the Editor expected from Mr. Harvey's brother in the Relief ministry, was an answer to a private letter, inquiring as to the accuracy of a private conversation. Mr. Harvey's was a discourse heard by numbers, and open to remark by all who heard it. "Courtesy," truly! Surely it became not Mr. Harvey to expect much consideration of that kind, when he knew, that not alone the "nameless scribbler," did his profitable occupation "allow" him no "leisure to notice," but that even the manly and Christian remonstrance of a Christian Unitarian, who also heard that lecture, and who felt aggrieved by its flagrant misrepresentations of the Unitarian doctrine and its defenders-even to that letter, signed both by Christian and surname, and dated from the residence of the writer, Mr. Harvey, the man of courtesy, has, to this hour, returned no answer! Mr. Harvey's test of courtesy, was, however, complied with. "The accuracy of the notes upon which the article is founded," was ascertained previously to the insertion of the remarks. If, in every instance, the identical words employed by the preacher were not given, yet in several, they certainly were and in all, the substance and spirit of his language were expressed. Mr. Harvey says, "the note-taker was, happily, not the only individual before whom the discourse was delivered." He was not indeed, but whether "happily" or unhappily for Mr. Harvey, the public must decide. It may be, indeed, that Mr. Harvey, as he evidently knew not whereof he affirmed, may be unconscious as to what he really did say, and that, in the fervour of his zeal against the Unitarians, he may, unintentionally, have violated both truth and charity; but certain it is, that the "accuracy" of the "note-taker" is borne out by testimony, that the Editor cannot question from the mere unsupported assertion of Mr. Harvey.

Mr. Harvey talks of the "misrepresentations in that article." Why did he not specify them? He had the opportunity, and flimsy indeed is the pretext which he assigns for not availing himself of it. Did he not take the text which is mentioned? Did he not repeatedly quote the word "infidel" in connexion with the Unitarians? Did he not tell that tale of Jefferson and Priestley? Did he not utter that wretched perversion of Priestley's language as to Christ being the Maker of the world? Was there no notice of the holy alliance between Socinianism and Mahometanism? Were the other assertions all fig

ments of the "note-taker's" imagination? Nay, was that the only Sabbath that Mr. Harvey desecrated in a similar manner? His hearers know it was not. Let him not: fancy that any popularity will secure him from exposure, if he deviates from truth, substitutes calumny for fact, and anathema for Scripture. The eye of "Argus" is upon. him. A "heathen signature" it may be the name is nothing but facts are stubborn things; let Mr. Harvey disprove them if he can.

Mr. Harvey affirms of the Unitarians, "their prejudices appear to be as strong, and their hatred of Trinitarians as cordial, as those of the greatest bigot against whom they can so eloquently rail." There needed but this sentence to prove the "accuracy" of the "note-taker." Deplorably ignorant of the views and feelings of Christian Unitarians, must he be who penned it. That they have their prejudices, may be admitted, for they are human; but that they are 66 as strong" "as those of the greatest bigot," is impossible. The nature of the human mind forbids it. He who inquires freely, and he who subscribes slave-he who exercises his reason, and he who decries its use-he who looks on man as his brother, and God as his Father, and he who thinks that on the profession of a particular creed, is dependant man's salvation and Heaven's wraththese two cannot have prejudices "as strong" as each other on the subject of religion, for the one regards error as a crime, and the other esteems it often an involuntary

act.

And as to "their hatred of Trinitarians," it exists only in the imagination of Mr. Harvey. It may express perfectly, his feelings toward the Unitarians. It is not doubted that his "hatred" of them, is "as cordial" as to qualify him for Dr. Samuel Johnson's definition of a good hater. But he mistakes the matter most egregiously, if he supposes that the slightest emotion of that kind enters the breast of a Christian Unitarian, towards those whom he conceives to be in error. No. The Christian Unitarian is always careful to draw a distinction (and it is a broad one) between the error and the erring; he can discard the one and esteem the other; and, while he uses his utmost efforts to uproot the superstition which degrades, and the fanaticism which demoralizes, he yet respects the votaries of the one, and would gladly reclaim the victims of the other. He does not deal damnation round the land. Pity is the feeling which actuates his bosom, when he witnesses:

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upright and benevolent characters bowing down before a creed, inconsistent with their actions, and at war with their deeds of charity. But far different are the feelings which the "reputed orthodox" cherish in their votaries. "Stand by thyself, come not near to me, for I am holier than thou," is their motto. An alien from God and a foe to man, the presumed heretic is shunned here, and is doomed to perdition for ever! Mr. Harvey, therefore, no doubt, speaks from his own knowledge, when he testifies to the prejudices" and the "hatred" of the "bigot," but when he charges similar sentiments and feelings to the Christian Unitarian, he is as apocryphal as he was in his lecture. The Editor of the Christian Pioneer never imagined or expected, that the remarks on Mr. Harvey, would " terrify" him "into silence." He had no such wish. He is the friend of scriptural inquiry, and rejoices in hearing of impartial and enlightened discussion. Mr. Harvey would wander from the point if he could. Let him answer the charges which have been brought against him. The public will not be put off with Christian sneers at "profane mottoes," "espionage," and "spies; nor with calls for the "Christian name of the writer," to whom a "heathen signature" "affords but a poor concealment." [What need then for this call?] Let Mr. Harvey reply to the charges. If he do not, and if he continue still to substitute ignorant invective for calm and Christian investigation-to distort the opinions he is unable to disprove-to brand with odious epithets those with whom he cannot argue,—if he persists in mingling human passion with Bible precept, and casts about his firebrands reckless of the consequences to himself or others, then, even his friends may possibly conclude, that silence would best become him, and adopting the language of Job, to those who railed in his day, may exclaim, "Oh that ye would altogether hold your peace, and it should be your wisdom!"

Hymn on the Works of Nature.

THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learn'd
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,

And spread the roof above them-ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back

The sound of anthems-in the darkling wood,

Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down
And offer'd to the Mightiest, solemn thanks
And supplication. For his simple heart
Might not resist the sacred influences,-
That from the stilly twilight of the place,
And from the gray old trunks, that high in heaven
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound
Of the invisible breath, that sway'd at once
All their green tops-stole o'er him, and bowed
His spirit, with the thought of boundless power
And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore

Only among the crowd, and under roofs

That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least,
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood,

Offer one hymn, thrice happy if it find
Acceptance in his ear.

Father! thy hand

Hath rear'd these venerable columns.

Thou

Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down

Upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose

All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy Sun,
Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze,
And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow,
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died
Among their branches, till at last they stood,
As now they stand, massy and tall and dark-
Fit shrine for humble worshipper, to hold
Communion with his Maker. Here are seen
No traces of man's pomp or pride: no silks
Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes
Encounter-no fantastic carvings show
The boast of our vain race, to change the form
Of thy fair works. But Thou art here-thou fill'st
The solitude! Thou art in the soft winds,

That run along the summits of these trees

In music. Thou art in the cooler breath,
That from the inmost darkness of the place

Comes scarcely felt. The barky trunks, the ground,
The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with Thee.
Here is continual worship. Nature, here,
In the tranquillity that Thou dost love,
Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around,

From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes; and yon clear spring, that midst its herbs
Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale

Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left
Thyself without a witness, in these shades,
Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace,
Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak,
By whose immoveable stem I stand, and seem
Almost annihilated,-not a Prince

In all the proud old world beyond the deep,
E'er wore his crown so loftily as he
Wears the green coronal of leaves, with which
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root,
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare
Of the broad sun-that delicate forest flower,
With scented breath, and look so like a smile,
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould,
An emanation of the indwelling Life,

A visible token of the upholding Love,
That are the soul of this wide universe.

My heart is awed within me, when I think
Of the great miracle, that still goes on
In silence round me-the perpetual work
Of thy creation, finish'd, yet renew'd
For ever. Written on thy works, I read
The lesson of thy own eternity.

.

Lo! all grow old and die,—but see again
How on the faltering footsteps of decay
Youth presses-ever gay and beautiful youth,
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees
Wave not less proudly, that their ancestors
Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost
One of earth's charms. Upon her bosom yet,
After the flight of untold centuries,
The freshness of her far beginning lies,
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate
Of his arch-enemy death-yea, seats himself
Upon the sepulchre, and blooms and smiles,
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe

Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

There have been holy men, who hid themselves

Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave