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would have afforded occupation to large masses of people for a period of time;-thus a nucleus would have been formed, around which a vast population would have been collected and might have remained for ages. Hence, means were necessary to bring that particular work to an end. The wisdom of God in his providence is seen, as much in providing means for the accomplishment of his purposes, as in the beneficent designs which he forms for the good of the human race. The peopling of the earth. was one of the early designs of God revealed to man. And had man been attentive to God's will, he would have sought means to replenish the earth, instead of constructing a huge rallying point to prevent the inhabitants from scattering abroad. To this purpose Josephus remarks: "God also commanded them to send colonies abroad, for the thorough peopling of the earth, that they might not raise seditions among themselves, but might cultivate a great part of the earth, and enjoy its fruits after a plentiful manner. But they were so ill instructed that they did not obey God." The object of dispersion was not a temporary one. Mankind were not scattered abroad as a punishment for attempting to erect a stupendous tower; but the language of the inhabitants was broken into dialects, or otherwise confused, in order that men might be scattered abroad to fulfil the great command of God, to "replenish the earth." In this dispensation of Providence, we discover the design of preventing the relapse of mankind into the antediluvian state of wickedness.

The wickedness of the old world was very great. Not only was "every imagination of the thoughts " " of the heart "evil" and "only evil," but "the earth was filled with violence." The great peculiarity in the antediluvian world, was, perhaps, a dense population. As an arrangement of society, it was eminently adapted to provoke and cherish vice. And hence, through disregard of God's command to "replenish the earth," mankind called down by their violence and blood the deluge of waters. Dispersion of mankind over the earth was the most merciful method of preventing the outrage of the old world. Had Cain and Abel, at a suitable age, separated farther from each other, and commenced life and business more independently of each other, there would have been, to human view, less liability of violence towards each other.

Had Cain, in obedience to the command of God to "replenish the earth," gone to the land of Nod at first, and thus been removed from the little jealousies that arise from long intimacy and like relations, he might have rejoiced in the prosperity of Abel, instead of seeking his life. When the servants of Abraham and Lot strove together, those good men had the wisdom to remove the cause of strife by a wide separation. In their case was illustrated the design of dispersion. Many social vices, that can receive, from the necessity of the case, little if any toleration in a scattered state of society, thrive and strengthen in a dense population. The fertility of the soil in its youthful and vigorous state contributed to render antediluvian life free from anxiety in regard to worldly support, and tended, therefore, to cherish habits of idleness and dissipation. Held together by great longevity and strength of old associations, the society of the old world, in all its prominent and distinctive characteristics, appears to have merited the indignation and wrath of an insulted Creator. So far as that displeasure of God was incurred by a dense population, it could not so fully be reprovoked after the dispersion of mankind over the earth. Cities, and densely populated states may groan under the evils of accumulated poverty and vice. And if the command of God to replenish the earth be still disregarded, turmoil, violence and bloodshed may distract and destroy, as they did before the flood. Cities generally create a helpless, deformed and vicious population, whom the rich are unwilling to support in a comfortable manner, and who find little warmth of charity in the general expression of Christian benevolence. Had this population opened their eyes on the broad expanse spread over the open country, enjoyed from the first, the invigorating influence of pure and proper exercise, and developed their energies in acquiring a livelihood by honest labor, how many sons and daughters of want and misery, that are now burdens to themselves and a curse to society, would have arisen to bless mankind and honor their Creator. That wise and good men remain uncontaminated by the vicious influence of city life is no proof that that influence does not exist, and exist as a powerful means of evil to thousands. Although Lot maintained integrity of character during his residence in Sodom, yet the masses were corrupt to an alarming ex

tent. Do cities as modes of the organization of human society meet the approval of God, as his will is revealed in the Bible? The history of cities, like those of the old world, is ominous. Jerusalem was built at great sacrifice of life and treasure. In it for a time was performed the temple worship to the praise of God; but it became the seat of the foulest opposition to God, and sealed its doom in the crucifixion of the Saviour. What can be said of the great cities of antiquity-Babylon, Rome, Athens? And what can be said of the great cities of modern times— London, Paris, Rome? In remarking upon the Apocalyptic Babylon, Dr. Chalmers says: "What can be the city here spoken of? (c. 18.) It is much liker London, than Rome a commercial, than a mere ecclesiastical capital.

* The lamentation of the sailors points more to a place of great shipping interest than to Rome, or any place in Italy, and strengthens the argument for its being the capital of our own land. We cannot perceive that shipowners are much enriched by the traffic of Rome; and the lamentation seems far more applicable to London, lapsed, it may be, when the period of this fulfilment comes round, into Anti-Christianism."

Z. J.

ARTICLE IV.

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDIVIDUALISM.

MAN is a distinct being. In feeling, in thought, in action, and in all that makes up the reality of life, he is absolutely alone. The poet may excite in a thousand hearts the emotions that thrill his own; the philosopher may beget the same thoughts in other minds that have cheered and sustained him; and the orator, by his eloquence, may control the multitude with perfect ease; but the feelings, the thoughts and the acts of each individual are his own. There can be no connection between man and man such as to destroy his personal identity. This, by no means, implies that others can have no influence over us. We know of no situation in which we are not constantly

under the influence of those around us. The mother's gentle voice and firm hand guides the child in the path of truth and virtue; or, through her neglect and false treatment, it grows up morally misshapen and deformed. All that is good and true in the past never dies; but, being transmitted from generation to generation, grows up to perfection, bearing rich and abundant fruit. In opinions, doctrines, and thoughts, we are the fathers of those who live after us. Generations are so perfectly interlocked in their spiritual and intellectual existence, that it would be difficult to mark the boundaries between them. The few good and great men of each period who were able to make themselves heard above the inarticulate jargon of the times, enstamped their likeness on their generation; it is still discernible in their descendants, in far clearer and more distinct characters than those of kings on their coins, or the representation of their battle-scenes that were chisselled into their marble monuments. Although the people whose laws Justinian collected and arranged are unknown but in history, and their monuments are fast mouldering away, he lives in all his truth and greatness in English and American law. Still each man is separate from the past, and, in all that constitutes himself, distinct from every thing. The same is true of us, as children of our parents. Though their influence is like light around us, and though their words live within us, we are ourselves, after all. Each mau

makes himself. The stones may have been quarried by past generations, and hewn and shapen by those more immediately connected with us; but they are fitted to their places by our own hands. If our parents and the past live within us, in such a manner as to destroy our individuality, why is not the same true of the trees and rocks and streams around us? The climate and nature have much, if not as much to do in forming our characters, as those under whose tuition we spent our childhood and youth. The stiff, strong climate of New England, her hard soil, steep, rugged rocks, and swift running streams, have had no small influence in creating a people who, for endurance, for enterprise, for virtue and true wisdom, have not their equal in the history of the world. While those

of a more southern, tropical clime, though they may be more excitable, are often indolent, ignorant and

vicious. If, then, these innumerable influences are not the servants who provide the material of which we build ourselves, but are themselves wrought into our very being, forming something of our infinite variety of character, in the absence of a unity, who and what are we? Each individual, rather this strange compounded existence, is like an immense case, filled with contributions from the past and the present, from the winds, the waves, the streams, the flowers, and even the stars. But in the midst of this variety of combination there is an individuality. Either man is strictly an individual, though in his formation he may work in material provided by others, or else the race is welded together, or formed into a solid, compact mass, like the roots of the gnarled oak. In this case, those who have by some peculiar process broken loose from this union and spoken out like Columbus, Galileo, or Luther, should be branded as outlaws of the race. Their thoughts, that startled the world and troubled those who warred against their individualisın, ought to be stifled at once.

Man is alone in his joys. The emotions thatare excited in my heart under the influence of music, or while standing on the shore listening to the roar of the ocean, are my own. Similar feelings may fill other hearts, but I feel alone. No man can enter into the secret chamber of my being and share with me these emotions. I am apart, distinct, separate from the world, in all my feelings. I can feel the thrill, the ebb and flow in my own soul; but I can have no more consciousness of the emotions of others than I can have of that which has no existence. The orator may transfuse his own thoughts and feelings into the minds and hearts of those who hear him, until the whole audience is ready to arise and follow him in the most perilous enterprise; still each individual is conscious only of his own feelings.

How clearly is this fact illustrated in the case of Luther at the Diet of Worms. After his speech, and even during its delivery, at his second meeting of the Diet, while the members, men of the first rank, from almost every kingdom in Europe, were almost beside themselves, and the entire populace in the city was terribly excited, every word, and movement, and action of Luther shows that he was calm, deliberate and happy. He stood alone and

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