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nality to deserve an infinite punishment ?" His answer is as follows: "To decide that it cannot be done, is to decide, as we have already seen, in direct opposition to the decision of the Almighty. Besides, we greatly deceive ourselves if we imagine, that the guilt of sin is to be measured by the capacity of the sinner, and the time in which it is committed. By what governments were punishments ever inflicted according to the ability of the offender ?" An answer to this statement and questions will be given in as brief terms as possible. It seems to the writer of these lines that no being can perform a work greater than his strength, and if this be correct, how can mortal, finite man perform an infinite act, or commit an infinite crime? In my humble opinion, a person might with more ease make or destroy a world, than he could perform an infinite act. For to make or destroy a world would be but a small thing compared with God's infinite and stupendous works. Besides, when we reckon the magnitude of sin upon the principle of Mr. H., it destroys all distinction between crimes. The stealing of a pin is equal to the robbing of a bank, or murder; because the stealing of a pin is in opposition to God's infinite law, and therefore is an infinite crime. If this is proper reasoning, why do the Scriptures say that men shall be rewarded according to their deeds? Mr. H. again inquires, "by what governments were punishments ever inflicted according to the ability of the offender?" In answer to this, I think the government of the Supreme Being, as revealed in the bible, is according to this plan. "And that servant which knew his Lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes. But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes." St. Luke xii. 47, 48. The United States gov

ernment I have ever considered to be on this plan. Ide not think that our highest courts would pronounce, for the same crime, so severe a punishment on a young, inexperienced rogue, as they would on an older one.

I cannot go to any greater length in my remarks at this time upon the inconsistence of Mr. H., but perhaps in the next, or some future No. of the Repository, this subject will be farther considered. What has been written on Mr. H.'s sentiment, is now submitted to the public for their inspection; and may God add his blessing to all our endeavors in promoting useful knowledge and human happiness. EDITOR.


[The following eloquent essay on the hallowed pleasures and benefits attendant upon the day of rest, is from the Baltimore Morning Chronicle.]

There is something peculiarly soothing and delightful to reflect, that our great and adorable Creator has allowed six days of labor, and one of rest; to think, that on the Sabbath we have bid adieu to the cares, the troubles, the anxieties, the perplexities of the week, and are allowed to enter into the temple of God to hear the sound of Gospel salvation. We are then reminded that the rest of the Sabbath is only preliminary to the rest of that eternal Sabbath, that hereafter awaits the people of God, who rest from this world and all its vain pursuits; rest from the cravings of ambition-the dull, ceaseless, monotonous concerns of this world, where hope sickens into disappointment, and where joy is but the harbinger of sorrow. To the child of affliction and despondency, how soothing are the first beams of light that usher in the Sabbath morning! The poorest man on this day feels his own dignity-he feels that he is rapidly jour

neying to another state of existence, where the proudest monarch on earth would rejoice to exchange his crown for that which awaits the humblest and most despised son of pious poverty. The Savior of the world was the friend of the poor man. Burns beautifully expresses

this idea,

He who bore in Heaven the second name,
Had not on earth whereon to lay His head.

What a consolation is this to the poor, that they have such a friend, at a time when the grave shall have heaped its mould on our vain presumption, and death shall have imposed his silent law on the bustle, the noise and the tumults occasioned by those transitory beings on earth, styled Monarchs and Emperors!-They are but the monarchs and potentates of a day, whereas this poor man, this "Lazarus" is a monarch for eternity. He is a monarch whose crown will glitter with undecaying radiance, when the young sun will be blotted from creation. The Sabbath reminds the poor man of his native inherent dignity, and it is astonishing that we find so many of this class absenting themselves on this day from the service of the living God. Instead of lending a willing ear to such exhiliarating, such heart consoling truths, they are too prone to forget their own dignity, to turn their back upon the temple where they are reminded of such glorious tidings. The Sabbath, we repeat, is the pride, and ought to be the jubilee of every poor man. What rewards and promises had Alexander of Russia, what has George the IV. of England, to give in comparison with these? Nothing, literally and substantially nothing! George, at the hour of his proclamation as king, trembles before a monarch more powerful than himself-the emperor of dust and ashes. Death, at the very moment when his terrestrial crown

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twinkles upon his temples, shakes his dart, and this earthly idol, this favorite of a million, this compound of dust and ashes, trembles upon his throne:-trembles at the moment while his brows are encircled by the diadem of royalty..

The Sabbath reminds us that death, so far from being the extinction of life, is but the hour when the spirit is born for the skies; when it shakes off our mortal and mouldering dust, soars to its proper regionto the society of saints and angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect. And yet there are most of our species who deem such privileges beneath their notice, objects not worth their ambition, and who had rather indulge in low, sordid and transitory pleasures of the day than to behold a glimpse of the gates of Heaven, and to follow the angel of mercy who flies before and beckons them to the Paradise of GOD.

From the Richmond Enquirer,

A friend has been kind enough to place in our hands the following correspondence, which we have no doubt will furnish as much gratification to our readers as it has done to ourselves. In the letters of Mr. Jefferson, we find a masterly refutation of the errors which have been so frequently repeated as to an important period of his public history. In the mode of refuting them we also see a new proof, of how much genius is indebted to method for some of its most successful efforts.

Dear Sir-You insisted on my giving you the particulars of my last visit to Monticello, and a sight of the correspondence which led to it. My visit, you know, was frustrate and melancholy, and its details, you may suppose, will be sorrowful and few. The correspondence being destined for publication in a second edition of Lee's Memoirs, will soon be accessible. In the

mean time, I send you copies of two of Mr. Jefferson's letters-which cannot fail to increase your admiration

of him.

Upon arriving at Charlottesville, on the 27th June, although i was reported that Mr. Jefferson was sick, the account seemed neither so definite nor alarming, as to render it proper that I should forego the object of my journey. I, therefore, addressed a note to him signifying my arrival and readiness to wait on him next day, or any other day of that week, which might be more agreeable to him. Next morning Mr. Trist called on me, confirmed the account I had before received, and said that Mr. J. had desired that I would dine at Monticello that day or the preceding. The preceding day was the Thursday before his death, and when it came, it seemed to be the general impression around me, that the life of the Patriarch was in danger. I, therefore, determined to call in the forenoon, and in case his indisposition continued to be serious, to return before dinner to Charlottesville. As I approached the house, the anxiety and distress visible in the countenance of the servants, increased the gloom of my own forebodings, and I entered it under no little agitation. After the object of my early call was made known to Mrs. Randolph, she told me that although her father had been expecting to see me, he was then too unwell to receive any one. It was too evident that the fears of his daughter overbalanced her hopes, and while sympathizing in her distress, I could not help sighing, to think that although separated from him only by a thin wall, I was never more to behold the venerable man, who had entered all the walks of politics and philosophy, and in all was foremost-and to whom the past, and the present, and all future ages are, and will be, so much indebted. However, Mrs. Randolph having left me, to attend on

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