There are letters and poems interspersed in the memoir, and a few extracts from sermons. These literary remains, as the writer justly observes, can hardly be supposed to give a fair exposition of the talents of Mr. Woolley, yet they add much to the interest of the volume.

It is a subject of congratulation to the philanthropist, that literature is assuming a healthier tone, even in works of fiction, and fancy. The reading public demands something more than to be amused. It demands instruction, mental and moral. It demands something that shall lighten toil, throw beauty around the daily duties of life, lift the spirit from the sensualism of its mortal tenement, lessening, every way, the burdens of humanity, and that dread of the approaching grave, that day by day, draws near and more near to the sons and daughters of man. Works of biography are multiplying everywhere. There is a constantly increasing desire to know the circumstances that surrounded those who have left their mark upon society-the private hours-the daily thoughts and acts that helped to form their public lives. And that desire is being fulfilled. From the pious and lowly occupants of humble pulpits and humbler homes, to the lauded statesman and revered sage, memorials are springing up in our way. The earth is tracked with the footprints of the glorious dead. They who have meekly borne the cross of self-renunciation-they who have wrought their Master's work in patient suffering-they who have ascended from the battle fields of freedom, from prisons and scaffolds, made holy by their love of God and man-all these have left records that illuminate the world, and teach,

"How nobly Love can live, how grandly Faith can die!"

L. J. B. C.

ART. XXVI.

Head, Heart, Hand.

For the purpose of this article, Christianity may be said to be constituted of three elements, intellectual, emotional, and practical. Of course, therefore, it must have a threefold relation to man-to his mind or head, to his affections or heart, to his conduct or hand. And among the toughest problems which the Christian world has ever attempted to solve, are the comparative importance and the reciprocal relations of these elements, both in theory and in life. Ought the Christian teacher to endeavor primarily to enlighten the understanding, and give clear conceptions of the divine character and government, and of human duty and destiny? Or should he seek to touch the sensibilities, and fill the heart with gratitude and compassion? Or, finally, should he essay to quicken the conscience, and so to secure an external conformity with the requirements of virtue? If the first of these the inculcation of correct dogmas-be his object, he will set forth with what precision, and commend with what ability he can, the leading historic facts and the fundamental principles of the gospel, and endeavor to make men keen debaters, intense and comprehensive thinkers, and theologues. If the second of these ends-the awakening of the sympathies and the right direction of the feelings-be aimed at, he will meddle little with mere dogmas, but illustrate and enforce with all the skill he is able, the infinite grace of the Father, the wondrous sacrifice of the Son, and all the precious hopes, encouragements, and consolations of Christianity. If the last of these objects-the conformity of the conduct to the precepts of Christ-seem most desirable, his labors will naturally assume an altogether practical direction; will be devoted to the discussion of the nature and worth of specific acts, and to appeals to the fear of punishment and the hope of reward which do most readily, if not most permanently, affect one's volition and action. If, however, the intellectual, the affectional, and the practical elements of our religion have assumed their

appropriate relations in his mind, he will give his endeavors to no one of these results exclusively; but while seeking to illumine the mind, he will also strive both to arouse the sensibilities, and to secure a harvest of generous and noble deeds. But in the apprehension of how few of either the believers or the teachers of Christianity do these elements harmoniously co-exist! In the characters of how many less are they harmoniously reproduced! Certainly in the creed or the disciples of no sect do we see them blending as they might for the culture of the highest Christian life. Almost everywhere, in creeds and in conduct, does one or the other manifestly predominate, hindering the development of the others. The results are sadly distorted, rather than beautifully symmetrical souls. Notwithstanding this, we instinctively feel that, both in design and in reality, they constitute-and that it may be made apparent to every understanding that they do constitute an undivided unity-a unity which alone gives any thing like a complete expression of the Christian system, and which alone can be productive of any thing like a perfect Christian character. It is purposed, therefore, to say something now of these three elements of Christianity. Or, to phrase it somewhat differently, it is purposed to speak of the religion of the head, the religion of the heart, and the religion of the hand; to illustrate the province and the defects of each when separately considered; the manner and the extent to which they have been divorced; and the method in which they must coalesce before Christianity can achieve its highest results, and the kingdom of God be fully established on the earth.

And first, the religion of the head or the intellect. This, of course, must have a firm and unquestioned, if not an unquestionable, basis. Its foundations must be laid deep in the nature of things, and with all the firmness of which human genius is capable. Its superstructure must be in accordance with the most rigidly scientific principles. Not only must every part be in harmony with its fundamentals, but in harmony with every other part. In its walls must there be no aperture through which the arrow of a foe can find entrance, much less a breach through which the foe in person may enter to spoil and destroy. Compact and perfect-if not really, yet apparently-must it stand

to be approved by the cold, clear eye of reason. To those who constitutionally demand and instinctively accept such a religion, God is the infinite intellect the universe, the visible symbol of unbounded wisdom and skill. To them no higher conception of the Deity or his works is possible. For evidence on which others of a less tenaciously intellectual fibre base their convictions, they can hardly disguise their contempt. They will not be satisfied without a" Thus saith the Lord" for every position, an argument to stop the mouth of every inquirer, and a syllogism to put down every opponent.

This kind of religion is well illustrated in Calvinism, one of the most rigidly logical systems that ever found advocates or believers among men. Especially is this the case with Calvinism as taught and vindicated by Edwards. For, grant the premises of the morose Genevan, or of his little more genial American disciple, and human wisdom and cunning may safely be defied to escape his conclu sions. Hence the appeals of Calvinism are always to the head, as though it were enough to secure the assent of that, however much the heart might reluctate from it, or however impossible it might be to illustrate it in the life. The followers of Calvin, therefore, wherever his teachings have had liberty to develope their natural results, have been about equally characterized by intellectual acumen and vigor, and by a stern, intolerant temper. The gentler graces of religion-meekness, patience, gentleness, and the fervent philanthropy which embraces the world in its arms have generally failed to secure their active endeavors, if not their hearty esteem. A very slight acquaintance with the history and peculiarities of the Puritans, perhaps the most devoted Calvinists that ever existed outside the circle of the reformer's personal influence, will serve both to confirm and illustrate the position here taken. Yet Calvinism and Calvinists are not the only sinners in this respect. A similar, if not an equal predominance of the intellectual over the emotional and the practical elements may be discovered in other dispensations of Christianity. Our own form of it-at least as held by many among us-is by no means innocent of the same fault. To not a few of both our preachers and people, religion, apparently, has been, if it be not now, mostly if not solely

a thing of intellect. That it has an equal, if not a more intimate relation to the feelings and the conduct, seems to have hardly dawned upon their imaginations. They fancy therefore that if the mind be fully enlightened in regard to the character of God, his relations to, and his purposes concerning, his dependent creatures, the work of Christi anity has nearly all been accomplished; the affections and the life can hardly fail to flow in the proper channels. Hence the demand of such constantly is for the first principles, the fundamental doctrines of the gospel. "Give us these," say they-"something which will feed the minds of men, and not this declamation about the necessity of virtue, the beauty of piety, the indispensableness of love. Show us the wisdom, the power, the goodness of the Father-show us the nature, the certainty, the extent of redemption, and we will answer for the rest." Yet how unreasonable such demands, and how futile such expectations are, a very slight acquaintance with either human nature or human history will suffice to show. For while the former assures us that the soul of man is not all intellect, but is constituted of affections and conscience which must needs be cultivated, the latter declares in terms too plain to be mistaken, that the most accurate perceptions of truth and right, and the readiest intellectual assent to them, are not unfrequently conjoined with depraved affections and irregular conduct. If it were not so if the clearest perceptions of moral principles and duties were always accompanied by a corresponding elevation of life, then would Byron the worn-out debauchee, and Burns the confirmed sot, and Napoleon the unscrupulous despot, have been among the most virtuous of men. How often, too, do the instincts of the heart reason more correctly than the disciplined faculties of the head? How often do the former obtain juster views of those subjects which are generally supposed to be cognizable by the latter alone? "Blessed," says Jesus, "are the pure in heart"-those who have a profound sympathy with the spirit and purposes of heaven-" for they shall see God" intellectually; while the beloved disciple declares that he that loveth, knoweth God."

Still let not the religion of the head be despised; for it has done a great and good service in the warfare with