and argument were subsidiary. He showed how German learning might be employed and scriptural authority maintained. This was his service to the theology of his day and denomination. "The great merit," says an accomplished Oriental scholar, Mr. W. W. Turner, "of Professor Stuart, and one for which the gratitude and respect of American scholars must ever be his due, lies in the zeal and ability he has exhibited for a long series of years in bringing to the notice of the Englishreading public the works of many of the soundest philologists and most enlightened and unprejudiced theologians of Germany; for to his exertions it is in a good degree owing that the names of Rosenmüller, Gesenius, Ewald, De Wette, Hupfield, Rüdiger, Knobel, Hitzig, and others, are now familiar as household words to the present race of biblical students in this country, and to some extent in England.”* In 1827 appeared his Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews, vindicating the authenticity of the work, giving a new translation with full notes on the text, and an elucidation of the argument. This was followed in 1832 by a Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, in which the same philological course is pursued. Other commentaries followed in due course, provoking more or less of criticism, on the Apocalypse, the Book of Daniel, of Ecclesiastes, of Proverbs, the last of which he had just completed at the time of his death. Another series of works of Professor Stuart were his numerous articles in the periodicals, chiefly the Biblical Repository and Bibliotheca Sacra, as also his controversial writings, his Letters to Channing and others, of which he published a collection in a volume of Miscellanies in 1816. One of his last productions, which excited much interest and some opposition at the time in New England, was his defence of the policy of Daniel Webster in his Essay on Conscience and the Constitution, an assertion of the principle of obedience to the Compromise act. Stuart died at Andover, January 4, 1852. That he was industrious and energetic the bare enumeration of his works declares; but he also carried his enthusiasm of labor into the exercises with his classes, upon whom he impressed a hearty sympathy for his studies and his manner of pursuing them. Death found him at the age of seventy-two still active, still meditating new critical and learned labors in the inexhaustible field of biblical investigation. A daughter of Dr. Stuart, Mrs. Elizabeth Phelps, the wife of Professor Austin Phelps of Andover, attained distinction in a popular field of literature by her felicitous sketches of New England society, in a series of tales by H. Trusta, an anagram of her maiden name. They are entitled The Angel over the Right Shoulder; Sunny Side; Peep at Number Five (a picture of clerical life); Kitty Brown; Little Mary, or Talks and Tales for Children, and The Tell Tale; or Home Secrets told by Old Travellers. The last was published in 1853, shortly after the death of the author. These tales have a well deserved popu *Literary World, No. 228. larity from their spirited style, and the life and character which they humorously portray. WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING Was born at Newport, Rhode Island, April 7, 1780. He was in the fourth generation from John Channing, who came to America from Dorsetshire, in England. His father was William Channing, a man of education, and distinguished as a lawyer in Newport; his grandfather on the mother's side was William Ellery, the signer of the Declaration. He has in one of his writings, the Discourse on Christian Worship, at the Dedication of the Unitarian Congregational Church at Newport in 1836, paid a tribute to the genial influences of his birth-place upon his youth. "I must bless God," said he, “for the place of my nativity; for as my mind unfoided, I became more and more alive to the beautiful scenery which now attracts strangers to our island. My first liberty was used in roaming over the neighbouring fields and shores; and amid this glorious nature, that love of liberty sprang up, which has gained strength within me to this hour. I early received impressions of the great and the beautiful, which I believe have had no small influence in determining my modes of thought and habits of life. In this town I pursued for a time my studies of theology. I had no professor or teacher to guide me; but I had two noble places of study. One was yonder beautiful edifice,* now so frequented and so useful as a public library, then so deserted that I spent day after day, and sometimes week after week, amidst its dusty volumes, without interruption from a single visitor. The other place was yonder beach, the roar of which has so often mingled with the worship of this place, my daily resort, dear to me in the sunshine, still more attractive in the storm. Seldom do I visit it now without thinking of the work, which there, in the sight of that beauty, in the sound of these waves, was carried on in my soul. No spot on earth has helped to form me so much as that beach. There I lifted up my voice in praise amidst the tempest; there, softened by beauty, I poured out my thanksgiving and contrite confessions. There, in reverential sympathy with the mighty power around me, I became conscious of power within. There, struggling thoughts and emotions broke forth, as if moved to utterance by nature's eloquence of the winds and waves. There began a happiness surpassing all worldly pleasures, all gifts of fortune, the happiness of communing with the works of God. Pardon me this reference to myself. I believe that the worship, of which I have this day spoken, was aided in my own soul by the scenes in which my early life was passed. Amidst these scenes, and in speaking of this worship, allow me to thank God that this beautiful island was the place of my birth." He completed his education at Harvard with the highest honors in 1798. He then engaged for a while as tutor to a family in Virginia, where his health became permanently enfeebled. He was ordained pastor of the Federal Street Church, Boston, June 1, 1803; visited Europe subse The Redwood Library. Jm. Chamwing From that time for the remainder of his life he was connected with the same church, discharging its duties as his strength permitted; withdrawing, towards the close of his career, to strict retirement, husbanding his delicate health for his numerous literary efforts. In these he always exercised an important influence, and through them was as well known in England as in America. The collection of his works embraces six volumes, the larger portion of which is devoted to his theology, as a leader of the Unitarians. His Moral Argument against Calvinism appeared in the Christian Disciple for 1820. The first of his writings which brought him into the general field of literature, his Remarks on the Character and Writings of John Milton, was published in the Christian Examiner for 1826, followed by his articles on Bonaparte, during the next two years, in the same journal, and the winning article on Fenelon in 1829. The force, directness, and literary elegance of these papers attracted great attention, and the more from the bold challenge to popular discussion which was thrown out in his uncompromising estimate of Napoleon. Apart from his influence as a religious leader, he had now gained the ear of the public at large-an authority which he availed himself of to act upon the moral sentiment of the nation, which he addressed in his publications on Slavery, War, Temperance, and Education. His address on Self Culture, delivered at Boston in 1838, has been one of the most successful tracts of its kind ever published. Its direct appeal to whatever of character or manliness there may be in the young is almost irresistible. This is the prevailing trait of Channing's style, its single, moral energy. The titles of his publications indicate the man and his method. A general subject, as War, Temperance, Slavery, is proposed simply by itself, disconnected with any temporary associations or accidents of place that might limit it by condi tions, and argued simply, clearly, forcibly on its own merits, according to the universal standard of truth and justice. Channing pushes at once to the centre of his subject, like a man who has business at the court of truth, and is not to be set aside by guards or courtiers. He has the ear of this royal mistress, and speaks from ner side as with the voice of an oracle. Nothing can turn him "aside from the direct forthright." However deficient this course might be for the practical statesmanlike conduct of the world, and its circuitous progress to great ends, its influence on the mind of his own day, particularly on the young, is not to be questioned. Channing's moral vigor seemed to put new life into his readers. Notwithstanding the delicacy of his constitution, he appeared in public from time to time to within a short period of his death. His aspect was of great feebleness; small in person and fragile to excess, apparently contrasting with the vigor of his doctrines, but the well developed forehead, the full eye, the purity of expression, and the calm musical tone showed the concentration within. His oratory always charmed his audience, as in his winning tones he gained to his side the pride and powers of his hearers. The last public effort of Channing was his address at Lenox, in Berkshire County, Mass., on the 1st of August, 1842, the anniversary of Emancipation in the West Indies. It shows no diminution of the acuteness of his mind or of his rare powers of expression. Shortly after this time, while pursuing a mountain excursion, he was taken with typhus fever, and died at Bennington, Vermont, October 2, 1842. MILITARY GENIUS-FROM THE ESSAY ON NAPOLEON. Military talent, even of the highest order, is far from holding the first place among intellectual endowments. It is one of the lower forms of genius; for it is not conversant with the highest and richest objects of thought. We grant that a mind, which takes in a wide country at a glance, and understands, almost by intuition, the positions it affords for a successful campaign, is a comprehensive and vigorous one. The general, who disposes his forces so as to counteract a greater force; who supplies by skill, science, and invention, the want of numbers; who dives into the counsels of his enemy, and who gives unity, energy, and success to a vast variety of operations, in the midst of casualties and obstructions which no wisdom could foresee, manifests great power. But still the chief work of a general is to apply physical force; to remove physical obstructions; to avail himself of physical aids and advantages; to act on matter; to overcome rivers, ramparts, mountains, and human muscles; and these are not the highest objects of mind, nor do they demand intelligence of the highest order; and accordingly nothing is more common than to find men, eminent in this departinent, who are wanting in the noblest energies of the soul; in habits of profound and liberal thinking, in imagination and taste, in the capacity of enjoying works of genius, and in large and original views of human nature and society. The office of a great general does not differ widely from that of a great mechanician, whose business it is to frame new combinations of physical forces, to adapt them to new circumstances, and to remove new obstructions. Accordingly great generals, away from the camp, are often no greater men than the mecha nician taken from his workshop. In conversation they are often dull. Deep and refined reasonings they cannot comprehend. We know that there are splendid exceptions. Such was Cesar, at once the greatest soldier and the most sagacious statesman of his age, whilst in eloquence and literature, he left behind him almost all, who had devoted themselves exclusively to these pursuits. But such cases are rare. The conqueror of Napoleon, the hero of Waterloo, possesses undoubtedly great military talents; but we do not understand, that his most partial admirers claim for him a place in the highest class of minds. We will not go down for illustration to such men as Nelson, a man great on the deck, but debased by gross vices, and who never pretended to enlargement of intellect. To institute a comparison in point of talent and genius between such men and Milton, Bacon, and Shakespeare, is almost an insult on these illustrious names. Who can think of these truly great intelligences; of the range of their minds through heaven and earth; of their deep intuition into the soul; of their new and glowing combinations of thought; of the energy with which they grasped, and subjected to their main purpose, the infinite materials of illustration which nature and life afford,-who can think of the forms of transcendent beauty and grandeur which they created, or which were rather emanations of their own minds; of the calm wisdom and fervid imagination which they conjoined; of the voice of power, in which "though dead, they still speak," and awaken intellect, sensibility, and genius in both hemispheres, who can think of such men, and not feel the immense inferiority of the most gifted warrior, whose elements of thought are physical forces and physical obstructions, and whose employment is the combination of the lowest class of objects on which a powerful mind can be employed. RELIGION AND LITERATURE-FROM THE ESSAY ON FENELON. The truth is, that religion, justly viewed, surpasses all other principles, in giving a free and manifold action to the mind. It recognises in every faculty and sentiment the workmanship of God, and assigns a sphere of agency to each. It takes our whole nature under its guardianship, and with a parental love ministers to its inferior as well as higher gratifications. False religion mutilates the soul, sees evil in our innocent sensibilities, and rules with a tyrant's frown and rod. True religion is a mild and lawful sovereign, governing to protect, to give strength, to unfold all our inward resources. We believe, that, under its influence, literature is to pass its present limits, and to put itself forth in original forms of composition. Religion is of all principles most fruitful, multiform, and unconfined. It is sympathy with that Being, who seems to delight in diversifying the modes of his agency, and the products of his wisdom and power. It does not chain us to a few essential duties, or express itself in a few unchanging modes of writing. It has the liberality and munificence of nature, which not only produces the necessary root and grain, but pours forth fruits and flowers. It has the variety and bold contrasts of nature, which, at the foot of the awful mountain, scoops out the freshest, sweetest valleys, and embosoms, in the wild, troubled ocean, islands, whose vernal airs, and loveliness, and teeming fruitfulness, almost breathe the joys of Paradise. Religion will accomplish for literature what it most needs; that is, will give it depth, at the same time that it heightens its grace and beauty. The union of these attributes is most to be desired. Our literature is lamentably superficial, and to some the beautiful and the superficial even seem to be natu rally conjoined. Let not beauty be so wronged. It resides chiefly in profound thoughts and feelings. It overflows chiefly in the writings of poets, gifted with a sublime and piercing vision. A beautiful literature springs from the depth and fulness of intellectual and moral life, from an energy of thought and feeling, to which nothing, as we believe, ministers so largely as enlightened religion. We So far from a monotonous solemnity overspreading literature in consequence of the all-pervading influence of religion, we believe that the sportive and comic forms of composition, instead of being abandoned, will only be refined and improved. know that these are supposed to be frowned upon by piety; but they have their root in the constitution which God has given us, and ought not therefore to be indiscriminately condemned. The propensity to wit and laughter does indeed, through excessive indulgence, often issue in a character of heartless levity, low mimicry, or unfeeling ridicule. It often seeks gratification in regions of impurity, throws a gaiety round vice, and sometimes even pours contempt on virtue. But, though often and mournfully perverted, it is still a gift of God, and may and ought to minister, not only to innocent pleasure, but to the intellect and the heart. Man was made for relaxation as truly as for labor; and by a law of his nature, which has not received the attention it deserves, he finds perhaps no relaxation so restorative, as that in which he reverts to his childhood, seems to forget his wisdom, leaves the imagination to exhilarate itself by sportive inventions, talks of amusing incongruities in conduct and events, smiles at the innocent eccentricities and odd mistakes of those whom he most esteems, allows himself in arch allusions or kind-hearted satire, and transports himself into a world of ludicrous combinations. We have said, that, on these occasions, the mind seems to put off its wisdom; but the truth is, that, in a pure mind, wisdom retreats, if we may so say, to its centre, and there, unseen, keeps guard over this transient folly, draws delicate lines which are never to be passed in the freest moments, and, like a judicious parent, watching the sports of childhood, preserves a stainless innocence of soul in the very exuberance of gaiety. This combination of moral power with wit and humor, with comic conceptions and irrepressible laughter, this union of mirth and virtue, belongs to an advanced stage of the character; and we believe, that, in proportion to the diffusion of an enlightened religion, this action of the mind will increase, and will overflow in compositions, which, joining innocence to sportiveness, will communicate unmixed delight. Religion is not at variance with occasional mirth. In the same character, the solemn thought and the sublime emotions of the improved Christian, may be joined with the unanxious freedom, buoyancy, and gaiety of early years. We will add but one more illustration of our views. We believe, that the union of religion with genius will favor that species of composition to which it may seem at first to be least propitious. We refer to that department of literature, which has for its object the delineation of the stronger and more terrible and guilty passions. Strange as it may appear, these gloomy and appalling features of our nature may be best comprehended and portrayed by the purest and noblest minds. The common idea is, that overwhelming emotions, the more they are experienced, can the more effectually be described. We have one strong presumption against this doctrine. Tradition leads us to believe, that Shake speare, though he painted so faithfully and fearfully the storms of passion, was a calm and cheerful man. The passions are too engrossed by their objects to meditate on themselves; and none are more ignorant of their growth and subtile workings, than their own victims. Nothing reveals to us the secrets of our own souls like religion; and in disclosing to us, in ourselves, the tendency of passion to absorb every energy, and to spread its hues over every thought, it gives us a key to all souls; for, in all, human nature is essentially one, having the same spiritual elements, and the same grand features. No man, it is believed, understands the wild and irregular motions of the mind, like him in whom a principle of divine order has begun to establish peace. No man knows the horror of thick darkness which gathers over the slaves of vehement passion, like him who is rising into the light and liberty of virtue. There is indeed a selfish shrewdness, which is thought to give a peculiar and deep insight into human nature. But the knowledge, of which it boasts, is partial, distorted, and vulgar, and wholly unfit for the purposes of literature. We value it little. We believe, that no qualification avails so much to a knowledge of human nature in all its forms, in its good and evil manifestations, as that enlightened, celestial charity, which religion alone inspires; for this establishes sympathies between us and all men, and thus makes them intelligible to us. A man, imbued with this spirit, alone contemplates vice as it really exists, and as it ought always to be described. In the most depraved fellow-beings he sees partakers of his own nature. Amidst the terrible ravages of the passions, he sees conscience, though prostrate, not destroyed, nor wholly powerless. He sees the proofs of an unextinguished moral life, in inward struggles, in occasional relentings, in sighings for lost innocence, in reviving throbs of early affections, in the sophistry by which the guilty mind would become reconciled to itself, in remorse, in anxious forebodings, in despair, perhaps in studied recklessness and cherished self-forgetfulness. These conflicts, between the passions and the moral nature, are the most interesting subjects in the branch of literature to which we refer, and we believe, that to portray them with truth and power, the man of genius can find in nothing such effectual aid, as in the development of the moral and religious principles in his own breast. HENRY T. FARMER. HENRY T. FARMER was a native of England, who emigrated to Charleston, S. C., where he was for some time engaged in commercial pursuits. He afterwards retired from business, and removed to New York for the purpose of studying medicine. He received the instructions of Drs. Francis and Hosack, was graduated at the College of Physicians and Surgeons, and licensed as a physician in 1821. During the progress of his studies he published Imagination; the Maniac's Dream, and other Poems, in a small volume. The collection is dedicated to Mrs. Charles Baring, the wife of the author's uncle. This lady was, during a portion of her career, an actress, and the author of Virginia, The Royal Recluse, Zulaine, and other dramas, which were performed with success. Several of the poems of the collection, as the Essay on Taste, which has an appeal to Croaker," are addressed to Dr. Francis and others of the writer's friends. 66 Farmer returned to Charleston, where he prac poetry of his day, a kindly susceptibility, and occasionally sound with effect the louder notes of the lyre. THE WOES OF MODERN GREECE. A PRIZE POEM. There was a harp, that might thy woes rehearse, The aged Patriarch seeks the sea-beat strand, Columbia, rise! A voice comes o'er the main, TIMOTHY FLINT. TIMOTHY FLINT was born in Reading, Massachusetts, in the year 1780, and was graduated at Harvard in 1800. After two years of theological study, he was ordained pastor of the Congregational Church of Lunenburg, Worcester county, where he remained for twelve years. In October, 1815, in consequence of ill health, he left with his family for the west, in pursuit of a milder climate, and change of scene. Crossing the Alleganies, and descending the Ohio, he arrived at Cincinnati, where he passed the winter months. The following tised medicine until his death, at the age of forty-spring and summer were spent in travelling in Ohio, six. Ilis verses show a ready pen, a taste for the Indiana, and Illinois, and after a halt at St. Louis, where he was, so far as he could learn, the first Protestant minister who ever administered the communion in the place, arrived at St. Charles on the Missouri. He here established himself as a missionary, and remained for three years thus employed in the town and surrounding country. He then removed to Arkansas, but returned after a few months to St. Charles. In 1822 he visited New Orleans, where he remained during the winter, and passed the next summer in Covington, Florida. Returning to New Orleans in the autumn, he removed to Alexandria on the Red River, in order to take charge of a school, but was forced by ill health, after a year's residence, to return to the North. J.Fhnt. In 1826 he published an account of these wanderings, and the scenes through which they had led him, in his Recollections of the last Ten Years passed in occasional residences and journeyings in the Valley of the Mississippi, in a series of letters to the Rev. James Flint, of Salem, Mass. It was successful, and was followed the same year by Francis Berrian, or the Mexican Patriot, a story of romantic adventure with the Comanches, and of military prowess in the Mexican struggle, resulting in the fall of Iturbide. The book has now become scarce. In its day it was better thought of by critics for its passages of description, than for its story, which involved many improbable and incongruous incidents. His third work, The Geography and History of the Mississippi Valley, appeared at Cincinnati in 1827, in two octavo volumes. It is arranged according to states, and gives ample information, in a plain style, on the subject comprised in its title. In 1828 he published Arthur Clenning, a romantic novel, in which the hero and heroine are shipwrecked in the Southern Ocean, reach New Holland, and after various adventures settle down to rural felicity in Illinois. This was followed by George Mason the Young Backwoodsman, and in 1830 by the Shoshonee Valley, the scene of which is among the Indians of Oregon. His next work, Lectures upon Natural History, Geology, Chemistry, the Application of Steam, and Interesting Discoveries in the Arts, was published in Boston in 1832. On the retirement of Mr. C. F. Hoffinan from the editorship of the Knickerbocker Magazine, Mr. Flint succeeded to his post for a few months in the year 1833. He translated about the same time L'art d'être heureuse by Droz, with additions of his own, and a novel entitled, Celibacy Vanquished, or the Old Bachelor Reclaimed. In 1834 he removed to Cincinnati, where he edited the Western Monthly Magazine for three years, contributing to it and to other periodicals as well, a number of tales and essays. In 1835 he furnished a series of Sketches of the Literature of the United States to the London Athenæum. He afterwards removed to Louisiana, and in May, 1840, returned to New England on a visit for the benefit of his health. Halting at Natchez on his way, he was for some hours buried in the ruins of a house thrown down, with many others, by the violence of a tornado. On his arrival at Reading his illness increased, and he wrote to his wife that his end would precede her reception of his letter, an announcement which hastened her own death and anticipated his own, by but a short time however, as he breathed his last on the eighteenth of August. THE SHORES OF THE OHIO. The It was now the middle of November. weather up to this time had been, with the exception of a couple of days of fog and rain, delightful. The sky has a milder and lighter azure than that of the northern states. The wide, clean sand-bars stretching for miles together, and now and then a flock of wild geese, swans, or sand-hill cranes, and pelicans, stalking along on them; the infinite varieties of form of the towering bluffs; the new tribes of shrubs and plants on the shores; the exuberant fertility of the soil, evidencing itself in the natural as well as cultivated vegetation, in the height and size of the corn, of itself alone a matter of astonishment to an inhabitant of the northern states, in the thrifty aspect of the young orchards, literally bending under their fruit, the surprising size and rankness of the weeds, and, in the enclosures where cultivation had been for a while suspended, the matted abundance of every kind of vegetation that ensued, all these circumstances united to give a novelty and freshness to the scenery. The bottom forests everywhere display the huge sycamore, the king of the western forest, in all places an interesting tree, but particularly so here, and in autumn, when you see its white and long branches among its red and yellow fading leaves. You may add, that in all the trees that have been stripped of their leaves, you see them crowned with verdant tufts of the viscus or mistletoe, with its beautiful white berries, and their trunks entwined with grapevines, some of them in size not much short of the human body. To add to this union of pleasant circumstances, there is a delightful temperature of the air, more easily felt than described. In New England, when the sky was partially covered with fleecy clouds, and the wind blew very gently from the southwest, I have sometimes had the same sensations from the temperature there. A slight degree of languor ensues; and the irritability that is caused by the rougher and more bracing air of the north, and which is more favourable to physical strength and activity than enjoyment, gives place to a tranquillity highly propitious to meditation. There is something, too, in the gentle and almost imperceptible motion, as you sit on the deck of the boat, and see the trees apparently moving by you, and new groups of scenery still opening upon your eye, together with the view of these ancient and magnificent forests, which the axe has not yet despoiled, the broad and beautiful river, the earth and the sky, which render such a trip at this season the very element of poetry. Let him that has within him the bona indoles, the poetic mania, as yet unwhipt of justice, not think to sail down the Ohio under such circumstances, without venting to the genius of the river, the rocks, and the woods, the swans, and perchance his distant beloved, his dolorous notes. HENRY PICKERING. HENRY, the third son of Colonel Timothy Pickering and Rebecca Pickering, was born on the 8th of October, 1781, at Newburgh, in the Hasbrouck house, memorable as having been the headquarters of General Washington. Colonel Pickering was at the time quartermaster-general of the army |