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- This, though a short, is a true specimen of the havoc which must be made with the theory of verbal inspiration, before the Word of God can have free course and be glorified. By such a barbarous jargon must the glorious gospel be brought down to the cold, childish, stereotyped, ideas of the millions of China, before they can put in a righteous claim to the title they now so arrogantly assume-of denizens of the Celestial Empire - the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ! Yet by such feeble and apparently foolish instrumentality its first fruits have been brought in, as if to laugh down the littleness of those timid Christians who fear that the mere letters and symbols under which the great ideas of Bible truth are couched, are necessary elements in the conversion of the world.

PRETTY WRITING. There is a vast deal of what is called “ pretty writing" in the world, which is not only nonsensical, but positively mischievous, even when it purports to be directed towards a really useful object. Take of sunshine, and bright hair, and dove-like eyes, and "imaginings” and “things,” and childish (not childlike) prattle, and sanctify your story by eliciting a specious moral from these materials, and you will be called a pretty-perhaps a usefulwriter.

By way of illustration, we select from an author of the American school, who shall be nameless, the little tale which follows; and with which we have interwoven a few remarks of our own. Though it professes to decry slave-holding, it touches it with so very polite and gentle a hand, as to make it appear rather a merely questionable unkindness, than one of the most revolting crimes of which humanity can be guilty. The master and mistress, whose property is in human flesh, are both tenderhearted and susceptible in the highest degree, sobbing over and kissing their little ones—the latter for exactly sixty minutes “by Shrewsbury clock”-commiserating a pair of imprisoned birds which were, nevertheless, sufficiently at home to become parents in their captivity, and “ coloring to the eyes” at the sight of their deserted cage. Yet this “ benevolent looking man," and his highminded and tender-hearted “Martha,” think that black and

white mothers and children are not of the same flesh and blood; and that a merciful visitation of Providence is not to be thought of, as they would be two hundred dollars out of pocket by it! But our extract shall speak for itself.

“INSTINCT OF CHILDHOOD.” "A BEAUTIFUL child [children are nothing without beauty] stood near a large open window. The window was completely overshadowed by wild grape, and blossoming honeysuckle, and the drooping branches of a prodigious elm—the largest and handsomest you ever saw [or any · Britisher' either]. The child was leaning forward with half open mouth and thoughtful eyes, looking into the firmament of green leaves for ever at play, that appeared to overhang the whole neighbourhood ; and her loose, bright hair, as it broke away sit was 'loose' before] in the cheerful morning wind, glittered like stray sunshine among the branches and blossoms. Just underneath her feet, and almost within reach of her little hand, [feet and hands must be very near together in America,] swung a large and prettily covered bird-cage, all open [z. e. 'covered'] to the sky! The broad plentiful grape leaves lay upon it in heaps (for it was 'open to the sky']—the morning wind blew pleasantly through it, making the very music that birds and children love best - and the delicate {a decided improvement on our English elms] branches of the drooping elm swept over it-and the glow of blossoming herbage round about fell with a sort of shadowy lustre [i.e. a dark light, upon the basin of bright water, and the floor of glittering sand within the cage.

“Well, if ever!' said the child ; and then she stooped and pulled away the trailing branches and looked into the cage ; and then her lips began to tremble, and her soft eyes filled with tears. [Exactly what a child would do.]

"Within the cage was the mother bird, Auttering and whistling -not cheerfully, but mournfully-and beating herself to death against the delicate wires ; and three little bits of birds watching her, open-mouthed, and trying to follow her from perch to perch, as she opened and shut her golden wings, like sudden flashes of sunshine, (very !) and darted hither and thither, as if hunted by some invisible thing-or a cat foraging in the shrubbery !

« • There now! there you go again! you foolish thing, you ! Why, what is the matter? I should be ashamed of myself! I should so! Hav'nt we bought the prettiest cage in the world for you? Hav'nt you had enough to eat, and the best that could be had for love or money-sponge-cake-loaf sugar, and all sorts of seeds ? [An exact parallel to the luxuries of slave-life in America.] Didn't father put up a nest with his own hands; and havn't I watched over you, you ungrateful little thing, till the eggs they put there had all turned to birds no bigger than grasshoppers, and so noisy-ah, you can't think! [Exceedingly probable under such happy circumstances. Why did not the mother bird beat herself to death' at an earlier period?] Just look at the beautiful clear water there -and the clean white sand—where do you think you could find such water as that, or such a pretty glass dish, or such beautiful bright sand, if we were to take you at your word, and let you out, with that little nest full of young ones, to shift for yourselves, hey?'

“The door opened, and a tall benevolent looking man [as all slave-holders are,] stepped up to her side.

“Oh, father, I'm so glad you're come. What do you think is the matter with poor little birdy?'

“ The father looked down among the grass and shrubbery, and up into the top branches, and then into the cage-the countenance of the poor little girl growing more and more perplexed and more sorrowful every moment.

66. Well, father, what is it? does it see anything?'

66. No, my love, nothing to frighten her; but where is the father bird ?

" • He's in the other cage. He made such a to-do when the birds began to chipper this morning, that I was obliged to let him out; and brother Bobby, he frightened him into the cage and carried him off.'

"Was that right, my love ?'

^«Why not, father? He wouldn't be quiet, you know; and what was I to do?'

" But, Moggy, dear, these little birds may want their father to help to feed them; the poor mother bird may want him to take care of them, or to sing to her ?'

“«Or, perhaps, to show them how to fly, father?'

“Yes, dear. And to separate them just now-how would you like to have me carried off, and put into another house, leaving nothing at home but your mothe. to watch over you and the rest of my little birds ?'

The child grew more thoughtful. She looked up into her father's face, and appeared as if more than half disposed to ask a question which might be a little out of place; (very likely!] but she forbore, and after musing a few moments, went back to the original subject. But, father, what can be the matter with the poor thing? you see how she keeps flying about, and the little ones trying to follow her, and tumbling upon their noses, and toddling about as if they were tipsy, and couldn't see straight.'

" I am afraid she is getting discontented.'

Discontented! How can that be, father? Hasn't she her little ones about her, and everything on earth she can wish? and then, you know, she never used to be so before.'

". When her mate was with her, perhaps.'

“ Yes, father; and yet, now I think of it, the moment these little witches began to peep-peep, and tumble about so funny, the father and mother began to fly about in the cage, as if they were crazy. What can be the reason? The water, you see, is cool and clear ; the sand bright; they are out in the open air, with all the green leaves blowing about them; their cage has been scoured with soap and sand (an exact counterpart to the cleanliness of a slave-sty,] the fountain filled ; and the seed-box-and-and-I declare I cannot think what ails them.'

“My love, may it not be the very things you speak of? Things which you think ought to make them happy, are the very cause of all their trouble, you see. The father and mother are separated. How can they teach their young to fly in that cage ? How teach them to provide for themselves ?'

"• But father, dear father !' laying her little hand on the spring of the cage-door, ' dear father ! would you."

“And why not, my dear child?' and the father's eyes filled with tears, and he stooped down and kissed the bright face upturned to his, and glowing as if illuminated with inward sunshine. Why not?'.

“I was only thinking, father, if I should let them out, who will feed them ?'

"Who feeds the young ravens, dear? Who feeds the ten thousand little birds that are flying about us now?'

“« True, father ; but they have never been imprisoned, you know, and have already learned to take care of themselves.'

“ The father looked up and smiled. • Worthy of profound consideration, my dear; I admit your plea ; but have a care lest you overrate the danger and the difficulty in your unwillingness to part with your beautiful little birds.'

« • Father!' and the little hand pressed upon the spring, and the door flew open-wide open.

“Stay, my child! What you do, must be done thoughtfully, conscientiously, so that you may be satisfied with yourself hereafter, and allow me to hear all your objections.'

I was thinking, father, about the cold rains, and the long winters, and how the poor little birds that have been so long confined would never be able to find a place to sleep in, or water to wash in, or seeds for their little ones.'

•6• In our climate, my love, the winters are very short; and the rainy season itself does not drive the birds away; and then, you know, birds always follow the sun; if our climate is too cold for them, they have only to go farther south. But in a word, my love, you are to do AS YOU WOULD BE DONE BY. As you would not like to have me separated from your mother and you -as you would not like to be imprisoned for life, though your cage were crammed with loaf-sugar and sponge-cake-as you--'

“That'll do father! that's enough! Brother Bobby! hither Bobby! bring the little cage with you; there's a dear!

“ Brother Bobby sang out in reply; and after a moment or two of anxious inquiry, appeared at the window with a little cage. The prison doors were opened : the father bird escaped ; the mother bird immediately followed with a cry of joy; and then came back and tolled her little ones forth among the bright green leaves. The children clapped their hands in an ecstacy, and the father fell upon their necks and kissed them; and the mother, who sat by, sobbed over them both for a whole hour, as if her heart would break ; and told her neighbours with tears in her eyes. [Exquisitely tender-hearted slave-holders !]

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