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men, who, in Boston, for ten dollars, would enslave a negro now! Rest still, Herod! Be quiet, Nero! Sleep, St. Dominic, and sleep, 0 Torquemada, in your fiery jail! Sleep, Jeffries, underneath the altar of the church' which seeks, with christian charity, to hide your hated bones!'

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In one of Mr. Parker's sermons on 66 Immortal Life," occurs the following beautiful passage:

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“I would not slight this wondrous world. I love its day and night. Its flowers and its fruits are dear to me. I would not willfully lose sight of a departing cloud. Every year opens new beauty in a star; or in a purple curtain fringed with loveliness. The laws, too, of matter seem more wonderful the more I study them, in the whirling eddies of the dust, in the curious shells of former life, buried by thousands in a grain of chalk, or in the shining diagrams of light above my head. Even the ugly becomes beautiful, when truly seen. I see the jewel in the bunchy toad. The more I live, the more I love this lovely world; feel more its Author in each little thing; in all that is great. But yet, I feel my immortality the more. In childhood, the consciousness of immortal life buds forth feeble, though full of promise. In the man, it unfolds its fragrant petals, his most celestial flower, to mature its seed throughout eternity. The prospect of that everlasting life, the perfect justice yet to come, the infinite progress before us, cheer and comfort the heart. Sad and disappointed, full of self-reproach, we shall not be so forever. The light of heaven breaks upon the night of trial, sorrow, sin ; the sombre clouds which over

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hung the east, grown purple now, tell us the dawn of heaven is coming in.”

The last quotation which we will make, is full of a sad eloquence. The preacher is speaking of the heroes of the present day, those men who have the courage and the principle to advocate unpopular reforms:

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“I know their trials, I see their dangers, I appreciate their

I sufferings, and since the day when the Man on Calvary bowed his head, bidding persecution farewell with his 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,' I find no such saints and heroes as live now! They win hard fare, and hard toil. They lay up shame and obloquy. Theirs is the most painful of martyrdoms. Racks and fagots soon waft the soul to God, stern messengers but swift. A boy could bear that passage, the martyrdom of death. But the temptation of a long life of neglect, and scorn, and obloquy, and shame, and want, and desertion by false friends; to live blameless, though blamed, cut off from human sympathy, that is the martyrdom of to-day. I shed no tears for such martyrs. I shout when I see one; I take courage, and thank God for the real saints, prophets and heroes of today. In another age, men shall be proud of these puritans and pilgrims of this day. Churches shall glory in their names,

and celebrate their praise in sermon and in song.” One of the greatest sermons preached by Mr. Parker—that upon the death of Daniel Webster-is so

widely known that we will but mention it here as one

of the most brilliant sernions ever delivered from the American pulpit. The land was full of adoration of the dead statesman, and it required a profound courage to face it with the truth. The sermon met with opposition, in some places bitter opposition, but the country at large hailed it as a great, searching, and profound review of the character of one of the idols of the American people.

Whatever charges may be sustained against Theodore Parker, as a theologian, no man will accuse him of ever fawning before the powerful and the despoticno man will accuse him of deserting the weak and oppressed. He is faithful to his brother-men-let him at least have all honor for this.

ICH ABOD CODDING.

ICHABOD CODDING is well known in the free states as one of the earliest, most faithful and eloquent advocates of anti-slavery reform in America, and he deserves a place in this series of sketches of distinguished agitators. He gave himself up to the cause of freedom when he was in his youth, and when, to be known as an anti-slavery advocate, was to endure obloquy and scorn—to risk not only reputation, but life. He is, according to our thinking, one of the most powerful advocates of reform in the country. His talents are varied; he is persuasively eloquent, as an orator, but is socially still more eloquent. We never met a more talented conversationist, and his power in social circles is exceedingly great. His manners are bland and winning, and yet he is strong and rigid in his positions. The reformer who is endeavoring to impress society with certain great truths, is often, too often, harsh and repulsive in his manners and conversation. He is like a rock against which the billows may dash forever without making an impression—but he is cold and bleak. Mr. Codding unites with firmness a great deal of geniality and suavity of manner. His enemies soon love him when they know him. His conversation is fascinating, yet is utterly devoid of art. Its naturalness is one of its most charming characteristics. He is intensely earnest, overflows with anecdote and humor, and seems never to lack bright and genial thoughts, striking sentences, and a propos anecdotes. As an orator, he is surpassed by few living men. It is impossible, however, to compare him with his cotemporaries, for he is only like himself. His social characteristics follow him to the platform. He is at times vehement in his eloquence there, but oftener calmly in earnest-clear, frank and winning. One of his best speeches is not characterized by a continuous stream of eloquence, but here and there bubbles up with grand, or beautiful passages, and the whole speech has a web of logic stronger than steel.

In his personal appearance, Mr. Codding, at first sight, appears to be rather rough—and it is true that he has nothing of the fop in his composition. He is of inedium height, hạs a fine, compact forehead, fine, dark hair, a large, homely mouth, but eyes of eloquent beauty. He has a rare voice, and reads finely. Mr. Codding was born in Bristol, Ontario county, New York, in the year 1811. His father died a short time previous to his birth, and he came into the world fatherless, and an inheritor of poverty. His mother

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