what Schelling said about the history of Christianity and the Christian church, about an historic construction of Christianity, and so forth, was not much more intelligible than what he had heard from Sebald. But a dim inkling of something higher than he had hitherto reached, of a meaning in religion lying above the sphere of morality in which he had been thus far confined, was implanted in his soul by this writer. The mysterious depths of Schelling's style irresistibly attracted him, and he applied himself diligently to a further examination of his system.

But he soon found that in this system the true idea of God and of immortality was lost. A God who appears only in creation, and in eternal change is destroyed and produced anew, though more real and living than Kant's thought of God, is also more earthly and unholy, and in fact is not God, but only the life of Nature, brooded over by a dark necessity. But if God is all in all, and all goes forth from him and returns again, then personal immortality is impossible, but man is only one of those appearances in which the life of nature is seen and then again lost sight of.

But what most displeased Theodore in this philosophy, was his perceiving the impossibility of constructing a moral system on its principles. If all is from and in God, then the distinction of good and bad is gone; nothing is imperfect in the world, all is holy through God, or rather He is desecrated by the unholy. Neither can freedom be asserted in this philosophy, since all is subject to a necessity, and every thing must of necessity be just what it is.

After our friend had gone through this new path of knowledge, he found himself yet more confused than before. John warned him against this system even more emphatically than against the philosophy of Kant, (which had at least left him his faith in God and Immortality, and a firm moral conviction,) and urged him to relinquish the study.

When Theodore had, in accordance with his promise, heard the course of lectures of the old professor, John reminded him of his other promise of studying the writings of the Fathers. He proposed to him to enter on a private course of patristics with the same professor. who was counted very strong and learned in that department. He did so; but it might have been foreseen that this study, undertaken in such a state of uncertainty and doubt, and pursued under such a guidance, could contribute little to Theodore's theological progress. Among the old church fathers, Clement, Origen and others,

he found a great application of philosophy, and this would have gratified him if there had been in it more closeness of reasoning, and less that was loose and arbitrary. Occasionally he was astonished at their clearness of thinking. He had not expected to find among them so much respect for reason and science. But together with this was such a love for the wonderful and mysterious, and so little rigor and earnestness in their search for truth; and it was so difficult for him to gather the few important thoughts out of the mass of allegorical contemplations; that he had little desire to go further in this study. But when he got down to the later fathers-Athanasius, Basil, Augustin, and others-he met continually with more dogmatism in doctrinal subtleties, more hostility to the reason, and more subjection to the authority of the church. He then relinquished altogether the hope of ever being able to agree with these men. Particularly toward Augustin he felt a decided aversion. It could not escape his observation how far the peculiar opinions of this man, so inclined to carry every thing to the most violent extreme, differed from those of the Greek fathers. He knew likewise the influence of Augustin's system upon the development of the modern doctrines of the church and the Lutheran creed. He therefore felt himself justified in looking upon the whole popular doctrine of the church as a merely human system, and having reached this point, his independence of mind and determination of character compelled him to renounce from that moment the study of theology. (To be continued.)

ART. 10.-A VISIT TO MOBILE.

At the request of the American Unitarian Association, I went south during the past winter, for the purpose of preaching a few weeks at Mobile, Alabama. A letter which I wrote from Orleans, has been published in a previous number of the Messenger. From that city I went across upon the rail-road, to Lake Ponchartrain, a distance of about six miles, over which we pass by means of a locomotive, in about half an hour. On either side of the railway lies a black swamp, full of melancholy looking trees, twisted, moss-covered, and black, and beneath are crowded together the palmettos, which indicate a proximity to the tropics. The lake is very shallow, and the piers run out a long distance to enable the steamboats to approach them. The moon shone full that night, and as

the broad lake rolled out its waters in a silvery expanse; as the fresh breeze came laden with salt vapor from the gulf; and the boat began to rol! and plunge ovor the long waves; a feeling difficult to analyze came over me. I sat upon the guards and felt my mind expanded by the influence of the scene. For more than a week I had been passing, night and day, along the interminable Mississippi. The same flat shores, the same naked forests, the same narrow strips of water, before, behind, and on either side of me. And now I felt on coming out on this broad sea of waters, as if a pressure had been taken off my mind, and free play given to its natural elasticity. I recollect noticing a like joyous feeling, which diffused itself among the passengers who were on the deck of the packet boat when it ran out of the narrow canal on to the broad bosom of the Susquehanna. The horses which drew the tow line, crossed the river on a bridge, and as the boat swept along below, the change from the confined ditch to the open river put new spirits into all. Some years ago, taking advantage of a college vacation, I rambled for a few days on foot through the defiles of the White Mountains. After killing a good many trout in the tributaries of the Saco and Amonoosack; after having tried in vain to make sketches which might convey a faint idea of the awful forms which towered around me-pine-clad, granite crowned, and gashed with slides and avalanches; I at last bade them farewell, and passed out through the jaws of the Notch into the open region. It was like emerging from prison. I recollect the feeling well. Surely freedom is natural to the human mind after all.

When morning dawned, we were in Lake Borgne, having passed in the night Pine Island, where the British bivouacked in the rain for two or three days, before landing to attack New Orleans. The water was more rough and green-we were entering the Gulf of Mexico. Along the shores the warm verdure of the pine woods, contrasting with the snowy whiteness of the shell-beach on which they stood, was grateful to the eye. The sea was now heavier, the wind more fresh; one side of the sky was dark; on the other, the feathery-tangled clouds were hurrying along in ragged and tumultuous masses; while in the south-west one spot, ominously bright, indicated that we were on the squally Gulf of Mexico.

"Olli caeruleus super caput astitit imber."

I must, however rebuke my propensity for scene painting, or this article will swell beyond all natural magazine limits. Enough therefore that no storm caught us, and that by noon we had entered the bay of Mobile. We passed the cotton

ships which lie at anchor many miles below the city, as unfortunately, there is not depth of water for them at the town. The cotton bales are carried down to them in lighters by means of steam tow-boats. This is the only commercial objection to the position of Mobile, and the enterprise of the inhabitants easily overcomes this inconvenience.

It may be a weakness, but I will not conceal the fact, that a feeling of sadness generally comes over me as I approach a strange city, and I believe I should not get over it if I should travel through every nation the sun looks down upon in his daily course. Thousands of homes before you, but not one of them a home to you-life active and hopeful, and you a stranger in the midst of it. Especially if you have some weighty and arduous task to accomplish, faith will sometimes sink, and courage slacken, and you are brought to feel how weak you are in yourself, and how wholly dependent on the strengthening spirit of Almighty God. If I had known how much kindness I was to meet, how many true-hearted men I was to find in the busy city which lay before me, my heart would have been lighter as the boat rounded to along side one of the wharves.

Mobile is a very busy and growing city of about ten or twelve thousand inhabitants. It is situated on a sandy plain, which extends many miles from the river. The business part of the town, lying between the Main street and the river, is built chiefly of brick, the other part resembles a New-England village, with its tasteful wooden buildings, all painted white, with piazzas and porticos, and surrounded by china trees and magnolias. The effect in winter is very pretty, in summer it must be beautiful.

The chief aim of man in Mobile is to buy, sell, pack, press, speculate in and talk about COTTON. You meet two men engaged in conversation. As they pass you, if a sentence of their conversation comes to your ear, it will probably be "two and a half cents in Liverpool"-"three bales this morning"-or some equally significant phrase. In Cincinnati it would be "five hundred hogs"-on the Connecticut river, "twenty acres of broom corn”-in Washington, "deposite question"-public lands" or, "Mr. Clay's speech this morning." And indeed, if conversation must have its staple as well as commerce, I should think cotton as pretty an article to have always in your mouth, as hogs, broomsticks, or members of Congress.

The energy with which business is done in Mobile is wonderful. I had supposed Louisville a pretty active place, but we are quite an indolent people, compared with the Mobilians. I

speak here of the business part of the population. From early dawn till late in the night, they are buying, selling, writing and receiving letters, examining cotton, running to the bank, borrowing and lending money, &c. &c. &c. The steam presses are putting and screaming before dawn and long after dark, and I am sorry to say that Sunday is often no day of rest to them.

I found this great devotion to business much in my way, at the beginning. It was difficult to draw the attention away from business to religious and church matters. But according to the beautiful system of compensations which runs through all God's works, I found that when the attention was fairly gained to the subject, the energy and ardor displayed in business was transferred to religion, and a great deal more was accomplished in a short time, than could have been done in a more sluggish community.

There never had been any Unitarian preaching in the place I believe, before I went there, but there were many good and warm friends to the cause in the city. Our great difficulty was to find a place to preach in. The churches happened to be in a tumble-down condition; one was pulled down while I was there; and another ought to have been. The Episcopalian, Presbyterian and Baptist societies were engaged in preparing to put up new buildings. The first Lord's day I preached in the Federal court room, an excellent place, and it was well filled, morning and evening. But we were expelled from that building on the plea of positive orders from Washington not to let it be used for any purpose, except that for which it was designed. We then betook ourselves for two successive Lord's days to a room belonging to the Franklin society, not the best place to be sure, but better than none. But we were shortly after turned out of this asylum by a vote of the society, who seemed to apprehend evil to their stuffed alligators and cases of curiosities from our presence. Possessing our souls in patience, we then besought admission into the county court house, but the Baptist society who occupied it, assured us that they had preaching and other services throughout the livelong day. Diligent and earnest were the efforts to find some other rest for the sole of our foot-every engine house, ball room, store loft, school house was enquired after, but in vain. I proposed to my friends to dispute in the Market place, after the fashion of Paul at Athens, and would even have adventured myself into the theatre, like the same great model at Ephesus, but my friends suffered me not. They feared it would injure the cause, and excite prejudice against us, if we