, and has no other influence. They sell rum, and trade in slaves or coolies. They are remorseless creditors, unscrupulous debtors; they devour widows' houses. Vain are the cries of Humanity in such ears, stuffed with condensed wind. Their lives are little, dirty, mean." 1 A man who is chief eulogist of the miserable author of such foul talk, calling him "our Boston Socrates, our gift of God, our Theodore," we repeat it, is editor of the Unitarian "Monthly Journal," and "Secretary of the American Unitarian Association." We will, if necessary, help maintain the right of the Association to be represented by such a man as its chief executive officer, and by any man whom they may elect; and no one has a right to lift a finger or speak a word against their right; but we will have our opinion as to the moral and religious condition of a sect (as a sect, we say, not as individuals) which chooses thus to be represented to the rest of Christendom. Still, in distinguishing between the sect and the individual, we are reminded of the well-known question of one to the swearing Baron and Bishop. We will repeat it once more, we care only for the interests of truth and godliness which are receiving vast injury from Theodore Parker's influence; and if the Unitarians will choose to be known to us as a sect through such an exponent, in their official publication, we must blow the trumpet louder to warn men against them. We have said that we believe this gentleman to be Mr. Parker's choice for the position which he holds. "When Theodore Parker was about going away," says the Secretary, "and I went to see him for the last time, he followed me to the door of his study, and, putting his hands on my shoulders, he kissed my cheek, and said, 'James, if you and I never meet again in this world, we have the happiness of knowing that there has never been one word, or one feeling, or one action of unkindness."" "In the Old World," continues the Secretary, "you will see men who carry in their button-holes a red ribbon the sign that they belong to the Legion of Honor. As long as I live I shall carry (not apparent to others, but known to myself) the mark of that tender, fraternal kiss on my cheek. It is to me the sign of belonging to the Legion of Honor." ("Tributes to Theodore Parker," &c. p. 54.) He is the man, of all men, to carry out Mr. Parker's great designs, so far as having him in admiration is a qualification, and negatively -not having the least repugnance to him as a great spoiler of reverence for God's most holy Word. Now if those in the denomination who secretly sympathize with Mr. Parker, wish for one to represent them to the world, Mr. Parker has given them a sign: "Whomsoever I shall kiss, the same is he; hold him fast." We do not say these things because we apprehend that he can do great harm. His efforts in connection with Mr. Parker's memory do not awaken any such apprehensions. Our only concern is to let our readers know what the tendencies and designs of a system must be whose associated friends shall persist in holding him forth as a principal officer. As to himself, he has laid himself open to raillery, or something more severe, in these printed efforts of his, if any one were so ungenerous as to catch him up in his abandon of love and grief, and hold him punctiliously amenable, in such a state of mind, to even the plain rules of common or metaphysical speech. For, if it were kindly brought to his attention that he had incautiously allowed himself to say, (p. 6,) that "the main characteristic of his (Mr. Parker's) knowledge was that it was live knowledge," (he italicizing the word,) or, (p. 8,) "What Parker knew he knew, and he knew that he knew it ;" or that (p. 10) he had utterly confounded imagination and fancy; or that he, a graduate, if we mistake not, of Harvard College, wrote (p. 12), “I have already spoke of him in the Music Hall;" or had told us, in writing, (p. 14,) that "some men are to be pitied for their forlorn ignorance of the nobilities of the human soul," he would at once draw his pen through these blemishes, and pity one who could be severe upon such proofs of self-forgetfulness during the raptures of an apotheosis. We had intended to dwell at some length, but our limited space forbids, on the other Discourses noted at the head of this article. They furnish food for reflection to all who watch the present tendencies of religious thought in this community; and for this reason we may hereafter open to our readers some of the remarkable things which are contained in those productions. If we do, it will be because we have taken Mr. Theodore Parker at his word when he says, on the last page but two of his " Experience:""I AM CONTENT TO SERVE BY WARNING, WHERE I CANNOT GUIDE BY EXAMPLE." ARTICLE IV. POETRY. THE following lines are from the pen of a young lady of Massachusetts. They are her first printed effusion. We have sought permission to insert them as a rather remarkable specimen of skill in the management of verse. The lines refer to an excursion which took place just one year preceding the day on which they were written. - EDS. OUR SEA-SHORE. How we loved that rock-bound sea-shore, and that ocean of delight! How we loved to watch the dashing of the waters gay and bright! To see each little wavelet, so full of life and play, With a laugh up spring so lightly, to catch a moon-lit ray, And then, with a gleeful, brilliant smile, dash onward to the shore, Close to our feet to bring his prize, and haste away for more! Many a heart in time beat lightly, Smiling faces beamed as brightly, While the gushes of our gladness made the rocky shore resound; For we laid aside all sorrow, All care, till the coming morrow, Since Nature, in her bounty, spread such beauty all around. Ay, we loved our own fair sea-shore, dipping its feet in ocean blue, Each moss-bound rock, or smooth, or rough, or by th' wave tearstained, we knew; 66 Yet Gun Rock" loved we most of all, such welcomes glad it gave, When the Sea's moist eyes soft glistened, As she sang so clear her cherished lay of beauty, love, and light; And then, her breast upheaving, With a heart of quickened beating, Joined Ocean's richer chorus of majesty and might. How we loved that speaking sea-shore! how we loved to linger there, For I felt we might not meet again, all, on that ocean's side. Of the waves, as if replying, Quick from the rock I bent me low to catch the dying tone; Came a sweetly sad, low murmuring: "One is gliding, gliding, gliding, one is gliding, gliding home!" And the waves dash on that sea-shore as they dashed a year ago; But the glad, warm life-blood through one heart has ceased fore'er to flow; Safe o'er life's changeful ocean one gallant barque has crossed; Deep down below the horizon those white, spread sails are lost. But we know that from the mountain-tops of faith, and hope, and love, Is seen that shore of beauty which bounds the "Home" above. Oh, there the waves touch lightly, Where the golden sands gleam brightly! But the angels' steps are lighter, and brighter far each smile; Bringing that barque to their radiant shore, And so by the waves they cluster, and hush their harps awhile. List! over that beautiful sea-shore, where the waters in melody play, As an ocean of harmony full and strong, now rolls the welcoming lay; And the sands of that beautiful sea-shore-bestrewn by many a flower, Dropped lightly in the hasty flight from Eden's loveliest bowerNow again by a stranger's feet are pressed, And again by the snowy robes caressed, As they hover, these fair ones, around their brother, and show him the gates of rest. All hushed the waves of sorrow, If, on some brighter morrow, |