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was relumed with the smile of returning joy. On all that he did, and all that he suffered, was most legibly written "good will to men."

Again, who is there that has any relish for what is most tender and sublime in human conduct, that can be insensible to that memorable incident, recorded with so much simplicity and beauty, that "Jesus wept." He saw his friends weeping, and his own benevolent heart could not withhold its tribute of sympathy. Call this an infirmity of human nature, if you will, it is an infirmity from which no good man would wish to be free; nay, it is not too much to say that even the character of the Saviour of the world would not have been perfect without it. Yes, it is one of the brightest, loveliest features in human nature; and even the deepest sorrow which it ever occasions has something in it so sublime and hallowed, that it is an almost enviable lot to bear it. At the grave of Lazarus, let the miserable speculations of that dreaming philosophy, which makes the moderate indulgence of human sensibility a weakness, be confounded. Here let the man, who sternly refuses the tribute of a tear for the sorrows of others, or who proudly endeavours to reason down the sympathies, which the God of nature has planted in his bosom, learn that he is opposing the gracious designs of his Creator, and has already instituted a process for changing himself into a brute. No, it is not a weakness to weep, when the hand of affliction presses hard either upon yourself or your friends. You must indeed guard against immoderate sorrow, for that betrays the want of resignation to the will of heaven; but your tears may fall in profusion, and your heart may even send forth sobs of anguish; and if any one reproaches

you, you may fearlessly plead the example of the Saviour of the world. To my mind, I must acknowledge, considering the character of Jesus, that I scarcely know whether there is more of moral grandeur in that sublime and energetic call, which awoke Lazarus from the sleep of death, than in those tears of sympathy which fell upon his grave.

And, finally, may we not learn at the grave of Lazarus a most consoling truth, to carry about with us in this world of sorrow; I mean the final resurrection of the dead. How can we doubt this, when, besides the actual promise of God that the dead shall be raised, we have here an instance, in which, at the command of Jesus, the sepulchre gave back its victim; and what is more than all, he who has the keys of death, and who once yielded to his iron dominion, has actually come back from the grave, and thus justified the title which he assumed, as "the Resurrection and the life." Let it be strongly impressed upon the heart of the Christian, that the same voice which bade Lazarus come forth will hereafter disturb the silence of his own grave, and speak into life and vigour his own mouldering dust, and cause him to stand forth, encircled and beautified with the glories of immortality. When, too, he bends in sadness over the spot, where sleep the remains of his Christian friend, and finds his breast beginning to throb with sorrowful recollections, and that last fond look rises to remembrance, which stamped its own image indelibly on his heart, oh then let him think that that mouldering body will be reanimated, and that friend restored to him, not as formerly, the victim of decay and corruption, but clothed with celestial bloom and beauty. And when his own strength shall have

been wasted by disease, and the objects of mortal pursuit shall be fading from his view, and the thin partition that separates him from the eternal world is about to fall, then again, even while his soul is taking its flight for the communion of seraphs, let his faith fasten upon the prospect of a resurrection, and let it dwell there, till he is absorbed in the full vision of God.


Conversion of the Jews.-Letter Second.

To the Editor.


I have observed, in the Evangelical and Literary Magazine of last March, "some remarks" on my letter respecting the conversion of the Jews, which was published in your February number. The writer of these remarks has very cunningly signed himself P.W. because, I presume, my own signature was W.P. intimating, in this manner, his decided opposition to the very last. He talks indeed, throughout, in a remarkably pleasant, self-satisfied tone, as if, together with himself, he had convinced every body else, that I was entirely in the wrong, and there was nothing more to be said on my side of the question. But as I do not happen to fall in with this opinion, I beg to be heard in reply.

He occupies his first page in defending Mr. Frey, the agent of the American Society for meliorating the condition of the Jews. This was a work to which he was not called, and which he might as well have left alone. My allusion to that person was very slight. I said nothing against him, and had nothing to say in his

favour. I had heard many things to his discredit, and yet I was aware that all these things might possibly be excused or refuted; and I therefore merely intimated my uncertainty with regard to his character, and my intention of being silent about it. But as P.W. speaks in a very indignant strain of any attempt to investigate his moral qualifications; and seems to regard him as a man who is only to be mentioned with the greatest respect, and whose life is above suspicion, I feel myself bound to state my reasons for alluding to him as I did.

In the first place, I knew that he was dismissed, and not honourably dismissed, from the London Society for converting the Jews. My authority is the Ninth Report of the Committee of that Society, published in 1817; from which I make the following extract. "Your committee must now advert to a circumstance of a very painful nature. Shortly after the last anniversary meeting, reports were circulated of very improper conduct in a person, who had till then acted a prominent part in this institution. On an investigation of the foundation of these rumors, facts were disclosed, and afterwards confessed by the individual referred to, which rendered it the duty of this Committee to inform him, that his connexion with the Society must cease. He has since left this country, and proceeded to America."

In the next place, I had never heard that he was ever received back again into the London Society, or restored to their confidence.

In the third place, I had never seen any sufficient vindication of his conduct. Some letters, which spoke in his favour, from distinguished individuals in England, were indeed printed in our journals a few months

ago; but the dates of all these letters were previous to the Report above referred to, when, every body knows, he was in high credit with the London Society. A threat of legal prosecution was also published against all who should dare to question his innocence. But I could not discover what vindication or argument there was in that.

It is said that the American Society "have declared that he is worthy of public confidence," by appointing him their agent. That is true; and the members of the Society are respectable men, but they are also fallible men, and may have been imposed on, and deceived. The London Society have declared that he is not worthy of confidence, by dismissing him from their service. I do not say that the American Society have been imposed on, and deceived, but I say they may have been; and I do not see why their simple declaration should be esteemed so decisive, as to silence all inquiry. If they are in possession of irrefragable proofs of this man's good reputation, let them be given to the public. I shall not only be willing, but I shall rejoice to receive them; for though I should still regard the project of conversion as chimerical, I should be glad to be convinced, that those honest persons who think differently, were bestowing their money and their confidence on a worthy man. This would be the proper way to remove doubt, and silence suspicion. But neither the bare declaration of the American Society, nor Mr. Frey's vain threat of prosecution, will effect this desirable object; for no independent mind will be convinced by the one, or frightened by the other.

I think I have said enough to justify myself, for at least remaining doubtful of the agent's character, or as

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