melody of spring, or call forth its delicate odors? Can we ripen the harvest, or give their hues and flavor to the autumnal fruits? Can we wield the elements, or bind the planetary influences? Of all the treasures of the year, vast in number and importance, how few are produced by the sole agency of man! How little is it man can do at best! Of himself how feeble and helpless! We are thus invited to call to mind what we have received. We are admonished, in the next place, to consider what we have done; what returns we have made to God for his goodness. How have we employed the year through which he has conducted us? Have we been insensible and forgotten him, living in carelessness of his laws, and without a due sense of his allsurrounding presence and agency, thus subjecting ourselves to the charge of practical atheism? Have we been deaf to the gentle whispers of mercy, by which he has designed to win us to virtue and to himself? Has love to him been our supreme motive, our governing principle? or have we pursued selfish ends, been wedded to narrow and grovelling views and interests? What advances have we made in goodness, in humility, in self-government, and benevolence? Has time served to abate our virtuous ardor, and chill the kind affections of our nature, or has it contributed to inflame a thirst of excellence, to extend and enliven our sympathy, and draw closer the ties, which connect us with our fellow travellers on the journey of life? We have approached several steps nearer the tomb; have we in the same proportion added to our fitness for heaven? These are questions which deeply concern old and young. Let every one seek a reply to them from his own heart. This reply, it is to be feared, will, in but too many cases, be a very melancholy one. Let We cannot recal the past. But the future, should a future year be granted us, is yet in our power. Reform and improvement are within our reach. Let us be anxious and strive to secure them. With the past year let our sins die, let our imperfections be dropped, and our follies end. Let us not take them with us into the coming term. Let them not mar the texture of our future lives. them not sully the moments which are yet to arrive. Let those moments, however few, or however numerous, be rendered back pure to the hand that dispenses them. Let the year be sacred to justice and to humanity, to whatever is right and fit in feelings and temper, and virtuous, attractive and fair in action. We may, if we will, render it subservient to the cause of knowledge, and of goodness, to our own felicity, and to the peace and happiness of society. We may prevent its waste and abuse, but we cannot remedy them when it is gone. We view the past, it may be, with a feeling of disapprobation; we are dissatisfied with the attainments already made, we are oppressed with a sense of our deficiencies, with the recollection of time misspent, of opportunities neglected, and powers abused. Let us not go on adding sin to sin, and bitterness to regret, sowing iniquity and reaping of it sorrow. Enough of imperfection will remain with us, at best, often to sadden our reflections, and weigh down our spirits to the earth. Let us not unnecessarily increase the burden, lest it be greater than we can bear. Each year leaves a void in the circle of acquaintances, relatives, and friends. Familiar forms disappear, and we look around, and ask, where are the companions of our journey? They have entered the world of spirits. How soon we shall follow them is known only to Him by whose power we are sustained in being. Death may strike at any moment. All else has its season and hour. "Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither," "But who shall teach us when to look for death?" Since Who shall point out its place and hour? then we know not our time, what remains for us but to be ready and watch, that we be not surprised by the summons, however soon, or sudden, its arrival? THE HOUR OF DEATH. (From Mrs. Hemans.) LEAVES have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death! Day is for mortal care, Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer— But all for thee, thou Mightiest of the earth. The banquet hath its hour, Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears-but all are thine. Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death! We know when moons shall wane, When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain-But who shall teach us when to look for thee?- Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death! OPINIONS OF TERTULLIAN. AMONG the ancient ecclesiastical authors, usually called the Fathers, some of whom wrote in Greek and others in Latin, Tertullian holds a distinguished rank. He is the earliest Latin Father of any note, having been preceded according to the testimony of Jerome, only by Victor and Apollonius, of whom little is known. He was a native of Carthage in Africa, and was born about the middle of the second century after the christian era, but whether of gentile, or of christian parents, has been disputed. He was a man, says the author just referred to, of a "sharp and vehement temper;" he was a prolific writer, but his style is harsh, turgid and often obscure. He was admitted to the rank of presbyter, but whether in the church of Carthage, or Rome, is matter of some doubt. He embraced the calls the "New opinions of Montanus, which he Prophecy," as Jerome says, from wounded pride and sensibility, having been ill treated by the Roman clergy. He is reported, observes the same author, to have lived to a very advanced age. The time of his death is unknown. Some suppose it to have taken |