CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BEQUEST 
 
 OF 
 
 STEWART HENRY BURNHAM 
 1943 
 
Cornell University Library 
 arV15722 
 
 Thrilling Incidents and narratives for C 
 
 3 1924 031 386 273 
 olin.anx 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031386273 
 
Clirilling Snriktite ati^ Jarratinm 
 
 CHRISTIAN PARENTS 
 
 AND THEIR CHILDREN, 
 
 TO THE THIRD AND FOURTH GENERATION. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 REV. A. RUSSELL BELDEN, 
 
 OF THE BAPTIST CHURCH. 
 
 AUBURN: 
 DERBY AND MILLER. 
 
 ' I 1 ' »■■ . , 
 
M(^T1^ 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress in tlie ye.ir 1-51, by 
 
 A. R U S S E L r, B E L D E X, 
 
 [n the Clerk's Office for tlie Norlliern District of Xinv Ynrlt, 
 
If in the perusal of this volume, the hopes 
 of the Christian shall be strengthened, and his 
 faith in the Gospel increased — if a spirit of 
 consecration to his great and holy work be 
 infused into his mind, and he thereby be led 
 to the exercise of greater faithfulness in leading 
 the sinner to the Lamb of God, then will this 
 work fulfil its mission, and the prayer of its 
 compiler be answered. 
 
 With a desire that it may, to some extent, 
 take the place of the light and trashy literature 
 which too frequently finds a place in Christian 
 families, and that it may extend the influence 
 of truth and righteousness, it is committed to 
 the tide of popular favor, to sink or swim, as an 
 overruling providence shall direct. 
 
€M\nU. 
 
 TE MUST BE BORN ACAIN, . 
 
 THE YOUNG- INFIDEL, 
 
 REVIVAL IN PRISON, 
 
 AN AWAKENING DEATH-BED SCENE, 
 
 THE MOON-STRUCK, 
 
 THE pastor's dream, 
 
 I DID NOT OBEY MY PARENTS, 
 
 A REMARKABLE DREAM, . 
 
 DEATH OF JEREMY DOKOTHING, 
 
 THE SURE TITLE, 
 
 INEIDEL ASSURANCE, . 
 
 TRUE HEROISM, 
 
 THE SUNDAY PARTY, . 
 
 THE WHIPPING, 
 
 A DREAM, .... 
 
 THE BROKEN KEY, . 
 
 THE COLLIER BOYS, 
 
 STORY OF THE YOUNG LAWYER, 
 
 A SCENE AND COMPARISON, . 
 
 THE THIRD COMMANDJIENT, 
 
 TOO LATE, TOO LATE, . 
 
 ministers' WIVES, . 
 
 noah's carpenters, . 
 religious experience, . 
 pray for me, ... 
 the demoniac of gadara, 
 
 PAas 
 
 . 7 
 
 22 
 
 . 31 
 
 41 
 
 . 47 
 
 52 
 
 . 59 
 
 62 
 
 . 71 
 
 78 
 
 . 82 
 
 88 
 
 . 93 
 
 99 
 
 . 105 
 
 110 
 
 . 116 
 
 127 
 
 . 13i 
 
 136 
 
 . 141 
 
 149 
 
 . 158 
 
 165 
 
 . 173 
 
 176 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE POWER OF GKACE, 
 CONVERSION OF A TOUKS INFIDEL. 
 
 DR. Doddridge's dream, 
 
 GODLY sincerity, . 
 
 THE RUMSELLER's DEATH-BED, 
 
 THE drunkard's BIBLE, . 
 
 ANECDOTE OF A REVIVAL, . 
 
 THE CELESTIAL RAILROAD, 
 
 THE SPLENDID CUP, 
 
 VICTIMS OF THE CHAENEL HOUSE, 
 
 THE PATH WE ALL MUST TREAD; 
 
 A STORY OF OLDEN TIME, 
 
 THE LAST WARNING, . 
 
 DETECTING AN IMPOSTOR, 
 
 A CHILD OF SORROW, . 
 
 THE WAY WITH SOME PEOPLE, 
 
 I HAVE A HOPE, SIR, . 
 
 THE CONFESSION, 
 
 REFORMATION OF WILLIAM WIRT. 
 
 THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE, . 
 
 AN INCIDENT WITH A MORAL, 
 
 PRATER, .... 
 
 THE LAST LEAVES, 
 
 MY FIRST LIE, 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF BEING AVARICIODS, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 188 
 
 195 
 . 204 
 
 210 
 . 221 
 
 225 
 . 232 
 
 235 
 . 266 
 
 263 
 . 273 
 
 284 
 . 306 
 
 319 
 . 322 
 
 327 
 . 331 
 
 335 
 . 346 
 
 350 
 . 358 
 
 364 
 . 368 
 
 374 
 . 880 
 
^t Biitst h fsuu %^m. 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 Captain Gt. was a resident of F. He was a 
 man of about sixty years of age, of good natural 
 abilities, and respectable standing, and of irre- 
 proachable integrity. During bis early life be 
 had followed the ocean, and for several years 
 was a captain of a merchantman, in which ser- 
 vice he accumulated a large property, upon 
 which he had retired about twenty years previ- 
 ous to our date. He had the coniidence of the 
 public, and had discharged the duties of several 
 offices of trust in the town with faithfulness and 
 ability. Pie was liberal in his contributions for 
 the support of the Gospel, and insisted on a 
 punctual attendance of his family and domestics 
 upon divine worship in tlie sanctuary — ^but was 
 himself seldom seen in the public assembly. 
 
 Eevival after revival liad been enjoyed, and 
 had passed, but Captain Gr. remained unchanged. 
 
8 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 His wife had become an humble Christian, and 
 his children had all been gathered into the 
 church of Christ, and though for a season he 
 had manifested an increased interest in the ser- 
 vices of the sanctuary, yet he soon relapsed into 
 former habits of indifference to his own salva- 
 tion. Such was Captain G. when I was called 
 by the church in F. to aid their pastor in a pro- 
 tracted meeting. The church were prepared to 
 enter heartily into the work when I arrived, and 
 several conversions had already taken place. 
 The interest soon increased, and by the third or 
 fourth evening the house was filled with a sol- 
 emn and attentive audience. Our meetings 
 were held in the evenings, and the day-time 
 spent in conversation with inquirers, and visiting 
 with the impenitent. One day the pastor called 
 on Captain G. He was received kindly, but 
 answered his invitation to attend meetings, with 
 a positive refusal. " I don't believe in them," 
 said the Captain, " they are all stuff — all excite- 
 ment — ^no religion in them." 
 
 "But," replied the pastor, "you must ac- 
 knowledge some good has been effected by such 
 meetings. There is Brother R., who two years 
 ago was a drunkard, but is now a sober man 
 
INCIDENTS AND NA.EBATIVES. 9 
 
 and a Christian. There is Brother S. who, six 
 years since, was the most quarrelsome man in 
 town — and whose bad temj)er caused you so 
 much trouble that you sold your farm in his 
 neighborhood, and moved to this place. And 
 there is Brother — " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know, and then there is John 
 Brown, who used to make such flaming speeches 
 in meeting that Deacon Smith said he would be 
 a minister, and now he will swear like a pirate. 
 And then this James Johnson, who you baptized 
 last Avinter, and who got drank in six weeks 
 after it — and then there is Thomas Smith, who 
 you thought would be a deacon like his father, 
 when you took him into the chiu'ch, and now 
 you know he is in State Prison. I tell you what 
 it is. Elder, I believe in doing right all the time, 
 I don't believe in these revivals, as yo\i call 
 them." 
 
 " All you have said about these men is true, 
 alas, too true— and their fall furnishes a proof 
 of the depravity of the human heart, and shows 
 the danger of ou.r becoming the victims of de- 
 ception in regard to om- own salvation. Their 
 fall should not become, as I fear you are making 
 it, an excuse for neglecting our own salvation. 
 
10 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 but stould lead us to examine, with greater 
 carefulness, the position wMcli we occupy, lest 
 we too find ourselves the dupes of Satan." 
 
 " Well, well, I believe in doing right, and I 
 calculate to do about as well as I know how, 
 and I guess in the end it will be about as well 
 with me as it would if I made so much fuss 
 about it!" 
 
 " But am I to undei-stand that you do not be- 
 lieve a change of heart necessary ?" 
 
 " Why, if a man does right, what more does 
 he need — God won't punish a man for doing 
 o'ight, will he ?" 
 
 " I have not time this morning to discuss this 
 question with you. Captain, but I believe Bro- 
 ther intends to preach on that subject this 
 
 evening ; can't you come and hear him ?" 
 
 " K"o, I guess not, I am not very well, and 
 dislike being out evenings — I think I had not 
 better attend." 
 
 " Are you acqiiainted with Brother ?" 
 
 " Xo, I have never seen him." 
 
 " Well, if you will come and hear him this 
 evening I will give you an introduction, and we 
 will both come to your house to-morrow evening 
 and take tea with you." 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 11 
 
 The Captain was fond of company, and imme- 
 diately replied, " Well, I guess I will come." 
 
 The evening came, and a large and attentive 
 congregation assembled. I selected for my text 
 the language of our Saviour, " ye must be born 
 again," and endeavored to present clearly and 
 pointedly the doctrine of the text. In the midst 
 of my discom-se a man arose in the congregation 
 and cried out in a stentorian voice, " stop !" I 
 paused, when he proceeded, 
 
 " I should like to know, before you go any 
 farther, whether it is gentlemanly to come here 
 and expose a man's faults in public? I came 
 here this evening to hear the Gospel, and not to 
 hear what / had said and done, and I don't 
 think it fair or honorable to — " 
 
 " Captain C," said the Pastor, " Captain G., 
 we wish to have all understand that we cannot 
 suifer the exercises of public worshi|3 to be in- 
 ten-upted. Eut for your satisfaction I will say, 
 
 that Brother 's remarks had no reference to 
 
 you, or anything you had said or done." 
 
 " No reference to me, indeed ; then how did 
 he know what I said to yoii this morning, I 
 should like to know that, — ^no reference to me, 
 indeed, indeed — don't tell me he had no ref — " 
 
12 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 " Capt. G., will you be quiet, and suffer the 
 exercises to proceed ?" 
 
 " I was going to say that — " 
 
 " r insist, Captain G., that you must be qiiiet." 
 
 The Captain reluctantly sat down, and I pro- 
 ceeded with my discourse. As I proceeded, I 
 obseryed that he became more deeply agitated, 
 his whole frame trembled with excitement, he 
 frequently changed his position, now moving to 
 the right, then to the left, now covering his face, 
 and then assuming a bold look, he would gaze 
 at the speaker and congregation, as if he would 
 say, " I defy you, do as you please." Twice he 
 seized his hat, and partly arose to leave the 
 house, but again seated himself. Again he 
 arose, as I closed my remarks, and throwing 
 open the door of his pew with a jerk, he iiished 
 out of the house, and ran, (as I afterwards 
 learned,) the whole distance from the chui'ch to 
 his ovm house, a half-mile distant. 
 
 The next morning, while we were at the 
 breakfast table, a ktKjck was heard at the door, 
 it was opened, and Captain G. entered. A 
 nighfs rest had calmed the excitement of the 
 previous evening, and as Brother — 
 an introduction, he gave me a cordial grasp. 
 
IIJCIDENTS AND KAREATIVES. 13 ' 
 
 " Elder," he said, addressing Brother , " 1 
 
 came in to talk over the affairs of last evening. 
 I suppose it V7as wrong to interrupt yonr ser- 
 vices — yet yon, I presume, will acknowledge 
 that I did not do so without provocation." 
 
 " I must be frank with you. Captain, and say, 
 I think you did do wrong, and that you had no 
 'provocation" 
 
 " Well, now I want to ask you. Elder," ad- 
 dressing me, " didn't you mean me when you 
 told Avhat a man said about backsliders and 
 about revivals^ and all that V 
 
 " No," I replied, " I did not know that you 
 was present until I saw you arise in the congre- 
 gation." 
 
 " But had not Elder told you about his 
 
 calling at my house yesterday morning, and 
 what I said to him ?" 
 
 " ISTo, he had told me nothing about it, and I 
 did not know that such a man as Captain G. 
 was in existence until I saw you last evening." 
 
 " Well, that beats the Dutch ! So you didn't 
 refer to me at all ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, really, I thought yoii did, or I should 
 
14 INCIDENTS AND NAURATIVpS. 
 
 not have inteiTupted you ; it was too bad, I am 
 sorry I did so." 
 
 " Well, Captain, as I came so near jour case, 
 I will ask, did the man to whom I did refer, 
 speak your sentiments ? Do you deny the ne- 
 cessity for a change of heart V 
 
 '' Why, yes, that is, I told Elder yester- 
 day, that I thought that if a man did as well as 
 he coidd, he would be well enough off in the 
 end." 
 
 '' You mean by that, I sup|)Ose, that if a man 
 is an honest and upright citizen — gives every 
 man his due, and obeys and supports the laws 
 of his country, that this will do ?'' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then you believe that a man can save him- 
 self^" 
 
 "Why, yes, that is, we are commanded to 
 ' work out om- own salvation,' are we not 'C 
 
 " Well, if man can become his own saviour, 
 then Christ died in vain, and the Scriptm-es in 
 calling him a Saviour give him a false title. 
 Accorduig to your view he came on a useless 
 errand to our earth, for man could have saved 
 himself, without his aid." 
 
 " Well, I never thought of that !" 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 15 
 
 " Still further, if a change of heart is unneces- 
 sary, and if a man can save himself, why did 
 not JSTicodemus save himself? He was a man 
 of unblemished reputation — a wise and moral 
 citizen — a member of the most strict and zealous 
 of all the Jewish sects — and a sincere and zeal- 
 ous supporter of his own religion. I may say, 
 I think, without exaggeration, this town cannot 
 produce his equal as a man of pure and strict 
 morality, and yet he was the man to whom our 
 Lord addressed my text last evening, ' ye must 
 be born again.' And now, Captain, is it not 
 clear that if a man of the highest and purest 
 morality need a change of heart — that all of an 
 inferior grade do also ?" 
 
 " Do you mean to say that I need a change 
 of heart ?" 
 
 " Certainly I do, Captain. I believe yoii 
 are a sinner, and that you must repent and be- 
 lieve in the Lord Jesus Christ, or perish. I 
 believe that you must consent to be saved in 
 Christ's waij^ and on his tcrms^ and in his time, 
 or you will fail of heaven." 
 
 During this short appeal, he manifested con- 
 siderable emotion, to hide which he hastily arose, 
 and urging lis to keep the appointment of the 
 
16 INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 
 
 previous day to take tea with him in the after- 
 noon, he hid us good morning, and left. 
 
 "We kept our appointment by calling at his 
 residence about four o'clock, P. M., and found 
 him in a very pleasant mood. He greeted us 
 cordially, and appeared to have forgotten the 
 unpleasant incidents of the previous evening. 
 
 " I have been thinking much of our conversa- 
 tion this morning," said he, " and have made a 
 faithful and thorough examination of my past 
 life, and I find that if a change of heart is neces- 
 sary, mine is changed. It is certainly right at 
 last, for I have done many things to the glory 
 of God." 
 
 "Well, now I am discouraged!" exclaimed 
 Brother . 
 
 " Why," replied the Captain, in a somewhat 
 elevated tone of voice, "don't you believe it? 
 What other motive could I have in sustaining 
 ministers — building meeting-houses — ^relieving 
 the distressed, and maldng annual contributions 
 to missionary societies — ^and Bible societies — 
 and education societies. And did not I siibscribe 
 five hundred dollars for the starving Irish, last 
 week?" 
 
 We saw at once that he was determined to 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 17 
 
 establish his own righteousness, and thought it 
 useless to converse with him upon the subject, 
 and therefore changed the conversation to other 
 topics. 
 
 Our reluctance to converse with him appeared 
 to agitate his mind, and perceiving this, I sought 
 an opportunity to see him in private, and con- 
 versed freely and dealt plainly with him. 
 
 The next day he determined to take another 
 review of his life — to sit down and try the solid- 
 ity and strength of his foundations for future 
 happiness. He accordingly retired, to his room, 
 and deliberately recounted over, and added to- 
 gether the number of his good deeds, which he 
 had been placing to his account for so many 
 years, and found, as he thought, that they were 
 so numerous and of so good a quality that a just 
 God could not send him to hell. His hopes then 
 were fii-mer than ever. Eut the thought re- 
 curred to him that while he was making an ex- 
 amination he might as well add up his evil 
 deeds and compare them with his good deeds, 
 and strike the balance. 
 
 He accordingly began to reckon them up, one 
 by one, and soon found them so numerous that 
 he paused, astonished, fearing to proceed lest 
 2 
 
18 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 the balance should be against him. Events re- 
 curred to his mind which he had not thought of 
 for years, and actions which he had always con- 
 sidered ianocent, now appeared to be heinous 
 sins in the sight of God. The more he thought, 
 the more rapidly his sins rushed into his mind, 
 and he began to shrink from the unwelcome 
 vision. But God was now revealing to him his 
 character and heart, and he found it impossible 
 to prevent his sins from rushing into view. 
 
 He began to see clearly that if he rested his 
 hope of salvation on his good works he was lost, 
 for his evil deeds exceeded his good ones, and 
 like a drowning man catching at every straw, he 
 suddenly turned his mind to the other side to 
 see if he could not find more good deeds, that he 
 might yet, if possible, have enough to balance 
 his sins. Eut upon the first sight he saw, to his 
 utter astonishment, that they were worthless — 
 that nine tenths of them were but sins in dis- 
 guise, and the remaining tenth, if they possessed 
 any merit, it was only that of being indifferent. 
 
 His confusion was great. He knew not what 
 to do. The foundation upon which he had 
 stood was swept away, and he was left in de- 
 spair. His sins appeared like a moxmtain before 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 19 
 
 him, ready to crush him, and he had nothing to 
 set against them. Instead of having done much 
 for God he now saw that he had done nothing. 
 His whole life had been one continued act of sin 
 and rebellion, and he now saw no possible way 
 of escape. He thought he must be damned, 
 and that justly. 
 
 That evening he was again present in our 
 assembly, and when the invitation was given, 
 he was, to the astonishment of all present, the 
 fii-st to take his place upon the anxious seat. 
 
 After prayer he arose, and after giving a rela- 
 tion of his exercises of mind in making the exam- 
 ination spoken of above — he proceeded to warn 
 the impenitent of their danger, and solemnly 
 admonished them not to rest upon their good 
 works, — "For his obstinate blindness and sin, 
 he was utterly ruined, his misery had already 
 begim, and he already felt the torments of de- 
 spair enkindled in his breast." His address 
 produced a solemn impression on the minds 
 of all. 
 
 At the close of the services I saw him for a 
 moment, and endeavored to point him to Jesrts, 
 as the propitiation for our sins — and to the ful- 
 ness and freeness of his atonement. He replied 
 
20 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 tliat it was too late, that there was no mercy for 
 him, and that his happiness was forever at an 
 end. In this state of mind he returned to his 
 home, and immediately retired to his rest — ^but 
 there was no rest for him, sleep had fled from 
 him, and in agony he rolled upon his couch. 
 Every earthly prop had broken — whithersoever 
 he turned his eyes, his sins seemed to rise to a 
 mountain height above him, and threatened to 
 overwhelm him. " If I am ever saved," thought 
 he, " Jesus alone can save me. But will He 
 save me ? "Will he forgive my base ingratitude, 
 my awful sins ?" He thought of the language 
 of the ancient lepers at the city gate — ^" If we 
 go back we die, if we stay here we die, if we 
 go forward we can but die." "I will go to 
 Jesus," was his reply, and he immediately 
 arose, and bowing by his bedside, poured 
 out his soul in prayer. His cries for mercy 
 brought his wife to his side, and she, uniting 
 her voice with his, earnestly sought the divine 
 blessing. Suddenly Captain G. bounded to 
 his feet, with the agility of youth — " Glory to 
 God .'" " Whv, husband !" exclaimed his -wife. 
 " Glory to God !" shouted the Captain. " I say, 
 wife. Mess the. Lord. '^^ Seizing his clothes, he 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 21 
 
 partially dressed him, and then rushing from 
 his house barehead and barefoot, he ran, at the 
 top of his speed, to his pastor's house, and rush- 
 ing in, his first exclamation was " Glory to God, 
 let us pray!'''' We immediately knelt with 
 him, while from a full soul he poured forth his 
 praises and thanks for that boundless mercy 
 which had spoken peace to his soul. 
 • He had indeed fomid the Saviour. A ilood 
 of light had broken in upon his soul, and iilled 
 him with joy inexpressible. His translation out 
 of darkness and despair into God's marvellous 
 light, was so sudden and unexpected that he 
 seemed to be in a new world, and could not for- 
 bear, even when alone, crying glory to God. 
 
 He took the first opportunity to give a rela- 
 tion of his experience in public, and soon made 
 a ]3ublic profession of religion by becoming a 
 member of the church. He seemed to be aston- 
 ished that he should have lived so long blind to 
 the beauties of God's character and the excel- 
 lency of his religion, and has ever since sustained 
 a character which proved the genuineness of his 
 conversion. 
 
BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 In the early part of the winter of 1845, 1 was 
 called to assist the Pastor of the Chiirch in J., 
 in proti-acted meetings about to commence in 
 that place. 
 
 Soon after the commencement of the series of 
 meetings, I delivered a discom-se on "The na- 
 ture and extent of human agency in conversion," 
 in which I stated that " whosoever would use 
 the means of grace provided, faithfully and per- 
 severingly, following the directions given by our 
 Saviour, would become a Christian." 
 
 At the close of the sermon a young man arose 
 in the congregation and requested an opportu- 
 nity to make a few remarks, and proceeded as 
 follows. " I am a son of religious parents, and 
 in my childhood was taught to believe the doc- 
 trines of Christianity. I did, at this period of 
 life believe the Scriptures to be a revelation of 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 23 
 
 divine truth, but my observation of tlie inconsis- 
 tencies of Cliristians lias led me in later years 
 to an investigation of the grounds upon which 
 you rest your faith, and as the result of this 
 study I stand before you this evening an infidel. 
 I have examined the evidence supposed to be 
 furnished by miracle and prophecy and found 
 them insuificient to sustain your claims — but the 
 preacher has this evening called my attention to 
 a new test, the test of experiment, and informed 
 us that 'whosoever would use the means of 
 grace as directed in the Scrij^tures would be- 
 come a Christian.' I have concluded to apply 
 the text. If there is a reality in these things it 
 is important for me to know it, and I now, in all 
 sincerity, present myself as a subject for prayers 
 — and will endeavor faithfully and persever- 
 ingly to follow the directions of the Scriptures 
 in seeking my salvation." The remarks of the 
 young man produced a deep impression upon 
 the minds of the congregation, and many fer- 
 vent prayers were oifered that evening for his 
 conversion. 
 
 He was a lawyer — a man of good common 
 sense — and was blessed with more than a com- 
 mon share of intellectual powers. His acquired 
 
24 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 abilities were of a high order, he having gradu- 
 ated from one of our oldest colleges with the 
 highest honors of his class, five years previous. 
 He had lived in J. about three years — he was a 
 man of undoubted veracity and strict integrity, 
 and his success in his profession had already 
 given most certain promise of his future emi- 
 nence. But one thing seemed lacking, and this 
 one thing he had now, in a public assembly, 
 promised to seek. 
 
 I called upon him the next morning, and as I 
 entered his office I found him deeply engaged 
 in the study of the Scriptm-es. I immediately 
 entered into conversation with him, and soon 
 learned that his knowledge of the evidences of 
 Christianity, of which he spoke the previous 
 evening, had been derived from infidel rather 
 than from Christian authors. Without, there- 
 fore, discussing the claims of the Bible to inspi- 
 ration, I recommended the study of the Scrip- 
 tures, and the faithful use of all other means of 
 grace, and determined to leave to his own sound 
 judgment and the Holy Spirit, the result. 
 
 As I was about to leave him I turned and 
 remarked, " Ton asked the prayers of Christians 
 
INCIDENTS AND NABRATITES. 25 
 
 for your conversion last evening — did you, on 
 your i-eturn home, pray for yourself?" 
 
 "I did not." 
 
 "Have you prayed this morning 1" 
 
 " I have not." 
 
 "But did you not solemnly promise to use all 
 the means of grace? And can you expect to 
 fulfil that promise without prayer ?" 
 
 " I did promise to use all the means of grace, 
 but if I judge correctly, ^j;'ay(;r is not one of the 
 means to be employed by sinners — but on the 
 contrary God has declared that ' the prayer of 
 the wicked is an abomination.' " 
 
 " That," I replied, " is a mistake. God does 
 say that the ' sacrifice of the wicked,' that is, 
 the sacrifice offered with wicked intentions, is 
 an abomination, but he has not informed us 
 that the prayer of the wicked — ^if offered with a 
 good motive — is sin." 
 
 " But," said the young man, " do the Scrip- 
 tiu'es furnish any example of sinners offering 
 prayer ?" 
 
 "Yes, the case of the Publican, who prayed 
 ' God be merciful to me a sinner.' JSTow, either 
 he was, as he professed to be ' a sinner,' or he 
 was a hypocrite. But the fact recorded, that 
 
26 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 his prayer was answered, and that 'he went 
 down to his house justified,' shows that he was 
 not a hypocrite, and therefore we must con- 
 clude that ' a sinner' offered a prayer which was 
 heard, and approved, and answered." 
 
 " But do the Scriptures furnish any promises 
 to praying sinners ?" he again inquired. 
 
 " Yes, they say ' Whosoever shall call on the 
 name of the Lord shall be saved ;' and appeal- 
 ing to the history of the past, declare that ' He 
 that asketh, receiveth—he that seeketh, findeth 
 — and to him that knocketh, it is opened? " 
 
 "I confess," said he, "that the Scriptures 
 seem to favor your views, and although prayer 
 was not included among the means which I ex- 
 pected to use when I made my promise to use 
 all raeans, yet I will make that duty, as you 
 call it, a subject of thought." 
 
 I saw the young man frequently after this 
 conversation, both in our day and evening meet- 
 ings, but as the interest increased and inquirers 
 multiplied, my duties were so multiplied as to 
 prevent any private interview with him. I ob- 
 served that he listened attentively to the 
 preached word, and regularly presented himself 
 with the inquirers for prayer, and I learned that 
 
II^CIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 27 
 
 he was evidently luicler deep conviction of sin- — 
 that he was frequently engaged in conversation 
 npon religious subjects, and was still searching 
 the Scriptures. 
 
 This state of things continued for about one 
 week, when it became evident that his religious 
 impressions were wearing off. He had been 
 faithful in his attendance upon the meetings, 
 but had found no hope — and was apparently on 
 the point of yielding to his former conviction, 
 that religion was a farce. I now sought an in- 
 terview, but he shunned me, and I learned that 
 he sought to escape others who sought to speak 
 with him on the subject of his salvation. 
 
 At last, he one evening arose in the congrega- 
 tion, and addressed them as follows : "It will 
 be remembered, by many now present, that 
 about three weeks since, I arose in this house, 
 and stated that for several years I had been an 
 infidel ; I also stated mj determination to im- 
 prove this meeting by an application of a new 
 test to the claims of Christianity — ^the test of 
 experiment. I promised to make use of the 
 means of grace, and to follow the du'ections of 
 the Scriptures, with an assurance from the rev- 
 erend gentleman who has this evening addressed 
 
28 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 you, that by so doing I should become a Chris- 
 tian. I doubt not the gentleman's sincerity in 
 gi-ving this assurance — and have only to remark 
 that I have followed his directions, and that my 
 use of the means has failed in making me a 
 Christian. When I arose before you three weeks 
 since, I was an infidel — ^made so by the study of 
 those evidences supposed to be fm-nished by 
 miracle and history. I have now proved it by 
 the application of a new test, and am an infidel 
 still." 
 
 As he closed his remarks I arose, and addi-ess- 
 ing him, said — " Young man, you have stated 
 here that you have used all the means of grace, 
 faithfully, and have not yet become a Christian i" 
 
 "I have." 
 
 " Have you prayed ?' 
 
 " I have tried once." 
 
 " Are you still willing to do aU that God com- 
 mands you, to become a Christian ?" 
 
 "lam." 
 
 " Are you willing to use any means .=* In a 
 word, are yon willing to do anything within 
 your power — to give up aU for Christ, and 
 humble yourself before him as a lost and per- 
 ishing sinner?" 
 
INCIDEN'TS AND NARRATIVES. 29 
 
 " I will do anything." 
 
 " Then," I replied, " you will please walk up 
 into this desk, and pray for mercy." 
 
 The young man paused — the paleness of 
 death seemed to spread over his countenance, 
 while his frame shook with intense emotion. I 
 saw that I had stricken the right chord — that the 
 pride of his heart must be subdued, and there- 
 fore pressed him to the work. At last, over- 
 coming his emotion, he replied, " I cannot do 
 that." 
 
 " Then," said I, " confess to this audience 
 that you have not tested religion by using all 
 the means of grace, and that you do not give up 
 all for Christ — and that your experiment is not, 
 therefore, a test of the reality and divine origin 
 of our holy religion." 
 
 He paused a moment, and then in a voice 
 choked with emotion, he said, " I will go, though 
 I perish !" Slowly he left his seat, and with 
 tottering steps approached the pulpit stairs, and 
 as he reached them grasped the railing and 
 commenced the ascent. He ascended three 
 steps, and falling on his knees, sent forth such a 
 cry for mercy as my ears had never heard 
 before. His whole soul seemed to be breathed 
 
30 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 into liis jjrayer, as with sobs and groans he 
 called for pardon. But soon the tones of his 
 voice changed, and from a full heart he poured 
 the language of i^raise — Jesus had heard his 
 cry — had answered, and blessed. He arose, a 
 rejoicing convert, filled with love and peace. 
 
 A few weeks subsequent to this meeting, he 
 gave a relation of his experiment as a candidate 
 for chm-ch membership. In speaking of his 
 exercises on the evening of his conversion, he 
 remarked, " "When I stated in that meeting that 
 I was still an infidel, I uttered a falsehood, and 
 I blush, even now, to confess it. I did indeed 
 suppose that I had used the means of grace as 
 faithfully as others, but when the preacher ap- 
 plied his test, and unveiled to my view the 
 pride and rebellion of my heart, I saw my mis- 
 take. I hnow noio that rehgion is of God, and 
 hope, by his blessing, to serve him forever." 
 
iUniflal in a l^rismi. 
 
 RELATED BY A PRISONER. 
 
 It was in the spring of 1829, that the Rev. 
 John Robbing visitecl the State Prison in Wind- 
 sor, Yt., in -which, twelve years before, he had 
 been a prisoner. He was recognized by a few 
 of the oldest inhabitants of that gloomy mansion, 
 who had been his fellow-prisoners, and particu- 
 larly by the writer of this article, who had been 
 his cell-mate. He obtained permission of the 
 su2)eriutendent, and preached in the prison 
 chapel the first sabbath after his arrival in town. 
 As he entered the pulpit a thrill of indescribable 
 but pleasing emotions darted through the bo- 
 soms of his old acquaintances, at witnessing the 
 great and happy change, of which he had obvi- 
 ously been the subject. A few short years be- 
 fore he had occupied a seat among the hearers 
 in that doleful place, and no one questioned his 
 right to that distinction ; but now he appeared 
 
32 INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 
 
 as an accredited minister, of tlie Gospel, "to 
 preach deliverance to the captives, and the 
 opening of the prisons to -them that are bomid." 
 Every eye was fastened upon him, and a solemn, 
 deathlike stillness pervaded the room. After a 
 few minutes he gave out the following appropri- 
 ate and affecting psalm, which was sung with 
 sympathetic expression by the choir : — 
 
 " Father, I bless thy gentle hand ; 
 How kind was thy chastising rod, 
 Which forced my conscience to a stand. 
 
 And brought my wandering soul to God. ' 
 
 Foolish and vain, I went astray ; 
 
 Ere I had felt thy scourges. Lord, 
 I left my guide, and lost my way ; 
 
 But now I love, and keep thy word. 
 
 'Tis good for me to wear the yoke. 
 
 For pride is apt to rise and swell ; 
 'Tis good to bear my Father's stroke. 
 
 That I might leara.his statutes well." 
 
 After this psalm was sung, he prayed ; but 
 such a prayer had not often been heard in that 
 place. Solemn and awful language, on flame 
 with heaven's own spirit, and big with holv de- 
 sires, marked this effort of his impassioned soul. 
 That prayer was heard in heaven ; for such a 
 prayer can never be made in vain. It produced 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 83 
 
 an tinutterable effect on every heart : and the 
 impression it made on- mine is, at this moment, 
 among my liveliest and dearest recollections. 
 
 His text was — " Godliness is profitable nnto all 
 things, having the promise of the life that now 
 is, and of that which is to come." I will not 
 attempt to give even a skeleton of the overpow- 
 ering sermon which followed. I was too much 
 affected for memory to perform its ofiice. Un- 
 like many of the pulpit efforts which I had been 
 accustomed to hear, it was not characterized by 
 polished periods and classical elegance, but by 
 the thunder and lightning of Mount Sinai. It 
 was a storm which shook the soul, and raised 
 up all its powers. The preacher was evidently 
 in awful earnest ; his lifted arm, his swelling 
 voice, his beaming eyes, denoted the man who 
 felt the importance, and believed the truth of 
 what he said. Until now, he sustained himself 
 in iirm and perfect self-possession ; but when he 
 came to advert to his former situation, and point 
 out the very seat he had . occupied among his 
 hearers, his firmness deserted him. His eyes 
 s\vam in tears — his voice fell down into inter- 
 rupted and trembling accents — and his mind 
 became perfectly unnerved. Sympathy inspirer] 
 
84 INCIDENTS AND NAKRATIVES. 
 
 his feelings in his congregation— every eye was 
 moistened — sighs echoed on sighs — some wept 
 alond — and the whole scene was one of mingled, 
 ungovernable emotions. 
 
 With this sermon commenced a glorious revi- 
 val in the prison. That moral, and long, and 
 much neglected waste, began to exhibit the buds 
 of promise ; that spiritual desert began to smile 
 with freshness and bloom; and after twenty 
 years of famine, more dreadful than that which 
 devoured the plenty of Egypt, the Lord began 
 to pour down the streams of his grace, and 
 spread a feast of fat things before the dying 
 souls of his creatures. Angels, whose far-reach- 
 ing vision embraces a thousand worlds, never 
 saw a spot more spiritually and morally barren, 
 than had been the state prison at Windsor, from 
 the commencement of its history up to the 
 happy time under consideration. But now the 
 scene began to change ; the wilderness and the 
 solitary place began to rejoice, and the desert 
 to blossom as the rose. Mr. Eobbins, at the re- 
 quest of the superintendent, continued there 
 about five months, during which time, I have as 
 much evidence as any such case admits of, that 
 one half of the prisoners became subjects of s^ 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 35 
 
 rioiis conviction, and one fourtli part were thor- 
 oughly converted to God. It is due to the 
 Hon. J. H. Cotton, superintendent of the prison, 
 to say, that he cordially co-operated with Mr. E., 
 and granted the prisoners every indulgence 
 which reason could ask. Sabbath-schools were 
 established ; Bible-classes were formed ; and 
 the prison became a temple, with a worshipper 
 in every cell. The other means used by Mr. K. 
 were private conversation, tracts, and plain, pun- 
 gent preaching. 
 
 "While this ' delightful work was in progress, 
 the following hymn was composed by one of the 
 prisoners, and sung by them in their meetings ; 
 and as it gives a very impressive and accurate 
 view of the power and character of this display 
 of saving mercy to the doubly lost, I will insert 
 it here for the gratification of the reader. 
 
 " Rejoice, my soul, see the trophies of grace 
 Submitting to Jesus, and shouting his praise ; 
 Like doves to their windows, or clouds through the sky, 
 From sin's darkest borders for safety they fly. 
 
 This strong bolted dungeon is vocal with prayer, 
 And joy rolls her art through the sky of despair ; 
 This stronghold of Satan, trembling to fall, 
 The power of Jehovah is seen by us all. 
 
 The angel of mercy can visit a cell, 
 And on the dark bosom of misery dwell : 
 
36 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 The sunbeams of heaven can shine from aboye, 
 And glow on our midnight, a rainbow of love. 
 
 All-glorious Eternal ! we tremble and fear ; 
 How awful this place is, we know thou art here ! 
 In thy dread presence, adoring, we fall. 
 Well pleased to be nothing, and thou all in all !" 
 
 I must ask tlie indulgence of the reader for 
 introducing another hymn by the same author, 
 M'hich also exhibits the true extent and glorv of 
 the •work, in contrast with the darkness and 
 misery which preceded it. It was written by 
 Mr. Bobbins. 
 
 " / was in prison, and ye came unto me." — Jesus Christ. 
 
 " Around our horizon, no twilight was streaming. 
 
 Nor faint twinkling star shot a ray through the gloom : 
 No taper of life in our dungeons was gleaming 
 
 But darkness and death rolled dismay through our tomb. 
 
 When, clear as the sun, robed in the beams of the morning. 
 He rose on our darkness with soul-cheering ray. 
 
 To temples of worship, our dungeons transforming. 
 And pouring around us the noon blaze of day. 
 
 In every hall now an altar is burning. 
 
 And incense of praise rolls from many a heart ; 
 
 The ransomed of Clirist are to Zion returning, 
 With firm resolution no more to depart. 
 
 How sweet is the sound ! holy anthems are ringing, 
 And cell back to cell echoes triumph and praise ! 
 
 And while to the theme of salvation I'm singing. 
 The glory of God bursts around in a blaze ! 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 37 
 
 My soul, bless the Lord ! he his mevcy forever 
 
 The theme of my song, and the flame of my heart 1 
 
 And fi-om his commands, may I wander no more, 
 Nor from his dear service one moment depart. 
 
 Go on, sent of God 1 see, all ripe for the sickle 
 The harvest is waving, and bright in your view ; 
 
 Confide not in man, all inconstant and fickle. 
 But trust in the Lord, ever faithful and true." 
 
 In the course of about five months, this shower 
 of divine mercy passed completely by, and went 
 off, after watering richly that sterile region, and 
 causing it to brighten with the fairest promises 
 of a glorious harvest. ITever was there a work 
 of grace more pleasing in its development, more 
 thorough in its searchings into the heart, or that 
 will, in my opinion, be more lasting in its joyful 
 effects. There were no enthusiastic ravings — ■ 
 none of the mysticism of fanatics ; but every 
 part of the work was characteristic of the deep 
 and reforming energies of the Spirit of God upon 
 the soul. That there were some who banished 
 their serious convictions from their minds, there 
 can be no doubt ; and that some who entered 
 the race, run well for a season, and then turned 
 back, is equally probable. These are dark spots 
 from which no bright display of saving mercy is 
 ever perfectly free. But I am, on the other 
 
88 INCIDENTS A^D NAERATIVES. 
 
 hand, just as firmly pei-suaded, that as many as 
 thirty of those "who were then outcasts from so- 
 ciety, became free citizens of the Redeemer's 
 kingdom, and will " walk with him in white," 
 and in the world of glory. 
 
 From the preceding rapid sketch of a work 
 of grace in a state prison, the following affecting 
 truths force themselves inferentially upon the 
 mind. 
 
 1. The most abandoned among the sons of 
 men, are within the saving influences of gospel 
 truth, when it is judiciously applied to the con- 
 science and heart. 
 
 2. State prisons are too much neglected in the 
 benevolent and pious enterprises of this mission- 
 ary and philanthropic age. Ministers of Jesus 
 have gone out, and othere are going out to the 
 extremities of the globe to evangelize the hea- 
 then, while they too obviously disregard the 
 injunction of the blessed Jesus, so plainly and 
 energetically implied in the words, "I was in 
 prison and ye visited me not." 
 
 3. Any humble, self-denying servant of Him 
 who came to say to prisonei-s. Go forth to par- 
 don a dying thief, and point out to the criminal 
 the path of righteousness, who will in the spirit 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 39 
 
 of his Master, devote himself to the great work 
 of preaching the everlasting gospel in state pris- 
 ons, will joyfully witness the gloom departing 
 from these fields of spiritual desolation, and 
 find his sacred, untiring labors amply repaid by 
 the success with which, sooner or later, they 
 will be graciously crowned. 
 
 Why will not some Howard, some baptized 
 and heavenly spirit, take a thorough and Chris- 
 tian sm'vey of these places, and become a Chris- 
 tian Howard by causing all the means of grace, 
 like so many rivers from the throne of God, to 
 roll their pure, and comforting, and saving wa- 
 ters, through all their gloomy abodes. 
 
 I have now done my duty. When my pardon 
 came, and the prison doors opened to let me 
 forth into the brightness of heaven, to taste 
 again the sweets of life, my companions whom 
 I was leaving behind, came around me to give 
 the parting hand, and say farewell ! They load- 
 ed me with their best wishes, and pronounced 
 many a benediction upon me. My soul was full, 
 and so were theirs ; but they had just, trem- 
 bling, dying voice enough to say to me as we 
 turned, I to liberty, and they to their cells — 
 " When it is well with you, think of the He- 
 
40 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 brew !" Thougli it has never been so well witb 
 me as I could wish, nor is it now ; stUl, I have 
 always, to the extent of my ability, obeyed this 
 parting injunction, and present this brief sketch 
 to the enlightened, benevolent, and Christian 
 community, as an evidence that I have not for- 
 gotten the " Hebrews." 
 
5lD IttifltoEiiig Sifltlj-fiji lauF. 
 
 'T^VAS midnight ; the bustle of the city was 
 hushed ; men had mostly retired to rest, and I, 
 lonely in my rooin, was aboiit to quit my studies 
 for the night, when suddenly some person knock- 
 ed at the front door. It was a friend, who brought 
 me the message that his sister was at the point 
 of death, in great distress of mind, and wished 
 to see me. We hastened to the house, which 
 was several squares distant, where I witnessed 
 one of the most solemn and impressive scenes 
 that my eyes ever beheld. We were conducted 
 into an upper room where the sick lay. On en- 
 tering the room, the first thing that struck me 
 was an assembly of about a dozen friends, who 
 were nearly all bathed in tears ! I cast my eyes 
 into one corner, where stood a bed, in which I 
 beheld a delicate female withering beneath the 
 lashes of an awakened conscience, as well as 
 of the fears and pangs of death. As I walked 
 
42 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIYES. 
 
 up to the bed, one of the friends told her that 
 ' here was the minister who had come to see her.' 
 Summoning up her remaining strength, she turn- 
 ed round, and casting a look of the most intense 
 anxiety at me, she grasped my hand. I shall 
 never forget it, for it was a dying grasp ! ' Sir,' 
 said she, ' what shall I do to be saved ? My time 
 upon earth is short ; death is at hand, and some- 
 thing must be done soon /' I immediately began 
 to explain to her the plan of salvation through 
 Jesus Christ, and directed her to him, as the 
 only hope of perishing sinners. After listening 
 to me for about ten minutes, with the most in- 
 tense anxiety, to catch every word as it drojjped 
 from my lips, she heaved a heavy sigh, and said, 
 ' But don't you think it is now too late ? I am 
 afraid I have put it off too long !' I was shock- 
 ed ; for verily the scene was enough to make 
 the blood run cold in my veins. Involuntarily 
 I ejaculated, ' My God, what shall I do, what 
 shall I say to her !' I assured her of the Saviour's 
 ability and willingness to save all, even the vi- 
 lest of the vile : ' Him that cometh unto me, I 
 will in no wise cast out.' I told her that even 
 the dying thief applied to Christ for mercy, and 
 was accepted. I directed her to follow his ex- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 43 
 
 ample, while I engaged with her in most fer- 
 vently and earnestly imploring the mercy of 
 God through Jesus Christ. After prayer we 
 sung the hymn, 'Alas, and did my Saviour 
 bleed,' &c., while she sighed and wept, I again 
 spoke to her, and endeavored to fix her attention 
 upon Jesus, as the friend of sinners, and espe- 
 cially of the distressed. After some minutes, 
 she again answered in something like the fol- 
 lowing language : ' ! but don't you think it is 
 now too late ! I have had so many calls, and 
 have neglected them, and I am afraid it is now 
 entirely too late ! I had a friend, who died some 
 years ago, and upon her death-bed she most sol- 
 emnly warned me not to delay repentance. 
 that I had obeyed her dying advice ! She then 
 desired to be raised up in the bed, which was 
 done, while a death-like silence reigned in the 
 room, and every eye was fixed upon her. She 
 then addressed her friends in nearly the follow- 
 ing words : ' ! I beseech, I entreat you all that 
 stand around me here, not to put of repentance 
 until you come into my situation ! Is not this 
 hard ? Is not my case hard ? O ! do not wait un- 
 til it is too late !' It was too much ! the tender 
 husband kneeled down by her bedside, ready to 
 
44 INCIDENTS AND NABBATIVES. 
 
 sini; from such a scene. Many of the friend s 
 began to weep aloud. She was again laid down 
 in the bed, when I once more assured her of 
 the willingness of Jesus to save her, and entreat- 
 ed her to give herself to him. After a short 
 pause she said, ' O ! that I could see Jesus ! I 
 would like to see his face, and see how he 
 looks !' I told her, ' Tou will soon see him ; 
 only commit yom* soul into his hands.' These 
 were among her last words, and she became 
 more composed and calm. It was now evident 
 that doath was approaching, and the physician, 
 standing by, whispered into my ear, ' Death is 
 working on her now.' She could speak no more ! 
 her lips began to quiver, her eyes stared, her 
 cheek grew pale, her pulse beat fainter and faint- 
 er, her breath became shorter and shorter, and 
 the clammy sweat of death issued through every 
 pore. In a few minutes she breathed her last, 
 without a groan or a struggle. 
 
 "Beyond this point we trace the spirit no 
 farther, nor venture to inquire for its doom. But 
 we may appeal, dear reader, to you, and ask, if 
 some dreadful disease were to overtake you, 
 and in a few hours usher you into the presence 
 of that Almighty God who knows every thought 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 45 
 
 of jovi- heart, would you be prepared to meet 
 him at his judgment bar, and give an account 
 of the deeds done in the body? So was the 
 woman whose death I have just related. She 
 was in the bloom and vigor of life, was always 
 very healthy, possessed an abundance of the 
 good things of this world, was surrounded by 
 gay associates and earthly pleasures, and had 
 every reason to expect future days of prosperity 
 and hapiDiness. But, alas, how soon did the 
 blooming rose of life fade upon her cheeks, and 
 every eai^thly enjoyment vanish ! You are not 
 too young, nor too healthy, to die, and that very 
 soon. But, say you again, I-am no great sinner 7 
 I have never been guilty of any particular 
 crime ; I have always respected the laws of God 
 and man, and led a moral, honest, and upright 
 life, and I have not much to repent of. Pre- 
 cisely such was this young woman. Her char- 
 acter was indeed unusually good ; not a spot of 
 blemish had ever stained it ; she was amiable, 
 intelligent and virtuous ; every j)erson spoke 
 well of her. But ! how evil, how sinful, how 
 polluted, and how unfit for heaven did she find 
 herself u.pon her death-bed. Or will you tell 
 me that you are a professor of religion, a mem- 
 
46 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 ber of the Christian church, and perforin all the 
 duties of religion ? I answer, so was the young 
 woman. She was a member of the Christian 
 church, she did profess to be a follower of Christ, 
 and observed all the external duties of Chris- 
 tianity ; but, alas ! felt in her hour of trial the 
 want of evidence of a change of heart — 'the 
 one thing needful.' ' She had the form of god- 
 liness,' but no proof that she possessed its 
 'power.'" 
 
€ln( Mun-§ixud. 
 
 FURNISHED BY A OLEKGYMAN. 
 
 In New Castle county, state of Delaware, 
 
 lived a man by the name of C e. He was 
 
 possessed of some property, nearly all of which 
 he wasted in the ruinous habit of drinking ar- 
 dent spirits. He had a wife and several chil- 
 dren, all of whom preceded him to the tomb. 
 
 On the occasion of the death of his last child, 
 I was called to preach the funeral sermon. 
 When I entered the house, I readily perceived 
 the character of its master, who was then in 
 some measure under the influence of strong 
 drink. He came up to me, holding a handker- 
 chief to his mouth, and after the usual saluta- 
 tion, remarked, "Sir, I have experienced a 
 heavy affliction ; but afflictions are sometimes 
 necessary to keep us from getting above our- 
 selves." " Yes, sir," I replied, with a look and 
 tone which indicated the deep feeling of my 
 
48 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 heart, " and to keep us from getting below our- 
 selves too!" "Your remark," he rejoined, un- 
 derstanding my meaning, " is very severe !" " It 
 is as true as severe," was my answer. I had 
 some other conversation with him on the awful 
 sin of intemperance, and was so oppressed with 
 the hopelessness of his condition, that I was on 
 the point of leaving the house without preach- 
 ing; but as there was still a possibility of bene- 
 fiting him, or at least some of his assembled 
 neighbors, I concluded it was my duty to re- 
 main. During the sermon he sat opposite me, 
 and with evident shame and confusion, heard 
 some very plain and pointed remarks. While 
 preaching, I glanced my eye towards the door, 
 and saw a boy ride up with a half-gallon jug in 
 his hand, which he took in another part of the 
 house, the contents of which I readily guessed. 
 
 After the funeral procession left the house, 
 I determined to remain, and try what effect 
 could be produced by a plain and affectionate 
 conversation with the besotted man. I seated 
 myself on the bed by his side, and taking hold 
 of his burning hand, expostulated with- him on 
 the ruinous and soul-destroying course he M'as 
 pursuing.- He wept, and after a while said some- 
 
INCIDENTS, AND NARllATIVES. 49 
 
 thing to this effect: "Althoi^gh I do drink too 
 much, yet I do nobody any hurt but mysLlf, 
 and my heart is good !" '' T'our heart (/ood /" 
 I replied. " Do you believe the Bible ?" " Yes," 
 ■was his answer. "Then," I continued, "I can 
 prove from that book, that your heart, so far 
 from being good, is filled with almost all man- 
 ner of wickedness : and that unless jou repent, 
 you can never enter the kingdom of heaven. 
 You are a thief — for you are robl:i;ng God of 
 your service — your family of the comforts of 
 life — yourself of health — the community of a 
 good example — and heaven of your soul. You 
 are a murderer — for you have contributed to 
 the death of your children, by entailing on them 
 a sickly constitution, and depriving them of 
 many comforts. You are murdering your wife 
 by your brutal conduct, and society by a bad 
 example ; and, lastly, you are murdering your- 
 self, body and soul, for eternity. All this I can 
 prove by the Bible, which you say you believe." 
 Then getting a Bible, I read a number of pas- 
 sages applicable to his case, the reading of 
 which seemed to produce some conviction. As 
 a last excuse for himself, he said, " Sir, I will 
 tell you a secret, which is not known to many ; 
 i 
 
50 INCIDENTS AND NARKATIVES. 
 
 ■ — I do n't drink rum because I like it : I am 
 MOON-STEUOK !" " Moon-struok, indeed !" I ex- 
 claimed, "you are rum-struck! And unless 
 you give up your habit, you will soon be deatlb- 
 struck! and, must I add, — hell-si/ruck !" I 
 continued my remarks for some time, until be 
 seemed to relent, and I was somewhat encour- 
 aged. In order to begin the work of reforma- 
 tion in earnest, I exhorted him to bring out the 
 jug I saw brought into the house dm-ing the 
 sermon, and dash it into the road, resolving not 
 to drink another drop during life. He said it 
 would be of no use to do that, since, unless his 
 habit was broken, he could soon procure some 
 more. I pressed him to do what I asked, but 
 to no effect. I then proposed to him to bring 
 his jug and let me do the work— to which he 
 consented ; and having brought it to me, I tossed 
 it out of the door, and had as much pleasure in 
 seeing the earth drink up the poison, as ever a 
 drunkard had in swallowing it himself. I con- 
 tinued my entreaties for some time, prayed with 
 him, and then left him with these words — " Un- 
 less you reform, you will probably be a dead 
 man in less than six months." 
 
 Some days after this I was iiiformed that al- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 51 
 
 most as soon as I left the house, he sent for 
 more rum, and continued his inveterate habit 
 with increased eagerness. In about six months 
 after, I was passing the house, and understand- 
 ing that he was very sick, I called to see him. 
 I found him lying on a miserable bed, "with 
 wasted limb and bloated face," with a glass of 
 brandy standing on a chair by his side. I ap- 
 proached him and said, " Did I not tell you a 
 few months ago what would be the consequence 
 of a continuance in drunkenness ?" He made 
 some attempt at denial and justification, but I 
 told him his time was short, and he should em- 
 ploy it in preparing for death ; but what I said 
 made no impression on his mind, for rum had 
 already performed its cursed work on both 
 body and soul. He died in a few days, a 
 mournful evidence of the ruinous consequences 
 of drinking ardent spirits. How many thou- 
 sands have lived and died in like manner. 
 
Some years ago there lired in the city of 
 ISew Tork, a Presbyterian minister, of great 
 talents, of great eloquence, and of great eccen- 
 tricity. His peculiarities, often entirely inof- 
 fensive, were frequently misinterpreted, and 
 not unfrequently unkindly and maliciously 
 misrepresented. It so happened that it came 
 to his ears that an officer of his church, one of 
 his deacons, had secretly been making very 
 free with his character. He was exceedingly 
 wounded at this unkindness in one of his own 
 flock, and one whose ofiice ought to have led 
 him to protect rather than traduce his pastor's 
 reputation; and he adopted the following 
 pointed and effectual way to give him a re- 
 buke. Those who are in the habit of assailing 
 the clergy, and particularly of finding fault 
 with their pastor, may perhaps derive some 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 53 
 
 benefit from the story. For their special edifi- 
 cation the narrative is given. 
 
 He went to the house of the traducer, and 
 was received, as usual, with great cordiality. 
 He seemed indifl^erent, however, to the assidu- 
 ities which were shown him, and appeared dis- 
 tressed and sad. His fric?id inquired the cause 
 of this singular change in his deportment, for 
 he was of a remarkably cheerful and commu- 
 nicative disposition. The m.inister told him he 
 was sad, indeed, and had good reason to be so ; 
 for he had ascertained that even some, upon 
 whom he had relied as his friends, were se- 
 cretly traducing his character, and undermining 
 his ofiicial influence. The deacon expressed 
 great regret at this information, and assured 
 him of his support and influence at all times. 
 He then told him that he was weighed down 
 under the frightful impressions of a drea/m 
 which he had had the night before, and which 
 he could not banish from his mind ; and that, 
 after the assurance he had just received of his 
 attachment and confidence, it troubled him 
 more than ever. Pressed to repeat this re- 
 markable dream, he told it thus : — " I dreamed 
 last night that I died. As soon as my spirit 
 
54 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 parted from my body, it was taken in charge by 
 an angel, by whom it was conducted through 
 a dark passage, of frightful gloom and horror. 
 At one particular spot in this dismal valley I 
 heard groans and shrieks, and clanking of 
 chains, at the noise of which I started back in 
 terror. My conductor encouragingly bade me 
 feel no alarm, and told me kindly that we were 
 passing the mouth of the place of condemned 
 spirits ; but that we should soon be beyond the 
 hearing of their sufferings. He told me, also, 
 that if I felt the desire, and had the courage, 
 he would give me a view of this place of tor- 
 ment — and I consented. He took me to an 
 iron door, which flew open at his touch, and 
 immediately I found myself on the verge of an 
 immense inverted cone, inside of which there 
 was a spiral staircase leading down to the bot- 
 tom. I was led along these steps ; and every 
 now and then we came to the grated opening 
 of a dungeon, through which I saw some miser- 
 able being in the agonies of his condemnation. 
 At last we reached the end of the stairs, which 
 led us directly into a large room, which I saw 
 crowded with criminals seeming to await their 
 doom, and laughing and exulting fiends. I 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARBATIVES. 55 
 
 saw the devil seated upon an elevated throne, 
 with a huge iron crown upon his head, and a 
 massy iron sceptre in his hand. As we entered, 
 I saw him cast a fierce and malignant glance at 
 a particular person in the crowd, and sternly 
 command him to be brought before him. The 
 individual thus pointed out advanced with a 
 trembling step, and, with horrible agitation, 
 seeming to anticipate his fate, stood up in a 
 sort of box, guarded by frightful-looking de- 
 mons, who seemed to exult in his dismay. I 
 caught a glance of his countenance ; and oh ! 
 deacon, it was you ! I could not believe my 
 sight ; but I soon heard your name called, and 
 verified your voice. I found, indeed, to my 
 horror, that it was you. The devil, seated on 
 his throne, called out to you, in a stem voice, 
 that made me quiver, to declare yourself, and 
 to answer the questions that should be put to 
 you. And then ensued the following dialogue. 
 The devil asked you if you had been a profess- 
 ing Christian, and if so to what church you 
 were attached. You answered tnat you had 
 
 been for years a member and an officer in • 
 
 chtu'ch. The devil asked who was your pas- 
 tor ; to which you answered, the Rev. Mr. , 
 
56 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 The devil asked you if lie was what people 
 called a good man; to which you answered, 
 you had always so considered him, and he 
 always had that general character. The devil 
 asked if you and yom* pastor had been partic- 
 ularly intimate, and if you had ever professed 
 devoted friendship to him; to which you an- 
 swered in the affirmative. The devil then 
 asked you if you had been in the habit of prais- 
 ing him to his face, and warmly commending 
 his character, and his preaching, and his com'se 
 of proceeding as pastor of the church; to 
 which you answered firmly, Yes. The devil 
 told you to consider. I saw you hesitate a mo- 
 ment; but at last you firmly answered you 
 had. The devil then asked you in a sly, arch 
 tone, if you had ever gone about the parish 
 whispering things against your minister. You 
 hesitated and faltered : but the devil, roaring 
 out most hideously, stamping his foot, and shak- 
 ing his huge sceptre, commanded you sternly 
 to answer. In a faint, quiveiing voice, I heard 
 you, to my astonishment, answer. Yes. He 
 then inq^uired if it was true that you had writ- 
 ten a certain anonymous letter to your min- 
 ister, of a fault-finding and impertinent char- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 57 
 
 acter. Tou faltered again ; but tlie devil said, 
 ' You need not deny it — I dictated it myself.' 
 You hung your head with shame, and stam- 
 mered out, 'I have.' 'So, then,' said he, 'you 
 confess that you have been guilty of going 
 about among your brethren, lessening the char- 
 acter of your minister, whom you praised to 
 his face, to whom you professed the warmest 
 friendship, and whom you believed to be a 
 good man ; and that you have written him 
 anonymous letters !' These words were uttered 
 in a tone the most malicious and scornful, and 
 a glance toward m.e so significant as to attract 
 your attention. You turned and saw me. You 
 seemed covered with confusion and convulsed 
 with terror ; but iipon being commanded to an- 
 swer, you said, 'I cannot deny that I have.' 
 The devil then descended from his throne, and 
 walked up directly towards you; then taking 
 the huge iron cro'woi from off his own head, 
 and placing it on yours, he said with a look of 
 scorn, and a hellish smile of pleasure, 'Then 
 wear this ; you are more worthy of distinction 
 here than I am.' Immmediately the whole in- 
 fernal throng set up a roar of laughter — and 
 began to taunt you with ' Deacon , Deacon 
 
58 USrCIDEITTS AJSTD NARRATIVES. 
 
 -, a Christian are you, eh?' At last I saw 
 
 you loaded with chains and dragged away, 
 shrieking in the most piteous manner. I looked 
 off from the frightful sight, and begged my 
 conductor to hasten away; and as we turned 
 to depart I heard a massy door grate upon its 
 hinges, and heard cries of 'Put him in, put 
 him in.' The loud noise of a heavy bolt suc- 
 ceeded next — and awoke me. I found I had 
 been dreaming. Eut the dream has left a deep 
 and melancholy impression upon my spirits, 
 and that's the reason I am sad this morning." 
 
 The deacon took the hint. The dream and 
 the circumstance of its narration got wind in 
 the church ; and the mouths of the parish gos- 
 sips were shut for some time. 
 
"S Hi nnl nhij mi{ f atsntK." 
 
 Teee jail was a large, gloomy-looking stoae 
 building. The windows were made strong by 
 great iron bars fastened across them. But the 
 inside was the most gloomy. It was divided 
 into very small rooms, only five feet wide, and 
 eight long. Each room had a cross-barred iron 
 door with strong bolts and locks, and when the 
 jailer opened or shut the door, the hinges grated 
 frightfully on the ear. 
 
 In one of the rooms of the jail was a young 
 man, about twenty-eight years old. Pie had 
 been found guilty of making and passing bad 
 money, and the Judge said he must go to the 
 State Prison, and stay there as long as he lived. 
 But he was bo sick, that he could not be re- 
 moved from prison. 
 
 Poor fellow ! once he could play in the green 
 fields, down by the cooling spring, or under 
 the shady trees around his father's house ; or 
 
60 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 wlien he was tired lie could go home and lay 
 his head upon his mother's knee, and rest him- 
 self; or if he was sick, she would sit by his 
 bed and kindly nurse him. But now how dif- 
 ferent ! shut up in a dark, gloomy jail, with no 
 one to care for him, and all around cursing and 
 swearing, and making horrid noises. O, he felt 
 very wretched. 
 
 Said he, " I shall never be able to go to the 
 State Prison, I am' so sick. ! if I was only 
 ready to die, it would not matter so much." 
 
 " And are you not ready to die ?" 
 
 " 0, no," said he, " I am afraid to die." 
 
 " But why are you afraid to die ?" 
 
 " Because I am such a sinner." 
 
 "There is hope, and mercy, and salvation for 
 sinners, for the greatest of sinners, through 
 Jesus Christ." 
 
 "I have no hope. Ton may talk to me 
 about Christ and salvation, but there is none 
 for me, and that makes me afraid to die." 
 
 I talked to him some time about his father ; 
 and when I spoke of his mother, then his lips 
 trembled, and a single tear stole down his bui-n- 
 ing cheek. 
 
 "Was not your mother a Christian?" 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 61 
 
 " O yes, sir ; and a good woman slie was too. 
 Many and many a time she has warned me of 
 this." 
 
 " Then you have had good religious instruc- 
 tion, kind Christian parents, who no douht, 
 often prayed for you, and taught you to pray ?" 
 
 " yes, sir." 
 
 " Then why are you here ?" 
 
 Said the dying man, "I can answer you all 
 in one word, — I did not obey my parents !" 
 
 These were the last words he spoke to me. 
 After saying a few words more to him I came 
 away, reilecting upon his awful condition, and 
 the reason which he gave for being in that dark 
 jail, — I did not obey my parents. 
 
% fxtmuMit ffirsara. 
 
 No one can be more opposed to deeams tlian 
 I am ; yet, from the remarkable natm-e and cir- 
 cnmstances of the following dream, and from 
 a personal knowledge, for many years, of the 
 very sensible, sincere, and godly lady, now (I 
 doubt not) in glory, who dreamed it, and who I 
 have heard relate it, at different times, and to 
 different Christians, without the least variation 
 in any of its circumstances, I have every reason 
 to believe its tnith, and should, therefore (if you 
 please), desire, through your paper, to submit 
 it to the Christian public. 
 
 In narrating it she said : " About twelve 
 months after my marriage, I was brought under 
 very deep concern for the salvation of my soul. 
 My convictions of sin continued for more than 
 a year. I enjoyed next to no means of grace 
 where I resided, the gospel not being preached 
 in the established church, and there being no 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 63 
 
 dissenters' meeting-house near. One night, af- 
 ter a day of particular disti-ess of mind, caused 
 by a fear that I had sinned away my day of 
 grace, I retii-ed to bed, and dreanied thus : I 
 thought (in my sleep) that my brother "William 
 came to my house and told me that father had 
 died, and that I must come home with him im- 
 mediately to attend the funeral. Accordingly, 
 next morning we took the stage and returned 
 an hundred and thirty miles to mother's house. 
 The sabbath after the funeral (I thought) mother 
 invited me to a new place of worship, which 
 she had only begun to attend since I had been 
 married and left home. ' He is such a good 
 preacher, (said mother) it will do thee good to 
 hear him.' I went. The preacher ascended 
 the pulpit, a tall, pale-looking gentleman, with 
 a green over-coat, and his throat tied with a silk 
 handkerchief. Having put them oif, after a 
 short pause he rose up, and announced the 
 hymn, Christ an hiding-place, or, 
 
 ' Hail, SoTereign love, that first began 
 The scheme to rescue fallen man ! 
 Hail, matchless, free, Eternal Grace, 
 That gives my soul a hiding-place,' Ac; 
 
 I thought the hymn made a deep impression on 
 
64 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 my mind — ^his prayer more — and the text and 
 sermon delivered my soul from all its unbeliev- 
 ing fears, and let me free in the glorious liberty 
 of the children of God. The text was, 'This 
 is a faithful saying, and worthy of all accepta- 
 tion, that Jesus Christ came into the world to 
 save sinners, of whom I am chief.' The dream 
 made a great and deep impression on my mind. 
 It afforded me a faint ho^DC that God might 
 yet have mercy in store for me, and again en- 
 couraged me to pray — a duty I had nearly laid 
 aside, thinking it of no use to me — perish I 
 must — Tny day of grace having been sinned 
 away. 
 
 " ITor did I forget the whole (interior) appear- 
 ance of the chapel, nor of the preacher, nor 
 the hymn, nor the text. All these continued 
 fresh upon my memory. But, alas ! it was a 
 dream. Father was yet in perfect health ; and 
 when I would draw from it the faint encourage- 
 ment it held out to me, something told me it 
 was but a dream and a delusion of the devil. 
 And again I was plunged into a state of painful 
 despondency. Yet never so as to despair of 
 mercy, nor to leave off proving it, as I did, be- 
 fore I dreamed. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEBATIVES. 65 
 
 " Twelve months rolled away, and the dream 
 not being realized in so long a time, I began, in- 
 deed, to think, that, like dreams in general, it, 
 too, was vanity. N"or must you for a moment 
 imagine, that, to realize it, I wished for the 
 death of my parent. O no ; he was too aifec- 
 tionate, and by his children too much loved, to 
 think of such a thing without horror. He was 
 more than loved by us all ; and when it came so 
 suddenly and unexpectedly upon us, it over- 
 whelmed us in grief to the forgetfulness of 
 every other subject for the time. ' But who can 
 stand before his power !' To whom does he 
 give an account of his ways ? ' Or who can, by 
 searching, find out the Most High God?' At 
 the end of twelve months brother William ar- 
 rived, bringing the melancholy tidings of father's 
 sudden death, and to bring me home to the 
 funeral. The awfuly suddenness and unex- 
 pectedness of the stroke overwhelmed me in 
 surprise and sorrow wliich language cannot 
 paint, and the dream was never once thought of 
 nor remembered. Father now dead and buried, 
 sadly realized the first part of my yet forgotten 
 dream, and the second, which was to quicken 
 into spiritual and eternal life, my soul then 
 5 
 
66 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 dead in sins, was now ready fully to be fulfilled, 
 and fulfilled, too, in all and every one of its 
 parts and circumstances, precisely as I had 
 dreamed it. 
 
 " Accordingly, on the Sabbath after father's 
 burial, mother said to me, in her own peculiar, 
 
 kind, and affectionate manner, ' C n, will 
 
 you go with me to hear Mr. Philip ? I do not 
 go to our old chapel any more, but to Mr. P.'s. 
 He is such a good preacher, it will do thee good 
 to hear him.' I accompanied her : still the 
 dream was not thought of, nor had any one cir- 
 cumstance of the foregoing ti'ansactions recalled 
 it to my mind ; no, not for a moment. But no 
 sooner had I entered the new church, than the 
 dream, with all its circumstances, burst upon 
 my mind. It was the same I was in when I 
 .dreamed! precisely, in all and every article that 
 met my eye, the same as I had dreamed. It 
 was not new to me. I felt as if I had wor- 
 shipped within its walls before. I had in my 
 dream. At this moment I felt as if dreaming 
 the dream again ; father had died ; brother 
 William had come ; father was buried ; mother 
 had invited me to accompany her to a new 
 place of worship, and to hear a new minister in 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 67 
 
 exactly the same words as I dreamed, and now I 
 was seated in the very church I was in, in my 
 dream ! 
 
 " While I thought on these things I was seized 
 with trembling to such a degree (though I did 
 all I could to hide it) that mother observed it, 
 and urged me to tell her what was the matter. 
 I sat, with my head down, out of sight, weep- 
 ing and praying and crying to Grod, that of His 
 infinite mercy he would now fiilly realize to me 
 the whole dream. Oh! how my heart panted 
 and longed for the minister to make his appear- 
 ance, for I had a perfect recollection of the gen- 
 tleman I had seen in my dream. At last the 
 tall, pale-looking gentleman, dressed in his green 
 overcoat, and his throat tied round with the silk 
 handkerchief, slowly winded the pulpit stairs. 
 I knew him before he turned towards the pul- 
 pit. It was the man ! the very all I had seen 
 in the dream ! I felt as if I should faint. Mother 
 took hold of me, urging me to tiy and walk out 
 to the air. I bade her let me alone. I was 
 thinking now of the hymn, and was all anxiety 
 to see if it would be the same as I dreamed it 
 was. Having put off his overcoat and silk 
 
68 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 handtercliief, the minister stood up, and an- 
 nounced the hymn, 
 
 ' Hail, Sovereign love, that first began 
 The scheme to rescue fallen man,' &c. 
 
 I had now scarcely a doubt but that my whole 
 dream would be realized, and that this was the 
 time of God's mercy to me, to let my captive 
 spirit free. Oh ! how I enjoyed the hymn as 
 they lined and sung it. The first prayer seemed 
 wonderfully adapted to my case, and filled my 
 soul with hopes of mei-cy. Had I told the min- 
 ister my case, he could not, I thought, have 
 prayed more appropriately for me. I was now 
 prepared to hear the text, and which was the 
 very one I had heard in my dream, viz. ' This is 
 a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation,' 
 &c. ; and the effects produced by the sermon on 
 my mind were (by the grace of God) 'peace 
 and joy in believing.' I saw clearly how God 
 could be just (yea, glorified in the highest) in 
 the justification and salvation of very cMef of 
 sirmers, who believed in His Son, Jesus Christ. 
 And I was enabled, by faith, to accept of the 
 offered mercy on His own terms, as a sinner 
 ready justly to perish (but for the interposi- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES 69 
 
 tion of his own free, sovereign, and /iimerited 
 mercy) — believing that he came in( > the world 
 to ' seek and to save that which wao lost.' " 
 
 EEFLECTIONS. 
 
 Could this dream be of the lady herself? 
 Conld it, or is it likely, if it could, that the devil 
 would have caused her such i dream ? Kather 
 is not the finger, the kindp ss, and the love, of 
 God, to be seen in it? ,fas not a like means 
 made use of by God to ' jep Saul from despair ? 
 Did he not see in a vis m a man named Annias 
 coming imto him ? Hiis vision was, doubt- 
 lessly, intended to eep alive a spark of hope 
 in his fearfully di? j-acted mind, and to encour- 
 age him to pray, and doubtlessly it did both. 
 For, said God to Annias, "Go, for behold he 
 prayeth." Thif, lady was very much in the 
 same circum/.iance as Saul then was. Dis- 
 tressed in mind as she was, so much so that she 
 thought it cf no use to pray any more, and like 
 him, also, without any aid of Christian ministers 
 or publi< means of grace. Did this vision ex- 
 cite hop? ind prayer in him ? So it did in her. 
 Was his exactly fulfilled by means of the .An- 
 nias he saw in his vision ? So was her? by 
 
70 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 means of the Eev. Dr. Philip, whom she saw in 
 her dream. Were the results on Sanl the same 
 as the vision showed they would be ? They 
 were also the same on her as her dream fore- 
 told ! TVe are assured his vision was of God, 
 and for a special pm'pose. Does not her dream 
 appear to have been by the same agency, and 
 for the same end ? How unsearchaMe are Sis 
 DomGS, and Sis ways past finding out ! 
 
SBntji nf SnEittif SnitntliiEg. 
 
 OuE cousin Jeremy Donothing is no more. 
 I hasten to inform you of this event, and hope 
 you will inform his friends of the end of his 
 life. I lay before you the address prepared to 
 be delivered at his funeral, hoping that it may 
 be useful to your numerous readers : — 
 
 Deae Feiends — When one of our race de- 
 parts this life, solemnity takes possession of our 
 minds, and we are admonished of our mortal- 
 ity. "When the great men of our nation die, 
 the throes of deep sensation pass over all the 
 land, and America with her adopted sons feels 
 that the great and the good have fallen. When 
 death invades our households, the fountain of 
 om- heart's affection is touched, and in the bit- 
 terness of our souls we feel that the tenderest 
 ties are broken, and those with whom we held 
 sweet converse, and loved, have gone to their 
 long home, to return no more forever. In this 
 
72 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 instance, one with whom we have been familiar 
 is no more ; come, drop a tear of sorrow — our 
 cousin Jeremy Donothing is dead. " Peace be 
 to his ashes." 
 
 The disease by which he was translated from 
 the enjoyments of life to the silence of the 
 grave, was chronic indifference. The great Phy- 
 sician prescribed a medicine called " Give thy- 
 self to Godlvness^'' to be used daily in Allopathic 
 doses, which, when used, was never known to 
 fail; but our cousin's reliance in providence 
 was so great, and having a dislike to the medi- 
 cine, the disease was allowed to progress till he 
 was past cure. He departed this life in the 
 triumph of self-opinion, and full confidence of 
 acceptance with God. He came to his end ap- 
 parently in peace, having lived by faith alone 
 for more than forty years, during which time he 
 was never known to have been guilty of the in- 
 consistency of performing any Christian duty 
 by which he might be saved, lest he should 
 make the cross of Christ of none effect. The 
 fidelity of our cousin in this manner of living 
 was not peculiar to himself. He belonged to 
 a large and respectable family, branches of 
 which may be found in many fair places of om* 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 73 
 
 Eeputtlic, and not one of them was ever known 
 to have fallen from his attainments in grace. 
 
 The loss of such a member from so illustrious 
 a family must be deeply felt ; the weeping 
 clouds may well bear sympathy with them in 
 their tearful emotion, but with him the bitter- 
 ness of death is past, and they sorrow not as 
 those who have no hope. The consistency of 
 his life, the honor of his profession is their 
 boast. While the clods of the valley cover 
 him, they hope that the angel of the covenant 
 will jewel his grave with the dew-drops of the 
 morning, and in the evening shade will hang 
 the pall of night upon it, and the ministermg 
 angels keep the sacred vigil, until the time 
 shall come when the voice of G-od shall bid 
 those that sleep in Christ awake to life and 
 light eternal. He was born in the town of 
 Fault-finding, county of Live-easy, State of 
 Disobedience, where the people believe a man 
 may be as good a Christian by following his 
 own opinions, as if he faithfully followed 
 Christ. In this place the people believe in sal- 
 vation by grace, and if a man intimate any- 
 thing about a Christian bearing fruit, so great 
 is their natural antipathy to the ways of obe- 
 
74 ESrCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 dience, that they will turn from him with ab- 
 horrence, call him nnsomicL in the faith, and 
 doubt the reality of his conversion. 
 
 In the seventh Olympiad of our cousin's age, 
 he was converted ; so strong was his faith, and 
 quick in its operation, that without waiting to 
 repent, he immediately with joy received the 
 word, and standing up in the presence of God's 
 people declared what great things had been 
 done for his soul. His regard for the com- 
 mands of Christ evidenced itself Itj modestly 
 refusing to comply with any of them — ^not that 
 he did not love Christ, but the ways of Christ 
 did not please him. 
 
 Should any think it strange that a man 
 should love Christ, and not love the ways of 
 Christ, we offer this apology, Times have al- 
 tered! Anciently believers endured the cross, 
 but the progress of science has so reformed re- 
 ligion, that men may hope for heaven without 
 the odium or labor of the cross. In the days 
 of old-fashioned religion, the cross of Christ 
 was looked upon as the way of life ; but times 
 have so altered that some men have nothing to 
 do but go to glory. His professions of kind- 
 ness to the poor were great. Pavored with 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 75 
 
 ample means, and a liberal heart, he believed 
 it to be his duty to give alms of what he pos- 
 sessed, but lest he should lose his reward by 
 not doing his duty in a right manner, and 
 choosing not to do, than to do and suffer loss, 
 he always found an excuse for not doing, and 
 who will doubt his sincerity ? 
 
 In the missionary enterprise our cousin shone 
 out in all his glory. In this you could see and 
 feel the power of his devotion. His whole 
 heart was swallowed up in the thought of all 
 the world being illuminated by the Sun of 
 Righteousness, but it must be done by the ex- 
 ercise of God's sovereignty alone. He objected 
 to all the organizations of the day for the evan- 
 gelization of the world, because they made 
 inroads into the hearts and pockets of the 
 people. In a private conversation with the 
 departed, it was found that he loved money for 
 the same reasons that benevolent societies need 
 it, but what was right in money matters in the 
 mind of our cousin, was unatonable treason in 
 religious bodies. 
 
 With him grace and faith were all things 
 needful for the world to come. Consistent 
 man ! Thou wouldst not defile thyself by works, 
 
76 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 lest the Saviom- sliould suffer loss. Thy faith 
 was cloudless as the pristine morn when the 
 sun in all his strength shone out upon our in- 
 fant world, and posterity will look upon thy 
 life with wonder. Thy descendants will em- 
 halm thy name and fame within their minds, 
 and when the monumental tablets of the pres- 
 ent day shall be dim with age, thy fair fame, 
 unsullied as the light, will go down to the last 
 generation of men, exciting their astonishment. 
 
 The last hours of our cousin are worthy of 
 special notice. There were present a number 
 of his kinsmen and acquaintance who had seen 
 his progress in life, and were present to wit- 
 ness his constancy to his own opinions in the 
 dying hour. There he lay upon his bed, firm 
 as a rock, and when the glistening tear would 
 roll down the fm-rowed cheek of age in view of 
 the certainty of death, Jeremy cried out, 
 "Weep not for me; all is well; grace, free 
 grace !" 
 
 At this time, one of his distant neighbors 
 came in. The people of the town of Fault-find- 
 ing called him a troubler in Israel, but in the 
 land of Zion he was called an ambassador of 
 God. This man asked our cousin about the 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 77 
 
 peace of Ms soul, and knowing that Jeremy- 
 did not believe in works, asked him if he was 
 as willing to serve the Saviour as he was to 
 love him? To which this answer was given, 
 " I see something new." When asked what it 
 was, he answered, " If a man love me he will 
 keep my words ;" and he added, " If I could 
 live my life over, I would obey the Saviour ; 
 but as it is, I commit my soul to him, and die 
 rejoicing," and at these words he gave up the 
 ghost. 
 
 Soon will it be our lot to die. This life is 
 granted to us for our improvement, and its 
 blessings may be sanctified for our eternal well- 
 being. Are we living to feel in our dying hour 
 one bitter pang like a javelin from the hand of 
 the eternal One, piercing the very heart of our 
 hojDe, ""Why call ye me Lord, Lord, and do 
 not the things which I say?" or are we waiting 
 for the Master to say to us, " "Well done, good 
 and faithful servant, enter into the joy of thy 
 Lord ?" 
 
€lii ItttB -Situ. 
 
 Father Fltnkt had been lecturing us on the 
 greatness and power of the chui'ch, and com- 
 manding us to leave the care of our souls en- 
 tirely to the clergy, and to he satisfied that 
 what they told us, and nothing else, was right. 
 There was a bold fellow present, one Phil 
 Eyan, a decent farmer, with some small hold- 
 ings in a place near us. After they were dis- 
 missed, all but me and two or three more 
 that were in the priest's confidence, Phil came 
 back, and making his best bow, said, 
 
 " Plase your reverence, I just forgot how I 
 want to lodge a complaint against Mike Con- 
 nor; he's so contrary, sci'upulous, and sus- 
 picious." 
 
 " Well, be short, man ; it's little I'm likely 
 to do in settling your difl^erences ; but I always 
 held Mike to be a decenter fellow nor yourself," 
 says Father Flynn. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVlTB. 79 
 
 "Well, tlien," says Phil, "to make short of 
 it, yer honor, I want Mike to rent of me a snug 
 cabin, and a matter of two acres of good land 
 on a lease." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Mike is unreasonable, your reverence, all 
 out, he wants to see my title, to be sure it's 
 good, and to examine all about the title prop- 
 erty, which I take very unkind at his hands, 
 seeing he has my word for it all." 
 
 "Why, man alive !" says the priest, who had 
 a liking to Mike, " what's got into your head 
 now ? Do you suppose any but a mere natural 
 would take your bare word in a matter where 
 himself, his interest, and his comfort are all 
 concerned? Go, give him the satisfaction he 
 wants, and don't be setting yourself uj) in the 
 place of law, justice, lease, and all !" 
 
 But Phil did not move. " Plase your rever- 
 ence," says he, "I've the head landlord's au- 
 thority to say that he executed the lease, putting 
 me in possession of these premises, to let as I 
 like ; and why should any man stand doubting 
 me, or want proofs ?" 
 
 " Get along, sir," says Father Flynn to him 
 again, "produce your lease, show him the title, 
 
80 INCIDElirTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 satisfy the honest man's mind that his awn will 
 be good, or else he's a fool if he has anything 
 to say to you or your holding ; it's what every 
 tenant has a right to/' says he again to us, 
 " and ye know that, boys, very well." 
 
 But what a change came over Phil! He 
 stood as bold as a lion, and as brisk-looking as 
 a kid ; and never moving his eyes from the 
 priest's, that grew all scarlet and blue as he 
 spoke, he said, "Why, then, yom* reverence, 
 will you please show me your title to grant me 
 an entrance into the kingdom of heaven ; and 
 satisfy me that if I take it at your hands I am 
 safe in possession, let who may object to it?" 
 
 The priest was mad! He made as if he 
 would close in upon him to chastise him ; but 
 Phil was a powerful fellow, and not to be tri- 
 fled with. He stood on his guard firmly but 
 not disrespectfully, and so went on. 
 
 " It's but a cabing, sir, and a patch of ground, 
 and the longest possession a man can have of 
 it is but a few years. But in case that he don't 
 get it, there's a store of places just as good 
 therefore; or if he's turned out, he needn't 
 want a shelter to go to. But, the place we're 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 81 
 
 de]3ending on your reverence to engage for us 
 when we leave tliis world — " 
 
 Here the priest interrupted him with a worse 
 word than I'd like to write down ; and turning 
 to us, said, " Boys, will you see your priest in- 
 sulted by a swaddling apostate that's sold him- 
 self to the devil and the Bible men for a few 
 coin? My curse on ye if ye don't stop his 
 blasphemous mouth, and drive him out !" 
 
 "They needn't," said Phil, looking coolly at 
 us, "I'm not going to trouble your reverence 
 any further, as I've incensed you into my mean- 
 ing about the everlasting habitation. I meant 
 you no disrespect, sir, but a poor man's soul is 
 precious, and I must have better warrant than 
 the bare word of any living man before I haz- 
 ard it forever." 
 
 6 
 
Sttfihl %Bsuua. 
 
 I HAVE often remarked with what unblushing 
 assurance the infidel speaks of the tinreasona- 
 bleness and absurdities of the Christian religion 
 — ^with what triumph and exultation he will 
 repeat over and over again, for the thousandth 
 time, the stale objections against the Bible, as 
 though an answer to them had never been 
 given or attempted. In conversation, however, 
 he manifests the most shameful ignorance con- 
 cerning the most undeniable facts, connected 
 with the history of Christian revelation. I 
 have often found him "willingly ignorant of" 
 the things which almost every school-boy could 
 have told him of. 
 
 A few days since I happened in the company 
 of one, who, with his wife, was a confirmed 
 atheist. He professed himself fully convinced 
 that " the Bible was an imposition," that " the 
 story of the creation \vas a fable," thai; '• hell 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 83 
 
 ■was a bugbear," and that " death was an eter- 
 nal sleep." Such confidence as he expressed 
 in his opinions one would have thought could 
 only have been the result of extensive investi- 
 gation, vast research, and deep reflection. 
 Such a thought, however, could have been en- 
 tertained by no one at all acquainted with the 
 common class of infidels with which om* country 
 abounds. To confirm my supposition — ^that 
 gross ignorance was at the bottom of his skepti- 
 cism — I put to him a few questions. To a 
 remark which he had made as to the impossi- 
 bility of bringing any arguments to prove the 
 truth of Christianity, I asked : 
 
 " Have you read what Bishop M'llvaine has 
 advanced in his lectures ?" 
 
 " Bishop M'llvaine ? ISTo, I never heard of 
 his book." 
 
 "You have doubtless, then, read Bishop 
 Wilson's two volumes on the evidences of 
 Christianity?" 
 
 " JSTo, I never heard of them." 
 
 " Perhaps you have seen the work written by 
 Dr. Alexander on the same subject?" 
 
 "I didn't know there was sucli a book." 
 
 "Have you not seen, then. Dr. Chalmers' 
 
84 INCIDENTS AifD NAREATIVES. 
 
 evidences, and read his chapter 'on the way 
 of proposing the argiunent to atheistic infidels V 
 It is just suited to your case." 
 
 " I haven't seen it." 
 
 " Certainly you can't he ignorant of Dr. Pa- 
 ley's work on natural theology. Tou must, 
 also, have read the celebrated argument on the- 
 miracles of the Bible, found in his other work, 
 called, 'A view of the evidences of Christian- 
 ity.' Have you seen them?" 
 
 " 'No, I can't say that I have." 
 
 "I can't think, then, that you have ever 
 looked into Butler's Analogy between natural 
 and revealed religion, or the larger book of 
 Thomas Heartwell Home, a book replete with 
 learning and research ?" 
 
 " You are right." 
 
 " But you must have read a little treatise by 
 Leslie, termed, ' A short and easy method with 
 the deist.' It would not have taken more than 
 two hours of your time. One so anxious to 
 know the truth as you profess to be, would not 
 have grudged an evening sjDent in such away." 
 
 " The truth is, I have never read any work 
 on the evidences of Christianity." 
 
 " I thought as much : and yet I have not 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 85 
 
 mentioned a tentli part of the numerous and 
 able woi'ks which have been written on the sub- 
 ject. I dare say, however, you have read 
 Paine's 'Age of Reason?'" 
 
 "I have read his 'theological works.' I 
 think him a good writer." 
 
 " Of course, then, you have read his ' Age 
 of Reason.' But have you not seen any of the 
 fifty answers to Paine? There is Watson's 
 ' Apology for the Bible, addressed to Thomas 
 Paine,' in which everything like argument in 
 Paine's work is fully met and answered. It 
 can be had for a few shillings at the most. 
 One who loves the truth would not care much 
 about a dollar or two even in procuring the 
 means of knowing the truth." 
 
 " Watson ! who is he ? I don't know him." 
 
 " I see how it is. Tou have confined your 
 reading altogether to such works as Paine's, 
 Coopei''s, and Wright's," I replied, glancing at 
 an infidel weekly publication, to which I found 
 that he was a subscriber. " Don't you know," 
 I asked again, "that one real argument is 
 enough to prove a fact, and that every addi- 
 tional argument only confirms what was before 
 proved? For instance, if I wish to convince 
 
86 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 any one tliat yon are a living being, it is enough 
 for me to say that jou can hold a conyersation 
 with me. I might prove it in many other ways, 
 but this is enough to satisfy any reasonable per- 
 son that you are a living being. You cannot, 
 therefore, be certain that Christianity is not 
 true until you have examined every argument 
 which its friends can advance, and until you 
 have refuted them all. So long as one remains 
 which cannot be answered or shaken, you can- 
 not be certain that it is not what it professes 
 to be." 
 
 "It is so. One real argument, I admit, is 
 enough. But I don't believe there is one for 
 the Bible." 
 
 " How can you know this, when you have 
 not read a single book in which those argu- 
 ments are presented? There may be a thou- 
 sand such, for all you know. I only ask you, 
 therefore, to do a very rational thing, when I 
 request you to read on this subject. Are you 
 willing to read this little treatise of four pages, 
 by Fletcher, on the evidences of Christianity ?" 
 
 He promised that he would, and consented, 
 also, to read some other works on the same sub- 
 ject, which I offered to lend him. Let me ad- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 87 
 
 vise every infidel to act in tlie same manner. 
 In a few days lie may read several volumes, 
 which he may procure at the cost of some two 
 or three dollars. Will any infidel say that he 
 cannot spare so much time and money ? I am 
 persuaded that if he speaks honestly he will 
 not. What say you, my friend? Will you 
 read both sides ? 
 
€nt Wtmm. 
 
 The little incident wMcL. I am about to men- 
 tion, was one among many wHch had an effect, 
 probably a very decided effect, in forming the 
 character of one who was left to be educated 
 by the impression of circumstances. His friend 
 had a small farm, on which the boy worked 
 with such men as from time to time happened 
 to be employed. In a remote field stood a 
 large tulip-tree — a tree apparently of a cen- 
 tury's growth, and one of the most gigantic of 
 that splendid species of tree. It looked like 
 the father of the surrounding forest. A single 
 tree of huge dimensions, standing all alone, is 
 a sublime object. On the top of this tree, for 
 years, an old eagle, commonly called the "Fish- 
 ing eagle," had built her nest every year, and, 
 unmolested, raised her young. "What is re- 
 markable, if it be remarkable, this tree stood 
 full ten miles from the sea-shore. It had lone 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 89 
 
 been known as the " Old Eagle Tree." On a 
 warm sunny day, the workmen were hoeing 
 corn in an adjoining field. At a certain hour 
 of the day the old eagle was known to set off 
 for the sea-side, to gather food for her young, 
 As she this day returned with a large fish in 
 her claws, the workmen surrounded the tree, 
 and by j^elling, and hooting, and throwing 
 stones, so scared the poor bird that she droj^ped 
 her fish, and they then carried it off in triumph. 
 The men soon dispersed ; but Joseph sat down 
 under a bush near by, to watch and to bestow 
 unavailing pity. The bird soon returned to 
 her nest without food. The eaglets set up a 
 cry for food, so shrill, so clear, and clamorous, 
 that tlie boy was greatly moved. The parent 
 bird seemed to try to soothe them, but their ap- 
 petites were too keen, and it was all in vain. 
 
 She then perched herself on a limb near 
 them, and looked down into the nest with a 
 look that seemed to say, "I know not what to 
 do next." Her indecision was but momentary ; 
 again she poised herself, uttered one or two 
 sharp notes, as if telling them to "lie still," 
 balanced her body, spread her wings, and was 
 away again for the sea! Joseph now deter- 
 
90 I]SrCIDBNTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 mined to see the result. His eyes followed 
 her till she grew small, smaller, a mere speck 
 in the sky, and then disappeared. "What boy 
 has not thus watched the flight of the bird of 
 his country in this way ? She was gone nearly 
 two hours, about double her usual time for a 
 voyage, when she again returned on a slow, 
 weary wing, flying uncommonly low, in order 
 to have a heavier atmosphere to sustain her, 
 with another fish in her talons. On nearing 
 the field, she made a circuit around it, to see 
 if her enemies were again there. Finding the 
 coast clear, she once more reached the tree, 
 drooping, faint and weary, and evidently nearly 
 exhausted. Again the eaglets set up then* 
 cry, which was soon hushed by the distribution 
 of a dinner such as (save the cooking) a king 
 might admire. "Glorious bird!" cried the 
 boy in ecstacy, and aloud ; " what a spirit ! 
 Other birds can fly swifter, others can sing more 
 sweetly, others scream more loudly ; but what 
 bird, when persecuted and robbed, when weary 
 when discom-aged, when so far from the sea, 
 would do it ! Glorious bird ! I will learn a 
 lesson from thee to-day. I will never forget, 
 hereafter, that when the spirit is determined, 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 91 
 
 it can do almost anything. Otheip would have 
 
 drooped, and hung the head, and mourned over 
 
 the cruelty of man, and sighed over the wants 
 
 of the nestling, but thou, by at once recovering 
 
 the loss, hast forgotten all. I will learn of thee, 
 
 noble bird. I will remember this. I will set 
 
 my mark high. I will try to do something, and 
 
 to be something, in the world ; / ^vill never 
 
 yield to discouragements /" 
 
 ***** 
 
 Three years after this, a boy was seen trip- 
 ping merrily along towards Philadelphia, with 
 a stiff hickory cane in one hand, and a small 
 bundle in the other. He was alone and on 
 foot. This was the eighth day of his solitary 
 travels, which he had continued to pursue, with 
 the sum of fifty cents a day. In his checkered 
 handkerchief were all his worldly goods, con- 
 sisting of a Testament, a few shirts, with a black 
 ribbon in the collar of each, and a small number 
 of unimportant articles of dress. Pie was over- 
 taken by a man on horseback, with a knowing 
 and somewhat dignified look. The boy at once 
 recognized him as an old schoolmaster, to whom 
 he had been for instruction several winters be- 
 fore, in a free-school. At first he seemed im- 
 
92 IN"CIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 willing to use Ms memory, when hailed by the 
 boy, but his good nature soon obtained the 
 ascendency. 
 
 "Where are you going, my boy?" 
 "To Philadelphia, sir. My cousin, Mr. Ea- 
 ton, told me last spring, that, if I could get to 
 him, he would help me to a better education 
 
 than I could get in Connecticut." 
 
 * * -X- * * 
 
 Tears have passed away — ^this boy has since 
 become a man. 
 
 I have seen this man occupying a most com- 
 manding place in the church of God, command- 
 ing in influence, respectability, and usefulness ; 
 I have heard him speak in manly tones, and 
 with surprising power, before the great congre- 
 gation ; and I have seen his writings published 
 in other coimtries, and in other languages. I 
 have seen many most enviable characters, but 
 few to be compared to this man for traits noble, 
 manly. Christian. I never see him without ad- 
 miring the native energy of his character, the 
 wonderful providence by which he was led, and 
 the fields of usefulness to which he has been 
 conducted. 
 
As I was walMng, one Lord's day, to the 
 Louse of God, I saw a party of young people 
 on before me, whose volatile manners ill ac- 
 corded with the sanctity of the day ; and just 
 as I was passing them I heard one say, 
 
 " Indeed, I think we shall do wrong^ — my con- 
 science condemns me — I must return." 
 
 " There can be no harm," replied another, " in 
 taking an excursion on the water, especially as 
 we hare resolved to go to a place of worship 
 this evening." 
 
 " I must return," rejoined a female voice ; 
 " my conscience condemns me. What will my 
 father say if he hear of it?" 
 
 By this time they had reached the bridge ; 
 and one of the party was busily engaged with a 
 waterman, while the rest stood in close debate 
 for a few minutes, when they all moved towards 
 the water. Two of the gentlemen stepped into 
 
94 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 the boat, two more stood at tlie water's edge, 
 and the females were handed one by one into 
 the boat. It was a fine morning, though rather 
 cold, and the tide was ranning at its usual rate ; 
 many were gazing on them, when a nav^l officer 
 standing near, called to them through the balus- 
 trades, and said, * 
 
 " A pleasant morning to you." 
 
 One of the gentlemen suddenly arose to re- 
 tmTL the compliment, but, from some cause 
 which I could not perceive, he fell over into the 
 water. This disaster threw the whole party into 
 the utmost consternation, and each one, instead 
 of remaining in his seat, rushed to the side of 
 the boat over which their companion had fallen, 
 which upset it, and all were instantaneously 
 plunged into the deep. The shriek which the 
 multitude of spectators gave, when they beheld 
 this calamity, exceeded any similar noise I ever 
 heard ; several females fainted ; boats immedi- 
 ately put off ; and in a few minutes the water- 
 men rescued one and another, and another from 
 a premature grave. Having picked up all they 
 could find, the different boats rowed to the shore, 
 wliere some medical gentlemen were in wait- 
 ing ; but when the party mot together, no Ian- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 95 
 
 gtiage can describe the horror which was de- 
 picted on every countenance when they found 
 that two were still missing. 
 
 " Wh^e is mv sister ?" said the voice which 
 had said, '"only a^^ miniilfes before, " there can 
 be no harm in taking an excursion on the water, 
 especially as we have resolved to go to church 
 in the evening." 
 
 " Where's my Charles ?" said a female who 
 had appeared the Ifnost gay and sprightly when 
 I first saw them. 
 
 At length two boats, which had gone a con- 
 siderable distance, were seen returning ; on be- 
 ing asked if they had picked up any, they re- 
 plied, "Yes, two." This rej^ly electrified the 
 whole party, they wept for joy, and so did 
 others who stood around them. 
 
 "Here's a gentleman," said the boatman, 
 " but I believe he is dead." 
 
 " Where's the lady," said the brother : " is 
 she safe ?" 
 
 " She is in the other boat. Sir !" 
 
 " Is she alive ? — has she spoken ?" 
 
 " JSTo, Sir, she has not spoken, I believe." 
 
 "Is she dead? oh! tell me !" 
 
 " I f jar she is, Sir." 
 
96 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 The ladies were immediately removed from 
 tlie boats to a house in the vicinity, and every 
 effort was employed to restore animation, and 
 some faint hopes were enter tain ed by j^tie medi- 
 cal gentlemen that"they s^md succeed. In 
 the space of little more than ten minutes they 
 annoimced the joyful news that the gentleman 
 began to breathe, but they made no allusions 
 to the lady. Her brother sat motionless, ab- 
 sorbed in the deepest melancholy, till the ac- 
 tual decease of his sister was announced, when 
 he started up and became almost frantic with 
 grief. He exclaimed, " Oh my sister ! my sis- 
 ter ! would to God I had died for thee !" They 
 were all overwhelmed with trouble, and knew 
 not what to do. 
 
 " Who will bear the heavy tidings to our fa- 
 ther ?" said the brother, as he paced the room 
 backwards and forwards, like a maniac broke 
 loose from the cell of misery ; " Oh ! who will 
 bear the heavy tidings to our father?" He 
 paused ; a death-like silence pervaded the whole 
 apartment ; he again burst forth in the agony 
 of despair — "1 forced her to go against the dic- 
 tates of her conscience — I am her mm-derer — 
 1 ought to have perished, and not my sister. 
 
IlSrCIDENTS AJSTD NARRATIVES. 97 
 
 — Who will bear the heavy tidings to our 
 father?" 
 
 " I will," said a gentleman who had been un- 
 remitting in his attention to the sufferers. 
 
 " Do you know him, Sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, I know him." 
 
 " Oh ! how can I ever appear in his presence ? 
 I enticed one of the best of children to an act 
 of disobedience, which has destroyed her !" 
 
 How the old man received the intelligence, 
 or what moral effect resulted from this disaster, 
 I never heard ; but it may furnish me with a 
 few reflections, which I wish to press upon the 
 attention of my reader. 
 
 As the Sunday is instituted for the purpose 
 of promoting your moral improvement and fe- 
 licity, never devote its sacred hours to the rec- 
 reations of pleasure. He who has commanded 
 you to keep it holy, will not suffer you to pro- 
 fane it with imjDunity. He may not bring down 
 upon you the awful expressions of his displeas- 
 ure while you are in the act of setting at oj)en 
 defiance his authority ; but there is a day ap- 
 proaching when you must stand before him ; 
 and it may not be far off. By a sudden visita- 
 tion of Providence, you may be removed from 
 7 
 
98 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 the midst of your gay companions to appear in 
 Ms presence. Resist the first temptation to evil, 
 or ruin may be the ineyitable consequence. 
 What a warning is contained in this narrative ! 
 And is this the only one vs^hich the history of 
 crime has given you ? Alas, no ! Plave not 
 many, who ended their days in ignominy, traced 
 up their rain to the jarofanation of the Sabbath ? 
 This is the day in which the foul spirits are 
 abroad, enticing the young and the thoughtless 
 to evil ; and if you wish to avoid the degrada- 
 tion and misery in which others have been in- 
 volved, devote its sacred hours to the purpose 
 for which they were appointed. 
 
fill 315 Ijip ping, 
 
 A. Good morning, Br. B. I am happj to 
 see you ; I have been tliinking much of the ser- 
 mon yesterday. Pray, how did you like it ? 
 
 Ji. I thought it was important truth — well- 
 timed and appropriate. It appeared so well 
 suited to our case, I do not wonder, Br. A., you 
 have bestowed some thought upon the subject. 
 I hope all may be greatly benefited. 
 
 A. Well, I know not but it was the truth 
 (for some of it came pretty close home)', but I 
 do not think this whipping ever does much 
 good. It should by all means be dispensed 
 with. 
 
 B. Pray, Br. A., what do you mean \ij whip- 
 ping ? I have heard a few speak in this way, 
 but should be pleased to know the idea you at- 
 tach to it. 
 
 A. I know not that I can give the dic- 
 tionary definition, btit — but— vv'hy, it is this plain 
 
100 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 and pointed manner of preaching — exposing the 
 sins of the people. 
 
 £. Does onr minister preach more plain and 
 pointed than the specimens of preaching found 
 in the Bible ? 
 
 A. But I love the good old doctrine of 
 grace, and the promises ; these are food for my 
 soul. 
 
 B. "Was not Timothy to rejjrore, rebuke, and 
 exhort? and can a minister be faithful to his 
 tnist, and not pursue the same course? But 
 ■n'hy did not Peter, on the ever-memorable pen- 
 tecost, hold forth the doctrine of election, and 
 saints' perseverance, with the precious promises ? 
 Why did he not hold forth the same for the sol- 
 ace of Annanias and Sapphira ? Hovf could 
 he lay on so heavily upon Simon the sorcerer ? 
 Why did not Paul speak more comforting con- 
 cerning Demas ? And is it not strange that 
 John, the beloved disciple, so far forgot the 
 " good old doctrine of grace," as to say, " If any 
 man Jove the world, the love of the Father is 
 iwt in him !" And, stranger still, that a whole 
 chm'ch must " Pemember — ^i-epent, and do the 
 first works," or have their candlestick remov- 
 ed. (?) If you charge om- minister with whip- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 101 
 
 ping, will you not seem, at least, to implicate 
 the sacred writers ? 
 
 A. But they were inspired men, 
 
 -5. Have not I heard yon call our minister 
 a good man, and that you believed him called 
 of God to the work of the ministry ? And if 
 he is not divinely inspired as were the apostles, 
 it is a very good reason, I shoidd think, why he 
 should not invent a new course, but follow the 
 plain beaten path, 
 
 A. I do not dispute the truth of what he 
 preaches, but it does not really suit my turn ; 
 some for Paul, you know, and some for Apol- 
 los. 
 
 JB. Do you pray in your family, Br. A. ? 
 
 A. I have not for a long time. My gift is 
 small, and sometimes we have hired help ; and 
 besides, the children are so large I have no con- 
 fidence. 
 
 ^. [ Wee^7ig.] Do you attend the prayer- 
 meeting ? 
 
 A. ISfo ; I have no gift in such meetings ; 
 and, after the labor of the day, I am so dull 
 that I think it better for me to remain at home. 
 
 J5. Did you attend the last church-meet- 
 ing? 
 
102 IN"CIDEN"TS AKD WAERATIVES. 
 
 A. I did not. The one before the last I cal- 
 culated to attend, but I had some business a 
 little distance off, which I thought I could do, 
 and be in time for the meeting ; but as I was de- 
 tained longer than I anticipated, I did not go ; 
 and the last one we had companv, and it looked 
 so much like a storm, we thought it not prudent 
 to be out. 
 
 J3. How were you entertained two or three 
 of the preceding Sabbaths? I should have 
 thought a view of the safety of the church, and 
 the final triumph of the gospel, would have 
 much delij;hted you. 
 
 A. I understood it was excellent and inter- 
 esting ; but I was not there. Somehow, when I 
 am present he ahvays uses the whip ; and I 
 have heard several others speak in the same 
 way. 
 
 B. A moment's reflection, Br. A., would 
 convince you that he did not aim everything at 
 you, for the arrangement or plan of his sermons 
 is prepared before he sees you, which is often 
 late on Sabbath moniing. I do not wonder, 
 now, that you have been thinking of the ser- 
 mon ; but pause a moment, and think of the re- 
 epoHsibility of Jehovah's messenger, and of the 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 103 
 
 accoxint he must givo at the judgment of the 
 great day ! In view of this, see him standing 
 in the sacred desk, with the message of his God 
 to a congregation of hearers who do not pray in 
 their families — take no active part in the pray- 
 er-meeting — neglect the meetings of the church 
 — and are frequently absent from Lord's day 
 service ! "What can he say ? Comfort them 
 with promises ? How can he speak peace to 
 them who are at ease in Zion ? I feel, Br. A., 
 that this is a very serious matter, and not to be 
 trifled with ; for we shall meet these sermons 
 another day ! Much of the faithful preaching 
 among us seems to have but little good effect 
 upon those who need it most. Instead of lay- 
 ing it to heart, and improving it for God's glory, 
 you say, " We have had a good whipjAncj to- 
 day," and there leave it. But look at the influ- 
 ence on your children, and on your neighbors : 
 every word that crosses their path is but a 
 " Hlow of the whip,'''' and this, they seem to 
 think, removes all obligation to obey the gospel. 
 It does appear to me that the influence of the 
 gospel among us is very materially weakened 
 by treating the labors of the pastor in so slight 
 and contemptuous a manner ; and that, too, be- 
 
104 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 fore ungodly children and ungodly neighbors, 
 whose eternal interest should be near our heart. 
 The cause is low among us, and our pastor 
 feels it. May the Lord cause us to feel it, too ! 
 A word more, and I have done. Pray in your 
 closet, and live a holy life ; take a lively inter- 
 est in the prayer-meeting ; be constant and sea- 
 sonable in attendance upon the meetings of the 
 church ; never let your seat be vacant in the 
 sanctuary on the Lord's-day service ; and then 
 " hired help and large children" will not de- 
 stroy your confidence, but you will love faithful 
 preaching, and not fear " the whipping P 
 
"The prophet that hath a. dream, let him tell a dream." 
 FURSISHED BY A PASTOR. 
 
 Sevee^u. years ago an aged relative, now de- 
 ceased, related to me the following dream, or 
 vision, whicli places one of the most important 
 doctrines of the Bible in a deeply impressive 
 light ; and furnishes a very,striking illustration 
 of that beautifvil passage in the 33d chapter of 
 Job : "In a dream, in a vision of the night, 
 when deep sleep falleth npon men, in slumbei'- 
 ings npon the bed, then he openeth the ears of 
 men, and sealeth their instruction, that he may 
 withdraw man from his purpose, and hide pride 
 from man." 
 
 " I was one night," said my friend, "revolv- 
 ing in my mind several topics of great interest, 
 and particularly the doctrine of the atonement, 
 which of all others then seemed the most mys- 
 terious and difficult. While meditating upon 
 
106 IN"CIDENTS AJS'D NABBATIVES. 
 
 these things, I fell asleep, and had the follow- 
 ing dream, which produced a lasting and salu- 
 tary effect upon my mind, and gave me a deep- 
 er insight into the nature and necessity of the 
 atonement than I ever gained by all my reading 
 and study. 
 
 " 1 seemed all at once to be a disembodied 
 spirit. The agonies of death, I knew not how, 
 vrerc passed ; and I was on my way to the judg- 
 ment-seat, and to the retributions of eternity. 
 Suddenly I found myself in a large I'oom, from 
 which there was no egress, except through a 
 single door, which seemed to be fast closed, and 
 over M'hich was written this sentence : ' You 
 shall pass through this door into heaven when 
 you have paid all your debts.' I felt greatly 
 relieved by this assurance ; for having had but 
 little intercourse with my fellow-men in the 
 way of business, and having been very scrupu- 
 lous in regard to all such matters, I did not re- 
 member that I was indebted to any man in the 
 smallest sum. I had, in accordance with the 
 apostolic conjunction, rendered to all men their 
 dues. My debts were all paid, and I waited 
 calmly for admission into heaven. I was to be 
 justified by works. My honesty was to be 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 107 
 
 counted to me for righteousness, and I felt se- 
 cure upon this ground. 
 
 " While comforting myself with these thoughts 
 the door opened, and a crowd of beggars, as I 
 regarded them, rushed into the room. They all 
 addressed tliemselves to me, and with confused 
 clamor and threatening gestures, seemed to de- 
 mand justice. ' Who,' I asked, ' are these, and 
 ^yllat do they want with me ?' ' These,' said a 
 voice, answering my thought, ' are your ci'cdlt- 
 oi'fj. AYhen you have satisfied the77i, you shall 
 enter the mansion prepared for the righteous.' 
 I cannot minutely describe all the demands 
 made upon me. Some, of whom I had made 
 purchases, complained that though I had paid 
 them the stipulated price, yet that they were 
 obliged, by mere embarrassed circumstances, to 
 part with their property for less than its real 
 value, and that, knowing the fact, I was wil- 
 ling to be a gainer by their distress. Some had 
 come as beggars to my door for relief, and, 
 under some pretext or other, had been denied. 
 Some had lived near me in poverty, and had 
 died in actual want, whose circumstances I had 
 never taken the trouble to become acquainted 
 with. One miserable-looking being complained 
 
108 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 that on a time, travelling in my chaise alone, I 
 had refused to permit him to ride with me, 
 when lame and weary, and spent with his jour- 
 ney, he had craved this slight boon of me. 
 There were debts of another character. Some 
 complained that I had been indifferent to their 
 moral wants. Men had lived and died in igno- 
 rance, whom I ought to have instructed. Men 
 had perished for want of the Bible, whom I 
 might have supplied with the word of life. 
 There were dark and desperate faces of heathen 
 there, of whose condition and wants I had 
 thought but little, and for whose salvation I had 
 done next to nothing. 
 
 " My creditors seemed numberless, impatient, 
 and inexorable. They demanded not charity, 
 but justice. The way to heaven was rendered 
 impracticable by the dense crowd, and I could 
 not enter into rest until they were all paid and 
 satisfied. I was in despair. I owed ten thou- 
 sand talents, and had nothing to pay. I could 
 not dispute these claims, and no one woidd can- 
 cel his bill. All my righteousness appeared ut- 
 terly worthless. ' Lord,' I cried, in anguish of 
 soul, ' what shall 1 do ? How are these credit' 
 ors to be satisfied, and how am I to be saved V 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 109 
 
 "Again the voice that spoke to me at first ad- 
 dressed me, ' Sinful man, thou canst never pay 
 thy debts. Thy debts are sins. Against God 
 thou hast done these things. He is tliy Credit- 
 or, and Ilej for Christ's salve, hath forgiven thee 
 all tin' trespasses. The blood of atonement 
 hath blotted out the handwriting that was 
 against thee, and hath cleansed thee from all 
 sin. Thank ITim that thy debts are paid.' 
 
 " The crowd of noisy creditors vanished, and 
 as I was passing through the now unobstructed 
 door with a peace that even in my reliance upon 
 my own righteousness I had never felt before, I 
 awoke. It was a dream ; but it rendered the 
 cross of Christ unspeakably precious to my soul." 
 
On a fair summer day, a minister was walk- 
 ing to the village of W , in order to declare 
 
 the glad tidings of salvation to the inhabitants. 
 He had arrived at the summit of a hill which 
 commands the view of a large valley, studded 
 by villages and hamlets, corn and pasture-land, 
 with clumps of trees, scattered in profusion 
 over the whole, when his attention was arrested 
 by a woman standing by a small cottage which 
 overlooked the vale. As he drew nigh, she 
 said, " O, sir, I am glad to see you ; how are 
 you, and how is your family?'' But before he 
 had time to answer, she continued, " Have you 
 such a thing as a key, about yon ? for I have 
 broken my key, and I cannot get one to open 
 my drawers, to get what I want out of them, 
 O ! what shall I do — I want some things so 
 badly?" The minister, replying to the latter 
 part of the request, said he had no key about 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. Ill 
 
 Mm, and if he had, it might not open the lock. 
 This was bad news to the woman, as she thought 
 few were without keys of som.e kind. She 
 stood making lamentation for her broken key, 
 saying she knew not what was to be done with- 
 out it. While looking around her to see if any 
 one was coming who might have a key to open 
 her drawers, the minister asked her if she had 
 ever heard of a key to open heaven ; in plain 
 words, did she know the way by which she was 
 to get to that better country ? for many missed 
 heaven by trying to open it by a wrong or bro- 
 ken key, and cried at last, " Lord, Lord, open 
 unto us !" 
 
 " Ay, ay," cried the poor woman, " I know 
 how we are to get heaven open, very well ; I 
 am old enough to know all about that. If we 
 earn our bread by the sweat of our brow, walk 
 up to that we profess, pay what we owe, say 
 our prayers, keep the ten commandments, and 
 fear God, that surely will open heaven for us ; 
 and they that can say that, can say a great say. 
 And now, sir, don't you think I have told you 
 right?" 
 
 The woman, from the coniident way she spoke, 
 seemed to have no doubt that she was right, and 
 
112 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 had the key to open heaven at hand. After a 
 pause, the minister shook his head, and said, 
 " Ah ! my friend, these things you mention will 
 no more open heaven than your broken key will 
 open your drawers ; for among all the things 
 you have mentioned, you have forgotten the 
 main thing. I assure you, that your best deeds, 
 hard workings, prayers, and tears, will never, 
 never open heaven. Tou urust get another key." 
 Amazed and astonished that her wisdom and 
 knowledge were called in question, and that 
 such a death-blow should be gi'^'en to her good 
 works, and that by one who she had reason to 
 think knew what was right, having often heard 
 him preach, she exclaimed, with surprise, 
 " What, sir ! will good works not open heaven 
 to us at last? What can I do, if .the things I 
 mentioned won't do? What did I forget, in 
 what I said ?" 
 
 " My friend, you forgot the Lord Jesus Chiist, 
 what he did and suifered for sinners. It was 
 Jesus who opened a new and living way, and 
 by what he did in the place of the guilty ; it is 
 by his atoning sacrifice 'that heaven is opened 
 to sinners, and by faith in his righteousness we 
 get to that heavenly land. The word of God, 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 113 
 
 in Isaiah xxii. 22, declares, 'And the key of 
 the house of David I will lay upon his shoulder 
 (that is, Jesus,) so he shall open and none shall 
 shut, and shut, and none shall open.' ISTow you 
 know our sins have shut heaven's gates ; and 
 God proclaimed, in case any one should try to 
 open them by their works, ' By the works of the 
 law no flesh living can be justified.' You know 
 if works could o^sen heaven, it would not have 
 been said, 'Blessed are the dead who die in 
 the Lord ; they rest from their labors, and their 
 works do follow them !' it would have been said, 
 ' They I'est from their labors, and their works go 
 iefore them to open heaven for them ;' therefore 
 Jesus, my friend, has the key, that is, the 
 power ; for he has power and authority in heaven 
 and earth. He has the key of knowledge ; he 
 knows all his people's persons, their cases and 
 cares ; he has the key of authority and govern- 
 ment in his church ; he fixes ordinances, bestows 
 gifts, and dispenses blessings, as it pleases him ; 
 he opens the door of opportunity to hear the 
 word, and gives ministers the door of utterance. 
 He opens the heart to receive the word, as you 
 know Lydia's heart was opened to attend and 
 8 
 
114 nsrciDEKTS and narratives. 
 
 hear the word gladlj. Therefore, you must 
 thi'ow away the broken key of duties, for what 
 duty do you perforin but there is imperfection, 
 and consequently sin, in it ? Pray to Jesus to 
 open your heart to receive his word, and depend 
 only upon his word, upon his righteousness, 
 which alone can give solid comfort." 
 
 "Ay, ay," said the woman, " I see what you 
 mean now. It is Jesus alone we are to trust in, 
 not in our works ; and it is by what he has done 
 that heaven is opened. But, sir, are the works 
 of no use, then ?" 
 
 " My friend, they are of use as a needful evi- 
 dence of OTU" love to Jesus ; for if oui- faith in 
 him is real, it will be attended with, and pro- 
 duce good works, and a holy life. For when 
 we believe in him, we love him ; and when we 
 love him, we obey him. ISTow, I entreat you to 
 go to Jesus ; believe in his word, and cry with 
 David of old, ' Open thou mine eyes, that I may 
 behold wondrous things out of thy law!' Let 
 the broken key remind you of your inability to 
 get to heaven by your own deeds. May it re- 
 mind'you to see the key I have been telling yon 
 of. Then you will be happy; you will have 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 115 
 
 unfolded to you treasures out of God's fulness ; 
 and wlien you die, you will, through Jesus, be 
 admitted into heaven, to dwell with him forev- 
 ermore." 
 
On rriday, a party of the colliers having fin- 
 ished their work, left the mine, expecting in a 
 few minutes to be followed hj five boys who 
 had not entii-ely completed theire. In the 
 meantime, a large body of water, which it 
 seems had been dammed up in another part of 
 the mine for several years, and only left without 
 sufiicient guard for a time, suddenly burst in, 
 filling up the passages, so as to render the es- 
 cape of the boys impossible. The men's distress 
 at their young companions' sudden and fearful 
 peril was very great ; for they saw at a glance 
 the difiiculty, if not the impossibility of saving 
 them alive. The water continued to rise, but 
 to what height they did not at first know. The 
 poor lads, two of whom narrowly escaped being 
 drowned in their fij-st rash eflfort to pass the 
 stream, saw plainly their danger from that quar- 
 ter. But though the men, as the water contin- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 117 
 
 tied to rise, could, with fearful accuracy, calcu- 
 late the increasing Lours and days whicli must 
 pass before it could, by any means, be exhausted, 
 and doubted whether the boys' strength would 
 hold out so long, they saw, also, that this was 
 not the greatest danger. As the water should 
 be pumped out, they knew that the deadly air 
 from that part of the mine which had so long 
 been closed up must rush in, and if the poor 
 lads lived until then, they would then be surely 
 stifled. How they felt "alive within the tomb," 
 we can little tell ; uncertainty as to the extent 
 of their danger might have supported them 
 awhile, but hope and the buoyant spirits of 
 youth, must presently have sunk before cold, 
 darkness, and the faintness of hunger. Poor 
 boys ! it was a melancholy state. Yet we can 
 understand better, and therefore can better 
 sympathize with, the feelings of those relatives 
 and friends who heard the news at home. 
 
 Day after day passed ; the people gathered 
 in crowds round the pit, but none could help. 
 One man since told me that he knew the place 
 so well, having for years been in the habit of 
 working there himself, he could see, in his 
 mind's eye, the very spot where his boy was, and 
 
118 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 it almost broke his heart to think that he could 
 not get to him. Another who had watched 
 there so long that his strength was completely 
 exhausted, lay down on the bank, and when 
 asked why he did not go home, replied, he was 
 afraid it would kill his wife to see him without 
 his boy : and she, who was ill at home, lay hour 
 after hour, watching for the news'with such in- 
 tense anxiety, that all about her believed it 
 would cost her her life. Oh ! what would we 
 have given merely to know that they were still 
 alive. Day after day passed. The elder men, 
 who knew the awful danger of the bad air, 
 which they dreaded more than the water, 
 seemed to have little hopes ; some even doubted 
 whether it would even be possible to find the 
 bodies ; but the women, more ignorant of the 
 risk of life, and more passionate in their feel- 
 ings, still hoped against hope, and for a few 
 days we could hope too ; but the gleam faded, 
 and the answer of one, to whom I expressed a 
 belief that we should hear good news of them 
 in a day or two, fell with a heavy weight on my 
 heart — "I dare say," replied she, "we shall see 
 their funerals." Then, as the evenings drew on, 
 one after another, when I knelt to pray for the 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 119 
 
 preservation and the deliverance of the poor 
 collier boys, my faith wavered — how should I 
 pray for the dead ? We ceased to inquire the 
 news ; everybody looked so grave that it was 
 needless, and every one's first greeting was, 
 " How sad about these poor boys." On Tues- 
 day night the last hope of the anxious friends 
 was extinguished by a report that the water 
 could not be entirely exhausted for a month to 
 come. This, however, agonizing as it was, proved 
 groundless, for the next morning I was told, that 
 by to-morrow evening, the boys must be found, 
 dead or alive. By to-morrow night ! Still, how 
 many long, long hours, of terror and anxiety. 
 To-morrow night! and this moment their last 
 strength may be failing. This hour might re 
 store them to light and life. Can no more be 
 done to help ? Must hour after hour wear on, 
 whilst they are fainting and famishing, one 
 after another ! 
 
 About the middle of the day of Thursday, 
 I met with Isaac's eldest boy, who said to me, 
 "If they are not starved, the men think the 
 damps," (i. e. the foul air) " have killed them ; 
 but they'll be found anyway, to-night." He 
 had been on the spot all day and was going 
 
120 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 again. "And you'll come and tell ns direct- 
 ly?" But my heart sunk as I asked Mm. 
 "Wtat miserable news to bring," I thought: 
 " five young creatm-es, most probably unthink- 
 ing and unprepared, called thus, in so awful a 
 way, to meet their God ! Starved to death — 
 pining away miserably one after another — or 
 all at once poisoned by the stifling damp — or 
 altogether drowned, and brought up pale and 
 disfigured, one after another, to their agonized 
 friends. Oh ! why should I ask him to bring 
 me such news? I stood that evening in my 
 room- window, looking towards the part where 
 that mine is situated, and longing to know the 
 worst. It is a mercy, I thought, that vehement 
 anxiety cannot last long. But, to be STire, no 
 one is so foolish as to hope now. At that mo- 
 ment there was a hasty run down the lane, and 
 a loud ring at the bell. " Mother ! mother !" 
 said a boy's voice ; and Xancy, who was white- 
 washing the kitchen, ran to the door. '• Mother, 
 they are all alive !" said the boy, scarcely able 
 to breathe, and Nancy burst into tears. I be- 
 lieve if she had heard they were all dead, she 
 would not have cried so much. "We all found 
 the use of om* feet that moment ; there was no 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 121 
 
 more standing to muse and lament over the sad 
 story. "Thank God ! the boys are alive f — ^they 
 are all alive !" was our greeting to one another 
 as we met on the stairs ; and in a moment I 
 was in the midst of the people at the door. 
 Some were langhing, and some were crying, 
 and some did both at once. " It's no kin of 
 mine," said Nancy, "but my husband works 
 in the pit, and my children work in the pit, and 
 the water may break in upon them any day." 
 "And you've seen them yourself?" we asked the 
 boy over and over again, and over and over again 
 he assured us that he had ; and we hoped and 
 trusted that they would be prudently treated, 
 and v/e were told that there were seven doctors 
 on the spot waiting to take charge of the poor 
 patients ; so we should indeed have been unrea- 
 sonable not to be satisfied. Then we have had 
 leisure to fancy the unspeakable delight of 
 their friends ; and one little touching incident 
 after another showed us how deep-seated is natu- 
 ral aifection, and how it exists often under the 
 roughest exterior. One poor fellow was so 
 overcome on seeing his child, that, as his wife 
 pushed by him to be the first to clasp him in 
 her arms, he fainted away, and as he felt him- 
 
122 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 self falling, exclaimed, " Don't Mil me, now IVe 
 fomid my boy!" The poor woman, who was 
 confined to her bed a long way from the spot, 
 told me, she thought she heard the news in five, 
 ah ! in four minutes, for the people were wait- 
 ing all along the road to tell her ; and her bro- 
 ther, she said, flew like the wind, having caught 
 the tidings from her husband, whose agitation 
 was too great for his speed. I shall never for- 
 get the peculiar stamp of coimtenance which I 
 observed in two or three of the parents, when I 
 conversed with them a day or two afterwards. 
 It was the most perfect expression of peace and 
 satisfaction that I ever saw on a waking coun- 
 tenance. An infant asleep does sometimes 
 look as calmly happy. Such a look, perhaps, 
 in an adult would only come after many days 
 of distress and perturbation ; and such a look, 
 in this world of perplexities, cannot last long. 
 The heart seemed to know but one feeling, and 
 that one was content — calm after a Ions and 
 tremendous night's storm. "I should not be 
 any happier if I had this hat full of gold," said 
 one of the fathers to me ; " none happier, to 
 look upon his poor dear face this minute. I did 
 give him up on Wednesday, and I said there's 
 
IJSrCIDENTS AND WAEEATIVES. 123 
 
 no table long enough to lay him out upon when 
 they do bring him home : but there he is, alive, 
 bless the Lord ! and this hat full of gold, and 
 this house full of gold, would make me none 
 happier than I be." And how bad the poor 
 boys felt all that long tremendous week ! "Bles- 
 sed," says the word of truth, "are they that 
 sow beside all waters." The instructions that 
 some of them had received, seemed in some de- 
 gree, to have been a real blessing to them ; they 
 were ignorant, indeed, yet something they 
 knew. God, in his mercy, grant to them to 
 know more and more ! " The water is rising," 
 said one of them in despair. " What shall we 
 do now?" " "We'll go and pray," answered some 
 of the rest ; and as well as they could so they 
 did; "and then," added the one who told me 
 the story, " the waters abated." They prayed 
 to be delivered from the bad air; and "the 
 Lord was so well pleased," said the collier, 
 who took some pains to explain what he called 
 the manner of it to me, " that he caused one of 
 the door-ways at the end of one of the hatch- 
 es," (I understand, by this word, a long passage 
 in the mine, running upward,) " to break down, 
 and the falling mass of coal and clay stopped 
 
124 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 up the passage, so that, whilst it confined the 
 boys there, it prevented the foul air from reach- 
 ing them." The boys themselves appear fully 
 convinced that this preservation was in answer 
 to prayer. May the impression abide with 
 them ! " And what didst thou say in thy pray- 
 er, my son?" said the father. The boy's answer 
 was a touching specimen of natural eloquence. 
 " Lord," his prayer begun, " Lord ! thou know- 
 est how bad 'tis to go to work in the morning 
 in health and strength, and to be carried home 
 to poor father and mother dead." Poor boy ! 
 as he spoke, the remembrance of the agony 
 from which he had so lately been delivered so 
 agitated his weak frame, that he with difficulty 
 restrained his tears. The father was much af- 
 fected. "Then," said he, "that went to my 
 heart more than anything, that he should re- 
 member his poor father and mother in his trou- 
 ble." Another who had had a little brother 
 born only a day before the accident, told me he 
 thought of the baby when he was down in the 
 pit, and said to himself, " If the Lord takes me 
 away, there's another to stand in my place." 
 This poor fellow was beyond measure distressed 
 at finding his mother so ill. She had suffered 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 125 
 
 very much, and her strength was nearly ex- 
 hausted, for she had mourned for him all the 
 time she was awake, and dreamt of him the 
 few minutes that she slept. She fainted when 
 she was told that he was alive, and was, I think, 
 insensible at the time he was carried in. " Don't 
 mind me," said the boy, though his life, and 
 that of his companions, hung for many days on 
 a thread ; " I don't look after myself at all, but 
 it hurts me to see mother so ill : I'm afraid mo- 
 ther '11 die." But no ! the Lord bringeth down 
 and lifteth up, he Idlleth and maketh alive : 
 and, in a very few days, when I saw the mother, 
 there was only left on the pale brow that ex- 
 pression of peace of which I before spoke — a 
 calm whose depth alone told what a tempest 
 she had passed. 
 
 And now is my story done ; or, could I fully 
 enter into the beauty of the text, which I 
 taught the children of my class the Sunday 
 morning after, by way of preparing to join 
 heartily in our church's thanksgivings that day, 
 — " It is meet that we should make merry and 
 be glad, for this my son was dead, and is alive 
 again ; he was lost, and is found ;" could I so 
 deeply feel the natural application of the text, 
 
126 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 and not say to every reader of my true story, 
 "There is joy in the presence of the angels of 
 God — (greater than these poor parents felt at 
 the resurrection of their buried sons) — over one 
 sinner that repenteth !" Shall I lay down my 
 pen, without marking once more the providence 
 of G-od, i-uling everywhere, in the sea and in 
 all deep places, without charging on my own 
 heart and on my reader's, to acknowledge Him 
 in all our ways ? Let us both try to come to 
 the same conclusion to which an old man, with 
 whom I talked on the subject, brought me. He 
 remarked many striking particulars, which 
 made it almost a miraculous preservation, and 
 ended by saying, " To think there was bad air 
 enough to kill all the horses in the world seerrv- 
 ingly, and these boys were to be kept alive ! 
 'Tis no use to say no more," added he, throw- 
 ing out his hands with the action of one who 
 casts from him a piece of work which he has 
 completed ; " 'tis no use to say no more about 
 it — ^the Lord does hear prayer." 
 
Itnrij nf tlif f ntiiig STflinijn. 
 
 BY BISHOP CHASE. 
 
 There lived in Poughkeepsie at tMs time, a 
 venerable lady and her talented son-in-law. 
 The former vs^as exceedingly anxious about the 
 latter, because of his loose and infidel opinions 
 on religious subjects ; and yet few men were 
 more gentle in manners or more sprightly in 
 conversation. " 0, sir," said the lady to the 
 writer, " I wish you to have a serious conver- 
 sation with my son-in-law, on the subject of 
 Christianity. Perhaps he may hearken to you, 
 though to all of us he turns a deaf ear, when- 
 ever we speak on the holy Scriptures." 
 
 A proposal of this nature seemed to be iden- 
 tified mth the writer's profession. According- 
 ly, a day was appointed when the lady would 
 spend a social afternoon with the writer and 
 his family, there being no doubt that the inter- 
 esting young lawyer would, if properly invited. 
 
128 INCrOENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 join the partj at tea. The interview took place 
 as was expected, and, in the Ml flow of talk, 
 something was designedly introduced touching 
 the Christian religion. Contrary to the expecta- 
 tion of his relative and friends, this interesting 
 gentleman did neither evade nor oppose what 
 was said, but candidly confessed he was differ- 
 ently impressed on that subject from what he 
 had been. "Till a few days ago," said he, "I 
 should have brought forward my preliminaries, 
 and before the threshold of Christianity were 
 passed, I would have insisted that they be all 
 satisfactorily answered ; but at present I feel 
 differently disposed." " And what has wrought 
 the change ?" asked the writer. " O, sir," said 
 he, "I must tell the whole story — it relates 
 chiefly to Gen. Hamilton." 
 
 "You know," said he, "that pre-eminent 
 character — ^now that he is not only the great- 
 est in the fleld, in the Senate, and at the bar, 
 but also the most agreeable man in social in- 
 tercourse. In pursuit of his professional du- 
 ties, he passes from New York to Albany to 
 attend the higher courts, and Poughkeepsie is 
 his stopping-place for rest and social chat. We 
 young lawyers delight to meet him at Hen- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 129 
 
 drickson's tavern, and there breathe together 
 the atmosphere of wit and satire. ]^ot long 
 since he passed by : we gathered around him 
 and he greeted us with his usual cordiality. 
 But there was som'ething altered in his wit — it 
 was solemn, yet more affectionate. At length, 
 to break the spell, I ventured, as erst, a story, 
 the edge of which was ridicule against Chris- 
 tians and their creed. As I finished the anec- 
 dote, instead of the loud laugh, and responsive 
 tale, the General gravely asked me if I knew 
 what I had been talking of? Confusion is the 
 best name I can give my feelings and behavior 
 before the great man, at such a question from 
 his lips. Seeing my embarrassment, he said 
 he did not design to give me pain, but by his 
 question to call my attention to his own case. 
 
 " ' ISTot many months ago,' said he, 'I was, as 
 you are, doubtful of the truths of Christianity ; 
 but some circumstances turned my thoughts to 
 the investigation of the subject, and I now 
 think differently. I had been in company with 
 some' friends of a similar sentiment in JSTew 
 York. I had indulged in remarks much to the 
 disadvantage of Christians, and disparagement 
 of their religion. I had gone further than 
 9 
 
130 INCIDENTS AJSTD NAEBATIVES,. 
 
 ever before I lia4 done in this way. Coming 
 home, I stood late at night on the door-steps, 
 waiting for my servant. In this moment of 
 stillness, my thought retm-ned to what had just 
 passed at my friend's, and on what I had said 
 there. And what if the Christian religion be 
 .true, after all ? The thought certainly was nat- 
 ural, and it produced in my bosom the most 
 alarming feelings. I was conscious that I had 
 never examined it — ^not even with that attention 
 which a small retaining fee requires in civil 
 cases. In this, I hold myself bound to make 
 up my mind accoi'ding to the laws of evidence ; 
 and shall nothing be done of this sort, in a ques- 
 tion that involves the fate of man's immortal 
 being? When everything is at stake, shall I 
 bargain all without inquiry ? "Wilfully blinding 
 my own eyes, shall I laugh at that which, if 
 true, will laugh me to scorn in the day of judg- 
 ment? These questions did not allow me to 
 sleep quietly. In the morning, I sent to my 
 friends, the clergy, for such books as treated on 
 the evidences of Christianity ; I read them, and 
 the result is, that I believe the religion of Chris- 
 tians to be the truth — ^that Jesus Christ is the 
 Son of God — that he made an atonement for 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 131 
 
 oiir sins by his death, and that he rose for our 
 justification.' 
 
 "This is the substance of G-en. Hamilton's 
 declaration to me at Hendrickson's, and you 
 may judge how I feel since. As I have fol- 
 lowed the General in many other respects, so 
 would I imitate him here. 
 
 " Will you lend me books, that I may read, 
 as he did, before I give my opinion ?" 
 
 The books were accordingly taken to his house, 
 but he never read them. A press of business 
 intervened. He put off his duty till a more 
 convenient season ; that season never came till 
 it was too late. A sudden disease deprived 
 him of reason and of life. This talented and 
 interesting young lawyer passed from a tempo- 
 ral to an eternal state — aud let the word of God 
 tell the rest. The story of Gen. Hamilton, 
 which this lamented person was the means of 
 communicating to the writer, ought not to be 
 forgotten. It was, from the time the writer 
 heard it, of the deepest interest ; and when the 
 tidings came of the General's death, it formed 
 the basis of a sei-mon preached in Poughkeepsie, 
 on the second day of July, 1804. This story is 
 recorded here, because it forms part of the 
 writer's reminiscences. 
 
The mammoth cave of Kentucky is a vast 
 limestone cavern, extending for many miles into 
 the heart of the earth, and consisting of a 
 labyi-inth of passages and chambers, in tracing 
 which an inexperienced person would soon be- 
 come hopelessly lost. Many miles from its en- 
 trance a river pui'sues its dark and solitary 
 course, which the adventurous visitor is com- 
 pelled to navigate in a boat. On one occasion 
 a party of young men, under the conduct of a 
 guide, and suitably provided with torches, spent 
 some hours in exploring this cavern, and while 
 floating on this subterraneous stream in their 
 frail boat, gave a loose to their exuberant spir- 
 its, and laughed and sung tmtil they made the 
 overhanging arches echo with their merriment. 
 In thoughtlessness they rocked the boat from 
 side to side, when in a moment it was capsized, 
 and they were thrown into the durk waters. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 183 
 
 The boat floated from them, their torches were 
 extinguished, they were in impenetrable dark- 
 ness, and far from human aid. Although re- 
 gaining their feet they were submerged nearly 
 to their necks, and alarmed and chilled, they 
 felt that their exertions could avail nothing for 
 their rescue. The guide, with ready presence 
 of mind, swam round them, encouraged them to 
 retain their self-possession, and warning them 
 of the certain peril of moving a single step. 
 They were told that their only hope was in re- 
 maining still until the other guide, after the 
 lapse of hours, might become alarmed at their 
 long absence and come to their rescue. Can 
 imagination pictui-e a more frightful scene than 
 was here presented : midnight darkness envel- 
 oped them, the cold waters chilled their blood, 
 no cries for aid could be heard by those with- 
 out, they might have to wait for many hours 
 before the alarmed fears of their friends would 
 stimulate them to send help, their strength in 
 the meantime might fail, and they be floated 
 away on the dark river of death without leav- 
 ing a vestige to tell their fate ! What could 
 they do? Lately gay and joyous, how sad and 
 terrible their situation now ! What ! could they 
 
134 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 not make one effort for their safety ? ISTot one. 
 They could only pray, and pray they did, with 
 deep earnestness as men doomed to death from 
 which an Almighty power alone could deliver 
 them. They were heard and sustained. At 
 length, after a weary waiting, they descry a 
 distant glimmering light, and then they hear 
 the faint strokes of distant oars. They almost 
 fear to trust their senses ; they douht, they fear, 
 but they are not deceived ; their deliverer ap- 
 pears ; they are received into his boat exhausted 
 with terror and fatigue, and soon they are con- 
 veyed to a place of safety. The sudden revul- 
 sion of feeling overpowers them. They alter- 
 nately weep, and are transported with joy. 
 They are saved. 
 
 Have we no comjjanion for this pictvu-e ? Tes, 
 it is but a resemblance of another still more 
 thrilling. The sinner in his gaiety and thought- 
 lessness dreams not of dano-er. He laughs 
 with the merry. He is enchanted with the 
 scenes around him. Suddenly he finds himself 
 in deep waters and surrounded by thick dark- 
 ness. His struggles to extricate himself only 
 involve him in greater danger. Horror over- 
 spreads his mind. Each moment threatens to 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 135 
 
 plunge him into ruin. He cries aloud, but 
 hears only the frightful echo of his own de- 
 spairing shout. He feels his utter helplessness, 
 and in his extremity pours out his tears and 
 prayers. How horrible thus to perish ! But 
 no, a small voice Vt^hispers in his ear, there is 
 yet hope ! He waits, but how tedious are the 
 passing hours ! Each moment seems an age. 
 He is ready to abandon hope, when a cheering 
 light strikes upon his eye, and the voice of en- 
 couragement is heard ; his heart is re-assured ; 
 One mighty to save appears, and soon he is 
 rescued from the deep waters. The light of a 
 glorious day shines upon his soul, he feels — 
 and is transported at the feeling — he feels that 
 he is saved. Sinner, have you felt no such ter- 
 rors ? You have cause to feel them. The dan- 
 ger is just as imminent whether you are sensi- 
 ble of it or not ; and if you are not driven to 
 this extremity here, you may expect to feel it 
 in that world where there is no Saviour, and 
 where all will be irretrievably lost. 
 
" Oh ! goodness ! I am nearly tired to death, 
 Martha, hand me a glass of water, if you 
 please ;" said Sallie Rivers to Martha Cunning- 
 ham, as she threw herself on the lounge. 
 
 Martha. — Why, where have you been, Sallie, 
 and what have you been doing that you are so 
 fatigued ? 
 
 Sallie. — Where have I been? — why I've 
 walked all over town, and been in every shop 
 in the place. Oh dear, shopping is a delightful 
 employment ; but mercy ! how it tires me, it is 
 so hot to-day. 
 
 M. Have this fan, Sallie. 
 
 8. Thank you. Here, will you look at some 
 of my purchases ? Here is a wreath I selected 
 for you, and this ribbon matches it nicely. 
 
 M. Thank you, Sallie, you are so very kind. 
 
 8. Try it on, gracious me, how it becomes 
 you. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 137 
 
 M. It is very pretty indeed, but let me see 
 some more of your taste. 
 
 8. Well, here is a piece of silk that — Oh, 
 powers, yonder comes the Governor's equipage ; 
 how dashy ; and what a noble pair of horses. 
 
 M. Don't stand at the window, Sallie, he'll 
 see you as he passes. 
 
 S. The saints defend us, if there ain't that 
 ugly Miss "Willoughby in that carriage with 
 him. 
 
 M. Oh, Sallie, why you don't call her ugly ? 
 I am sure I think she is very good looking, and 
 she is so intelligent, you know. 
 
 8. Merciful powers, she good looking ! yes, 
 her gold ring would be very pleasant to look at, 
 I admit — and that's the wife the Governor will 
 marry, if he selects her. 
 
 M. Don't talk so, Sallie. Why, one would 
 suppose that you wanted the Governor yourself, 
 besides, — 
 
 8. Want hiin ! that old widower ! the heav- 
 ens above know I wouldn't marry him if he had 
 all the wealth of a Croesus. 
 
 M. I was going to say: Why is it, dear 
 Sallie, that you so often unnecessarily break the 
 third Commandment? 
 
138 INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 
 
 /S. 'Why, Martha, that is quite an accusation. 
 When did you hear me break the third Com- 
 mandment ? 
 
 M. At least half a dozen times in the last 
 half-hour. 
 
 S. Six times ! I haven't named the word since 
 I came ; how then could I take the name of 
 God in vain ? 
 
 M. Tour first words, when you came in, 
 were, Oh goodness, then mercy, then gracious 
 me, then powers, and merciful powers, and the 
 saints defend us, and — 
 
 S. Hush, Martha, that's enough, but how in 
 the name of — 
 
 3£. There it is again. 
 
 JS. Yes, I'm caught, but I was going to ask 
 how you can make out that gracious, and good- 
 ness, and mercy are the Lord's names ? 
 
 Jf. There is a Bible ; turn to the thirty-fourth 
 chapter of Exodus, and sixth verse, — how does 
 it read ? 
 
 S. "And the Lord passed by before him, and 
 proclaimed. The Lord, the Lord God, merci/ul 
 and gracious, long-suflFering, and abundant in 
 goodness, and truth." 
 
 M. Do you not see, Sallie, that you break 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 139 
 
 the Third Commandment whenever you even 
 use the attributes of God in a frivolous manner ? 
 
 iS. I never thought of it before, but don't 
 look so serious. 
 
 3L I look serious because I feel serious. So 
 many of my acquaintance are in the habit of 
 interlarding their discourse with terms that be- 
 long to God and Heaven, and intimately associ- 
 ated with Him, that I feel very seriously when- 
 ever I think about it. Christ says, " Let your 
 communication be yea, yea, and nay, nay ; for 
 whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil." 
 And James says, in his Epistle, "Above all 
 things, my brethren, sivearr not, neither by 
 heaven, neither by the earth, neither by any 
 other oath, lest ye fall into condemnation." 
 And the prophet says, "Because of swearing 
 the land mourneth." So you see, Sallie, from 
 the Scriptures, that it is a fearful thing to take 
 the name of the Lord in vain. 
 
 S. Why didn't you tell me before, Martha ? 
 
 If. I'm sorry I didn't, but I will be more 
 faithful in future, and if I ever hear you making 
 use of such language again, I will remind you 
 of this conversation. 
 
140 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 S. Thank you, Martlia; I'll try heareafter 
 and keep the door of my lips, that my tongue 
 no more offend either you, or my heavenly 
 Father. 
 
Some ten years ago we were engaged for a 
 few weeks in supplying the pulpit of a Baptist 
 clitircli in one of the principal coast towns of 
 New England. Connected with that church 
 there was a poor woman, an aged disciple, who 
 was in the noble Alms Plouse that stood just 
 outside the town. One cold winter's day we 
 went to the Alms House accompanied by a 
 Christian friend, to visit that good woman, and 
 impart to her such comforts as she needed. 
 We found her in a neat, well-'furnished room, 
 and were soon repaid for the trouble by the 
 heayenliness of her conversation — her patience, 
 and her cheerful hope. But in that apartment 
 there was another female whose appearance had 
 attracted our attention, at the moment of our 
 entering the room. She was lying upon her cot, 
 with her head raised, and her hands upon the 
 outside of the covering. She was about thirty- 
 
142 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 five years of age, and traces of early beauty 
 were still remaining upon her pale face. Her 
 forehead and eyes, as well as the general ex- 
 pression of her countenance, indicated a mind 
 of imusual strength. Her hands, which were 
 of extraordinary beauty, revealed that she had 
 lived a life of ease. We had been seated but a 
 few moments, when we received an invitation 
 to survey the premises, and retired for the pur- 
 pose of returning soon, to conclude the visit 
 which we had just commenced. 
 
 Having taken a look at every part of the vast 
 ediiice, and sufficiently admired its neatness 
 and order, and the generous munificence which 
 had. reared it, and made it so comfortable a 
 home for the poor, we were seated for a few mo- 
 ments in the parlor of the gentleman who had 
 charge of the establishment. This gentleman's 
 wife remarked to us, "Did you observe that 
 
 woman in the room with ?" " Yes," we 
 
 replied. "She is an actress," continued the 
 lady, "come here to die," adding, in terms 
 which we cannot now recall, that she was a har- 
 dened creature, too far gone to authorize any 
 hope that she could be made to feel her con- 
 dition. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 143 
 
 When we returned to the room our aged 
 friend was sitting close by the cot of the invalid. 
 We afterwards learned how it had happened. 
 "That was a clergyman," said the actress, after 
 we had gone out to look over the building; 
 " come and sit by me, and he will speak to me 
 when he comes back." We conversed awhile 
 with the ripe saint, and then turned, with a half 
 trembling heart, to the poor creature, who was 
 lying pale and wretched on the couch. " You 
 are very ill, Madam." "Yes, very ill." To 
 further inquiries she answered with a grace and 
 beauty of language which even her sufferings 
 could not make us overlook. We gave her 
 such spiritual counsels as we thought suitable 
 to her case, and having commended her soul to 
 God in prayer, departed, promising to visit her 
 again, and rejoicing that she was not beyond 
 hope. 
 
 A few days found us again at the bedside of 
 the actress. She had evidently pondered what 
 we had said : — we had now her confidence, and 
 she now revealed to us her life — ^her education, 
 (partly a religious one) — her profession — her 
 dissipation — her folly — ^lier vice. We must 
 draw a veil over the details of these revelations. 
 
144 IN'CIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 There are hearts -which would "bleed at recitals 
 which we might give. We forbear — enough to 
 say that this woman, from our highest theatres, 
 had descended to the lowest, to strolling compa- 
 nies, the veriest dregs of a vicious profession. 
 We found her in the deepest anguish. Her 
 sins came up in a cloud before her. She might 
 have been in a happy domestic circle, but she 
 was a cast-out wanderer. She had no home on 
 earth — no hope of heaven. We endeavored to 
 point her to Him whose blood cleanseth from all 
 sin — who can save to the uttermost. We as- 
 sured her of the fulness of His grace, and that . 
 even she, grievous as had been her sins, and 
 late as were her calls for mercy, might in him 
 find abundant compassion. Deeply moved by 
 her anguish, and her hopelessness, we said to 
 her, "How much better if you had attended to 
 these things when you had youth and health." 
 "Oh, yes," she interrupted, "better than now, 
 when it is too late ! too late !" * * 
 
 We left that town in a few days. Though 
 we saw the actress again, and found her soothed 
 and calm, we never learned what were the states 
 of mind which she subsequently exhibited. 
 But the memory of those scenes has ever been 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 145 
 
 fresh, and most of all that dreadful exclamation, 
 which she uttered in tones of the deepest dis- 
 tress, throwing herself back upon her couch, 
 " better than now, when it is too late ! too late !" 
 And never since have we seen the sons and 
 daughters of folly piu'suing their fatal course, 
 without wishing that they might but for a mo- 
 ment conceive the anguish of that Alms House 
 scene. Why will not the gay, the thoughtless, 
 the dissipated, remember that gaiety, thought- 
 lessness, and dissipation, must have an end, and 
 that that end must be full of bitterness and woe ? 
 "Why will not the exclamation of that sick and 
 worn-out devotee of pleasure, reach and move 
 the hearts of the young, and lead them to choose 
 in early life the ways of pleasantness and peace? 
 We never exhort our fellow-men to immediate 
 repentance, but the thought of that Alms House 
 scene springs up instantly within us. We re- 
 cord it here, in the hope, that by the blessing 
 of the Holy Spirit, it may lead some careless 
 ones that read it, to choose at once " that better 
 part," which will save them from realizing in 
 their late hours, the hopeless anguish of that 
 actress^ — " Oh, yes, better than now, when it is 
 too late ! too late !" 
 
 10 
 
146 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 I might also speak of another case qmte dif- 
 ferent. I visited him lying on a sick bed, 
 from time to time, but his heart was hard and 
 unrelenting. With his deluded wife, he trusted 
 in Universalist principles. Thus, apparently, 
 with perfect indifference, he continued several 
 months upon his sick bed. But death was now 
 drawing near. The physicians informed him 
 that he could live but a very short time. As I 
 was thinking upon his situation one evening in 
 my study, at a very late hour, I heard a rap at 
 my door. I found a messenger from the dying 
 man, desiring me to come immediately and see 
 him. Although his family had endeavored to 
 persuade bim to wait till morning, yet he must 
 see me without delay. I went immediately to 
 the house of death ; all was still and solemn as 
 I entered the apartment where the dying man 
 lay. As I approached the bed his languid 
 eye rested upon me. " Oh," said he, calling 
 me by name, " you see that I am going fast. I 
 have sent for you that I may attend to the in- 
 terests of my soul. What I do, must be done 
 quickly. I have often heard them say, that a 
 dying bed was a poor place for repentance, I 
 find it to be true. C>A, what shall I do V I 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 147 
 
 endeavored, as I had previously done, to direct 
 Ms mind to "behold the Lamb of God which 
 taketh away the sins of the world." After a 
 moment's paxise, " Oh," said he, " it is too late ; 
 is it not? I have long slighted the offers of 
 mercy. The time was, some five years ago, 
 when I felt mercy was very near," (alluding to 
 a revival season when he was almost persuaded 
 to be a Christian ;) " but," said he, " I grieved 
 away the Spirit, and now he has gone from me !" 
 JSTow, in great agony of mind, he endeavored 
 to pray, repeating the Lord's prayer, and calling 
 for mercy. He now turned to his weeping wife, 
 and said, " Ah, we have tried to believe in uni- 
 versal salvation ; but it will not satisfy us in a 
 dying hour." He now expressed his sorrow for 
 maintaining such principles, and exerting the 
 influence he had over others. Again he cried, 
 " Oh ! what shall I do? What shall I dof 
 An anxious sister replied, " Believe on the 
 Lord Jesus Christ." " Oh, how shall I believe ? 
 Ah, it is too late ; I have delayed this matter 
 too long ; it is too late !" 
 
 His lips now closed in silence ; he said no 
 more to encourage the least hope that he died 
 in peace. I retired from the scene, reflecting 
 
148 INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 
 
 upon the folly of the sinner in putting off re- 
 pentance to a dying hour. " It is too late," said 
 the dying man, " it is too late !" and he gave 
 no evidence but that it was indeed too late. 
 God had frequently called, but he had refused. 
 Novf, he was given up, in this hour of calamity, 
 to feel it was too late. Thus closed the scene 
 with one who had been living very near the 
 means of grace, but for many years was scarcely 
 seen in the house of God. He had lived in 
 open sin and folly, supporting by his influence 
 and conduct the cause of irreligion. He now, 
 in the hour of death, recants and shows that he 
 is afraid and unprepared to die. 
 
" Why is it that nine tenths of out ministers 
 have such feeble, sickly wives ?" asked a friend 
 of mine as we were walking together a few days 
 since. The answer which I should have been 
 compelled to give, had I replied, was withheld 
 at the time for reasons which I need not name. 
 But as my friend reads " the Eegister" and may 
 still desire an answer, with the Editor's permis- 
 sion, I reply. 
 
 1. "While it will not be pretended that minis- 
 ters marry wives more feeble and sioTdy than 
 others, it must be admitted that by marrying 
 they necessarily bring them under a iurden of 
 anxieties, cares, services, privations, and trials, 
 of which others know but little. These almost 
 imperceptibly wear away the constitution, and 
 often jade out and discourage the mind of the 
 wife, until she is only able to " drag her slow 
 length along" towards the grave, in which she 
 often longs to be hid. 
 
150 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 But as the cause is a very complicated one, 1 
 will name a few things, each of which contrib- 
 ute in their way, with numberless and nameless 
 others to make up the whole. 
 
 1. She is expected to comply with the wishes 
 and adapt herself to the company of the more 
 wealthy and educated of the society. Dine 
 with these, and spend the afternoon or evening, 
 or both, with them. She must be in attendance 
 at their weddings and funerals — visiting them 
 in times of affliction, deeply sympathize with 
 them, and often rendering them no little ser- 
 vice. 
 
 2. Having done all this she must necessarily 
 pay still more attention to the poor, as they are 
 naturally jealous of their rights in the sympa- 
 thies, attentions and services of their pastor 
 and his wife. Often, inconsistently perhaps, 
 insinuating against them as distant^ neglectful^ 
 or jormid, which, insinuations, never fail of 
 coming to the ears of a pastor's wife, and hav- 
 ing reached her ears, they sink down deep into 
 her heart, where they remain to trouble and 
 discourage her, long after forgotten by the one 
 who inflicted the wound. 
 
 3. As to the sick and destitute. "When she 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 151 
 
 has done, and is doing to the utmost of her 
 ability for them, she learns (true the one who 
 tells her is to be condemned), but it is none the 
 less true, that not a few of the church and so- 
 ciety are really wondering why the pastor's 
 wife does not visit them oftener, stay longer, 
 watch with them, night after night, as she has 
 nothing else to do. But, 
 
 4. Passing by what is expected of her, and 
 often said of her respecting- the interest she 
 should take in encouraging the younger sisters, 
 reclaiming delinquents, I notice that a few of 
 the more pious, or perhaps better to say more 
 zealous ladies (not imfrequently maiden ladies, 
 who know a great deal about family cares in 
 general, and those of a minister's wife in par- 
 ticular), find it easy to complain that their pas- 
 tor's wife is not sufficiently interested in the fe- 
 male prayer-meetings, maternal associations, 
 and moral reform, Martha Washington, &c. 
 
 5. JSText comes a report and complaint that 
 Mrs. A. cares very little whether the ladies' sew- 
 ing society is continued or not, inasmuch as the 
 pastor's wife is so indifferent to it, and all this, 
 after she has attended almost every meeting of 
 it for years, summer and winter, wet and dry, 
 
152 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 sick or well (if at any time she has been well), 
 and has obtained more funds and work for the 
 society than the whole number of complainers, 
 be they more or less. 
 
 6. " Unless she will be more punctual in her 
 attendance, and show more interest in the Sab- 
 bath-school, it may as well be given up." Then 
 turning to her little girl, who is always in her 
 class, the complainer impudently asks, " Where 
 is your mother to-day, that she is not with her 
 class ?" " She had to go home and get a cup 
 
 of tea for the Eev. ," who had stopped 
 
 over the Sabbath with the pastor. Perhaps 
 stopped on Thursday, and this afflicted the 
 good wife to see how her husband was inter- 
 rupted in his pastoral duties — compelled to 
 study most of the nights after his company had 
 retired, thus making the nights restless ones to 
 the sympathizing wife, who wondered the Dea- 
 cons or some other brethren did not see and take 
 the company off her husband's hands, until 
 Monday, when it would have been exceedingly 
 pleasant to have entertained him. And the 
 more did she wonder from knowing that they 
 had seen him at the evening meeting, also that 
 her husband had been with him to some of their 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 153 
 
 houses, introduced him, thinking perhaps they 
 would. On this, however, her mind was helped 
 from being told that they did invite and urged 
 him to come home with them, but he refused, 
 being more ^partial to the pastor and his family. 
 But had one of those who had no class in the 
 Sabbath-school, only taken him home and given 
 him the tea on the Lord's-day noon, it had saved 
 the dear child the mortiiication of having her 
 mother represented as delinquent, and that be- 
 fore her class. 
 
 7. Now some ladies are to be baptized. But 
 where are those robes ? Oo and ask the pastor's 
 wife. "Why is she not here to see to this ? For- 
 getting that she has a husband to look after at 
 such a time. 
 
 8. If from any cause she is absent from a 
 few evening meetings it amounts to an excuse 
 for others to absent themselves from all — claim- 
 ing that it is no worse for them to neglect meet- 
 ings than for the pastor's wife. But sunnount- 
 ing all these and kindred influences, she re- 
 solves to hegin anew, visit more, especially the 
 afilicted. Starts out and calls upon a few fam- 
 ilies, whose complaints have often come to her 
 ears, but they know it not, passes a few hom-s 
 
154 rsrciDENTS and naebatives. 
 
 somewhat pleasantly ; returns, anticipating, af- 
 ter a night's rest, she will be able to visit other 
 families she has failed of seeing to-day. 
 
 Her tea is prepared. Her husband, just re- 
 turned from a funeral, sits down with her and 
 the children, where each is giving an account 
 of whatever of interest may have occurred dur- 
 ing the day, knock — ^knock — knock — some one 
 at the door — Charles goes and opens it, finds a 
 load of friends who have called to spend the 
 
 night. "Does live here?" "He does." 
 
 "Is he in?" "He is." "Wonder if he can 
 keep us all night? I used to go to school to 
 him. He has preached in our school-house." 
 " I presume we can keep you." " "Well, there 
 are two others in the street, who are travelling 
 with us, would like to stay if it will not be bur- 
 densome. If it will they will go to the tavern." 
 "Let them come in, we will do the best we can 
 by you." "Can you keep our horses." "We 
 have a barn and hay, but no grain; perhaps, 
 however, we can borrow some over to the next 
 neighbor's." Thus the family have been called 
 from the table with half a meal ; the boys are 
 off taking care of the horses, anything but good- 
 natured about it ; while the good wife, never 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 155 
 
 " forgetful to entertain strangers," has ascer- 
 tained that they have not been to tea — perhaps 
 not to dinner, as they left home before noon. 
 Faint, "yet pursuing," she prepares the supper 
 for them, divides her beds if necessary, for the 
 night, giving the best of course to the company, 
 and putting her own children here and there to 
 enjoy what is left for them. 
 
 When all have retired, though late, the good 
 woman has yet to make arrangements for their 
 breakfast in the morning. This is not always 
 as easy as it would be had she more to do with. 
 At a late hour she retires, too much fatigued 
 and excited to sleep, but must be first up in 
 the morning, as she has most to do. 
 
 When all have been fed and are about to 
 leave, one of the sons is sent out to open the 
 gate, but before he has closed it after them 
 another drives in. " Good morning, my son, is 
 your father in ?" " He is, will you let me feed 
 your horse ?" " If you please you may, and I 
 will go in, for I am quite chilly." He goes in, 
 spends the day, smokes half of the time perhaps 
 which makes the good woman sick, but she will 
 not complain to him, as there are few she es- 
 teems more highly, but for this fault. She en- 
 
156 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 tertains him with pleasure while he spends a 
 few days collecting funds for ; but not with- 
 out labor, and the more so as he so occupies her 
 husband's time as to deprive her of that assist- 
 ance from him in providing wood, water and 
 provisions, which she otherwise might have. 
 Perhaps while he is there, several others come 
 and go, take a meal or spend a night, or have a 
 little washing or repairing of raiment. A little 
 camphor for the headache, or peppermint for 
 the stomach. One is a good brother, looking 
 for a church — another is on his way to settle 
 with a church — a third is on his way West — a 
 fourth is just retm'ning from the "West — a fifth 
 is going to visit his friends — a sixth obtaining 
 subscribers for a paper. And, with all, one 
 who should be entertained with pleasure, under 
 all circumstances, comes to obtain money for 
 his "good object," but as the ground is occu- 
 pied he spends the night, consults until after 
 dinner, then passes on to come at a more con- 
 venient season. !N"ow all these are good friends 
 and true. All doing good, or seeking to do so, 
 are entertained with pleasure, and often with 
 great spiritual profit; but at the same time 
 making work for a pastor's wife, and tying her 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 157 
 
 hands so that flhe cannot visit as she otherwise 
 would, and as it is in her heart to do, although 
 she may suffer less from these endless and fa- 
 tiguing services than from the complaining, 
 censuring, and uncharitable spirit of others, 
 who never seek to relieve her heart and hands 
 when full. But whichever may contribute 
 most, all together constitute the whole cause or 
 " reason why so many ministers' wives are fee- 
 ble, sickly women." 
 
 Under this load one and another is wearing 
 out both in body and in mind. Many a pastor 
 sees his wife failing. He seriously fears that 
 either the grave or the asylum wUl soon be her 
 home, but what can he do ? He strives to com- 
 fort her, prays with and for her, cautions some 
 of his congregation, where he thinks it proper, 
 to be careful how they heap burdens on her, 
 while they will not so much as touch them with 
 one of their fingers. At the same time suggest- 
 ing to others the propriety of efforts on their 
 part to relieve and encourage the weary, wast- 
 ing remains of one who was once so vigorous 
 and healthy, but is now numbered with the 
 " feeble, sickly," wives of ministers, which the 
 foregoing, and many like influences are contrib- 
 uting to destroy. 
 
Ilnaji's €upnhx%. 
 
 It was a late hour at night. The city of 
 
 N with its many turrets and spires was 
 
 sleeping under the shadow of those rocky sen- 
 tinels which have guarded the plain since the 
 flood. The waves of the ocean fell gently and 
 soothingly on the beach. The moon waved 
 through the fleecy autumn clouds, now playing 
 with the waters and lighting up the scene, and 
 then concealing her glory as if to make its rev- 
 elations more prized. It was a night for pious 
 thought and conversation. 
 
 Two persons were leaving the city and pass- 
 ing along the water-side of a beautiful villa, 
 where one was a resident and the other a guest. 
 The taller and eldter of the two was actively 
 engaged in a work of benevolence, in the bless- 
 ings of which the people of E" and the 
 
 students of college mutually shared. The 
 
 work was too heavy for him, and he had invi- 
 ted his young friend, an impenitent lad, of 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 159 
 
 whom we will speak as Henry, to aid him. To- 
 gether they had spent many a weary day in 
 supplying the Christian laborers who co-opera- 
 ted with them, with the choi-cest means of nse- 
 fulness, as they crowded the depository of 
 truth. Exhausted by their toils, they are now 
 returning for a night's repose. Hitherto not a 
 word had been addressed to the obliging lad 
 about his soul. The fitting occasion seemed to 
 have arrived. A quaint, but fitting manner, 
 was chosen. 
 
 "Henry," asked the elder of the younger, 
 "do you know what became of JYoah^s cwr- 
 jyentersV 
 
 "l^oah's carpenters!" exclaimed Henry, "I 
 didn't know that ISToali had any carpenters." 
 
 " Certainly he must have had help in building 
 one of the largest and best-proportioned ships 
 ever put on the stocks. There must have been 
 many carpenters at work for a long time to have 
 constructed such a vessel in such an age. What 
 became of them think you, when all the foun- 
 tains of the great deep were broken up, and the 
 windows of heaven were opened ?" 
 
 " "What do you mean by such a queer ques- 
 tion ?" Henry asked. 
 
160 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 "JSTo matter what, just now. Please answer 
 the inquiry. And you may also tell me, if you 
 wUl, what you would have done in that dreadful 
 hour, when the storm came in its fury, and 
 Noah's prophecies were all fulfilled, and all but 
 the family of the preacher of righteousness were 
 ready to he engulfed in those black waters?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Henry, in a halfthought- 
 ful, half trifling manner, " but I think I should 
 have got on the rudder." 
 
 "That's human nature, exactly, Henry. It 
 would ' climb np some other way,' rather than 
 enter the fold by the only door. It would ' get 
 on the rudder' in its pride and short-sighted- 
 ness, rather than go into the ark of safety. It 
 would same itself iy hanging on, at the hazard 
 of being swept into the gulf of despair, instead 
 of ieing saved by the provision of infinite love. 
 
 " But I'll tell you plainly what I mean Henry, 
 by ISToah's carpenters. You have Mndly and 
 generously given me your aid, day after day, in 
 
 bnildiag an ark in N , by which many, I 
 
 trust, will be saved. I feel grateful for your 
 help. But greatly, I fear, while others will be 
 rejoicing in the fruits of our labors, you will be 
 swept away in the storm of wrath which will by 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 161 
 
 aivd by beat on tlie heads of those who enter 
 not the ark Christ Jesus. ISTo human device 
 will avail you. ' Getting on the rudder,' will 
 not answer, you must be in Christ, or you are 
 lost. Eeniember Noah's carpenters, and flee 
 to the ark without delay." 
 
 We reached the house, and parted. The 
 winter came. The lad was placed at a board- 
 ing-school in . He visited his home during 
 
 the winter vacation, and presented himself to 
 the church for admission to its communion. He 
 then stated that the conversation detailed above 
 had never passed from his memory. It led him 
 to serious reflection, and ultimately, we trust, to 
 the ark of safety. He is now entering a career 
 of wide-spread public usefulness. He will never 
 forget ISToah's carpenters. 
 
 Though Noah's carpenters were all drowned, 
 there are a great many of the same stock now 
 alive — those who contribute to promote the spir- 
 itual good of others, and aid in the up-building 
 of the Redeemer's kingdom, but personally neg- 
 lect the great salvation. 
 
 SaUbath-sohool children who gather in the 
 poor, or contribute their money to send libraries, 
 or tracts and books to the "West, or to aid the 
 11 
 
162 ISrCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVEP 
 
 work of missions, and yet remain unco ted, 
 are like Koah's carpenters. 
 
 Teachers in Bible-classes or Sdbiathr-schools, 
 who point their pupils to the Lamb of God, but 
 do not lead the way, are like guide-boards that 
 tell the road, but are not travellers on it; or 
 like l^oah's carpenters, who built an ark, and 
 were overwhelmed in the waters that bore it 
 aloft in safety. 
 
 Christless jparents, who instruct their children 
 and servants, as every parent should, in the 
 great doctrines of the gospel, yet fail to illus- 
 trate these doctrines in their lives, and seek not 
 a personal interest in the blood of Christ, are 
 like Noah's carpenters, and must expect their 
 doom. 
 
 Printers, folders, sewers, and hinders engaged 
 in making Sibles and religious iooJcs, iooTcsel- 
 lers and hawhers, and ^publishers of religious 
 newsjpapers, who are doing much to increase the 
 knowledge of the Gospel, and to save souls, but 
 so many of whom are careless about their own 
 salvation, will have the mortification of know- 
 ing, that while their toils have been instrumental 
 of spiritual good to thousands, they were only 
 like the pack mules that carried a load to mar- 
 
INCIDEN-TS AND NARRATIVES. 163 
 
 ket without tasting it ; or like Woah's cai-pen- 
 ters, wlio built a ship they never sailed in. 
 
 Wealthy cmd liberal, hut unconverted men, 
 who help to build churches, and sustain the in- 
 stitutions of the gospel, btit who " will not come 
 unto Christ, that they may have life," are hew- 
 ing the timbers and driving the nails of the ark 
 they are too proud to enter. Perhaps they 
 think they will be safe on the "rudder;" but 
 they may find, too late, that when they would 
 ride they must swim — that when they would 
 float they must sink, with all their good deeds, 
 unmixed with faith, as a millstone about their 
 necks. 
 
 Moralists, who attend church, and support 
 the ministry, but who do not receive into their 
 hearts the gospel they sustain, are like Noah's 
 carjDcnters. 
 
 Professed ministers of the Gospel, who preach 
 the truth without practising it, who commend 
 the love of Christ without experiencing it, who 
 guide the wandering to the fold of Christ with- 
 out entering it themselves, are they not like 
 Noah's carpenters ? If Paul might indulge the 
 apprehension, lest when he had preached to 
 others, he should himself be a castaway, may 
 
164 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 not those of us who follow at a sad distance 
 from Paul in the Christian race, well see to it that 
 we are not left to buffet the waves of an over- 
 whelmed world, when some of those we have 
 led into the ark are led triumphantly ahove the 
 billows in which we are engulfed ? 
 
 Perhaps the Christian reader will be encour- 
 aged by this narrative, to speak a word in sea- 
 son to some of these ark-builders. They are 
 numerous. Their kindness should be acknowl- 
 edged. "These things ought they to have 
 done." The danger is, that the great thing will 
 be left midone. " Kun, speak to "that young 
 man." Tell him that the storm of wrath will 
 come. Tell him that " getting on the rudder" 
 of the ark, and all other human devices for sal- 
 vation, are vain refuges of lies. Tell him that 
 the ark is oj^en ; that it is safe, that it waits for 
 him. The dove and the olive branch are in this 
 ark. The bow of mercy spans the heavens 
 above it. Peace, and hope, and salvation are 
 there. But, if scorned or neglected, when 
 once the door is shut, they only that are in the 
 ark will remain alive. Who can abide that 
 storm? "Wlio can buffet those waves? Who 
 will survive that deluge ? 
 
Eiligintts iBipxiuit. 
 
 The following is the religious experience of 
 
 G A S , an Episcopal clergyman in 
 
 H , "n-liich he recently communicated to the 
 
 author of these essays, to be used as he might 
 think proper. 
 
 "I entered the military academy at West 
 Point, in the summer of 1825 ; the second year 
 of the present Bishop Mcllvaine's residence 
 there as chaplain. I sat under his preaching 
 ' as with the Spirit of God,' with eyes that did 
 not see, and ears that did not hear. The Bish- 
 op departed, the curse was still upon my soul. 
 Finally, I became much involved in the spirit 
 of infidelity, together with several others. One 
 evening, in particular, I trembled at the thoughts 
 of our conversation : in the darkness of our 
 minds, we had denied all. A few days after- 
 vrards, one of my companions, noted for his 
 brightness of intellect, called at my room, and 
 
166 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 said, ' I have been reading 's Evidences of 
 
 the Christian Religion, and it has almost pei-- 
 suaded me to be a Christian.' I well remember 
 with what great delight I received the commu- 
 nication, resolving to get the book, and ' see if 
 those things were so ;' not however with any 
 view or desire of becoming a Christian, at pees- 
 ENT. In due time the book was procured. I 
 retired to my room, my heart as hard as the 
 mill-stone, the heavens over my head as brass, 
 and the earth beneath my feet as iron. I open- 
 ed to the introduction, the most blind of unbe- 
 lievers ; all around me were perfect clouds and 
 darkness. I began to read, I had proceeded 
 half way' through the introduction, and was 
 suddenly impressed, that the religion of Christ 
 was of God. I did not doubt its truth more 
 than I did in my life : yet I was entirely with- 
 out argument. At that time I could have given 
 no reason, yet I did not doubt. I felt a perfect 
 'belief that an Omnipresent Spirit did it. Be- 
 fore, I hardly believed there was a God : now I 
 felt it as by a two-edged sword. It was a most 
 awfully sublime moment ; yet I had not the least 
 fea/r. I did not even thinh of sin. The next 
 impression was, that I was undegoing a conver- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 167 
 
 sion. This, I loould not then : the thought was 
 very pleasant, that now I knew Christ died for 
 the world ; and that at some future time, I 
 would go further in his love. I was happy, 
 sublime ; no terror ; a thought did not enter my 
 mind of the consequences of delay. To avoid the 
 progress of conversion, I threw down the book, 
 perfectly satisfied, for I had attained to one of 
 the most splendid pieces of consciousness ima- 
 ginable ; a sight beyond the veil, within eterni- 
 ty, worth thousands of worlds to mo. I turned 
 to think of something else. And oh ! the hor- 
 rors of hell, how they came flooding in upon 
 my soul. I felt that an Omnipotent hand was 
 guiding them there. Commensurate with my 
 agony, was my awful sense of sinfulness ; a 
 conviction of sin, righteousness, and judgment 
 to come, rose before my eyes, in immense real- 
 ity. I felt no anguish, no fear, no sin, until I 
 resolved not to attend to these things at present. 
 My anguish of soul became insupportable, it 
 thickened and darkened, I could not endure it 
 longer. And with the sole view of escaping 
 my present misery, I resolved to yield to the 
 will of that Mighty Being, who was rending 
 my soul. I instantly caught up the book, and 
 
168 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 offered a prayer for mercy. The intensity of 
 my anguish began immediately to subside. 
 The Avrath of God seemed to mitigate. In a 
 few moments, I settled down into a state of 
 deep and solemn conviction of sin; a state 
 more tolerable than the former, but stUl one of 
 gloom so thick that it could be felt. A moun- 
 tain weight pressed upon my soul ; how to re- 
 move it I knew not, for the spirit still held me 
 bound. I did not know but this was to contin- 
 nue through life. I endeavored to lose my 
 feelings, and feel at ease, but I could not. I 
 knew nothing of the way of salvation ; I had 
 no spiritual guide ; but in order to keep my 
 present sorrows as light as possible, I continued 
 to read and pray for mercy. Thus I continued 
 in the wUderness for about a week : when sit- 
 ting by my iire-side, dwelling upon my despair, 
 a sudden light came down from heaven ; I saw 
 the open gate — ' the way, the truth, and the 
 life^ — a new song was put into my month, and 
 I rejoiced with joy unspeakable and full of 
 glory ! Unspeakable gratitude be to the Fa- 
 ther, Son, and Holy Ghost, forever and ever. 
 I have thought that two particulars in the above 
 are worthy of notice. 1st. The motives that 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 109 
 
 actuated me. 2d. That being perfectly igno- 
 rant of the way of salvation, the S]3irit was a 
 perfect teacher." 
 
 There are several things very remarkable in 
 the preceding narrative. The delight at find- 
 ing an infidel companion convinced, or almost 
 convinced of his error ; the desire to see the 
 book which had produced this effect ; the sud- 
 den persuasion (jf the truth of the Chiistian re- 
 ligion, by a sirdden impression on the mind, 
 the elevated happiness experienced on account 
 of having discovered the truth, the determina- 
 tion still not to become a Christian at present, 
 the horror and anguish consequent on this reso- 
 lution, the relief obtained by resuming atten- 
 tion to religion, and finally, the discovery of 
 the way of salvation, through Christ, when the 
 moment before, no idea was entertained of such 
 a way, are all remarkable circumstances ; and 
 to some, may seem to savor of enthusiasm. 
 But we cannot prescribe limits to the Holy 
 Spirit, in his ways of leading benighted souls 
 into the path of life. Still, it may be asked, 
 how ■ could there be a rational conviction of 
 the truth of Christianity, when the individual 
 knew no reasons or arguments in favor of it? 
 
170 INCIDENTS AJSTD NARRATIVES. 
 
 To which it may be answered, that Christianity 
 has a light of its own, independent of all exter- 
 nal evidences : and if the Spirit of God cause 
 one ray of this divine light to irradiate the 
 mind, the truth becomes manifest. This person 
 was on the bordei-s of atheism. By an awful 
 impression on his mind, God caused him to feel 
 and know that He existed, and held him in his 
 hand ; and at the same time, let a ray of light 
 from Divine Revelation into his mind. Sup- 
 pose a number of human beings to be educated 
 in a dark cavern, where they never saw the 
 light of heaven ; but being visited by one and 
 another who testified to them the existence of 
 the celestial luminaries, the candid among them, 
 upon weighing the evidence, would acknowl- 
 edge the existence of such bodies ; although, of 
 necessity, their conceptions of these objects 
 would be very inadeqiiate. But some, depend- 
 ing on their own reason, might reject the testi- 
 mony as a mere fabrication, since what was re- 
 lated was totally contrary to all their experi- 
 ence. Suppose then that the guardian of these 
 subterranean inhabitants, should take one of 
 these skeptics to a point where a single ray of 
 light from the sun should be let in upon his 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 171 
 
 eyes, how wonderful the sensation, how sublime 
 the emotion, how strong now the persuasion of 
 the existence of such a bright luminary ! The 
 doubts of such an one, however deep and in- 
 veterate, would be dissipated in a moment ; not 
 by argument : where we possess intuition argu- 
 ment is superfluous. So in the case before us, 
 one ray of divine light produced instantane- 
 ously the undoubted persuasion of the divine 
 existence, and that the Christian religion was 
 from God. The next ray of light opened to the 
 astonished view of the man, the awful sinful- 
 ness of his character, and discovered to him 
 that he was in the hands of an angry God, 
 from whose terrors he could not escape ; and 
 the third cast a clear light on the way of salva- 
 tion, filling the soul with joy unspeakable. 
 The only thing which seems contrary to our 
 common theory is, that the person supposed 
 that he was taught the method of salvation by 
 the Spirit without any aid from the eternal 
 teaching of the word. Now this is very pos- 
 sible ; but it would be of the nature of inspira- 
 tion and not mere illumination. I am, there- 
 fore, of opinion, that there was within the knowl- 
 edge of the individual so much acquaintance 
 
172 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 ■vrith Christ and his mediatorial work, that 
 agreeably to his usual method, the Spirit took 
 of the things of Christ, and showed it unto 
 him. And although now when inspiration has 
 ceased, the Spirit makes no new revelations to 
 men ; yet he often brings to their remerabrance 
 truths once known, but which may have been 
 long forgotten. According to John xiv. 26 : see 
 also xvi. 14. One single evangelical text may 
 be made the object of saving faith. 
 
 It is exceedingly gratifying to be made ac- 
 quainted with such cases. It shows that the 
 Iloly Spirit, who operates where and when he 
 will, is often at work on the minds of those 
 whom we would least suspect to be thus visited. 
 Here a thoughtless cadet at our military acad- 
 emy, falls into infidelity, yea, atheism, is sur- 
 rounded by companions in the same state of 
 mind. Providence throws a book of "Evi- 
 dences" in his way ; and while he reads, a new 
 light darts into his mind ; not from the book, 
 but from the Father of lights ; and this infidel 
 young man becomes a preacher of that very 
 Gospel which he aimed to destroy. LArs Deo. 
 
^it^ in Mi. 
 
 A FEiEKD lately related to me the following 
 incident. "I have," said he, "for the last two 
 years been a member of the Church of God. 
 The first year I lived in the daily exercises and 
 enjoyment .of Christian duties. At the close 
 of the year, I left the village and the commun- 
 ion of the church, and took up my residence in 
 one of our large cities. I took with me the 
 usual letter of recommendation, but, for some 
 reason or other, made no use of it. At the 
 same time, amid the bustle and confusion 
 attendant on my entrance into the city, I neg- 
 lected by degrees my private devotions, and 
 finally ceased them altogether. Gradually and 
 yet rapidly I declined, and before long I could 
 sin with perfect recklessness. After I had been 
 six months in the city I married. My wife was 
 young and gay, but had an air about her that 
 prevented me from being boldly wicked in her 
 
174 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 presence. Yet, I continued my former prac- 
 tices when out of her sight, and was rapidly- 
 growing worse and worse. She knew that I 
 was a church member, and supposed that my 
 conduct was in accordance with my profession. 
 
 " One evening, after I had been married 
 about six months, on my return home, I found 
 my wife in tears. She had evidently been 
 weeping long and bitterly, and there was some 
 heavy grief preying upon her heart. I endeav- 
 ored to rally her, but she begged me not to 
 mind it. We retu-ed to rest, but she did not 
 sleep. In the middle of the night she awoke 
 me, and throwing her arms around my neck, 
 while her tears fell upon my check, said in a 
 tone of the most earnest entreaty, and with 
 the deepest feeling, ' Pray for me P 
 
 " Had the lightning struck her dead, I could 
 scarcely have been more shocked than at that 
 demand. I trembled like a leaf, and for a mo- 
 ment a faintness overcame me. In that mo- 
 ment the transactions of the past year rushed 
 over my mind, and I was bowed down beneath 
 the weight. The next instant we were both on 
 our knees, and if ever I prayed it was then. 
 My wife is now a devoted Christian ; and I trust 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 175 
 
 that I am also one of those ' whose God is the 
 Lord.' " 
 
 My friend was a backslider. He had gone 
 far, very far astray. He was undoubtedly 
 much worse than ordinary sinners, for he had 
 sinned against great light. He had become 
 reckless ; perfectly hardened to the whisperings 
 of conscience, and impenetrable to the light of 
 the truth. Yet the simple utterance of those 
 three words, "pray for me," came home to his 
 heart like a dagger. " Pray for you?" he must 
 have thought — " pray for you ! Why I do not 
 pray for myself — ^I have not prayed for a year." 
 And then his whole course was pictured before 
 him, and he saw himself as he was. The Spirit 
 came to his aid, and he was restored to the Sa- 
 viour he had so ungratefully left. 
 
A SPECIMEN OP "WELSH PREACHING. 
 
 It is said that it was his desire to arouse the 
 attention of the people, which had not been 
 excited during the whole meetings, though 
 raany excellent sermons had been delivered. 
 If I remember right, this meeting was held, in 
 open air, and I think it was stated that there 
 was a fair in the adjacent neighborhood, which 
 had a tendency to divide the attention of the 
 people from hearing the word of life. I think 
 in a few moments after Mr. E. began, the 
 whole congregation gave profound attention to 
 the word. 
 
 " And when he went forth to land, there met 
 him out of the city a certain man which had 
 devils a long time, and wore no clothes, neither 
 abode in any house, but .in the tombs." — Luke 
 viii. 27. I imagine, said Mr. E., that this de- 
 moniac was not only an object of pity, but he 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 177 
 
 "was really a terror to the country ; so terrific 
 was Lis appearance, so dreadful and hideous his 
 screams, so formidable, frightful and horrid his 
 wild career, that all the women in that region 
 were so much alarmed that none of them durst 
 go to market. 
 
 And what made him still more terrible, was 
 the place of his abode : it was not in the city, 
 where some attention might be paid to order 
 and decorum, — though he would sometimes 
 ramble into . the city, as in this case. It was 
 not in a town, or village, or any house whatever, 
 where assistance might be obtained in case of 
 necessity ; but it was among the tombs, and the 
 wilderness ; not far, however from the turnpike 
 road. ISTo one could tell but that he might 
 jump at them like a panther, and scare them to 
 death. The gloominess of the place made it 
 more awful and solemn. It was among the 
 tombs, where, in the opinion of some, all witches' 
 corps, candles, and hobgoblins abide. 
 
 By this time the devil became offended with 
 the Gadarenes, and, in a pout, he took the de- 
 moniac away, and drove him into the wilder- 
 ness. He thought the Gadarenes had no busi- 
 ness to interfere and meddle with his property 
 12 
 
178 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 — for he had possession of the man; and he 
 knew that " a bird in the hand is worth two in 
 the bush." It is probable that he wanted to 
 send him home; for there was no knowing 
 what might happen now-a-days. But there was 
 too much matter about him to send him awaj 
 as he was ; therefore he thought it the best plan 
 to persuade him to commit suicide, by cutting 
 his own throat. But here Satan was at a non- 
 plus — his rope was too short ; he could not turn 
 executioner himself, as that would not have an- 
 swered the design he has in view, when he wants 
 people to commit suicide ; for the act would 
 have been his own sin, and not the man's. The 
 poor demoniac, therefore, must go about to hunt 
 a sharp stone, or anything he could get. He 
 might have been in search of such an article 
 when he returned from the wilderness into the 
 city from whence he came, when he met the 
 Son of God. 
 
 " Jesus commanded the tinclean spirit to come 
 out of the man. And when he saw Jesus, he 
 cried out, and fell down before him, and with 
 loud voice, said, "What have I to do with 
 thee, Jesus, thou Son of God, Most High ? I 
 beseech thee, torment me not." 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 179 
 
 Plere is the devil's confession of faitli. The 
 devils believe and tremble, while men make a 
 mock of sin, and sport on the verge of dark 
 damnation. To many of the human race, Christ 
 appears as a root out of a dry ground. They 
 see in him neither form nor comeliness, and 
 there is no beauty in him that they should de- 
 sire him. Some said that he was the carpen- 
 ter's son, and would not believe in him ; others 
 said, that he had a devil, and that it was 
 through Beelzebub, the chief of the devils, that 
 he cast out devils. Some cried out. Crucify 
 him, crucify him ; and others said. Let his blood 
 be u.j)on us and om* children. As the Jews 
 would not have him to rule over them; so, 
 many who call themselves Christians, say that 
 he is a mere man ; as such, he has no right to 
 rule over their consciences, and demand their 
 obedience, adoration, and praise. But Diabo- 
 lus knows better, — Jesus is the Son of God 
 most high. Many of the children of the devil, 
 whose works they do, differ very widely from 
 their father in sentiments respecting the person 
 of Christ. 
 
 Jesus commanded the legion of unclean spir- 
 its to come out of the man. They knew that 
 
180 IlSrCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 
 
 out they must go ; but they were, like some Irish- 
 men, — very unwilling to return to their own 
 coimtry again. And he suffered them to go 
 into the herd of swine. 
 
 Methinks that one of the men who fed the 
 hogs, kept a better look-out than the rest of 
 them, and said, 
 
 "What ails all the hogs? Look sharp there, 
 boys — ^keep them in — ^make good use of your 
 whips. Why don't you run? Why, true as I 
 am alive, one of them has gone headlong over 
 the cliff ! There ! there ! Morgan, yonder goes 
 another ! Drive them back, Tom." 
 
 ITever was there such running, and whipping, 
 and hallooing, — ^but down go the hogs, before 
 they were aware of it. One of them said, 
 
 " They are all gone !" 
 
 "N^o, sure, not all of them gone into the 
 sea?" 
 
 " Yes, every one of them ; and if ever the 
 devil entered anything in this world, he has 
 entered into those hogs." 
 
 "What," and says Jack, "is the noble black 
 hog gone ?" 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! I saw him scampering down 
 that hill, as if the very devil himself was in 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 181 
 
 him ; and I saw his tail take the last dip in the 
 troubled element below." 
 
 " What," says Tom to Morgan, " shall we say- 
 to our masters ?" 
 
 " What can we say ? We must tell the truth, 
 that is all about it. We did our best — all that 
 was in our power. What could any man do 
 more ?" 
 
 So they went their way to the city to tell their 
 masters what had happened. 
 
 " Jack, where are you going ?" exclaimed one 
 of the masters. 
 
 "Sir, did you know the demoniac that was 
 among the tombs, there ?" 
 
 " Demoniac among the tombs ! — Where did 
 you leave the hogs?" 
 
 " That madman, sir — " 
 
 " Madman ! Why do you come home with- 
 out the hogs ?" 
 
 "That wild and fmious man, sir, that mis- 
 tress was afraid of so much — " 
 
 " Why, Jack, I ask you a plain and simple 
 question — why don't you answer me? Where 
 are the hogs ?" 
 
 " That man who was possessed with the devils, 
 sir—" 
 
182 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 " Why, sure enough, you are crazy ! You 
 look wild ! Tell your story, if yOu can, let it be 
 what it may." 
 
 " Jesus Christ, sir, has cast the unclean spir- 
 its out of the demoniac ; they are gone into the 
 swine — and they are drowned in the sea ! for I 
 saw the tail of the last when it went out of sight ! 
 Now, master, it is even so, you may depend." 
 
 The Gadarenes went out to see what was 
 done ; and finding that it was even so, they 
 were afraid, and besought Jesus to depart from 
 them. 
 
 How awful must be the state and condition 
 of those men who love the things of this world 
 more than Jesus Christ ! 
 
 "The man out of whom the unclean spirits 
 were cast, besought Jesus that he might be with 
 him. But he told him to return to his own 
 house, and show how great things God had done 
 for him. And. he went his way, and published 
 throughout the whole city of Decapolis, how 
 great things Jesus had done unto him." 
 
 The act of Jesus casting so many devils out 
 of him, was sutScient to persuade him that 
 Jesus was God, as well as man. 
 
 I imagine I see him going through the city. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 183 
 
 crying, " O yes ! yes ! O yes ! — Please to take 
 notice of me, the demoniac among the tombs. 
 I am the man who was a terror to the citizens 
 of this place ; that wild man who could wear no 
 clothes, and that no man could bind. Here am 
 I now, in my right mind. Jesus Christ, the 
 friend of sinners, had compassion upon me, 
 when I was in my low estate. "When there was 
 no eye to pity, and no hand to save. He cast 
 out the devils, and redeemed my soul fi'om 
 destruction." 
 
 Most wonderful must have been the sm-prise 
 of the people to hear such proclamation. The 
 ladies running to the windows — the shoemak- 
 ers throwing their lasts one way, and their 
 awls another, — running out to meet him, and 
 to converse with him, that they might be pos- 
 itive there was no imposition ; and found it to 
 be a fact that could not be contradicted. O the 
 wonder of all wonders ! Never was there such 
 a thing ! — must, I think, be the general conver- 
 sation. 
 
 And while they were talking, and everybody 
 having something to say, homeward goes the 
 man. As soon as he came in sight of the house, 
 I imagine I see one of the children running in 
 
184 rNCIDENTS AND NAEBATITES. 
 
 and crying, " O, mother ! father is coming, he 
 wiU Mil us all !" 
 
 " Children, come all into the house," said the 
 mother. "Let us fasten the doors. I think 
 there is no sorrow like my soitow !" said the 
 broken-hearted woman. 
 
 " Are all the windows fastened, children ?" 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 "Mary, my dear, come from the window; 
 don't be standing there." 
 
 " Why, mother, I can hardly believe that it is 
 father ! That man is well dressed." 
 
 " 0, yes, my dear children, it is your own fa- 
 ther. I knew him by his walk the moment I 
 saw him." 
 
 Another child, stepping to the window, said, 
 "Why, mother, I never saw father coming 
 home as he comes to-day. He walks on the 
 foot-path, and turns roimd the corner of the 
 fences. He used to come towards the house as 
 straight as a line, over fences, ditches, and 
 hedges ; and I never saw him walking as slow 
 as he does now." 
 
 In a few moments, however, he arrives at 
 the door of the house, to the great terror and 
 consternation of all the inmates. He gently 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 185 
 
 tries the door, and finds no admittance. He 
 pauses a moment, steps towards the window, 
 and says, in a low, firm, and melodious voice. 
 " My dear wife, if you will let me in, there is 
 no danger. I will not hurt you ; I bring you 
 glad tidings of great joy." 
 
 The door was reluctantly opened, as it were 
 between joy and fear. Having deliberataly 
 seated himself, he said, 
 
 " I am come to show you what great things 
 God has done for me. He loved me with an 
 everlasting love. He redeemed me from the 
 curse of the law, and the threatenings of vin- 
 dictive justice. He saved me from the power 
 and the dominion of sin. He cast out the dev- 
 ils out of my heart, and made that heart which 
 was a den of thieves, the temple of the Holy 
 Spirit. I cannot tell you how much I love the 
 Saviour. Jesus Christ is the foundation of my 
 hope, the object of my faith, and the centre of 
 my affection. I can venture my immortal soul 
 upon him. He is my best friend, — he is alto- 
 gether lovely, — the chief among ten thousand. 
 He is my wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, 
 and redem^jtion. There is enough in him to 
 make a poor sinner rich, and a miserable sinner 
 
186 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 liappj. His flesh aad blood is my food — his 
 righteousness my wedding garment — and his 
 hlood is efficacious to cleanse me from all my 
 sins. Through him I can obtain eternal life ; 
 for he is the brightness of the Father's glory, 
 and the express image of his ^Jerson, — in whom 
 dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodi- 
 ly. He deserves my highest esteem, and my 
 warmest gratitude. Unto him who loved me 
 with an eternal love, and washed me in his 
 own blood, — ^unto him be the glory, dominion, 
 and power, forever and ever. For he has res- 
 cued my soul from hell ; he has plucked me as 
 a brand out of the burning. He took me out 
 of the miry clay, and out of a horrible pit. 
 He set my feet upon a rock, and established 
 my goings, and put in my mouth a new song 
 of praise and glory to him! Glory to Him 
 forever ! Glory to God in the highest ! Glory 
 to God forever and ever ! Let. the whole earth 
 praise him ! Tea, let all the people praise him ! 
 — ^Hallelujah ! The Lord God omnipotent reign- 
 eth !" 
 
 It is beyond the power of the strongest im- 
 agination to conceive the joy and gladness of 
 this family. The joy of sea-faring men, deliv- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 187 
 
 ered from being shipwrecked — the joy of a 
 man delivered from a burning bouse — the joy 
 of not being found guilty at a criminal bar — 
 the joy of receiving pardon, to a condemned 
 malefactor — ^the joy of freedom to a prisoner oi 
 •war — is nothing in comparison to the joy of 
 him who is delivered from going down to the 
 pit of eternal destruction. For it is "joy un- 
 speakable, and full of glory !" 
 
€^t ^hmn nf iBxut. 
 
 The son of a nobleman was confided to a 
 foreign tutor, by his parents, who took no pains 
 to ascertain his religious principles. The child 
 learned several languages ; he studied various 
 sciences, but knew nothing of the religion of 
 his fathers. Having come to the age of youth, 
 he travelled with his tutor into foreign coun- 
 tries, to enlarge his knowledge. He fell in 
 company with several infidels in his excursion, 
 and became so strongly rooted in his infidelity, 
 that, on returning to his paternal roof, he lived 
 without God in the world, rejecting proudly all 
 that appeared contrary to his reason. 
 
 This presumptuous youth began to despise 
 his country ; and when his parents reproached 
 him, he failed in the respect and submission 
 due to them — unfailing fruit of an irreligious 
 education. His parents died suddenly soon 
 after, and the ungrateful son rejoiced to enter 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 189 
 
 upon the possession of the whole paternal in- 
 heritance. One of his amusements was to scoff 
 at the ecclesiastics of the neighborhood ; he of- 
 ten invited them to his house, under pretence 
 of convei'sing with them upon religions subjects, 
 but in reality to dispute against the gosjpel. 
 What particularly displeased him with Chris- 
 tianity, was, the doctrine of eternal publishment. 
 The pastor of the place was not deficient in 
 knowledge, but he was easily perplexed by the 
 objections which the young man borrowed from 
 the most celebrated infidel writers. The eccle- 
 siastics of the neighborhood in vain tried to 
 subdue the spirit of this scofl^er, who sought 
 only matter for controversy in the most impor- 
 tant articles of religious faith. He took every 
 occasion to dispute with the ecclesiastics, in 
 order to boast afterwards of his pretended vic- 
 tories. 
 
 One day a pastor came to him, not to speak 
 of religious matters, but merely on secular busi- 
 ness. He was a plain man, of moderate learn- 
 ing, but ardently pious. The gentleman re- 
 ceived him gladly, led him to his study, and 
 began upon his usual subject of conversation. 
 
 " Tou are welcome," said he ; " and if you 
 
190 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 will dispute with me on religion, so mucli the 
 better : 1 am rejoiced to see you." 
 
 " 1^0," replied the ecclesiastic, " I am come 
 for another purpose, and I do not lore to dispute 
 on religion, because controversy edifies no one." 
 
 " But we have time to speak on religious sub- 
 jects. Have not you and all your brethren con- 
 demned me for a long time to eternal punish- 
 ment?" 
 
 "Ah! how can you so lightly speak such 
 awful words ? "We trast, on tlie conti-ary, that 
 YOU will not die before you have repented, and 
 that you will escape the wrath to come." 
 
 " Then, do you really believe there are per- 
 sons condemned to eternal punishment ?" 
 
 " Doubtless ; and this punishment would be 
 the portion of us all, if the grace of God had 
 not been manifested to us by Jesus Christ ; but 
 now it aifects those only who do not accept his 
 grace." 
 
 " This is all folly ! There is no eternal pun- 
 ishment ! I can oppose to this doctrine unan- 
 swerable arguments, if you and those like you 
 did not shut your ears from hearing them. 
 And it is a melancholy thing that so many lose 
 the enjoyment of this world from fear of hell ! 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 191 
 
 As to US, wlio know better how to reason and 
 judge of thing,^, we do not believe at all in this 
 eternal punishment, and no frightful thought 
 of the future troubles our earthly joys." 
 
 " That would be well, if there was no eter- 
 nal punishment. Ton could then live as you 
 pleased, and each one could eat, drink, and en- 
 joy himself, without fearing anything after 
 death. But if there is eternal punishment — if 
 there really is eteenai punishjMent ! Have you 
 reflected on this, sir ?" 
 
 " How ? What do you say ?" 
 
 " I say," continued the ecclesiastic, " that, if 
 there is eternal punishment, you will find your- 
 self in the greatest of all errors, and the most 
 dreadful of all situations. Think well of it. 
 We, who believe in eternal punishment, and 
 who live conformably to this belief, lose noth- 
 ing, even should the doctrine be false ; because 
 we can live quiet and happy while believing 
 this doctrine, provided we diligently perform 
 our duty. But what will become of you who 
 deride our faith — you who live according to 
 the lust of the eye and the lust of the flesh ? 
 And where will be your courage, when a fright- 
 ful experience shall convince you of the reality 
 
192 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 of eternal punishment ? Once more, have you 
 Beriouslj reflected upon this, sir?" 
 
 The gentleman did not answer. The pastor's 
 argument, so simple and so trite, had never oc- 
 cm'red to the mind of the scoffer. It pene- 
 trated the inmost recesses of his soul as a two- 
 edged sword, and he trembled in his whole 
 frame. He kept saying to himself, ""What if 
 there is eternal ptmishment? What if this 
 doctrine is not a mere invention of fear and sii- 
 perstition, but a reality ! Who must suffer this 
 punishment, if not he who has lived in sin and 
 unbelief, and forgotten his duties to God and 
 his fellow-men ? And am not I that man ? 
 Have not I lived only to satisfy wicked pas- 
 sions ? Have I in anything obeyed the will of 
 God ? Have I fulfilled my duties to my neigh- 
 bor? Have I not labored for myself while 
 appearing to serve my country ? Yes ! I am the 
 greatest of sianers ; I am, more than any other, 
 deserving of hell !" 
 
 Thus the saddest thoughts weighed upon his 
 mind, and the pain he felt was like the bite of 
 a serpent. ^ Agitated, overwhelmed with terror, 
 he was beside himself; he saw not the objects 
 around him, but seemed, so to speak, to be be- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEKATIVES. 193 
 
 fore the bar of God — to hear the irrevocable 
 sentence condemning him to eternal punish- 
 ment ; and he dared not even ask for pardon. 
 In utter despair he fell from his seat, and ex- 
 claimed, " "Woe is me — I perish !" His ago- 
 nized soul could not, pei'haps, have sustained 
 the frightful state, if divine grace had not soon 
 poured into the heart of the sinner the balm of 
 evangelical consolation. 
 
 The pastor, who remarked the internal strug- 
 gles and agitation of the sinner, kept silence, 
 to allow conscience and grace to speak ; but he 
 saw now that it was time to address to him a 
 word of consolation. He spoke to him artlessly, 
 with no parade of learning, but out of the 
 abundance of his heart, and strengthened by 
 the Spirit from on high. He explained to him 
 the joyful doctrine of the infinite mercy of God, 
 appearing in Jesus Christ, and applied to all 
 sinners who repent and implore pardon. Thus 
 the j)ious servant of the gospel poured the first 
 drops of heavenly balm into this wounded and 
 broken heart. 
 
 As the Lord had chosen him to be the instru- 
 ment of his grace in the conversion of this in- 
 fidel, the pastor often visited him, and knew so 
 13 
 
194 INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 
 
 well how to connect the consolations of the gos- 
 pel Avith the truths which are unpalatable to the 
 natural man, that he succeeded in healing com- 
 pletely the wounds of that sick soul. The char- 
 acter and conduct of this gentleman were en- 
 tirely changed. Before, he was proud, arro- 
 gant, and restless ; now, he became humble, 
 mild, and tranquil. The thought of eternal 
 punishment caused him no pain, for he knew 
 there was no condemnation to those who are in 
 Christ. He afterwards often told his relatives 
 and friends to what a degree of blindness he 
 had sunk, and in what a wonderful manner the 
 grace of God had saved him, by means of a 
 simple and humble Christian. 
 
A PASTOK of the canton of Yaud, who was 
 afflicted with a serious illness, was sent by his 
 
 ]3hysician to the waters of W . There 
 
 some friends of the Lord requested him to 
 preach the word of God. The pastor consented, 
 and a blessing accompanied his words. 
 
 " On Saturday evening," writes this pastor, 
 in the "Eeligious Journal of the canton of 
 Vaud," " a young man arrived in the public 
 coach, whose whole exterior spoke that he was 
 light-minded, and a stranger in the things of 
 God. But my heart was drawn to him from 
 the first moment, and I felt an unaccountable 
 interest for this stranger. I learned, that, be- 
 ing banished from his country, he had travelled 
 through Switzerland, in order to become a 
 teacher in a large city, and had come to the 
 baths in hopes of spending the Sabbath in dis- 
 sipation and pleasure, according to his custom. 
 
196 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 But idleness, a desire of seeing the company 
 assembled, and perhaps, also, some instinctive 
 need of his soul, induced him the next day to 
 attend public worship, which was celebrated in 
 the morning in a room in the hotel. My heart 
 leaped when I saw him enter. I took for my 
 text these words of the Lord : ' Thy will be 
 done.' I showed that, in his sinful state, the 
 natural man is far from God, and does not love 
 to do his will — that he goes, consequently, from 
 error to error, from sin to sin, because he fol- 
 lows his own will. I then pointed out the means 
 by which we not only learn to do the will of 
 God, but also to take pleasure in doing it ; and 
 I represented the happiness reserved for the 
 man who applies himself to this good and per- 
 fect will. The young stranger seemed very at- 
 tentive ; I imagined I even remarked tears upon 
 his cheeks. But the worship being ended, I 
 was grieved when I heard him say in a sneer- 
 ing tone, as he went out, ' All this is mummery !' 
 However, pained as I was by this exclamation, 
 the interest I took in this infatuated youth was 
 not lessened, but on the contrary increased. 
 Soon I lost sight of the stranger, and did not 
 see him again till at dinner. There he seemed 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVBS. 197 
 
 to me to make an effort to be gay ; but every 
 time bis looks met mine be cast down bis eyes. 
 All tbis gave me a strong desire to converse 
 witb bim, but be was surrounded by ligbt and 
 frivolous young men, and I bad little bope of 
 succeeding in my design. 
 
 "In tbe afternoon I went to walk alone, 
 my mind being still occupied witb tbis young 
 stranger. "Wbat, then, was my joy, wben I saw 
 bim reclining alone imder a tree ! I accosted 
 bim frankly, silently praying tbe Lord to be 
 witb me. 
 
 " ' A fine day,' said I to bim, ' and you are 
 enjoying yourself quite at your ease.' 
 
 " Then, after some unimportant conversation, 
 I cam.e to tbe object wbicb drew me to bim. - 
 
 " ' I bave a doubt to solve,' said I, ' and I 
 prefer asking you directly to getting informa- 
 tion of otbers. Is it true tbat tbis morning, 
 wben leaving tbe meeting, you called tbe doc- 
 trines you bad beard, mummeet ?' 
 
 "Tbis qiiestion, I saw, greatly embarrassed 
 him, and out of regard to bis feelings I changed 
 tbe subject of conversation. I said to bim, tbat, 
 if tbe words I uttered are mummery, tbe apos- 
 
198 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 tie Paul wrote as great mumniery as mine. 
 The young man made no answer. 
 
 " ' But, perhaps,' I added, ' you do not recol- 
 lect the epistles of this apostle. Let us read 
 something from them.' 
 
 " At the same time I took my seat near him, 
 and opened my ISTew Testament at the Epistle 
 to the Ephesians. I was afraid that at this 
 proposal the thoughtless young man would seek 
 some easy pretence to leave me. But no ; I saw 
 him preparing to listen, and seeming impatient 
 to hear the apostle speak. When my reading 
 was ended, I put some questions to him, to all 
 which he made no answer. Unable to get any- 
 thing from him, I went on to make reflections 
 aloud, as if talking to myself, on the various 
 passages I had read. The young man seemed 
 to pay great attention ; but as I saw him ab- 
 sorbed in meditation, and was unwilling to give 
 him too much nourishment the first time, I left 
 the Spirit of the Lord to act, and went away, 
 after expressing my desire to see him again. I 
 prayed the Lord to bless to his soul the word 
 he had heard. 
 
 " On going away I turned my head, and saw 
 him eagerly open the New Testament I had left 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 199 
 
 with him. Returning to the baths at the hour 
 of drinking the waters, I could not discover 
 this young man. At supper, also, he did not 
 appear. I then lost the hope of seeing him 
 again, for he was to leave the next day, at five 
 o'clock in the morning. I inquired of a servant 
 what had become of him, and learned that the 
 young stranger had said that he would not sup, 
 as he was a little indisposed, and did not wish 
 to join the company. On one hand this unex- 
 pected retreat was a good sign ; but on the other 
 it cost me much pain, that I could not see him 
 again. 
 
 " I took my light, and went pensively towards 
 my chamber, when the keeper of the hotel ran 
 after me, and said, with some embarrassment, 
 
 " ' Mr. Pastor, I have looked for you the 
 whole afternoon, to ask leave to put a second 
 bed in your chamber. We have so many peo- 
 ple that I know not where to lodge them ; but 
 it will only be for this night.' 
 
 " The proposal was somewhat unpleasant ; 
 but what could I do ? The second bed was al- 
 ready in my chamber, and the traveller had 
 taken possession. I entered, therefore, and 
 judge of my surprise and joy when I found 
 
200 INCIDENTS AND NAKEATIVES. 
 
 ttere the young stranger who had interested 
 me so much the whole day. He appeared quite 
 agitated, and when I lay down, he asked me, 
 with some hesitation, 
 
 " ' Mr. Pastor, are you disposed to sleep ?' 
 " ' No,' I replied, ' it is still very early, and I 
 would like nothing better than to converse a 
 little with you.' 
 
 " ' Ah, sir, how many apologies I owe you !' 
 " ' And for what ? I do not understand you.' 
 " ' Yes, I hav.e insulted you ! Yes, I have,' 
 he added, weeping, ' called the doctrine of sal- 
 vation mummeey! Oh, my God, pardon this 
 unbelief !' 
 
 " It would be difficult to express my joy on 
 hearing these words. I told him my surprise 
 at this new language. 
 
 " ' Your light manners,' I said to him, ' your 
 sneering tone on leaving the place of worship 
 this morning, all convinced me that you are 
 far from the things of God.' 
 
 " ' Yes, I have lived estranged from God, and 
 I have given up myself to all the vices which 
 are the consequence. I have made my excel- 
 lent mother to drink wormwood and gall, and 
 I have perhaps caused my father to go down 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 201 
 
 with sorrow to the grave. With this same ha- 
 tred against God, I came here last evening, in- 
 tending to indulge, so far as I could, my depra- 
 ved appetites. But what I heard this morning 
 has opened my eyes. Ey your words, God has 
 convinced me, not only that he knows all my 
 sins, but that he will also pardon me ! For I 
 have heard a voice, saying, ' Eeturn unto me ! 
 I will pardon thy unbelief, all thy sins ; and 
 where sin hath abounded grace hath much 
 more abounded.' This, sir, is what God now 
 speaks to my conscience laden with iniquity.' 
 Thus saying, he shed many tears. 
 
 " 'But,' said I, 'if you were convinced of sin, 
 righteousness, and judgment, this morning, in 
 consequence of the words I addressed to you, 
 how could you leave the meeting in so thought- 
 less a manner V 
 
 " ' Ah ! believe me,' he replied, ' it was but 
 the effect of a false shame. I was loth to con- 
 fess myself vanquished. And then, Satan, my 
 old master, still wished to retain his dominion 
 over me, but the Lord was the strongest, and 
 now I am persuaded that my sins are pardoned, 
 and I hope, with humble confidence, that I am 
 a child of God.' 
 
202 INCIDENTS AND. NARRATIVES. 
 
 "I sought, by many qiiestions, to satisfy 
 myself of the sincerity of his return to God, 
 and all his answers filled my heart with joy. 
 I blessed God for his great kindness ! But I 
 feared, still, that the new disciple would be too 
 hasty in appropriating the promises of the gos- 
 pel, which are only made to faith, and I pointed 
 out the dangers of a false security. He under- 
 stood my meaning, and said to me, ' I am very 
 grateful, dear sir, for your tender solicitude on 
 my account ; I fully appreciate it, and shall 
 never forget your words of warning. But I am 
 convinced that grace has been given me, and 
 that I have passed from death to life.' 
 
 " Feeling the need of conversing in a more 
 convenient manner with my young friend, I 
 proposed that we should get up. He consented, 
 and when we were dressed, we passed the hap- 
 piest hours together with the word of God in 
 hand. "When the morning came we were in- 
 dulging the sweetest emotions, sometimes read- 
 ing the word of life, and sometimes on our 
 knees, blessing God for his great compassion. 
 At last the hour came for leaving. My young 
 friend asked me for my blessing. I parted 
 from him as from an old acquaintance, a belov- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 203 
 
 ed brotlier. Tears, both of joy and sadness, 
 flowed from onr eyes, and we conld hardly sep- 
 arate. "We uttered, perhaps, our last adieu 
 here below ; bu.t it was with the conviction of 
 meeting one day in the bosom of our heavenly 
 Father." 
 
ir. SnikiJigi's irjani. 
 
 De. Doddridge was on terms of very inti- 
 mate friendship witli Dr. Samuel Clarke, and 
 in religiotis conversation they spent many hap- 
 py houi'S together. Among other matters, a 
 very favorite topic was the intermediate state 
 of the soul, and the probability, that, at the 
 instant of dissolution, it was introduced into 
 the presence of all the heavenly hosts, and the 
 splendors around the throne of God. One even- 
 ing, after a conversation of this natui-e, Dr. 
 Doddridge retired to rest, with his mind full of 
 the subject discussed, and, in the visions of the 
 night, his ideas were shaped into the follow- 
 ing beautiful form. 
 
 He dreamed he was at the house of a friend, 
 when he was suddenly taken dangerously ill. 
 By degrees he seemed to grow worse and worse, 
 and at last to expire. In an instant he was 
 sensible that he had exchanged the prison-house 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEBATIVES. 205 
 
 and sufi'erings of mortality for a state of liberty 
 and happiness. Embodied in a slender, aerial 
 form, lie seemed to float in a region of pure 
 light. Beneath him lay the earth ; but not a 
 glittering city or a village, the forest or the sea, 
 was visible. There was nought to be seen be- 
 low, save the melancholy group of his friends, 
 weeping around his lifeless remains. Himself 
 thi-illed with delight, he was surprised at their 
 tears, and attempted to inform them of his hap- 
 py change ; but by some mysterious power, ut- 
 terance was denied ; and as he anxiously leaned 
 over the mourning circle, gazing fondly upon 
 the air, there forms became more and more indis- 
 tinct, and gradually melted away from his sight. 
 Eeposing upon golden clouds, he found him- 
 self swiftly mounting the skies, with a venera- 
 ble figure at his side, guiding his mysterioirs 
 movements, and in whose countenance he re- 
 marked the lineaments of youth and age blend- 
 ed together, with an intimate harmony and 
 majestic sweetness. They travelled together 
 through a vast region of empty sjjace, until at 
 length the battlements of a glorious edifice shone 
 in the distance, and as its form rose brilliant 
 and distinct among the far-off shadows that flit- 
 
206 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 ted athwart their path, the guide informed 
 him that the place he beheld, for the present 
 was to he his mansion of rest. Gazing upon 
 its splendor, he replied, That, while on earth, 
 he had often heard that eye had not seen, nor 
 had the ear heard, nor could it enter into the 
 heart of man to conceive, the things which God 
 had prepared for those who love him ; but, not- 
 withstanding the building to which they were 
 approaching was superior to anything which he 
 had actually before beheld, yet its grandeur 
 had not exceeded the conceptions he had form- 
 ed. The guide made no reply ; they were al- 
 ready at the door, and entered. The guide 
 introduced him into a spacious apartment, at 
 the extrSmity of which stood a table, covered 
 with a snow-white cloth, a golden cup, and a 
 cluster of grapes, and then said he must now 
 leave him, but that he must remain, for he 
 would receive in a short time a visit from the 
 lord of the mansion, and that, during the inter- 
 val before his arrival, the apartment would 
 furnish him with suificient entertainment and 
 instruction. 
 
 The guide vanished, and he was left alone. 
 He began to examine the decorations of the 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 207 
 
 room, and observed that the walls were adorn- 
 ed with a numher of pictures. Upon nearer in- 
 spection, he found to his astonishment that they 
 formed a complete biography of his own life. 
 Here he saw upon the canvass that angels, 
 though unseen, had ever been his familiar at- 
 tendants ; and, sent by God, they had sometimes 
 preserved him from imminent peril. He be- 
 held himself first represented as an infant, just 
 expiring, when his life was prolonged by an 
 angel breathing into his nostrils. Most of the 
 occurrences here delineated were perfectly fa- 
 miliar to his recollection, and unfolded many 
 things which he had never before understood, 
 and which had perplexed him with many 
 doubts and much uneasiness. Among others, 
 he was particularly struck with a picture in 
 which he was represented as falling from his 
 horse, when death would have been inevitable, 
 had not an angel received him in his arms, and 
 broken the force of his descent. These merci- 
 ful interpositions of God filled him with joy 
 and gratitude, and his heart overflowed with 
 love as he surveyed ia them all an exhibition 
 of goodness and mercy far beyond all that he 
 had imagined. 
 
208 ISrCIDENTS AND NAKRATIVES. 
 
 Suddenly his attention was arrested by a rap 
 at the door. The lord of the mansion had ar- 
 rived ; the door opened, and he entered. So 
 powerful and overwhelming, and withal of such 
 singular beauty, was his appearance, that he 
 sank down at his feet, completely overcome by 
 his majestic presence. 
 
 His lord gently raised him from the ground ; 
 and taking his hand, led him forward to the 
 table. He pressed with his fingers the juice of 
 the grapes into the golden cup, and after having 
 himself drank, he presented it to him, saying, 
 "This is the new wine in my Father's king- 
 dom." No sooner had he partaken, than all 
 uneasy sensations vanished ; perfect love had 
 now cast out fear, and he conversed with the 
 Saviour as an intimate friend. Like the silver 
 rippling of a summer-sea, he heard fall from his 
 grateful approbation, " Thy labors are over, thy 
 work is ajjproved ; rich and glorious is the re- 
 ward." Thrilled with an unspeakable bliss, 
 that glided over his spirit, and slid into the very 
 depths of his soul, he suddenly saw glories 
 bursting upon his view. 
 
 The Doctor awoke. Tears of rapture from 
 this joyful interview were rolling down his 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 209 
 
 cheeks. Long did the lively impression of this 
 charming dream remain upon his mind, and 
 never coidd he speak of it without emotions of 
 joy and tenderness. 
 
 U 
 
AN INCIDENT. 
 
 One of the most important purposes which 
 OTir Saviour designed to accomplish by his mis- 
 sion to earth,' is too often little appreciated, if 
 not altogether overlooked. It is true that his 
 great and crowning office was that of yielding 
 up his life, as a ransom for sinners ; yet there 
 was still another and important work connected 
 -with the plan of redemption, and one which 
 perhaps exhibits as strong love for fallen man, 
 as did even the scene on Calvary. This work 
 was that of presenting to the word a living ex- 
 ample of the holy, happy, purifying effects 
 which his doctrines would have upon the hearts 
 of those who carried out those sublime princi- 
 ples in e^-ery circumstance of life. It might 
 not have required a greater miracle than at> 
 tending his incarnation, for the Saviom",to have 
 entered upon his earthly career in the full 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. '211 
 
 maturity of manhood, and then, liaving an- 
 nounced his purposes, immediately yielded up 
 his life on the cross. But in that case, manldnd 
 could never have had any just conception either 
 of his character, or that of his doctrines. His 
 life of thirty-three years, in which he passed 
 through nearly every variety of trials, suffer- 
 ings, and temptations, taught the world what 
 they could have learned in no other way. He 
 instituted a church, in which was exhibited a 
 living exemplification of his divine precepts. 
 This little fold, his infant church, was the ob- 
 ject of his peculiar care. On them, much was 
 dependent. They were to be " the light of the 
 worldP In gathering it, he had still another 
 object — their own mutual imj)rovement and 
 happiness. These two objects (that they may 
 be the lights of the world, and increase each 
 other's happiness) are the objects for which 
 every Christian chm'ch should be constituted, 
 even at the present day. Nearly twenty cen- 
 turies have gone by since the first church of 
 Christ was gathered, and the doctrines of the 
 cross been proclaimed in every zone of the 
 globe, yet church relationship still remains of 
 the utmost importance to the conversion of sin- 
 
212 INCIDENTS AND NAUEATIVES. 
 
 ners, and the progress and happiness of the dis- 
 ciples themselves. 
 
 There can be no connection, no relationship, 
 this side of the eternal world, involving such 
 awful responsibilities, as church-membership. 
 Every member has pledged himself, in the 
 face of earth and heaven, to be true to Christ, 
 and to each other. Did tliey fully live up to 
 these professions, every church would give a 
 foretaste of heaven. It is deeply to be lament- 
 ed, that some churches exhibit but a small 
 share of that "peace and joy which passeth 
 understanding." Jealousy, distrust, malice, 
 and all uncharitableness, sometimes iind their 
 way into the fold of Christ. The great error 
 that has proved so desolating, is that of insin- 
 cerity. The maxims of the um-egenerate have 
 little to do with sincerity. Much of the busi- 
 ness of the worldly, and even the intercom'se 
 of what is tei-med "fashionable society," is 
 founded in deceit. Professors of religion, who 
 relax their watchfulness, are apt to imbibe the 
 same maxims. Xothmg can be more destruc- 
 tive to a chui-ch. Let a member who sees 
 something tliat he disapproves in the conduct 
 of a brotliOr, go and whisper it abroad, yet say 
 
ISrCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 213 
 
 notMng but smiling -words to him ; let him ha- 
 bitually say of his brethren behind their backs, 
 the very opposite of what his language and 
 manner before his face implies, and the fruits 
 of his doings will soon have a visible effect on 
 the prosperity of the church. With the world, 
 such things are of daily occurrence, and receive 
 no censure ; but they cannot be done by a Chris- 
 tian without grievous injury, if not to his breth- 
 ren, at least to his own soul. Every word and 
 action of his life should be stamped with the 
 imperishable impress of godlike truth. 
 
 It is extremely common among the fashion- 
 able vulgar, to practise deception even to treach- 
 ery. A man less fashionably dressed, or one 
 who is poor, or perhaps has a defect in person 
 or manner, happens to be in their comjoany with 
 those whom they wish to flatter, they will often, 
 by a wink, a nod, or a covert smile, make such 
 individual the object of their ridicule and treach- 
 ery. These things may pass unrebuked in those 
 who live without God in the world, but in one 
 who professes to tread in the footsteps of the 
 Kedeemer, it is a crime of so dark a stain, that 
 nothing but the tears of heartfelt contrition can 
 ever wash it out. Let him make but a single 
 
214 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 ceitful nod, or one treacherous wink, and the 
 man to amuse whom it was done, though he 
 smiled at the time, may forever associate to- 
 gether in his mind, treachery and religion. If 
 his heart is capable of one pure emotion, the 
 sight would cause the most painful feelings. 
 
 About fifteen years ago, the daughter of an 
 acquaiatance of mine was under deep and seri- 
 ous concern for her soul. She was but fourteen 
 years old, yet a girl of no ordinary talents. 
 Though so young, her education was good, and 
 her mind stamped with thought beyond her 
 years. Neither of her parents were professors, 
 yet were regular in their attendance at church, 
 and paid much outward respect to religion. At 
 the period of which I speak, Mary Campbell 
 (though that is merely a name which I substi- 
 tute for her real one) felt deep and painful con- 
 viction. She had been in the habit of confiding 
 all her feelings to her mother, and seized an 
 opportunity, when they were alone, of telling 
 her all she felt on the subject of religion. Mrs. 
 Campbell had been brought up by pious pa- 
 rents, and felt, in some degree, the deep re- 
 sponsibility of performing the duty which this im- 
 portant crisis had devolved upon her as a mother. 
 
INCIDENTS AJS'D NAEEATIVES. 215 
 
 About half a mile from the village, resided 
 a minister of the Gospel. I avoid naming even 
 the denomination to which he belonged. He 
 was distinguished for powerful exhortations, 
 great zeal, and the many members, which, 
 through his instrumentality, had united with 
 the church. Mrs. Campbell advised her to go 
 and converse with him ; that she would accom- 
 pany her that evening, and afford her an oppor- 
 tunity, during the visit, of private conversation 
 with the preacher. 
 
 At dark, the mother and daughter set out on 
 their interesting errand. Eoth were warmly 
 and most affectionately received by the minis- 
 ter, and by every member of his family. The 
 evening passed on, but Mary either found no 
 opportunity of talking with him alone, or else 
 her courage failed her when it was presented. 
 The hour for them to return arrived, but the 
 family earnestly and affectionately urged them 
 to stay all night. JSTone employed more earnest 
 or more affectionate entreaties than the clergy- 
 man himself. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell, thinking it would afford Mary 
 an excellent opportunity for conversation, hinted 
 to her that she had better stay, for the moon 
 
216 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 shone briglitly, and she had no fears about re- 
 turning alone. But Maiy declined. Parting 
 salutations having been exchanged with the 
 family, the visitors set off on their return home. 
 They had gone but a few steps, when Mary, 
 with all the waywardness of one in her agitated 
 state of feeling, deeply regretted that she did 
 not stay. Her mother told her that it was not 
 yet too late ; that she had better return ; that 
 the family, and particularly the preacher, would 
 be overjoyed to see her come back. Bidding a 
 hurried good-bye to her mother, the daughter 
 retraced her steps. In reaching the door, Mary 
 had to pass under the window of the room in 
 which the family were seated. It was summer, 
 and every door and window was open to admit 
 the cold ail-. As she walked slowly along, she 
 heard the preacher say, in a sneering tone, " I 
 am glad those Campbells are gone. I lu-ged 
 them to stay, for we must appear friendlj' to 
 them, but on no account would I hare had the 
 trouble of them." Mary heard this, and for an 
 instant, was immovably fixed to the spot. She 
 soon recovered herself, and then slowly and 
 cautiously hastened back towards home. Her 
 mother was much astonished when her dauirh- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 217 
 
 ter overtook her, but Mary assigned no reason 
 for returning. They walked home in silence, 
 not a word being uttered on any subject. From 
 that hour Mary Campbell was a changed girl. 
 A new and entirely different train of thoughts 
 and feelings sprung up in her heart, and influ- 
 enced her whole being. Not a word did sbe 
 utter about religion, but sbe attended meetings 
 with even more punctuality than she had done 
 before, and on every occasion manifested the 
 utmost respect for Christianity. At times, how- 
 ever, the experienced and penetrating eye of 
 ber mother detected on the lips of her daughter, 
 when tbe subject of religion was named, a faint 
 and almost imperceptible smile of hatred and 
 contempt, that startled lier. A suspicion crept 
 over lier heart, that Mary was an infidel, but 
 neither in word nor action, did the girl afford 
 to any one else the most distant doubt but she 
 felt a profound respect for sacred things. 
 
 Six years had passed away. The preacLer 
 bad gone elsewhere, and his reputation for zeal 
 and success still followed him. Mary Camp- 
 bell had attained womanhood : Avas a wife and 
 mother of a first-born child, an infant of a few 
 days old. Death was at work upon tliis inter- 
 
218 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 esting young woman, around whose being clus- 
 tered the warmest hopes and tenderest affections 
 of husbands, parents, and other kindred. She 
 was amiable, but not religious ; and in this try- 
 ing hour, her parents, though wholly devoted 
 to the world themselves, were anxious about her 
 eternal prospects. Mrs. Campbell approached 
 the bedside of her dying daughter, and in tear- 
 less agony, told her that all hopes of recovery 
 were past, and entreated her to attend, without 
 a moment's delay, to the concerns of her soul. 
 
 At first, the dying woman gave no other sign 
 that she heard these remarks, than a slight 
 tremulous motion of her lips. After a pause 
 of some moments, she said: "Mother, come 
 nearer, bend your head low, for I am too weak 
 to talk much, except in a faint whisper." Mrs. 
 Campbell bent her head down to the lips of her 
 daughter. " Mother," said she, " do you re- 
 member the night when, under great distress 
 of soul, I went with you to the house of Mi". 
 
 ?" Mrs. Campbell had not forgotten it. 
 
 Mary then related the treacherous remarks of 
 the preacher, and told her mother that they 
 wrought an entire change in her whole being. 
 She had never again felt one concern about 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 219 
 
 her soul. The veil had accidentally been with- 
 drawn, and instead of seeing the purity of 
 Eden, she beheld only the hideous and slimy 
 folds of the serpent. From that moment, she 
 regarded religion as an imposture, but one 
 which her own reputation forbid that she should 
 not profess to respect. She had buried this 
 secret deep in the recesses of her own bosom, 
 and had never before breathed it to any one 
 being. 
 
 The feelings of her mother on hearing this 
 disclosure, can hardly be conceived. In vain 
 did she and a godly neighbor exert all their ef- 
 forts to change her opinions. She died without 
 fear, but without hope. 
 
 The influence which the deceit of the preach- 
 er had over her character and destiny, though 
 striking, is easily accounted for. Tier youth at 
 the time of her visit to his house — the great 
 excitement and agony of mind under which 
 she was laboring — ^the sudden discovery of 
 treachery in one whom she revered as the holi- 
 est of men — all these operating upon an active 
 mind, produced the eifects which followed. 
 
 A year after the death of. this unhappy wo- 
 man, the pious neighbor who had been present 
 
220 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 at tlie closing scene, and to whom the whole 
 story had been confided, chanced one day to 
 ride alone with the preacher of whom we have 
 spoken, and who then resided some hundred 
 miles from his former abode. He felt it his 
 duty to admonish him of the grievous sin he 
 had committed, yet dreaded the effect which 
 remorse for his sin would produce on his heai-t. 
 At length he made the disclosure. The minis- 
 ter listened to him, but had not the slightest 
 compunctious visiting of conscience. On the 
 contrary, he expressed much astonishment that 
 so common a remark as the one overheard by 
 Mary, could possibly produce any ill effects. 
 Such things were said every day. 
 
 Not long since, taking up a religious paper, 
 in which was a list of biographical obituary 
 notices, of individuals of eminent piety who 
 had recently died, my eye caught his name 
 among that of others. His zeal and piety were 
 extolled to hyperbole, and his last wi:)rds, said 
 his biographer, were a shout of triumphant 
 faith. I could not divest myself of the thought, 
 however, that though his dying expression was 
 one of joy, perhaps an instant after he might 
 uttered a howl of more than mortal agony. 
 
€liB llum-3illn''ji Sutji fasi. 
 
 "When I entered the room, the doctor sat by 
 the patient's side, while he appeared insensible. 
 His face was turned towards the wall, and then 
 said, 
 
 " Do yon think I am in danger, doctor?" 
 
 The physician was loth to say so, as physi- 
 cians nsnally are, and evaded the question. Bnt 
 death's tide was at its fall, and the sick man 
 grew worse. 
 
 " Oh ! doctor, doctor," said he, " there is 
 something that preys on my mind — something 
 more terrible even than this fatal disorder." 
 
 The patient tossed and tumbled about, his 
 eyes rolled and flashed, his brow was knit, and 
 a mental hurricane swept over him. His wife 
 attempted to soothe him, talked of heaven and 
 mercy, but in vain. I told of the dying love 
 of Christ, and the thief on the cross, but all 
 would not do. The physician wa.5 equally uu- 
 
222 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 successful in all his endeavors to calm the 
 troubled mind of the dying man. 
 
 " Take away yom- physic, doctor ! it is use- 
 less ; it cannot cure a mind diseased !" 
 
 Again penitence and pardon were spoken of, 
 and the physician and the sick man's family en- 
 deavored to pour oil upon the troubled waters. 
 But they cast up mire and dirt. 
 
 " Can you tell me what troubles your mind 
 so deeply?" 
 
 " Oh ! doctor, doctor, do not speak of it ! I 
 knew it was wrong ! I have sent their souls to 
 hell ! I made them drimkards !" 
 
 The doctor answered, " You have done no 
 more than others ; they would have sold it if 
 you had not." 
 
 "Don't tell me that ! Then- blood is on my 
 skirts — ^tear it out ! Look ; I see their faces, 
 and their fiery eyes glaring upon me ! — horror ! 
 horror ! horror !" 
 
 The i^hysician soothed him as he would have 
 soothed a child. " It will relieve your mind," 
 said he to the sick man. 
 
 " Oh God ! I wish I could get relief ! see ! 
 doctor, — see them all point their skinny fingers 
 at me ! — ^KiU me ! Kill me ! There's Mis. 
 
INCIDEKTS AND NARRATIVES. 223 
 
 Briggs to whom I sold rum the night her chil- 
 dren starved. She asks for money to buy them 
 bread — here she stands ! — my God ! my God ! — ■ 
 I have not got the money — go to her — quick — 
 cj^uick — Oh ! — ^horror ! horror ! horror !" 
 
 "My dear sir," said the physician, mildly, 
 " you are raving ; you are talking of shadows !" 
 
 " Heavens ! doctor, do you call those shad- 
 ows ? Keep them out ! Keep them out ! There 
 they come into the room ! — shut the window 
 and bar the shutters ! — I see old Griffin who 
 froze to death, he's trying to come in. There's 
 his winding sheet ! Oh, don't, don't burn me !" 
 
 The physician then rose to humor his misera- 
 ble patient, went to the window and closed the 
 shutter. 
 
 " Look there, doctor ! there's a yonng woman 
 whose husband I got drunk, and he murdered 
 her ! I took her coffin to jjay his grog bill ! She 
 cries out against me — she shrieks and tears her 
 hair — oh ! oh ! oh !" 
 
 All efforts were found fruitless ; nothing could 
 succeed in quieting the tumult in his guilty 
 soul. As a last resource a clergyman was men- 
 tioned to him, and with the fury of a demon he 
 shouted — 
 
224 nsrciDENTS Ahio narratives. 
 
 " Don't talk to me of a clergyman ! My soul 
 is lost ! lost ! lost ! The spirits of all the damned 
 whom I have made drank are let loose upon me ! 
 — ^They pinch ! — ^they bum ! — they tear me ! — 
 woe ! woe ! woe !" 
 
 And his burning eye became fixed in its 
 socket, the death rattle came in his throat, he 
 clasped his hands convulsively togctlier, and 
 died; and amidst the howliag of that fearful 
 storm was heard the wails and agonizing cries 
 of the heart-bi'oken and the terror-stricken chil- 
 dren of the rumrseller. 
 
" Me. Peesident," said a short, stout man, 
 with, a good-humored countenance, and a florid 
 complexion, rising as the last speaker took his 
 seat, " I have been a tavern-keeper." 
 
 At this announcement there was a movement 
 through the whole room, and an expression of 
 increased interest. 
 
 " Mr. President," he went on, " I have been 
 a tavern-keeper, and many a glass have I sold 
 to 3'ou, and to you, and the secretary there, and 
 to dozens of others that I see here." 
 
 " Tliat's a fact," broke in the President, " many 
 a gin toddy and a brandy punch have I taken 
 at your bar. But times are changed now, and 
 we have begun to carry the war right into the 
 enemy's camp. And our war has not been al- 
 together unsuccessful, for we have taken pris- 
 oner one of the rum-seller's bravest generals ! 
 
 But go on, friend "W , let us have your 
 
 experience." 
 
 15 
 
226 DSrCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 
 
 " As to my experience, Mr. President," the 
 ex-tavern-keeper resumed, " in rum-selling and 
 rum-drinking, for I have done a good deal of 
 both in my time, that would be rather too long 
 a story to tell to-mght — and one that I had 
 rather forget than relate. It makes me tremble 
 and sick at heart, whenever I look back on the 
 evil that I have done. I therefore usually look 
 ahead with the hope of doing some good to my 
 fellow-men. 
 
 " But there is one incident that I will relate. 
 For the last five years, a hard-working me- 
 chanic, with a wife and several children, came 
 regularly almost every night to my tavern, and 
 spent the evening in the bar-i-oom. He came to 
 drink, of course, and many and many a dollar 
 of his hard earnings went into my till. At last 
 he became a perfect sot, working scarcely one 
 fourth of his time, and spending all he earned 
 in liquor. His poor wife had to take in wash- 
 ing to support herself and children, while he 
 spent his time and the little he could make at 
 my bar. But his appetite for liquor was so 
 strong, that his week's earnings were usually 
 all gone by Tuesday or "Wednesday, and then I 
 had to check up a score against him, to be paid 
 
IITCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 227 
 
 off when Saturday night came. This score 
 gradually increased, until it amounted to three 
 or four dollars, over his regular Saturday night's 
 pay, when I refused to sell him any more liquor 
 until it was settled. On the day after I had 
 thus refused him, he came in with a neat mourn- 
 ing breast-pin, enclosing some hair — no doub't, I 
 thought — of a deceased relative. This he of- 
 fered in jDayment of what he owed. I accej)ted 
 it, for the pin I saw at once was worth double 
 the amount of my bill. I did not think, or in- 
 deed care about the question, whether he was 
 the owner or not ; I wanted my own, and in my 
 selfish eagerness to get my own, I hesitated not 
 to take a little more than my own. 
 
 " I laid the breast-pin away, and all things 
 went on smoothly for awhile. But he gradu- 
 ally got behind hand again, and again I cut off 
 his supply of liquor. This time he brought me 
 a pair of brass andirons, and a pair of brass 
 candlesticks, and I took them and wiped off the 
 score against him. At last he brought me a 
 large family Bible, and I took that too — think- 
 ing no doubt I could sell it for something. 
 
 " On the Sunday afterwards, having nothing 
 to do, — for I used to shut up my bar on Sun- 
 
228 INCIDEXTS AWD NARRATIVES. 
 
 daj'S, thinking it was not respectable to sell 
 liquor on tliat day, — ^I opened this poor drunk- 
 ard's family Bible, scarcely thinking what I 
 was doing. The first place I turned to was the 
 family record. There it was stated that on a 
 certain day, he had been man-ied to Emily 
 
 — '■ . I had known Emily , when I 
 
 was a young man, very well, and had once 
 thought seriously of offering myself to her in 
 marriage. I remember her happy young face, 
 and seemed suddenly to hear a tone of her 
 merry laughter. 
 
 " ' Poor creature !' I sighed involuntarily as 
 a thought of her present condition crossed my 
 mind ; and then with pleasant feelings I turned 
 over another leaf. There was the record of the 
 birth of four children ; the last had been made 
 recently and was in the mother's hand. 
 
 "I never had such strange feelings as now 
 came over me. I felt that I had no business 
 with this book. But I tried to stifle my feel- 
 ings, and turned over several leaves quickly. 
 As I suffered my eyes to rest upon an open 
 page these words arrested my attention. 
 
 " ' "Wine is a mocker ; strong drink is raging ; 
 whoso is deceived thereby is not wise.' 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 229 
 
 "This was just the subject that under the 
 feelings I then had, I wished to avoid, and so I 
 referred to another place. There I read — 
 
 "'Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow? 
 Who hath wounds ? Who hath redness of 
 eyes ? They that tarry long at the wine. At 
 last it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like 
 an adder.' 
 
 " I felt like throwing the book from me. But 
 once more I turned the leaves, and my eyes 
 fell upon these words. 
 
 " ' Woe unto him that giveth his neighbor 
 drink ; that putteth the bottle to him, and mak- 
 est him drunken.' 
 
 " I closed the book suddenly, and threw it 
 down. Then for half an hour, I paced the 
 room backwards and forwards in a state of 
 mind such as I never before experienced. I 
 had become painfully conscious of the direful 
 evils resulting from intemperance, and still 
 more painfully conscious that I had been a wil- 
 ling instrument in the spread of these evils. I 
 cannot tell how much I suffered that day and 
 night, nor describe the fearful conflict that took 
 place in my mind, between a selfish love of 
 the gains of my calling, and the plain dictates 
 
230 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 of truth and humanity. It was about 6 o'clock, 
 I think, on that evening, that I opened the 
 drunkard's Bible again, with a kind of despair- 
 ing hope that I should meet there with some- 
 thing to dkect me. I opened at the Psalms, 
 and read two or three chapters. As 1 read on, 
 without finding anything that seemed to apply 
 directly to my case, I felt an increasing desire 
 to abandon my calling, because it was injurious 
 to my fellow-men. After I had read the Bible, 
 I retired to bed, but could not sleep. I am sui'e 
 that during that night I thought of every drunk- 
 en man to whom I had sold liquor, and of all 
 their beggared families. In the brief sleep 
 that I obtained, I dreamed that I saw a long 
 line of tottering drunkards, with their wives 
 and children in rags. And a loud voice said, 
 ' Who has done this ?' 
 
 " The answer, in a still louder voice, directed 
 I felt to me, smote upon my ear like a heavy 
 peal of thunder — 
 
 " ' Thou art the man !' 
 
 "From this troubled slumber I awoke to 
 sleep no more that night. In the morning the 
 last and most powerful conflict came. The 
 question to be decided was — 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. . 231 
 
 " Shall I open xaj tavern, or at once abandon 
 the dreadful traffic in liquid poison. 
 
 "Happily, I decided never to put to any 
 man's lips the cup of confusion. My next step 
 was to turn the spigot of every keg or barrel 
 of spirits upon the floor. My bottles and de- 
 canters were likewise emptied. Then I came 
 and signed your total abstinence pledge, and 
 what is better, never rested until I had persua- 
 ded the man whose Bible had been of so much 
 use to me, to sign the pledge likewise. 
 
 " And now, Mr. President, I am keeping at 
 my old stand a temperance grocery, and am 
 making restitution as fast as possible. There 
 are at least half a dozen families that my tav- 
 ern had helped to make poor and wretched, to 
 whom I furnish a small quantity of groceries 
 every week, in many cases equal to the amount 
 that used to be spent at my bar for liquor. 
 Four of my oldest and best customers have al- 
 ready signed the pledge by my persuasion, and 
 I am not a going to rest until every man that I 
 helped to ruin, is restored to himself, his fam- 
 ily, and society." 
 
laDirhtB nf K B-EiiDul id Walts. 
 
 The following anecdote was related to me 
 last year, by a Welsli minister who knew the 
 circumstance well. In a country district of 
 the county of Glamorgan, ui South "Wales, 
 there was in 1829 a great revival of religion. 
 In that neighborhood lived an old farmer, a wi- 
 dower, who had two children, John and Sally, 
 grown up to man and woman's estate. The far- 
 mer was utterly ignorant of the Gospel, and 
 had brought up his son and daughter accor- 
 dingly. The revival however excited such gen- 
 eral attention, that Sally determined to go one 
 evening to the chapel to see "All about it." 
 Thither she went, and the Lord graciously met 
 her, and she went to her almost heathen home 
 rejoicii^ and singing the praises of Christ. 
 The farmer was very wroth at this, and felt 
 himself and family disgraced by the madness 
 of his daughter. He expostulated with her on 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 233 
 
 the impropriety of her conduct, and besouglit 
 her tenderly not to visit the conventicle again. 
 When he saw that he prevailed nothing, he 
 iised very severe threatenings, and still failed 
 to dissuade her from her purpose of attending 
 the chapel. On the next occasion of preaching, 
 she went to the chapel, and when the father 
 knew of it, he became frantic with rage, and 
 ordered his son John to go to th e chapel imme- 
 diately, to bring out his sister, and to take a 
 cord in his hand, forcibly to constrain her to 
 come out, should she prove refractory. John 
 went to the chapel, found it lighted up and 
 crowded with a throng of people. Pie tried to 
 push in, and having obtained an entrance, look- 
 ed all around for his sister. John could not in 
 the crowd see his sister ; but God saw John, and 
 the arrow at a venture reached his heart, and 
 he began to cry for mercy and praise divine 
 grace. 
 
 In the meantime the father could not account 
 for the dilatoriness of John in not bringing 
 home his sister, and he determined to proceed 
 himself towards the chapel to help him. When 
 the old man put his head just within the doors, 
 the first thing he saw was, John in the midst 
 
234 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 of the crowd, all in tears, and brandishing the 
 cord he had taken to constrain his sister home, 
 and speaking out in the Highest strain. Exas- 
 perated now in the highest degree, he resolved 
 to make towards him, and after much pushing, 
 he approached near enough to hear him shout, 
 " Oh Lord, give religion to my father too — give 
 religion to my father too." The old man be- 
 came quite subdued ;• he pushed no farther — he 
 sat down at the feet of Jesus, in his right mind, 
 and in less than six weeks the father, John, 
 and Sally were received at one time into full 
 communion with the church. 
 
€^t (^BlEsiinl lUilrnni 
 
 JToT a great while ago, passing tlirougli the 
 gate of dreams, I visited that region of the 
 earth in which lies the famous city of Destruc- 
 tion. It interested me much to learn that, by 
 the public spirit of some of the inhabitants, a 
 railroad has recently been established between 
 this populous and flom-ishing town, and the 
 Celestial city. Having a little time upon my 
 hands, I resolved to gratify a liberal curiosity, 
 by making a trip further. Accordingly, one 
 fine morning, after paying my bill at the hotel, 
 and directing the porter to stow my luggage 
 behind a coach, I took my seat in the vehicle, 
 and set out for the station-house. It was my 
 good fortune -to enjoy the company of a gentle- 
 man — one Mr. Smooth-it-away — ^who, though 
 he had never actually visited the celestial city, 
 yet seemed as well acquainted with its laws, 
 customs, policy, and statistics, as with those of 
 
236 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 the city of Destruction, of which he was a na- 
 tive townsman. Being, moreover, a director of 
 the railroad corporation, and one of its largest 
 stockholders, he had it in his power to give me 
 all desirable information respecting that praise- 
 worthy enterprise. 
 
 Our coach rattled out of the city, and, at a 
 short distance from its outskirts, passed over a 
 bridge, of elegant consti-uction, but somewhat 
 too slight, as I imagined, to sustain any consid- 
 able weight. On both sides lay an extensive 
 quagmire, which could not have been more dis- 
 agreeable either to sight or smell, had all the 
 kennels of the earth emptied their pollution 
 there. 
 
 "This," remarked Mr. Smooth-it-away, "is 
 the famous Slough of Despond — a disgrace to 
 all the neighborhood; and the greater that it 
 might so easily be converted into firm ground." 
 
 "I have understood," said I, "that efl'orts 
 have been made for that purpose, from time 
 immemorial. Bunyan mentions that above 
 twenty thousand cart-loads of wholesome in- 
 structions had been thrown in here, without 
 effect." 
 
 " Very probably ! — and what effect could be 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 237 
 
 anticipated from such unsubstantial stuff?" 
 criecl Mr. Smooth-it-away. " You observe this 
 convenient bridge. We obtained a sufBcient 
 foundation for it, by throwing into the Slough 
 some editions of books of morality, volumes of 
 French philosophy and German rationalism, 
 tracts, sermons, and essays of modern clergy- 
 men, extracts from Plato, Confucius, and vari- 
 ous Hindoo sages, together with a few ingenious 
 commentaries upon texts of Scripture — all of 
 which, by some scientiiic pi'ocess, have been 
 converted into a mass like granite. The whole 
 bog might be filled up with similar matter." 
 
 It really seemed to me, however, that the 
 bridge vibrated and heaved up and down, in a 
 very formidable manner; and, spite of Mr. 
 Smooth-it-away's testimony to the solidity of 
 its foundation, I shotdd be loth to cross it in a 
 crowded omnibus ; especially, if each passenger 
 were encumbered with as heavy luggage as 
 that gentleman and myself. ^Nevertheless, we 
 got over without accident, and soon found our- 
 selves at the fitation-house. This very neat and 
 spacious edifice is erected on the site of the 
 little Wicket Gate, which formerly, as all old 
 pilgrims will recollect, stood directly across 
 
238 rNCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 the Mghway, and, by its inconvenient narrow- 
 ness, was a great obstruction to the traveller of 
 liberal mind and expansive stomach. The 
 reader of John Bunyan will be glad to know, 
 that Christian's old friend Evangelist, who was 
 accustomed to supply each pilgrim vnth a 
 mystic roll, now presides at the ticket office. 
 Some malicious persons, it is true, deny the 
 identity of this reputable character with the 
 Evangelist of old times, and even pretend to 
 bring competent evidence of an imposture. 
 Without involving myself in the dispute, I shall 
 merely observe, that, so far as my experience 
 goes, the square pieces of pasteboard now de- 
 livered to passengers, are much more convenient 
 and useful along the road, than the antique roll 
 of parchment. Whether they will be as readily 
 received at the gate of the Celestial city, I de- 
 cline giving an opinion. 
 
 A large number of passengers were already 
 at the station-house, awaiting the departure of 
 the cars. By the aspect and demeanor of the 
 persons, it was easy to judge that the feelings 
 of the community had undergone a very favor- 
 able change, in reference to the celestial pil- 
 grimage. It would have done Bunyan's heart 
 
nsrCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 239 
 
 good to see it. Instead of a lonely and ragged 
 man, with a huge burthen on his back, plod- 
 ding along sorrowfully on foot, while the whole 
 city hooted after him, here were parties of the 
 fii'st gentry and most respectable in the neigh- 
 borhood, setting forth towards the celestial city, 
 as cheerfully as if the pilgrimage were merely 
 a summer tour. Among the gentlemen were 
 characters of deserved eminence, magistrates, 
 politicians, and men of wealth, by whose ex- 
 ample religion could not but be greatly recom- 
 mended to their meaner brethren. In the la- 
 dies' apartment, too, I rejoiced to distinguish 
 some of those flowers of fashionable society, 
 who are so well fitted to adorn the most elevated 
 circles of the Celestial city. There was much 
 pleasant conversation about the news of the 
 day, topics of business, politics, or the lighter 
 matters of amusement; while religion, though 
 indtibitably the main thing at heart, was thrown 
 tastefully into the background. Even an infidel 
 would have heard little or nothing to shock his 
 sensibility. 
 
 One great convenience of the new method 
 of going on pilgrimage, I must not forget to 
 mention. Our enormous burthens, instead of 
 
240 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 being carried on our shoulders, as had been the 
 custom of old, were all snugly deposited in 
 the baggage car, and, as I was assured, would 
 be delivered to their respective owners at the 
 journey's end. Another thing likewise, the 
 benevolent reader will be delighted to under- 
 stand. It may be remembered that there was 
 an ancient feud between Prince Beelzebub and 
 the keeper of the Wicket Gate, and that the 
 adherents of the former distinguished person- 
 age were accustomed to shoot deadly arrows at 
 honest pilgrims, while knocking at the door. 
 This dispute, much to the credit as well of the 
 illustrious potentate above-mentioned, as of the 
 worthy and enlightened directors of the rail- 
 road, has been pacifically aiTanged, on the 
 principle of mutual compromise. The Prince's 
 subjects are now pretty numerously employed 
 about the station-house, some in taking care of 
 the baggage, others in collecting fuel, feeding 
 the engines, and such congenial occupations ; 
 and I can conscientiously affirm, that persons 
 more attentive to their business, more willing 
 to accommodate, or more generally agreeable 
 to the passengers, are not to be found on any 
 railroad. Every good heart must surely exult 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 241 
 
 at SO satisfactory an arrangement of an imme- 
 morial difficulty. 
 
 "Where is Mr. Great-heart?" inquired I. 
 " Beyond a doubt, the directors have engaged 
 that famous old champion to be chief conductor 
 on the railroad ?" 
 
 " Why, no," said Mr. Smooth-it-away, with 
 a dry cotigh. " He was offered the situation of 
 brakeman ; but, to tell you the truth, our friend 
 Great-heart has grown preposterously stiff and 
 narrow, in his old age. He has so often guided 
 pilgrims ov^r the road, on foot, that he consid- 
 ers it a sin to travel in any other fashion. Be- 
 sides, the old fellow had entered so heartily 
 into the ancient feud with Prince Beelzebub, 
 that he would have been perpetually at blows 
 or ill language with some of the Prince's sub- 
 jects, and thus have embroiled us anew. So, 
 on the whole, we were not sorry when honest 
 Great-heart went off to the Celestial city in a 
 hnff, and left ns at liberty to choose a more 
 suitable and accommodating man. Yonder 
 comes the conductor of the train. You will 
 probably recognize him at once." 
 
 The engine at this moment took its station in 
 advance of the cars, looking, I must confess, 
 16 
 
242 INCIDENTS AJSTD NARRATIVES. 
 
 nnich more like a sort of mechanical demon 
 that would hurry us to the infernal regions, 
 than a laudable contrivance for smoothing our 
 way to the Celestial city. On its top sat a per- 
 sonage almost enveloped in smoke and flame, 
 which — ^not to startle the reader — appeared to 
 gush from his own mouth and stomach, as weU 
 as from the engine's brazen abdomen. 
 
 " Do my eyes deceive me ?" cried I. " "What 
 fin earth is this ! A living creatm'e ? — ^if so, 
 he is own brother to the engine that he rides 
 upon !" 
 
 " Poh ! poh ! you are obtuse 1" said Mr. 
 Smooth-it-away, with a hearty laugh. " Don't 
 you know ApoUyon, Christian's old enemy, 
 with whom he fought so fierce a battle in the 
 Valley of Humiliation? He was the very 
 fellow to manage the engine ; and so we 
 have reconciled him to the custom of going 
 on pilgrimage, and engaged him as chief con- 
 ductor." 
 
 " Bravo, bravo !" exclaimed I, with irrepressi- 
 ble enthusiasm, " this shows the liberality of 
 the age ; this proves, if anything can, that all 
 musty prejudices are in a fair way to be obliter- 
 ated. And how will Christian rejoice to hear 
 
INCIDENTS AND NABEATIVES. 243 
 
 of tliis happy transformation of liis old antago- 
 nist? I promise myself great pleasure in in- 
 forming him of it, when we reach the Celestial 
 city." 
 
 The passengers being all comfortably seated, 
 we now rattled away merrily, acc(3^|^lishing a 
 greater distance in ten niinntes than Christian 
 probably trudged over in a day. It was laugha- 
 ble while we glanced along, as it were, at the 
 tail of a thunderbolt, to observe two dusty foot 
 travellers, in the old pilgrim guise, with cockle- 
 shell and staff, their mystic rolls of parchment 
 in their hands, and their intolerable burthens 
 on their backs. The preposterous obstinacy of 
 these honest people, in persisting to groan and 
 stumble along the difficult pathway, rather than 
 take advantage of modern improvements, ex- 
 cited great mirth among our wiser brotherhood. 
 We greeted the two pilgrims with many gibes 
 and a roar of laughter ; whereupon they gazed 
 at us with such woful and absurdly compassion- 
 ate visages, that our merriment grew ten-fold 
 more obstreperous. Apollyon, also, entered 
 heartily into the fun, and contrived to flirt the 
 smoke and flame of the engine, or of his own 
 breath, into their faces, and envelop them in 
 
244 IKCIDENTS AjS'D NARRATIVES. 
 
 au atmosphere of scalding steam. These little 
 practical jokes amused ns mightily, and doubt- 
 less afforded the pilgrims the gratification of 
 considering themseh'es martyrs. 
 
 At some distance from the railroad, Mr. 
 Smooth-it-awav pointed to a large, antique edi- 
 fice, which, he observed, was a tavern of long 
 standing, and had formerly been a noted stop- 
 ping-place for pilgrims. In Bunyan's road-book, 
 it is mentioned as the Interpreter's House. 
 
 " I had long had a curiosity to visit that old 
 mansion," remarked I. 
 
 " It is not one of our stations, as you per- 
 ceive," said my companion. " The keeper was 
 violently opposed to the railroad ; and well he 
 might be, as the track left his house of enter- 
 tainment on one side, and thus was pretty cer- 
 tain to deprive him of all his reputable custom- 
 ers. But the foot-path still passes his door; 
 and the old gentleman now and then receives a 
 call fi-om some simple traveller, and entertains 
 him with fare as old-fashioned as himself." 
 
 Before oiu- talk on this subject came to a con- 
 clusion, we were iiishing by the place where 
 Chi-istian's burthen fell from his shoulders, at 
 the sight of the Cross. This served as a theme 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 245 
 
 for Mr. Smooth-it-away, Mr. Liv^e-for-tlie-world, 
 Mr. I-Iide-sin-in-the-lieart, and Mr. Scaly-con- 
 science, and a knot of gentlemen from the town 
 of Sliun-repentance, to descant upon the ines- 
 timable advantages resulting from the safety 
 of our baggage. Myself, and all the passen- 
 gers indeed, joined with great unanimity in 
 this view of the matter ; for our burthens were 
 rich in many things esteemed precious through- 
 out the world ; and, especially, we each of us 
 possessed a great variety of favorite habits, 
 which we trusted would not be out of fashion, 
 even in the polite circles of the Celestial city. 
 It would have been a sad spectacle to see such 
 an assortment of valuable articles tumbling into 
 the sepulchre. Thus pleasantly conversing on 
 the favorable circumstances of our position, as 
 compared with those of past pilgrims, and of 
 narrow-minded ones at the present day, we 
 soon found ourselves at the foot of the hill Dif- 
 ficulty. Through the very heart of this rocky 
 mountain a tunnel has been constructed of most 
 admirable architecture, with a lofty arch and a 
 spacious double-track ; so that, unless the earth 
 and rocks should chance to crumble down, it 
 will remain an everlasting monument of the 
 
246 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATITES. 
 
 builder's skill and enterprise. It is a great 
 though incidental advantage, that the materials 
 from the heart of the hill Difficulty have been 
 employed in filling up the Valley of Humilia- 
 tion ; thus obviating the necessity of descending 
 into that disagreeable and unwholesome hol- 
 low. 
 
 "This is a wonderful improvement indeed," 
 said I. " Yet I should have been glad of an 
 opportunity to visit the Palace Beautiful, and 
 be introduced to the charming young ladies — • 
 Miss Prudence, Miss Piety, Miss Charity, and 
 the rest — who have the kindness to entertain 
 pilgrims there." 
 
 " Young ladies !" cried Mr. Smooth-it-away, 
 as soon as he could speak for laughing, " and 
 charming young ladies ! Why, my dear fellow, 
 they are old maids, every soul of them^ — prim, 
 starched, dry, and angular — and not one of them, 
 I will venture to sa_y, has altered so much as 
 the fashion of her gown, since the days of 
 Christian's pilgrimage." 
 
 " Ah, well," said I, much comforted, " then 
 I can very readily dispense with their acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 The respectable ApoUyon was now putting 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 247 
 
 on the steam at a prodigious rate ; anxious, per- 
 haps, to get rid of the unpleasant reminiscences 
 connected with the spot where he had so disas- 
 trously encountered Christian. Consulting Mr. 
 Bunyan's road-book, I perceived that we must 
 now be within a few miles of the Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death ; into which doleful region, 
 at our present speed, we should plunge much 
 sooner than seemed at all desirable. In truth, 
 I expected nothing better than to find myself 
 in the ditch on one side, or the quag on the 
 other. But, on commnnicating my apprehen- 
 sions to Mr. Smooth-it-away, he assured me 
 that the difficulties of this passage, even in its 
 worst condition, had been vastly exaggerated, 
 and that, in its present state of improvement, I 
 might consider myself as safe as on any rail- 
 road in Christendom. 
 
 Even while we were speaking, the train shot 
 into the entrance of this dreadful Valley. 
 Though I plead guilty to some foolish palpita- 
 tions of the heart, during our headlong rush 
 over the causeway here constructed, yet it were 
 unjust to withhold the highest encomiums on 
 the boldness of its original conception, and the 
 ingenuity of those who executed it. It was 
 
248 INCIDEKTS AJSTD NARRATIVES. 
 
 gratifying, likewise, to observe how much care 
 had been taken to dispel the everlasting gloom, 
 and supply the defect of cheerful sunshine ; 
 not a ray of which has ever penetrated among 
 these awful shadows. For this purpose, the in- 
 flammable gas, which exudes plentifully from 
 the soil, is collected by means of pipes, and 
 thence commiinicated to a quadruple row of 
 lamps, along the whole extent of the passage. 
 Thus a radiance has been created, even out of 
 the fiery and sulphm'ous curse that rests forever 
 upon the Valley ; a radiance hurtful, however, 
 to the eyes, and somewhat bewildering, as I 
 discovered by the changes which it wrought in 
 the visages of my companions. In this respect, 
 as compared with natural daylight, there is the 
 same difference as between truth and falsehood ; 
 but if the reader have ever travelled through 
 the dark Valley, he will have learned to be 
 thankful for any light that he could get ; if not 
 from the sky above, then from the blasted soil 
 beneath. Such was the red brilliancy of these 
 lamps, that they appeared to build walls of fire 
 on both sides of the track, between which we 
 held our course at lightning speed, while a re- 
 verberating thunder filled the valley with its 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 249 
 
 echoes. Had the engine run off the tradr- — a 
 catastrophe, it is whispered, by no means un- 
 precedented — the bottomless pit, if there be 
 any such place, would undoubtedly have re- 
 ceived us. Just as some dismal fooleries of 
 this nature had made my heart quake, 'there 
 came a tremendous shriek, careering along 
 the Yalley as if a thousand devils had burst 
 their lungs to utter it, but which proved to be 
 merely the whistle of the engine, on arriving at 
 a stopping-place. 
 
 The spot, where we had now paused, is the 
 same that our friend Bunyan — a truthful man, 
 but infected with many fantastic notions — has 
 designated, in terms plainer than I like to re- 
 peat, as the mouth of the infernal region. 
 This, however, must be a mistake ; inasmuch as 
 Mr. Smooth-it-away, while we remained in the 
 smoky and lurid cavern, took occasion to prove 
 that Tophet has not even a metaphorical exist- 
 ence. The place, he assured us, is no other 
 than the crater of a half-extinct volcano, in 
 which the director had caused forges to be 
 set up, for the manufacture of railroad iron. 
 Hence, also, is obtained a plentiful supply of 
 fuel for the use of the engines. "Whoever had 
 
250 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 gazed into the dismal obscurity of the broad 
 cavern-mouth, whence ever and anon dart- 
 ed huge tongues of dusky flame, — and had 
 seen the strange, half-shaped monsters, and vis- 
 ions of faces horribly grotesque, into which the 
 smoke seemed to wreath itself, — and had heard 
 the EAvful murmurs, and shrieks, and deep 
 shuddering whispers of the blast, sometimes 
 forming itself into words almost articulate — 
 would have seized upon Mr. Smooth-it-away's 
 comfortable explanation, as greedily as we did. 
 The inhabitants of the cavern, moreover, were 
 unlovely personages, dark, smoke-begrimed, 
 generally deformed with mis-shapen feet, and 
 a glow of dusky redness in their eyes ; as if 
 their hearts had caught fire, and were blazing 
 out of the upper windows. It struck me as a 
 peculiarity, that the laborers at the forge, and 
 those who brought fuel to the engine, when 
 they began to draw short breath, positively 
 emitted smoke from their mouth and nostrils. 
 
 Among the idlers about the train, most of 
 whom were pufiing cigars which they had 
 lighted at the flame of the crater, I was per- 
 plexed to notice several who, to my certain 
 knowledge, had heretofore set forth by railroad 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 251 
 
 for the Celestial city. They looked dark, wild, 
 and smoky, with a singular resemblance, in- 
 deed, to the native inhabitants; like whom, 
 also, they had a disagreeable propensity to ill- 
 natured gibes and sneers, the habit of which 
 had wrought a settled contortion of their visa- 
 ges. Having been on speaking terms with one 
 of these persons — an indolent, good-for-nothing 
 fellow, who went by the name of Take-it-easy — ■ 
 I called to him, and inquired what was his busi- 
 ness there. 
 
 " Did you not start," said I, " for the Celestial 
 city?" 
 
 "That's a fact," said Mr. Take-it-easy, care- 
 lessly puffing some smoke into my eyes. " But 
 I heard such bad accounts, that I never took 
 pains to climb the hill on which the city stands. 
 ISTo business doing — no fun going on — nothing 
 to drink, and no smoking allowed — and a thrum- 
 ming of church music from morning till night ! 
 I wonld not stay in such a place if they would 
 offer me house room and living free." 
 
 "But, my good Mr. Take-it-easy," cried I, 
 "why take up your residence here, of all places 
 in the world ?" 
 
 " Oh," said the loafer, with a grin, " it is very 
 
252 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 warm hereabouts, and I meet with plenty of old 
 acquaintances, and altogether the place suits 
 me. I hope to see you back again, some day 
 soon. A pleasant journey to you." 
 
 While he was speaking, the bell of the en- 
 gine rang, and we dashed away, after dropping 
 a few passengers, but receiving no new ones. 
 Eattling onward through the Valley, we were 
 dazzled with the fiercely gleaming gas lamps, 
 as before. But sometimes, in the dark of in- 
 tense brightness, grim faces, that bore the as- 
 pect and expression of individual sins, or evil 
 passions, seemed to thrust themselves through 
 the veil of light, glaring upon us, and stretch- 
 ing forth a great dusky hand, as if to impede 
 our progress. I almost thought, that they wei-e 
 my own sins that appalled me there. Those 
 were freaks of imagination — ^nothing more, cer- 
 tainly — mere delusions, which I ought to be 
 heartily ashamed of — but all through the dark 
 Valley, I was tormented, and pestered, and 
 dolefully bewildered, witli the same kind of 
 waking dreams. The mephitic gases of that 
 region intoxicate the brain. As the light of 
 natural day, however, began to struggle with 
 the glow of the lanterns, these vain imaginations 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 253 
 
 lost their vividness, and finally vanished with 
 the first rays of sunshine that greeted our escape 
 from the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Ere 
 we had gone a mile beyond it, I could well nigh 
 have taken mj oath that this whole gloomy pas- 
 sage was a dream. 
 
 At the end of the Yalley, as John Bunyan 
 mentions, is a cavern, where, in his days, dwelt 
 two cruel giants, Pope and Pagan, who had 
 strewn the ground ahout their residences with 
 the bones of slaughtered pilgrims. These vile 
 old troglodytes are no longer there ; but into 
 their deserted caves another terrible giant has 
 thrust himself, and makes it his business to 
 seize upon honest travellers, and fat them for 
 his table with plentiful meals of smoke, mist, 
 moonshine, raw potatoes, and saw dust. He is 
 a German by birth, and is called Giant Trans- 
 cendentalist ; but as to his form, his features, 
 his substance, and his nature generally, it is the 
 chief peculiarity of this huge miscreant, that 
 neither he for himself, nor anybody for him, has 
 ever been able to describe them. As we 
 rushed by the cavern's mouth, we caught a 
 hasty glimpse of him looking somewhat like an 
 ill-proportioned figure,- but considerably more 
 
254 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 like a lieap of fog and duskiness. He shouted 
 after us, but in so strange a phraseology, that 
 we knew not what he meant, or whether to be 
 encouraged or affiighted. 
 
 It was late in the day, when the train thun- 
 dered into the ancient city of Yanitj', where 
 Yanity Fair is still at the height of prosperity, 
 and exhibits an epitome of whatever is brilliant, 
 gay, and fascinating, beneath the sun. As I 
 proposed to make considerable stay here, it 
 gratified me to hear that there is no longer the 
 want of harmony between the townspeople and 
 pilgrims, which impelled the former to such 
 lamentable mistaken measm-es as the persecu- 
 tion of Christian^ and the fiery martyrdom of 
 Faithful. On the contrary, as the new raikoad 
 brings with it great trade and a constant influx 
 of strangers, the lord of Yanity Fair is its chief 
 patron, and the capitalists of the city are among 
 the largest stockholders. Many passengers stop 
 to take their pleasure or make their profit in the 
 Fair, instead of going onward to the Celestial 
 City. Indeed, such are the charms of the place, 
 that people often affirm it to be the true and 
 only heaven — stoutly contending that there is 
 no other, that those who seek further are mere 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 255 
 
 di-eamers, and tliat, if the fabled brightness of 
 the Celestial city lay bnt a bare mile beyond 
 the gates of Vanity, they would not be fools 
 enough to go thither. Without subscribing to 
 these, perhaps exaggerated encomiums, I can 
 truly say, that my abode in the city was mainly 
 agreeable, and my intercourse with the inhabi- 
 tants productive of much amusement and in- 
 struction. 
 
€li5 Iphnhiir (0Kf 
 
 The late Eev. M. Schoner, of Nuremberg, 
 was one day called to the bedside of a sick 
 lady, who was fast approaching to death ; the 
 disease, however, was of such a nature that she 
 was not aware of her near end. 
 
 The lady belonged to that class who expect 
 to merit heaven by their own good works ; 
 hence she was averse to hear Mr. Schoner, 
 her husband's minister, preach ; " for," said 
 she, " such preaching will do very well for sin- 
 ners, but not for good, pious people." She 
 knew, also, some of that church who were, 
 after all, not so exact in their deportment ; there 
 was, for example, Mrs. B., who looked so 
 sanctimoniously, and wept so frequent during 
 Mr. Schoner's preaching; why the whole city 
 knew that she had been guilty of a grievous 
 act before her marriage, and to speak candidly, 
 she did not entertain a very high opinion of any 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 257 
 
 of tliem that attended that church ; for she al- 
 ways thought that people who could sit and hear 
 themselves addressed as sinners, and be ex- 
 horted to repentance in every sermon, could cer- 
 tainly not be very good people. 
 
 As soon, therefore, as Mr. Schoner entered 
 the sick chamber, the lady addressed him in the 
 following manner : 
 
 " Above all, Mr. Schoner, I must desire you 
 not to look upon me as a sinner, and not to 
 talk to me as you are in the habit of doing, so 
 much about sins, and repentance. It is not for 
 this that I have sent for you. I have never, in 
 my life, committed a sin ; my parents were 
 very pious people, and I have been religiously 
 brought up, so much so, that I have never omit- 
 ted attending public worship on the Sabbath, 
 unless prevented by sickness. I have also been 
 very kind to the poor, and have always been 
 ready to assist persons in distress. I sent for 
 you in hopes that you may tell me something 
 that will be likely to console me in my affliction." 
 
 " Happy woman !" exclaimed Mr. S. " Never 
 
 committed a fault in your life ! Until now, I 
 
 knew of but one that was without sin — ^that was 
 
 our Saviour, Jesus Christ. I fear, exceedingly, 
 
 17 
 
258 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 that my visit will not be so agreeable to you, as 
 you anticipated ; for I must acknowledge to 
 you before God, that I am a poor sinner — one 
 of the chief of sinners, that to my remembrance 
 I have not done one good action that I can 
 boast of before God." 
 
 The lady thought that this confession of Mr. 
 S. contained something of a reproof of what she 
 had been saying about herself; she made how- 
 ever no answer to it, but turned the conversa- 
 tion to something else. 
 
 In the meantime she ordered her little foster- 
 daughter to spread the cloth over the table ; for 
 according to custom Mr. S. was to have a cup 
 of coffee. The girl, who wished to show herself 
 smart before Mr. S., was not satisfied in doing 
 what she had been told to do, but after having 
 spread the cloth, she wanted also to get the cup, 
 which, however, was rather beyond her reach, 
 and which she unfortunately broke in the 
 attempt. 
 
 This circumstance greatly enraged the sick 
 lady. In great agitation, and with a changed 
 countenance, she broke out in very unbecom- 
 ing and abusive language towards the girl. 
 "Everything," said she, at last, "that girl un- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 259 
 
 dertakes to do, she does wrong ; one thing after 
 another she spoils." 
 
 The girl, however, had no notion of being 
 thus humbled in the presence of the minister. 
 " It is not so," replied she ; with this one excep- 
 tion she had always done everything right, and 
 never spoiled anything. 
 
 " Who ever beheld such a lying little thing," 
 said the lady. " Everything done right — never 
 spoiled anything ! Surely you look like it, you 
 impertinent girl ! Away with you out of my 
 sight. Mr. S. will excuse me for getting some- 
 what put out. It was such a splendid cup ! 
 Could the good-for-nothing girl not have asked 
 some one to get it for her when she knew that it 
 was not in her power to do it herself ? But no, 
 she always thinks that she can do everything 
 herself, without the assistance of any one." 
 
 "My dear friend," said Mr. S., after a short 
 pause, " do you really think there was nothing 
 wrong, and no sin, in the sight of God, in it, 
 when you got so very angry about the splen- 
 did cup ? For my part, I should have consid- 
 ered it a very great sin had I been guilty of 
 uttering such language" — (whereby he put her 
 
260 INCIDENTS AND NARBATIVES. 
 
 in remembrance of the abusive language she 
 made use of towards the girl.) 
 
 " Dear Mr. S.," rejoined the ladj, " and are 
 we not all, eren the best of us, frail creatures ? 
 And as for me, I hardly ever get angry ; but 
 that such a creature should atternpt to lie to 
 me, and to tell me that she does everything 
 right, and never spoils anything, and thinks 
 herself capable of doing everything herself 
 without the assistance of any one — that is what 
 provokes me." 
 
 "And you, dear friend, are you not guilty of 
 the very same things of which you accuse the 
 child — did you not lie to God, when you said 
 you had never committed a sin ? Is it not true 
 that God tells us, that the heart of man is de- 
 ceitful above all things, and desperately wick- 
 ed — that the imagination of it is evU from the 
 beginning — ^that if we say we have not sinned 
 we make Him a liar, and His word is not in 
 us? And as the little child relies in every- 
 thing on its own strength, do you not, who 
 have just acknowledged that we are frail crea- 
 tures, do likewise, whilst you consider your- 
 self already perfectly good, so as to need no 
 Saviour, no mercy, no Holy Spirit to guide 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 261 
 
 and strengthen you in every good word and 
 work ? For this reason the Scriptures say : If 
 we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to 
 forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all 
 unrighteousness. For whenever a j)erson ac- 
 knowledges his sins, and confesses them, that 
 person is also aware that he, in his own strength, 
 cannot remove them ; and therefore daily sup- 
 plicates the divine Kedeemer to cleanse him 
 from all unrighteousness by his Holy Spirit. 
 
 "As for you — you say you desire not to be 
 numbered among that happy throng, that have 
 come from all nations, kindreds, and tongues, 
 and are singing songs of redeeming love to 
 Him that purchased them by his own blood. 
 You will not you say belong to those that have 
 washed their robes, and made them white in 
 the blood of the Lamb. For you, who are 
 without sin, no lamb has been slain — no blood 
 of i-econciliation has flowed. Ton are not wil- 
 ling to descend from the proud height of your 
 imagined righteousness — not willing to be saved 
 through Christ's atoning blood, but rather look 
 back to the father of lies, and to yom* own 
 proud heart for the salvation of your never- 
 dying soul." 
 
262 INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 
 
 The lady, deeply moved by the remarks of 
 the minister, bm"st into tears, and for the first 
 time aclmowledged her guilt, as a sinner be- 
 fore Grod. Putting her hand out towards the 
 minister, she exclaimed, " O do, I beseech you, 
 dear pastor, pray for me that God may yet 
 have mercy upon me, and forgive me all my 
 past transgressions." Mr. S. knelt down in hum- 
 ble prayer to the Giver of every good and 
 perfect gift, supplicating his mercy upon the 
 weeping penitent. 
 
 When Mr. S. visited her again on the fol- 
 lowing day, he found her still mourning over 
 her sins. He administered to her sin-sick soul 
 from day to day with the utmost care and love, 
 until at last, with the help of God, she was en- 
 abled to surrender her stubborn heart to God. 
 A few days after she died, with the sweet as- 
 surance of her sins pardoned and the hope of 
 a blessed immortality. 
 
€liB ijittim nf tjiB CljurDJI "Mum. 
 
 The following incident was related, to rne by 
 tlie clergyman to whom it refers ; and as it 
 gives a view of some of the trials to which a 
 seamen's minister may be subjected, I send it 
 for the colmnns of the Advocate. Said he, 
 " Shortly after I took charge of the Bethel in 
 this city (O) and before I had really learned 
 the difference between my old and new pastoral 
 obligations, an ill-favored man called at my 
 house with a request that I would attend a fu- 
 neral immediately. I asked him where ? He 
 replied by asking if I was not the Sailors' 
 Minister? I told him I was. ""Well," said he, 
 " you need not be afraid to go then where sai- 
 lors are to be found :" and refused to inform me 
 where mj services were needed, but waited as 
 if to guide me thither. 
 
 After a moment's reflection I decided to fol- 
 low him. He led me as I had feared, to a 
 
264 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 street noted for the vile character of those who 
 resided there ; and I entered, with some mis- 
 giving, one of those moral charnel-houses, that 
 usually abound in sea-ports. 
 
 A low murmur passed through the room, 
 where were assembled between twenty and 
 thirty sailors, a few reckless bullies, and six 
 wretched women (if women they might be call- 
 ed), bloated, haggard, yet seemiagly serious. 
 They were ranged around a handsome coffin, in 
 which lay the form of a young girl, certaioly 
 not past sixteen, whose countenance gave evi- 
 dence that she had died a violent death ; still 
 there could be traced some remains of beauty 
 in the disfigured face, and my heart melted 
 within me, as I reflected that she, in all proba- 
 bility, had gone into the presence of G-od a 
 self-murderer. At the side of the coffin sat a 
 young man of genteel appearance (for though 
 dressed in sailor garb, I saw he was not like 
 the rest who surrounded him), who seemed al- 
 most maddened by sorrow. His eye met mine 
 once — but that look concentred in it, all one 
 could imagine of remorse and terror. Behind 
 him, with her hand upon his shoulder, stood 
 the infernal Hecate who called the house her 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 265 
 
 own, and near her, one of tlie degraded male 
 wi'etclies she kept in her pay. 
 
 I saw all this in far less time than I can 
 narrate it; and inwardly appealing to God, 
 took the seat offered hy the man who had 
 brought me to the place. 
 
 "Well, parson," said the mistress of the 
 house, "this young thing killed herself last 
 night, and I want to put her under ground de- 
 cently. There's the billet the coroner gave me 
 — you see all's straight. ISTow will you just go 
 on and do your duty ? This young man want- 
 ed you should be sent for, but he don't want 
 you to talk to him." 
 
 I took out my Bible, but never was I more 
 puzzled to tell what portion to select ; at length 
 I chose one of the penitential Psalms. After 
 reading it, I made a few remarks on the guilt 
 incurred by such a life, and such a death as 
 this before us, and then I knelt among that 
 miserable throng (for they all knelt with me), 
 and prayed for forgiveness for any who might 
 be implicated, in the day of eternity, as acces- 
 sory in anywise to her fearfid doom. I heard 
 the women sob as I pleaded with God to save 
 those whose steps even then "took hold on 
 
266 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 hell," and the breathing of the men became 
 impeded as I remembered them in my petition. 
 When we arose from our knees, the young man 
 spoken of had fallen forward on the coffin, 
 with his face touching the face of the dead girl, 
 and his tears had bathed her cheek, and mois- 
 tened her grave dress. 
 
 The old hag raised him up, and whispered a 
 few words to him ; his lips became white, his 
 frame convulsed, and he glanced at me with so 
 awful an intensity of expi-ession that I quailed 
 beneath his glance. At that moment a stagger- 
 ing step approached the door, and a man pushed 
 it open and reeled in. Every one remained 
 quiet for an instant, till he staggered up to the 
 coffin and exclaimed, " I must- see her once 
 naore." At the word, the vile keeper let go her 
 hold of the young man, and springing at him 
 like a tiger, she dealt him a blow in the face, 
 that sent the blood spirting over the coffin, and 
 laid him prostrate on the floor, saying, "I'll 
 have order in my house when the parson's 
 here." 
 
 The man who had brought me to the house, 
 tapped me on the shoulder, before I could say 
 a word, handed me my Bible and hat, and over- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 267 
 
 come with what I had seen, I returned to my 
 home. 
 
 My wife was ill at the time, so I could not 
 tell her the circumstances, and thus relieve my 
 mind of part of the bm-den ; but I sat late in 
 my study that night, revolving it in my mind. 
 Just as I was about withdrawing, I heard my 
 name spoken by some one in the street. I 
 opened the door cautiously, for the servant had 
 retired, and as I did so, I heard hasty steps de- 
 parting; but peering out into the darkness I 
 soon found my hand grasped by some one, and 
 the words, " Will you pity and assist me ?" 
 mournfully repeated, met my ears. I drew 
 the speaker to the light in my study (but not 
 until he had conjured me to bolt the door), and 
 to my surprise found he was the young man I 
 had seen at the funeral. 
 
 I began to question him. " 0," said he, " I 
 will tell you all, if you will but promise me 
 your protection." 
 
 Said I, " That I will promise, if yoii were not 
 that girl's murderer." 
 
 Pie shuddered. "0,, sir, that girl's life was 
 taken by mistake' — they meant to have mur- 
 
268 INCIDENTS AND NABBATiyES. 
 
 dered me !" He then related the particulars 
 of the case to me. 
 
 He said he was the only son of a wealthy 
 
 merchant in B , whose father had been won 
 
 by his importunity to allow him to make one 
 voyage incognito, in a ship belonging to the 
 firm. He left home in the forecastle of the ship 
 
 , bound for O., Math about two hundred 
 
 dollars in gold, gold watch, guard, &c., with 
 sailor clothes of the finest make, for his go- 
 ashore dress, and suitable apparel for ship- 
 board. On reaching port, he went with some 
 of the sailors cruising about the town iu his or- 
 dinary di'ess, but the night before he thought 
 he would dress in his best, and go alone, confi- 
 dent that if he got in a scrape, he had money 
 enough with him to clear himself. He little 
 knew that his money was to cost the life of a 
 young being he had then never seen. 
 
 He walked about awhile, pleased with the 
 notice he attracted in his neat sailor garb, but 
 finally turned his steps towards the house his 
 shipmates had spoken of to him previously. 
 He entered, and nearly the first one that spoke 
 to him was the young girl mentioned. They 
 sat down at a table, and conversed some time 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 269 
 
 before he called for drink ; but finally lie or- 
 dered it, and flung a gold piece iipon the table 
 in payment. The old woman waited on them, 
 eyeing his watch and chain (for the girl had 
 lured him to display it), and as soon as the 
 glasses were emptied, she had them refilled, 
 and then left them to attend to others. 
 
 The girl told him to mind and not drink too 
 freely, lest he should be robbed. He said there 
 was no danger of that, for he did not like 
 liquor; and she laughingly changed glasses 
 with him, saying, "If you want more, take 
 mine — I am used to drinking now." 
 
 He had observed that his glass seemed high- 
 er colored than the one set nearest her, and 
 thought it likely was stronger. As she spoke, 
 she emptied the tumbler, but scarce had done 
 so, when she gave a terrifying scream, and ex- 
 claimed, " I am dying !" and shortly after went 
 into convulsions. 
 
 The degraded man kept there by the woman, 
 soon cleared the bar-room of all the male in- 
 mates but himself. He, horrified at what he 
 saw, and not understanding at the time how it 
 was caused, was engrossed with attending to 
 the wretched being, who was in reality dying 
 
270 INCIDENTS AND NAUEATITES. 
 
 before his eyes ; but before sbe died, the keeper 
 of the house told him that unless he would stay 
 willingly, till his deposition was taken by the 
 coroner, she would murder him. To this he 
 consented, but in the morning, when the coro- 
 ner left, he was hindered from leaving by the 
 most diabolical threats. They must have judged 
 from his dress and hands that he was not a 
 sailor, and feared to strip him and turn him out 
 of doors, as they perhaps would have done, had 
 they thought him a friendless stranger, but they 
 were determined to keep him until they could 
 intoxicate and rob him safely. He said when 
 he became convinced that this was their plan, 
 he thought of the Bethel Chaplain of the port, 
 and persuaded himself if he could but have 
 him brought there to attend the funeral, he 
 should be able to appeal to him and be released 
 from the harpy. 
 
 It was not imtil after strong promises on his 
 pai't, and a bribe of several of his gold pieces, 
 that he succeeded in sending for him ; but the 
 agony he felt, caused by some of the remarks 
 made by the minister, the whispered threat, and 
 the confusion caused by the drunken sailor, to- 
 gether with the hasty manner of the minister's 
 
INCIDENTS AJSTD NARRATIVES. 271 
 
 departure, all combined to leave the words un- 
 spoken that would have made the minister es- 
 pouse his cause. 
 
 When he found himself again alone, without, 
 as he thought, one to whom he could appeal, 
 he became stupified and almost senseless. The 
 sailors one by one left the house, as the pauper 
 hearse bore away the dead ; and when he re- 
 covered his faculties, he found he was in a room 
 alone, guarded on the outside by the man who 
 had been sent for the minister. 
 
 Until past midnight the man held firm 
 against all his bribes and entreaties, but finally 
 he consented, if the young man would leave 
 port with the first ship sailing for B., and while 
 waitina: woidd remain hid with some friend, and 
 take a solemn oath that he would not prosecute ; 
 then he would take him out and set him at lib- 
 erty. The next question was, where should he 
 go ? He had been away from the ship so long, 
 he feared to forfeit his incognito if he retm-ned 
 without being able to tell where he had been 
 detained, if he even escaped being considered 
 a runaway, and dealt with accordingly. At 
 last he told the man to take him to the minis- 
 ter's, and when they got there, begged him to 
 
272 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 wait and see if he would admit Ilim, " for," 
 said he, incautiously, " there's not a soul in the 
 city whose face I know, but his." 
 
 At this, his companion started, and the tone 
 of his voice changed ; but they were at the 
 door when he made the assertion, and he re- 
 peated the name of the minister to see if he 
 called him rightly. " This was what had drawn 
 
 my attention," said the Eev. Mi-. , " and 
 
 advancing so quickly to the door, prevented 
 any change (if there was any contemplated), in 
 the man's proceeding." The next day a vessel 
 sailed for B— — , with the penitent youth on 
 board ; and the minister had the pleasure of re- 
 ceiving, some weeks later, a letter of thanks 
 from his parents for attentions to their son dm-- 
 
 ing his stay in O , and one from himself, 
 
 stating that he had deeply repented of the er- 
 rors of his course, and was trying to lead a new 
 life, thanks, to the coimsels of the Bethel Chap- 
 lain. 
 
€^t l^otji mt nil rattst €nai. 
 
 " And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our 
 incompleteness, 
 Round our restlessness, His rest." 
 
 The room lay silent and deserted, with tlie 
 chairs set primly back against the wall — a mas- 
 sive bedstead, gaunt and gloomy — books piled 
 carefully upon the tables, the curtains drawn 
 aside, and the sash raised a few inches to admit 
 the outer air to mingle with the funereal damp- 
 ness within. Upon a couch, the snow-white 
 drapery of which swayed gently in the breath 
 of the autumn wind creeping through the 
 bowed shtttters, rested a oqffln of dark and 
 polished wood. A withered leaf which had 
 found its way through some crevice, went 
 rustling along the floor, coquetting with a 1<jii^', 
 slant ray of moonlight, which streamed far inr 
 the room, dashing with brightness the fringe 
 of the bed-curtain, and fjuivering in the golden 
 hair of the only living thing within that cham- 
 
274 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 ber — a little child witli pale, peaked features, 
 and small, thin fingers clutching the edge of 
 the coffin. A strange little child that was, and 
 a strange thing it seemed to see her standing 
 there at the dead hour of midnight, looking 
 down into that narrow house so fearlessly — 
 with a kind of sullen sadness — crushing now 
 and then a tear from her glittering eyes, and 
 compressing her childish lips. 
 
 What had she come there for? She lifted 
 from a stand near the bed, a lamp burning 
 dimly, and drew away from the face of the 
 corpse, the cold linen cloth. 
 
 " Mother !" she whispered, holding her breath, 
 and touching with her finger the marble brow — 
 " I know she won't wake up," she continued 
 sadly to herself, " though only three days ago 
 she was here, and told me she had prayed to 
 God, that she might live to take care of me — 
 and God couldn't have listened to her for she 
 went away so soon. "What shall I do without 
 her ? I am so little, and I never can ask other 
 people for what I want. Oh ! I wish she would 
 come back — ^but they never do — ^people who 
 die. 
 
 " How they all cried, and I can't ; that is so 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 275 
 
 strange — I feel so badly — it all seems like a 
 dream — Mother !" 
 
 But the silent sleeper stirred not ; no answer- 
 ing look on the white face, no smile on the 
 fallen lips ; the long lashes remained glued to 
 the cheek, in the sleep which knows no waking. 
 
 The little child drew closer still to the cold 
 clay, and resumed her soliloquy. 
 
 " Mother used to talk so much about the good 
 God ; — now if he really is good, he might have 
 taken me too, for he knows I can't get along 
 without mother." 
 
 A soft voice whispered something to the child's 
 heart. 
 
 The little wan face brightened. 
 
 " Yes, I know, I remember ! God himself is 
 to take care of me ; and I'm to go to him every 
 night and morning just as I did to mother, and 
 tell him how I've slept, and what I've done, and 
 how sad I've been, or how happy, and ask him 
 for what I would ask mother. And he's to 
 smile when I have been good, and give me all 
 
 I want, if I ask for what is right — and, oh ! 
 
 I only wish I could see him though ! I'm sure I 
 shall not love him so much as mother ! O 
 mother !" and the little heart, prematurely phi- 
 
276 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 losophical though it were, gave way from its 
 Strange calmness, and wailing, sad and wild, 
 rang through the hitherto silent room, startling 
 the restless sleepers, the mourners for the dead. 
 They came with humed footsteps and lifted 
 the sobbing, clinging child from the bed, and 
 bore her away fi"om the shrouded form of the 
 gentle mother, who had nurtured her young 
 life with the Tnith of God's holy book. 
 
 Many years rolled on, till the little one was 
 a child no longei". At first she had been so hap- 
 py, so glad to follow out the last directions of 
 her mother ; more from love to her, however, 
 tlian from any other motive, for sometimes 
 when she knelt down in the accustomed spot, 
 and talked with God, telling him in childish 
 language every thought and deed, great bitter 
 tears came crowding to her eyes, and her little 
 anns would outstretch yearningly, not towards 
 God, but for that lost mother who had left her 
 here alone. Oh, it was so sad to be alone! not 
 a face to look into, that reminded her of the 
 dead — not a smile so stveet as the one smile had 
 been — ^no voice to tell her in language she 
 could undei-stand, how to do right — how to keep 
 from wrong. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 277 
 
 Then slie got a new mamma ; a fair, young 
 new mamma, with light cm-ls like her own, who 
 ch-ew her upon her lap, and let her sit there of- 
 ten, and play with her bright hair, while she 
 talked about Heaven and God, and His love, 
 till Marian almost believed her own mamma 
 was come back ; and so, gradually, impercep- 
 tibly, she came again to prefer the tangible 
 present parent, to the Heavenly one, who never 
 seemed near to little Marian. She was going 
 through the old lesson once more; children 
 have more excuse for preferring human love, 
 than those who know by experience that there 
 is no dependence to be placed upon it. 
 
 So little Mariiiu grew to be a tall fair gui ; 
 and as she grew, neglected more and more the 
 Heavenly Friend, ^\■ho all her life long had 
 guarded the weak, faithless being, whose won- 
 uer what she would do when left alone in the 
 wiii-ld, had been solved long ago b}^ his kind 
 care. 
 
 Friends gathered round her ; life was very 
 fair ; no loneliness now ; no chilling words or 
 fiices ; every one smiled upon her ; every one 
 seemed to feel how tender was the constitution 
 of her mind — how susceptible to kindness ; 
 
278 INCIDENTS AND NARBATIVES. 
 
 Marian believed that life was a beautiful fruit, 
 and very pleasant to the taste. 
 
 And the dead mother, and the forgotten God? 
 
 Some passing aspirations of thankfulness 
 went up to Him I Some pleasing recollections 
 of her mother visited her. In a pleasant twi- 
 light hour perhaps, when she sat by an opened 
 casement, in a maiden's dreamy reverie ; or 
 woke (but this was seldom) in the dark mid- 
 night, and remembered like as in a dream, the 
 ■wide and silent room — ^the funeral couch — ^the 
 coffin and the dead. 
 
 Marian had a long experience of brightness 
 compared with some ; but we know none can 
 live in the world, and not see their dreams fade 
 — ^their belief in goodness become fainter — or 
 keep their own souls from the taint of sin. 
 
 It matters not how the first stroke came, or 
 what it was ; for many cups of anguish were 
 offered, and Marian felt that a stronger will 
 than her own impelled her to taste them ; nay, 
 to drain them. How she struggled, how she 
 prayed ! oh, very feiwently, in this her hour of 
 need, that God would not chasten her thus, or 
 thus ! that some other way might be chosen, if 
 suffering there must be. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 279 
 
 ISTo answer ; no mercy seemingly : it appear- 
 ed to Marian no one's cup brimmed with so full 
 a measure as hers-^-no one's trials were so liard 
 to bear ! — "What had she done ? She could not 
 be very guilty, very culpable, since so many 
 loved and cherished her. Oh, the long strug- 
 gles of her soul with her Maker ! the rebellious, 
 passionate ujjspringings of a sinful heart ! many 
 a time the voice of the tempter whispered in- 
 sidiously, " Curse God and die." 
 
 One night when wearied with weeping she 
 had fallen into the heavy sleep of exhaustion, 
 she dreamed that her mother was come to her, 
 and bending over her tear-stained pillow. 
 
 Very sorrowful were the mild eyes which 
 looked into hers, and as Marian met their fixed 
 and steady gaze, she sobbed out her grief wild- 
 
 " Oh, Mother ! why did you leave me ? I have 
 suifered so much, so inexpressibly — I cannot 
 longer live ! oh, take me with you ! it was 
 cruel, very cruel to leave me !" 
 
 "Marian," replied her mother calmly, and 
 the sound of her voice was a stray chord from 
 the olden time, "Marian, what of the friend 
 who promised to care for you when I had gone ?" 
 
280 INCIDENTS ASD NAEEATIVES. 
 
 "I know not!" she cried passionately, "He 
 has forgotten me — ^he has permitted me to lose 
 every joy in life !" 
 
 " Forgotten thee, Marian ?" 
 
 Then the girl was silent : many answers came 
 crowding to her lips, but when she essayed to 
 speak a Toice was in her ear, which mnrmured 
 "False — ^false — ^false!" and Marian knew the 
 long stifled tones of her once tender conscience. 
 
 "Oh, Marian," said her mother agaia with 
 sad reproach, "it is you who have forgotten! 
 neglected him for the blessings which he gave ! 
 You have lavished your whole love on them, 
 and now he has removed them. You were 
 making self your idol, lifting up yom- heart in 
 pride, and thanking God that you were not as 
 other- men, glorifying rour own happiness, as 
 though it were derived from virtues of yoiir 
 own. Oh, you have sinned deeply, Marian, and 
 believe me, (for am I not yoiu- mother ?) if you 
 would gain peace you must go back to God, 
 and pouring out the frailty of your whole heart, 
 promise, by his help alone, to do what is right 
 in future. Will you, Marian ?" 
 
 It was a dream, but Marian hesitated ; she 
 turned away from her mother's pleading eyes. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 281 
 
 and tlioiight. She knew well enough that if she 
 went back to her heavenly friend, many earthly 
 ones would forsake her, and a chaim yet lingered 
 about the enticing cup of worldly pleasure, al- 
 though it had been mingled with so much bitter 
 pain. 
 
 "Marian," pleaded her mother again, "do 
 you not love God ? is he not your best and kind- 
 est friend V 
 
 "Not now,"'' broke from her rebellious heart. 
 
 " Oh, Marian ! what has He done which is 
 not right? Kindness and care for so many 
 years ! Then yon knew the right way, yet 
 walked not therein : God is a just God — the 
 penalty /n ust be paid ! Will you go on to sin I 
 can you gi\e up eternall}' your best friend? can 
 you let him forsake you?" 
 
 " Oh no — no !'' niurniured the girl in her 
 sleep, jii-t awakening, as it seemed, to the sense 
 of so great a loss ; " but I cannot decide — I 
 know not what io do." 
 
 " To think that the Spirit should so plead for 
 what should be given freely !" whispered con- 
 science, reproachfully. 
 
 In that moment what a torrent of remorse 
 seemed opened in the heart of the young girl ! 
 
282 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 oh the sting, the shame, the pain which agitated 
 her entire being ! "When her mother had been 
 alive, how, if she had grieved her by a thought- 
 less word, did she weep for hours in bitter expi- 
 ation, it seemed so dreadful to oifend a parent 
 so kind and gentle. Had God been less so? 
 How she had rested in his kind arms through 
 her lonely infancy! how he had crowned her 
 young life with every blessing, long after she 
 had quite forgotten him ! 
 
 " Shall I leave you, Marian?" 
 
 "]S"o — ^no! I cannot let thee," cried the ex- 
 cited girl, now wide awake, tears streaming 
 from her eyes, her arms extended, her voice 
 broken — 
 
 " My Father ! I have sinned ! I have sinned ! 
 let me never leave the fold again ! Set a seal 
 upon me that I may be known as Thine !" 
 
 And the " Peace of God, which passeth all 
 understanding," was the seal which was graven 
 on her forehead. 
 
 Still much shame — still much sin — ^much 
 painful remorse. The path which pleasure 
 opens wide and fair, grows strangely sad and 
 thorny when we would retrace our steps ; but 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 283 
 
 steadfast eyes gazed on the Cross, steadfast steps 
 trod down the piercing thorns with faith and 
 patience. 
 
 Often the world leaned over Marian, and 
 touched her pulse with its icy fingers, then 
 shrank away from the warm, full life thereby 
 revealed ; it could offer nothing to compare with 
 her new possessions. 
 
 If at any time, her heart bounded to the old 
 pleasure song, it was but for a moment; her 
 whole being was bound up in the faith which 
 had given her peace when the joys of sense had 
 failed, and the slow ebbing of the deep waters 
 from her sands of life, left her at last, secure 
 and firm in the love and mercy of her Re- 
 deemer. 
 
" A STOET of the olden time." Yes, of the 
 far, far past, when men began to call on that 
 Name, which has since been uttered in hymns 
 of praise in almost every kingdom of the earth, 
 and to which every knee is yet to bow. Ton, 
 and I, reader, who live in the days when Chris- 
 tianity has become a predominant religion, and 
 no danger, and little shame attends the profes- 
 sion of it, will find it very difficult to realize the 
 position and the trials of those who, when they 
 said, " We are Christians," passed upon them- 
 selves the sentence of imprisonment, of banish- 
 ment, or of death. They might acknowled2:e 
 Moses and the Prophets, they might sacrifice to 
 Jupiter, and Apollo, and Minerva, or to any of 
 the almost numberless deities of the Pantheon, 
 biit they might not call upon the name of the 
 Crucified One of Calvaiy. The Jew and the 
 Gentile, who ridicided and despised each other's 
 
IH-CIDESTTS AND JSTARKATIVES. 285 
 
 faith, tlie Pilates and tlie Herods, ever at enmity 
 among themselves, were yet one in their hatred 
 of the " new superstition," and in their efforts to 
 extirpate it from the earth. It will be my en- 
 deavor to present before the reader a picture 
 of the past, traced, not with the pencil of the 
 imagination alone, but also with that of history. 
 On the evening of a summer's day, about the 
 year of our Lord, 112, there sat, in a delightful 
 grove on the banks of the Tiber, at a little dis- 
 tance from the densely poptdated city, which 
 had become the mistress of the world, two indi- 
 viduals, a male and female. Both were appa- 
 rently in the morning of life, and seemed to be 
 enjoying, with keen relish, the scene before 
 them. The smi, as he sank in the western sky, 
 threw a flood of golden light upon grove and 
 lawn. A thousand boats were gliding either 
 way on the immfBed surface of the river, a 
 thousand voices, of man, of beast, of business, 
 or of song, tilled the air ; magnificent dwellings, 
 with gardens of wonderful luxuriance, linetl each 
 shore as far as the eye could reach, while now 
 and then, the glittering arms of bands of Prte- 
 trj-ian guards, marching to their evening quar- 
 ters, flashed upon the eye. The scene was one 
 
286 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 of surpassing beauty. As the individuals to 
 ■whom reference has been made, sit gazing iu 
 silence on all around them, let us draw near in 
 silence, too, and listen to the conversation that 
 at length ensues. 
 
 " It is now more than a year, Constantia, since 
 we wandered together in this beautiful grove 
 of thy father's, and thou heard'st my vow of af- 
 fection, and gavest me thine in return. I trust 
 another year will not pass away without be- 
 holding thee altogether mine own." 
 
 A silent pressure of the hand was all the 
 reply. 
 
 "I have observed of late, Constantia, that 
 thou art oft-times sad. Thine eye is not so full 
 of life and joy, as formerly, and when thou look- 
 est on me, sometimes thy look seems strange. 
 Surely, I am not less to thee than I once was." 
 
 " O no — ^no, Marcus — ^why should I not say— 
 thou art more than ever to me. I never felt so 
 gi-eat regard for thee, as now," — and she burst 
 into tears. 
 
 Marcus felt perplexed. Whence those tears ? 
 "What could be the meaning of those seasons of 
 sadness? The subject of conversation was 
 changed. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 287 
 
 " Constantia, I saw a Cliristian die to-day in 
 Home. By Hercules, he died like a man. His 
 eye never blanched, nor did the smile on his 
 countenance flicker for a moment, as the sword 
 of the executioner descended, and his head 
 rolled on the ground. I could praise him for 
 his courage, if his obstinacy in adhering to this 
 austere and accursed superstition, did not render 
 him worthy of reprobation." 
 
 The agitation of his companion increased as 
 she asked, "Said he anything?" 
 
 -" Only this, that I can remember, for the 
 words struck me with some force, ' O Christ, I 
 thank thee for counting me worthy of this hour.' 
 Eight or wrong, he was brave, and displayed a 
 heroism worthy of a Eoman, and after all, I 
 think far better of him than those who saved 
 their lives by abjuring their faith, execrable as 
 it is." 
 
 The extreme agitation of the fair being at his 
 side could no longer be concealed from Marcus. 
 He regarded her with surprise for a moment, 
 and when she asked in a voice scarce audible, 
 "And what if it should be the true faith, 
 Marcus ?" turned pale as death. They sat in 
 perfect silence for several minutes. It was im- 
 
288 INCIDENTS AND NAEBATIVES. 
 
 possible to mistake the agitation of Constantia, 
 or the expression of her countenance. Her 
 sympathies were with the proscribed sect — ^yes, 
 she was one of them. Marcus felt it now. Hor- 
 ror at the idea of her embracing such a religion, 
 apprehension for her safety, the thought of sep- 
 aration — all crowded together upon his mind. 
 " Constantia, you are a Christian !" It was a 
 moment of agony while he awaited her reply. 
 
 " O Chi'ist," exclaimed she, with eyes uplifted 
 to heaven, "give me strength for this trial, 
 more dreadful to me than death for thee ; may 
 I confess thee without shame. The time has 
 now come," said she, addressing her compan- 
 ion, " when I must tell thee all. Tes, I am a 
 Christian !" 
 
 " Lost, lost to me, forever !" he exclaimed in 
 anguish. 
 
 "Xo, Marcus, no, unless thou dost cast me 
 from thee. The religion which I have embraced, 
 teaches us fidelity to all our lawful vows. O, 
 Marcus, didst thou know its holy teachings as I 
 know them, thou couldst not feel that it would 
 render me less worthy of thee, than that faith 
 which I have forsaken." 
 
 "•Constantia, thou hast ever been to me as 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 289 
 
 purity itself. I have well nigh worshipped thee 
 for thy truth and virtue. I will believe all thou 
 shalt say. Tell me then, is it true that such 
 horrible crimes are committed in the assemblies 
 of the Christians ? Do they forget the ties of 
 nature, and drink the blood of children, and 
 break loose from the restraints of propriety and 
 decency ?" 
 
 " I know to what thou dost allude, Marcus, 
 and I could even now smile at the mention of 
 these things, but that I am well aware of the 
 harm which these foul slanders have done us. 
 I tell thee, no — naught that any good Roman 
 might not approve, is done or taught in our as- 
 semblies." 
 
 " But why, then, are the Christians so hated 
 by all — even by the vile Jews from whom they 
 are said to have sprung ? Why is the Christian 
 the only religion the practice of whose rites is 
 not lawful ? Is the mildest and best of Emper- 
 ors mistaken, and has the most distinguished 
 of our historians falsely pronounced it an exe- 
 crable superstition ?" 
 
 " Alas ! I know not why Trajan should be so 
 jealous of our assemblies, and allow them to be 
 suppressed, and us to be punished for our wor- 
 
290 INCIDENTS AND NAKBATIVES. 
 
 ship, when no crime is laid to our charge, and 
 the only offence is, that we cannot bow to images 
 which we feel are not to be adored." 
 
 " This is truly the offence, Constantia. — ^for it 
 seems like despising our religion. Trajan has 
 no objections to the worship of your Christ, if 
 the gods of the empire are not neglected. He 
 would have honor done to all. Then, too, you 
 do not join us in any of our festivities. The 
 Christians are not seen at the theatres, or in the 
 Coliseum, or at any place where people of all 
 religions congregate." 
 
 " Dear Marcus, if our religion is true, all other 
 religions are false. The God whom we worship 
 is the only God. "We cannot unite in his wor- 
 ship the rites of any other, unless we would 
 prove false to Him. And our Christ is above 
 all whose names and images are in the Pan- 
 theon. May I say yet another thing to thee, 
 Marcus ?" 
 
 " Say what thou wilt — if thou art false, I know 
 not where to look for truth upon earth." 
 
 " "Wouldst thou dare to go with me, to-mor- 
 row evening, to one of our secret assemblies ? 
 Thou shalt be known to no one, and shalt see 
 all our rites and worship." 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 291 
 
 " If thou, Constantia, canst peril thy life in 
 going thither, surely I should not be afraid to 
 peril mine. These meetings are not lawful, yet 
 will I go with thee." 
 
 " Meet me then here, to-morrow, at this time. 
 And may I ask of thy kindness and thy love, 
 but one thing more ?" 
 
 "Whatsoever thou wilt." 
 
 She paused a moment, and then produced 
 from the folds of her dress, a small roll of 
 parchment beautifully written, saying, " It is 
 the life of our Christ, vrritten by one of his own 
 disciples — one whose head always lay on the 
 bosom of the Master, as they reclined at their 
 meals. Wilt thou read it for my sake ?" 
 
 " And for my own too. Surely, Constantia, 
 it cannot harm me to do so much. And now 
 farewell. I miist hasten to the city before dark- 
 ness shall set in. Jupiter protect thee." 
 
 " And may our Christ regard thee with 
 favor." 
 
 Punctiial to his appointment, Marcus ap- 
 peared on the following evening at the house 
 of Constantia. Proceeding to the Tiber, at- 
 tended by two servants, they entered a boat 
 which was in readiness, and found themselves 
 
292 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 borne swiftly on the stream, to the place of their 
 destination. 
 
 " It is the day on which our Christ rose from 
 the dead," remarked Constantia, "but alas! we 
 cannot celebrate it openly. We must employ 
 the night for our worship." 
 
 Marcus looked with apprehension at the ser- 
 vants, as this observation was made, but soon 
 came to understand that they, too, were Chris- 
 tians. "I have spent the whole day," said he, 
 " in reading what thou gavest me. It is won- 
 derful — if true." 
 
 "What thinkest thou of our Christ, as the 
 disciple has portrayed him ?" 
 
 " It is a strange character, surely, and so dif- 
 ferent from aught that I have ever heard or 
 read of; so high, and pure, and self-sacrificing, 
 that methinks it never could have been ima- 
 gined. It must have been seen to be so de- 
 scribed. He is truly worthy to be received 
 among the gods of Home, as they say our Tibe- 
 rius once proposed. But thou well knowest, 
 that he is not so regarded generally by us at 
 Home." 
 
 " He is indeed diiferent from all whom I or 
 thou, Marcus, have heretofore worshipped." 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 293 
 
 A mile was soon passed over in convei'sation. 
 The boat now touched the bank of the river, 
 and having disembarked, they entered upon a 
 road which seemed somewhat solitaiy. Not a 
 word was spoken, and, ere long, a path was se- 
 lected, which, separating them from the more 
 travelled way, and passing through a some- 
 what extensive wood, at length terminated at a 
 garden gate. They were admitted in silence 
 by a person who seemed to be stationed there 
 for some particular object, and who recognized 
 Constantia at once in the moonlight. The door 
 of the dwelling, which they reached in a few 
 moments, opened as if of itself, almost as soon 
 as they touched it, and presently they found 
 themselves in a sort of hall, shaped like an ob- 
 long square, and capable of containing one, or 
 it might be two hundred people. By the light 
 of a few wax tapers, Marcus perceived that it 
 was already nearly filled. Seated by Constan- 
 tia, he indulged in a variety of reflections. He 
 was now in the midst of an assembly of Chris- 
 tians — the hated — the accursed by so many — 
 the perj)etrators of the most horrible crimes, as 
 he had been taught — the haters of mankind — 
 the followers of a crucified malefactor. There 
 
294 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 was no shrine — no altar — no image of any 
 kind — ^nothing but a small table in the middle 
 of the room, yet they were there to worship. 
 He felt that the only bond of union between 
 himself and them, was the fair being who sat 
 by his side. 
 
 In a few moments a man of venerable ap- 
 pearance rose and approached the table. There 
 was nothing in his dress to distinguish him 
 from the rest of his sex in the assembly. As 
 he raised his hands upwards, all arose, and 
 Marcus heard a short and simple prayer offered 
 to the Christians' G-od, as the Creator of heaven 
 and earth, God of angels and of the spirits of 
 the just. Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, all 
 wise, all good. His protection and blessing 
 were sought. The young Roman felt the 
 strangeness of worshipping an invisible being, 
 without any manifest sign of his presence. 
 There was something to him very impressive 
 in this. The assembly being again seated, a 
 small roll was now produced, from which por- 
 tions were read. Among these, Marcus recog- 
 nized passages which he had on that very day 
 perused in the manuscript of Constantia. 
 
 When the reading was finished, another in- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 295 
 
 dividual arose, and in a few affectionate and 
 simple words, exhorted all to love and honor 
 Christ, to imitate his glorious example, to die, 
 if need were, for him, to abstain from every 
 crime, to practise every virtue, and especially 
 the holy precepts which had been read. 
 
 During this part of .the exercise, Constantia 
 could not but steal a glance at the countenance 
 of Marcus, and plainly saw that it expressed 
 surprise. The exhortation ended, the first line 
 of a hymn, which appeared to be well known 
 to them all, was repeated, and the whole hymn 
 sung in subdued voices. 
 
 " It is in praise of the God and Father of all 
 things," whispered Constantia to Marcus. I 
 have ventured to present to the reader, the fol- 
 lowing as a sort of version rather of the senti- 
 ment, than of the words of the original :— 
 
 O glorious God, thy -works divine 
 Proclaim all power and goodness thine. 
 This song of praise we lift to Thee ; 
 Accepted let the offering be. 
 
 Before the mystery of thy being, 
 
 By all unseen, and yet all seeing, 
 
 In lowliness our spirits bend, 
 
 And faith, and hope, and reverence blend. 
 
296 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 No limits mark thy dwelling-place. 
 For thine abode is boundless space ; 
 Throughout that vast, unmeasured dome, 
 Thou find'st in azure depths thy home. 
 
 Those fires of heaven, which cheer the night, 
 By Thee were kindled, God of light ; 
 And on the deep blue vault above, 
 In light 'tis written — God ia love. 
 
 In the dark cloud, in rainbow hues, 
 In ocean's waves, in pearly dews. 
 In tempest's roar, in zephyr's sigh. 
 Thy power and beauty meet the eye. 
 
 In evening's shade, in morning's rays, 
 In autumn's fruits, in summer's blaze. 
 In winter's storms, in spring's fresh green. 
 Thy grandeur and thy care are seen. 
 
 God of life, all live in Thee, 
 Fountain of immortality. 
 To Thee alone be glory given. 
 By all on earth and all in heaven. 
 
 One of those who seemed to preside over the 
 religious services, now rose and placed upon 
 the table a quantity of bread and wine. Pray- 
 ■er was then offered, after which each one was 
 invited to come and partake, in I'emembrance 
 of "our Lord Christ," and especially of his 
 last hours of pain and anguish. As many as 
 chose, came forward, and partook of the bread 
 and wine, each one taking what he saw fit, and 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 297 
 
 retiring in silence to his or her seat. After the 
 simple and touching ceremony was ended, an- 
 other hymn was sung, addressed more particu- 
 larly to Christ. 
 
 The last strain had scarcely died upon the 
 ear, when the door of the room was suddenly 
 thrown open, and there rushed in one, pale and 
 almost breathless, exclaiming, " Fly, friends, 
 fly — we are all at last betrayed !" A heavy 
 tread, as of a large body of horsemen, and the 
 clashing of arms, were almost immediately 
 heard. It was evident that escape was well 
 nigh impossible. For a moment, the wildest 
 confusion prevailed. The lights were extin- 
 guished, and a rush made for the doors. Mar- 
 cus laid hold upon Constantia, fearing lest they 
 should become separated, and resolved to re- 
 main with her to the last extremity. A large 
 force had surrounded the building, and few of 
 the unfortunate Christians escaped being taken. 
 All were hurried to the city, and thrown into 
 various places of confinement. Marcus and 
 Constantia, with a few others, were consigned 
 to the same apartment. 
 
 " Alas !" said she to him, in a low voice, " I 
 shall be the cause, perhaps, of thy death." 
 
298 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 "I will willingly die witli thee," was the 
 reply. 
 
 As the morning arose, clear and beautiful, 
 many a prayer might have been heard ascend- 
 ing from the prisons of the Christian captives, 
 and many a thanksgiving, too, for being count- 
 ed worthy to suffer for Christ. In the streets 
 of Home, many might be seen, as the day ad- 
 vanced, hurrying to the place where, it was un- 
 derstood, a number of Christians were to be ex- 
 amined. 
 
 Trajan, though he certainly did encourage ac- 
 cusations and scenes of this Mnd, yet could 
 not always prevent them, if he had been so 
 disposed. He was probably sometimes obliged 
 to yield, to the feelings of a persecuting Pagan 
 priesthood, of a superstitious populace, and not 
 seldom of a cruel and avaricious magistracy. 
 He too, may not have been without some regard 
 for those modes of worship with which his ear- 
 liest ideas of religion were associated, and 
 which were distinguished for their antiquity 
 and for the number of those who professed 
 them. 
 
 Marcus and Constantia were both brought, 
 with others, before the tribimal where the Pre- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 299 
 
 feet of the city sat in judgment. Her youth 
 and beauty attracted the attention of all, and 
 excited the commiseration of not a few. It is 
 to her that our attention, too, must be chiefly 
 directed. 
 
 "Maiden, thou art accused of having been 
 in an unlawful assembly, and of being an athe- 
 ist and despiser of the gods of Home and of 
 the empire. What dost thou say — art thou a 
 Christian ? Think ere thou dost answer." 
 
 "I must confess to the truth — I am a Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 " Thou art young to die. Think yet again. 
 'Tis but a word or two. Curse thy Christ, whose 
 name has brought thee into these dangers, and 
 live." 
 
 " He encountered many dangers for me. He 
 is my Lord, I cannot curse him." 
 
 " ITay — nay — be not so perverse. Acknowl- 
 edge the Emperor as thy Lord, and all may yet 
 be well, and we will not remember that thou 
 hast declared thyself a Christian." 
 
 " I do acknowledge him as my lawful sove- 
 reign and lord, yet not so as to deny my Lord 
 Christ." 
 
 " Hast thou no father nor mother whose gray 
 
300 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 hairs thou art in danger of bringing in sorrow, 
 to the grave ? Hast thou no friend whose heart 
 will be filled with anguish at thine imtimely 
 death ? See ! there is the image of the Emperor, 
 or if thou likest it any better, the altar of Apol- 
 lo. 'Tis but to burn a little incense to either, 
 and thou art saved. We are merciful to thee, 
 and thou wilt thus show thy regard for the laws 
 and thy respect for the gods of Rome." 
 
 "I love my aged father and mother, but 
 Christ and truth more than aught besides. I 
 cannot oifer incense or do sacrifice — I worship 
 the unseen Grod alone." 
 
 " "Wilt thou then give thyself to death — to be 
 torn limb from limb it may be, by wild beasts ? 
 Think, ere thou doest this. Abjm-e thy faith — 
 say thou art not a Christian, and go in pdace." 
 
 " Let me rather die a thousand deaths, than 
 forsake him who shrank. not back from death 
 for me." 
 
 "Then perish in thine obstinacy, and as a 
 sacrifice to the gods whose anger thou dost so 
 brave." "And thou," addressing Marcus, " art 
 thou too, a Christian ?" 
 
 He was about to answer in the afl3rmative, 
 fully resolved to perish with Constantia, when 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 801 
 
 slie quicHy exclaimed, "Marcus, thon knowest 
 that in thine heart, thoii art not a Christian : 
 couldst thou truly die for Christ, he would ac- 
 cept thee. Thou shalt not die for my sake." 
 
 " Art thou a Christian ?" was again asked. 
 
 Half wild with conflicting emotions, he an- 
 swered, "I am not." 
 
 "Then thou art free — ^let him be released. 
 Depart to thine own abode and beware how 
 thou art found again in a Christian assembly. 
 We are merciful." 
 
 In a few moments more, Constantia was borne 
 away from his sight to the prison designated for 
 her reception. 
 
 Marcus felt as he had never felt before, the 
 worth and nobleness of that Christian maiden, 
 the truth, the constancy and love now lost to 
 him forever. 
 
 At a late hour of the night, the old soldier 
 who guarded the door of the apartment where 
 Constantia was lifting up her heart in prayer 
 and praise to God, was accosted by a young 
 man who, placing a heavy purse of gold in his 
 hand, entreated admission for a few moments. 
 The man hesitated. " But a few moments, my 
 friend — no harm shall come to thee. She dies 
 
302 INOrDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 to-morrow ; ste is my betrothed. Thou mayest 
 witness oiir interview if thou wUt." His hag- 
 gard countenance and imploring expression 
 completely subdued the soldier. "May I go 
 down to the realms of Pluto this night, ere I 
 deny thee this, poor young man. Go in, but 
 tarry not long — it will endanger me." 
 
 The interview, I will not describe. The last 
 words of Constantia were, " Farewell, Marcus. 
 Thine I would have been. I am now the bride 
 of Christ. I go to a glorious and blessed world. 
 If I may think of thee there, it shall be to pray 
 that thou mayest enter the kingdom of our 
 Christ. This precious roll I give to thee. Thou 
 wilt keep it for my sake, and read it sometimes, 
 when I am gone." 
 
 In that mighty amphitheatre, whose rains still 
 astonish every beholder, and whose mouldering 
 walls have beheld so many bloody scenes ; where 
 Ignatius, of Antioch, about this same time, 
 was, by the command of Trajan himself, expo- 
 sed to wild beasts, and where so many had 
 sealed their testimony for Christ with their 
 blood, were assembled tens of thousands of all 
 classes of Pagan Home. The patrician and 
 the plebeian, the rich and the poor, females as 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 303 
 
 well as men, the aged as well as the young, had 
 gathered together, to witness the bloody sports 
 of the arena, and the death of several of the 
 " atheists," the " godless," the followers of 
 Christ, alike indifferent to the sufferings which 
 their fellow-creatures were doomed to imdergo. 
 In the centre of the immense building was the 
 " arena," — the scene of many a dreadful com- 
 bat. It was strewn with the finest sand, and 
 separated by the strongest barriers from the 
 spectators, in order to prevent any accident 
 from taking place in connection with the exhi- 
 bition of ferocious beasts. Around it were the 
 dens of wild animals ravenous with hunger, 
 and awaiting in eager expectation, their misera- 
 ble victims. As the sanguinary spectacles pro- 
 ceed, we behold let out in the middle of the 
 accursed enclosure, a young and beautiful mai 
 den. Her dark hair falls loosely upon her robe 
 of white. Her face is pale, but her lofty brow, 
 and firm countenance, tell of the high resolve 
 and the noble daring to die for truth, for Christ, 
 for God. Left alone, she kneels and lifts her 
 eyes to heaven, and breathes forth a prayer to 
 the Lord of Hosts, and to the Crucified One of 
 Calvary. The mighty multitude is hushed. 
 
304 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 Even there, thoughts of pity were found. So 
 young, so beautiful, so infatuated, was the si- 
 lent thought of all. A door is opened — a mon- 
 strous lion rushes forth with a terrific roar, and 
 bounds towards his victim. He gathers himself 
 for the fatal spring. A thousand eyes are tui'n- 
 ed from the sight, when suddenly he raises 
 himself upon his feet, walks slowly up to the 
 almost unconscious girl, then crouches at her 
 side, and reposes his huge head against 
 her form. The shouts of fifty thousand people 
 rend the air and almost shake those massive 
 walls. "Let her be saved — ^take her away." 
 The beast rose from his position and glared 
 with fiery eyes upon the multitude, and when 
 the keepers drew near in order to remove him 
 and his human companion, a deep growl warn- 
 ed them that he could not be approached with 
 safety. The mystery of all this is easily ex- 
 plained. He had found an old friend. Two 
 years before, when sick and hurt, Constantia, 
 for her own gratification and amusement, had 
 visited him daily, by the permission of a near 
 relative, whose official position gave him the 
 control of a certain portion of the animals kept 
 for the sports of the amphitheatre. She had 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 305 
 
 fed him for a long time with her own hand, 
 and a sort of attachment had grown up be- 
 tween them. The recollection of it had almost 
 passed away, till called to herself hj the shouts 
 of the spectators and the proximity of the no- 
 ble brute. 
 
 " O Christ, I thank thee — thou art mighty to 
 save," were the first words that burst from her 
 lips. Rising, she led the creature to his cage, 
 and giving him some food which was handed to 
 her, retired. 
 
 Nearly twenty years after this event, and 
 some seventy miles from the "eternal city," in 
 a neat and well-furnished dwelling, a youth 
 stood gazing at a beautiful painting of a female 
 in a white robe, kneeling, and a lion crouching 
 at her side. "Marcus," exclaimed he to an- 
 other young man near him, " this is the painting 
 of which thou hast so often told me, of thy mo- 
 ther, when condemned to suifer at Rome." 
 
 "My father had it done," returned the other, 
 " in commemoration of an event which was the 
 most trying and painful of his whole life. And 
 I may say it to thee, Decius, he soon after be- 
 came a Christian himself." 
 20 
 
" I HAVE had the last warning, and your ad- 
 vice is now too late," said Mary Hilton, in a 
 tone of such utter hopelessness and anguish as 
 would have touched the most insensible heart. 
 She lay upon a bed around which were gathered 
 her friends to weep over her and see her die. 
 At her head stood her mother, whose breast 
 heaved, and her lips quivered from the inten- 
 sity of that anguish which a mother only can 
 feel, when she sees a beloved child about to be 
 torn from her by death, and she is unwilling to 
 let her go. Her father stood at the foot of the 
 bed, leaning against the post, with one hand 
 resting on little Ellen, a sweet little girl of four 
 years old, who was standing before him half 
 reclining against the bed on which her sister 
 lay. Her eyes were filled with tears that would 
 not fall ; for the pure sorrow of her young heart 
 had pushed forth till it would no longer flow, 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 307 
 
 when her mother told her that day that Mary 
 was going to die, and she would be left without 
 any sister. 
 
 The physician who had been for the last few 
 days exerting his skill to restore the sick girl, 
 and now declared that no mortal power could 
 save her, had seated himself a little on one side, 
 and was gazing upon the painful scene with 
 deep interest. Directly before Mary sat the 
 minister, who had lately arrived, and was at- 
 tempting to administer consolation to the suf- 
 ferer, such as the fearful occasion demanded. 
 There were a few of Mary's young friends and 
 associates in the room who had called that eve- 
 ning to see her ; some standing by the bed, and 
 some sitting at a distance, as if afraid to con- 
 template that which they had always feared at 
 work so near them. The night was dark and 
 stormy — the sleet and rain were driven fiercely 
 against the windows, and the wind swept past 
 with a mournful sound. 
 
 There are times when silence is the best ex- 
 j)ression of sympathy we can make to those who 
 are mourning ; words of common kindness fall 
 harshly on feelings so tender, and our exhorta- 
 tions to fortitude and resignation seem to our- 
 
308 INCIDEKTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 selves, almost like canting hypocrisy, so little 
 eflfect do they have upon the hearts they would 
 heal. After a short pause, the minister took 
 Mary's hand, and said : " How do you feel 
 this evening, Mary ?" " I feel," said she, " that 
 my time is short ; my hour has come, though 
 I didn't expect it so soon." " And do you feel 
 prepared for it?" he asked. "I a.T!i pre^a/red" 
 she answered, " only for the judgments of which 
 I have so often heard you preach ; how can I 
 endm-e them ? But I have neglected the mercy 
 which alone could have saved me, and have 
 fitted myself for a reward I am afraid to meet ;" 
 and the suffering girl groaned aloud. The 
 minister then spoke of Jesus as the Saviour of 
 sinners, and that none should be rejected who 
 came to him penitent. She heard him in si- 
 lence, and then asked if the Bible did not teach 
 that a person might go so far in sinning against 
 God that the door of mercy would be closed and 
 their doom sealed in this world. He replied 
 that undoubtedly it did ; but if she felt an anx- 
 iety for her own welfare, and a wish to find 
 mercy, that was an evidence that such was not 
 her case. " Yes," she replied, " but I have had 
 my last warning, and your advice is now too 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 309 
 
 late ;" and she hid her face and wept in the bit- 
 terness of her feeling. 
 
 Mary Hilton was twenty ; her parents were 
 pious, and she had received many warnings. 
 She was a girl of good abilities, and well ac- 
 complished ; she was esteemed by all who 
 knew her ; beloved by her associates, and doat- 
 ed on by her parents. But still Mary was 
 sometimes called a " wild girl," when speaking 
 of her religious feelings. For though she never 
 spoke lightly of religion, and would always 
 listen respectfully to the advice of Christian 
 friends, and the preaching of the G-ospel, yet it 
 never seemed to have any effect upon her, and 
 she would turn away as gay and apparently 
 thoughtless as ever, as soon as they ceased to 
 speak. Once, indeed, when twelve years old, 
 she heard a sermon on the danger of deferring 
 repentance, as offers of mercy would not always 
 be presented ; that the last exhortation would 
 come, and the last warming would be given, 
 perhaps soon. That thought of the " last warn- 
 ing," fixed, no doubt, by the Holy Spirit upon 
 her heart, and never from that time to the pres- 
 ent, during her serious moments, had left her. 
 Once, when unusually gay and trifling, her mo- 
 
310 INCIDENTS XSTI NAERATIVES. 
 
 ther talked to her with more than common ear- 
 netsness of her thoughtlessness and neglect of 
 religion, saying she would not always be per- 
 mitted to counsel her, and that her last advice 
 would soon be given. This pierced her soul, 
 and hastily retiring, she wept that she was not 
 a Christian. A pious young friend of hers, who 
 had been very anxious for Mary's salvation, had 
 died in the neighborhood. The day she died 
 she had Mary sent for that she might have a 
 last interview with her. At that time Mary 
 was evidently much affected ; and when her 
 friend closed her advice, saying: "This, Mary, 
 is my last exhortation, my last warning, and 
 God knows but it will be the last you will get 
 here till we meet in judgment," — she burst into 
 tears, entirely overcome. One day she heard 
 of the death of a man in an adjoining town, 
 who had been suddenly killed by an accident. 
 He had but a few hours before been persuaded 
 by a pious friend to become a Christian, as it 
 might be the last time his attention would ever 
 be called to that important subject ; he rejected 
 it as a foolery, and in a few hours was a corpse. 
 This produced a great agitation in her mind, 
 and she trembled when she compared her own 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 811 
 
 condition with his, fearing lest she might be called 
 suddenly from the privileges she had enjoyed. 
 
 It was but the Sabbath before that Mary 
 heard the minister who now sat by her side 
 preach ; and when he closed his sermon by an 
 affecting appeal to the impenitent, and especially 
 to the young, urging the necessity of their seek- 
 ing the Saviour without delay ; saying perhaps 
 some one who then heard him, would never 
 hear the Gospel preached again, and the word 
 he was then speaking might be their last warn- 
 ing ; she thought it was meant for her, and it 
 sounded like a voice from the grave. That day 
 she went home with more solemn thoughts than 
 she ever bore from the sanctuary before. 
 
 There is, doubtless, a divine power watching 
 over us, and which makes effectual the various 
 means that are used for our good. Under the 
 influence of that power, circumstances appa- 
 rently of a trifling nature, and which at other 
 times would be remembered scarcely a moment, 
 will be impressed upon our minds too deeply to 
 be forgotten. A casual remark, a word, a look, 
 a trifling thing that might have passed us a 
 thousand times before unnoticed, aiTCsts and 
 fixes our attention — sinks deep into the heart, 
 
312 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 and under that same divine power it works re- 
 sults which mortal effort could not effect. So it 
 was in this case. Never before had Mary felt 
 such a strange anxiety; a fearfulness of she 
 knew not what. When she retired for the night 
 she could not sleep. Troubled thoughts crowded 
 upon her mind. She thought of death and eter- 
 nity — of Christ the Saviour, and of Christ the 
 Judge — of the rest that remains for the people 
 of God, and that wrath which should be poured 
 out without mixture of mercy. She had taken 
 a cold during the day, and this, with her anxi- 
 ety of mind, kept her awake late ; at length she 
 fell into a disturbed sleep, and awoke the next 
 morning suffering under an attack of fever. A 
 physician was called, but so far ineffectual were 
 his efforts, that now upon the fifth day all hopes 
 of her recovery were given up, both by herself 
 and her friends. The most intense anxiety and 
 anguish had possessed her mind from the first, 
 with regard to her spirit's interest, lest she had 
 heard her last warning ; this she had constantly 
 feared, and now confidently believed to be 
 the case. She now believed the mercy she had 
 abused, was in justice withdrawn, and that all 
 advice was unavailing. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 813 
 
 All the efforts of the minister to reason with 
 her seemed useless. She did not doubt that 
 God had power to forgive sin ; nor did she 
 doubt there was an inexhaustible fountain of 
 pardon and mercy in Christ — but could not 
 think that mercy and pardon were for her. 
 There was the grave, and a dark; dark eternity. 
 In the bitterness of her agony she cursed the 
 folly and neglect which had led her to disre- 
 gard the salvation without which she was now 
 hastening to an awful ruin. In the most sol- 
 emn manner she warned her young friends 
 present to seek the Savioar immediately, nor 
 trust their soul's salvation to the chances of a 
 future opportunity. They trembled with emo- 
 tion, and wept like children, while little Ellen 
 sobbed as if her heart were breaking ; the an- 
 guish of tlie parents was almost insupportable, 
 and the minister and physician sat in silent 
 grief. 
 
 O, what a place is this— the dying bed! 
 What a place to learn and feel the truth. As 
 we gather round that solemn scene and watch 
 the operations of the spirit about to take its 
 flight, we gaze, and think, and feel, till we al- 
 most see the curtain rise, and we ourselves 
 
314 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 going on with the departing spirit. We see the 
 struggling and anguish of the dying, and the 
 world recedes ; its charm over us is broken ; its 
 shining baubles burst and disappear, while the 
 grave rises before us ; we seem to tread the dark 
 valley of death ; we see the great white throne, 
 and hear the angel's trumpet. The vision 
 breaks, and we are ourselves again. But never 
 before did this life and its affairs appear so tri- 
 fling, or eternity so awfully important. It is 
 good to stand by the dying bed — ^it teaches us 
 what we never knew before ; it teaches what we 
 cannot learn elsewhere. 
 
 The company that gathered round Mary Hil- 
 ton, on that solemn night, felt the importance 
 of eternal things more than they had ever be- 
 fore ; but no other one felt it so deeply as did 
 Mary herself. Her agony of soul rather in- 
 creased till after the minister had most ardently 
 prayed with her, when, from" exhaustion of 
 body, she grew somewhat more composed. 
 The minister was a firm believer in the power 
 and eiScacy of prayer, and proposed that they 
 should all leave the room, except a single one 
 to watch by her, and let her, if possible, sleep ; 
 while all who could pray, should retire and ear- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 315 
 
 nestly pray that she might experience the par- 
 doning mercy of the Saviour before she left the 
 world. The mother went alone and agonized 
 with God for her beloved daughter ; the others 
 most fervently prayed for the space of two 
 hours in behalf of the dying girl. In the 
 meantime, Mary, watched by one of her young 
 friends, became so far calmed as to sink into a 
 broken and disturbed slumber ; and when she 
 awoke it was with appearance so changed and 
 calmed as showed that the strong cries had not 
 gone up to God in vain. Her parents and 
 friends immediately entered the room, and 
 when they asked her how she felt, and what 
 she thought of Jesus ? she replied that God 
 was merciful or her life would not have been 
 spared so long; that perhaps it was possible 
 Christ had mercy in store for one as vile even 
 as herself; and asked them to pray for her. 
 Again they bowed before that mercy-seat to 
 which the humble and contrite never came in 
 vain. They plead as if permitted to enter the 
 inner sanctuary of the Most High, and plead 
 face to face with God. 
 
 Mary's agitation had somewhat subsided ; it 
 might have been partly from her increasing 
 
316 INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 
 
 weakness, for she was constantly failing, but 
 her mind was evidently different from what it 
 had been. "While they were praying she wept 
 much, and frequently broke out into " O Jesus, 
 save me — Oh Eedeemer, have mercy — Oh, for- 
 give, forgive." And after the others had ceased 
 to pray vocally, she continued to beg for mercy. 
 She was willing to hear the minister talk of the 
 immeasured love of the Saviour. She contin- 
 ued by times to. pray for herself with such 
 strong and unyielding supplication, as if by 
 that supplication she grasped the throne of God, 
 and should that grasp let go, her soul would 
 drop into the dreadful hell she feared. If ever 
 did that house, or those assembled around that 
 bed, witness such a night before. All felt they 
 were standing on the verge of eternity and 
 near the judgment-seat. 
 
 Towards morning she wished them again to 
 pray for her, saying that Jesus was merciful 
 and would do what was right. Tliough her 
 agony of miad had somewhat abated, her anxi- 
 ety in prayer had not ; and she joined audibly 
 with them- She laid herself at the foot of the 
 cross, begging the Saviour would look at her in 
 mercy — ^would take her, all guilty as she was, 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 817 
 
 and wash away her sins in his own blood. 
 Again she was silent a moment, and then broke 
 out into a shout of " Glory to God," so ecstatic 
 as if heaven's light and glory had shined with 
 unveiled splendor into her ransomed soul. Sup- 
 plication was turned to praise ; the answer to 
 prayer had come, and "joy inexpressible and 
 full of glory" swelled the hearts both of the 
 dying girl, and those who had wept over her. 
 With almost frantic joy IVIary kissed her little 
 sister and her parents, and grasped the hands 
 of her friends. With almost an angel's love 
 she spoke of the joys before her — of the pearly 
 gates open to receive her — of sister spirits call- 
 ing her away, and how soon those she loved 
 would meet her there. 
 
 At length the morning came ; and what a 
 morning was that ! no storm, no gloom — ^not a 
 cloud to be seen — not a breeze stirring. The 
 sun rose with such loveliness — all was so calm 
 and quiet, as if Eden's beauty had once more 
 dawned upon the world. The air seemed so 
 pure and ethereal, as if the very heavens had 
 opened with a flood of beauty on the scene to 
 allure earth's sainted spirits home. Mary had 
 the curtains drawn, the windows raised, so as 
 
318 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 to breathe tlie fresli pure air, and feel it on her 
 fevered brow. Enraptured with that love with- 
 in her and the sweetness of the scene before 
 her, she called all to her bed — ^kissed and bade 
 farewell to all, then sunk back upon her pillow, 
 and whispered : "ISTow, let me depart — ' come 
 Lord Jesus, come quickly.' " Thus she fell 
 asleep ; and the redeemed spirit of Mary Hil- 
 ton went home to its God. 
 
 There was moumiag over the departed, but 
 there was joy in the midst of grief ; for though 
 the last warning came so early in life, it was 
 the means of bringing her to the Saviour. 
 
fiitnting u Smpdnr. 
 
 About two montlis ago, a man decently clad, 
 of good appearance and considerable intelli- 
 gence, called upon Br. Coley, of Albany, whose 
 benevolent feelings readily sympathize with 
 the distressed, exhibiting testimonials of oeing 
 a good Christian, and professing, in rather an 
 Irish accent, to be a Scotch Baptist, but possess- 
 ing no formal letter from a Baptist church. 
 Br. C. told him that to receive him as a good 
 Baptist brother, a letter was indispensable. 
 Still, he protested solemnly, loudly, and with 
 tears, that he was a Baptist. 
 
 In about two months afterwards, he returned 
 with a letter, but an exceedingly doubtful one, 
 and professing that all he wanted was to raise 
 money enough to get back to Halifax. Br. C. 
 having been so often imposed upon, and suspi- 
 cions running high on this occasion, invited him 
 to dinner, determined to try, by a very proper 
 test, whether he was really a Baptist or not. 
 
320 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 Sitting around the dinner-table, Br. C. asked 
 him whether in Scotland the Baptists baptized 
 infants ? To this he replied, he was not sure, 
 having left there a long time. 
 
 Br. C. And yet you are a Baptist? Well, 
 if you are a good Baptist brother, you'll be 
 thankful for every mercy you receive. Have 
 the kindness, therefore, to pray God's blessing 
 upon the food of which we are about to partake." 
 
 " 0, yes, sir, yes, sir." A few minutes' silence. 
 
 "Pi-ay out loud, brother," said Br. C. A 
 mutter. " I can have no such sacrifice as that at 
 my table," said Br. C. ; "pray out loud, brother." 
 
 " please your honor," said the affrighted 
 man, "I can't pray before a priest." 
 
 Br. C. then excused him, but told him to pre- 
 pare for a severer trial after dinner. 
 
 Dinner being over, Br. C. observed, if he 
 were a good Baptist brother, he loved prayer ; 
 as for himself, like Daniel, he had prayers three 
 times a day, and now he wanted the privilege 
 of hearing him pray. Family being called in, 
 they knelt down. Silence. ' ' I want you to pray, 
 brother," said Br. 0. A mutter. " I want you to 
 pray out loud, brother," said Br. C. " O please 
 your honor," said the man, who by this time was 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 321 
 
 wrought up to a dreadful state of pertui-bation, 
 " sure, I could not pray before a priest." " If you 
 are a Baptist brother," said Br. C, " you can 
 pray." Upon this, the man muttered over some 
 parts of the Lord's prayer. " ISTow," said Br. C, 
 " I have all the evidence I need that you are an 
 impostor. Ton are a Eoman Catholic, sir, and 
 not a Baptist." " Please your reverence," said 
 the man, " I have called on ministers all over the 
 United States, and you are the sharpest man I 
 ever met with." With this, he made towards'the 
 door, at which Br. C. sprang to the door, and 
 locked it, and in the tones of a second Thrasy- 
 bulus or Stentor, said, " You shall not go, sir. 
 James, fetch a police officer." By this time, the 
 poor fellow trembled like an aspen leaf, and 
 cried, " For God's sake don't send for a police 
 officer." " Confess, then ; confess who and what 
 you are," said Br. C. He then confessed that he 
 was not a Baptist, but a Catholic, and lived by 
 getting money in such a manner, and added, 
 that his honor was the sharpest man he ever 
 met with. After some conversation and much 
 entreaty, Br. C. let him go, satisfied that he 
 had found out a tolerably sure method of de- 
 tecting impostors. 
 
% (CjiilJi nf Inrrnm. 
 
 A THRILLING SKETCH. 
 
 DuEiNO the late festive season, wlieu those 
 who thought at all, reflected that eighteen hun- 
 dred and forty-three years ago, that religion of 
 the heart, bringing peace and good- will on earth, 
 came to soften the rigor of the religion of form, 
 a little girl, not six years old, had been observed 
 by a lonely lady, sitting day after day on the step 
 of a door opposite to her house. It seemed to be- 
 long to nobody ; but at a certain hour, there it 
 was, wrapped in an old shawl, crouched on the 
 cold stone, and rocking itself pensively back- 
 wards and forwards, more like an ailing old 
 woman than a child. Other children played 
 around it, but this melancholy little being 
 mingled not in their sports, but sat silent and 
 solitary. 
 
 Soon afterwards it was seen to peep about 
 the area of the lady's housej and looked wist- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 323 
 
 fiilly at the Mtclien windows. The lady, who 
 was kind to children, thinking that the little 
 gii-1 might be trying to attract her notice, opened 
 the door suddenly and offered it some ginger- 
 bread. When the door opened, there was a 
 strange eager expression in the child's eyes ; 
 but when she saw the lady she looked scared 
 and disappointed. The kind voice and manner 
 soon reassured the startled child, who thank- 
 fully took the offering, broke it up into little 
 bits in her hand, and carried it to the door-step 
 opposite, where she again took her station. An- 
 other child, seeing the gingerbread, came up 
 to the solitary infant, who gave the new-comer 
 some, and, by gestures, the lady saw that she 
 was informing the other child whence the gift 
 came. After waiting a considerable time with- 
 out eating her gingerbread, the poor little girl 
 rose dejectedly and went away, still looking 
 back at the house. 
 
 A day or two afterwards, the same child was 
 seen lingering about the pavement near the 
 area, and holding out a piece of sugar candy in 
 its tiny fingers through the rails. 
 
 The lady, who thought that the child was 
 come to offer it out of gratitude for the ginger- 
 
324 INCIDENTS AND NABEATlVES. 
 
 bread, went down into the area ; and as soon 
 as she appeared, the child ran away. Soon 
 again, however, the child was at its old station, 
 the door-step opposite. The lady had men- 
 tioned this to her only female servant as very 
 odd, but received no observation in reply. 
 
 One morning the door was opened to receive 
 a piece of furniture, and the same child again 
 suddenly appeared, and advanced stealthily to- 
 wards the door. The lady, who was near, said, 
 " I see you !" when the child immediately re- 
 treated at the door-step. 
 
 " This is very extraordinary," said the lady 
 to her servant ; " I cannot make out what that 
 child wants." 
 
 "Madam," said the servant, bursting into 
 tears, "it is my child." 
 
 " Yom- child ! But go, bring her in. — ^Where 
 does she live?" 
 
 ""With my sister, and she goes to school. 
 I have told her never to come here ; but the 
 poor thing will come eveiy bit of play-time she 
 gets. That day you thought s^e was oifering 
 you some sugar candy, I had been to school 
 and given her a penny ; when school was over 
 she came to give me a bit of the sugar candy 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 325 
 
 she had bought. Oh ma'am, have mercy — for- 
 give me ! Do not send me away," 
 
 The lady, who had known adversity, and was 
 not one of those rigidly righteous people who 
 forget the first principle inculcated by the 
 divine Author of the Christian creed, looked 
 grave, it is true, but did not shrink from the 
 lowly sinner as if she had the plague, although 
 she had become a mother before she had been 
 made a wife, by the gay cavalier who had de- 
 ceived and forsaken her. Nor did she turn her 
 out upon the wide world, in the virtuous stern- 
 ness of her indignation. To the great horror 
 of some of her neighbors, she told the servant 
 that her child might come to see her every Sun- 
 day, beginning with the next. When the child, 
 who was no longer the moping creature which 
 it had been before it was admitted to the mo- 
 ther, heard this, she immediately and anxiously 
 inquired, " How many days and nights is it to 
 Sunday ?" 
 
 Some may sneer at this ; to me there is some- 
 thing painfully affecting in the quiet, subdued 
 demeanoT of this offspring of shame, timidly 
 watching to obtain a glimpse of her who had 
 borne her, at an age when happier children are 
 
326 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 never without those greatest of enjoyments, the 
 caresses of a mother. Think of the misery of 
 the poor child, driven from the mere instinct of 
 longing for its parents, to the staid demeanor 
 of age, whilst the other merry little ones were 
 sporting around it. Think what she must have 
 suffered, as she gazed day after day at the 
 frowning door, that shut out more than all the 
 world's value to her. Think of the suft'ering 
 mother dreading to lose, with her place and 
 character, the means of supporting her hapless, 
 prematurely old infant. Oh, man, man, thou 
 hast much to answer for ! 
 
€liE Wa^ itiiiji §um f snph. 
 
 Deacoh- S once employed a cobbler to 
 
 take a few stitches in a boot, for whicL. service 
 he was asked half a dollar. The demand was 
 considered exorbitant, but the deacon was not 
 a man to have trouble with his neighbor on a 
 trifling matter, so without a word of objection 
 it was cancelled. " All will come round right 
 in the end," he said to himself. 
 
 Next morning, the deacon, who was a farmer 
 was on his way to his field with oxen and 
 plough, when the cobbler came out of his shop 
 and accosted him. 
 
 "Good morning, deacon. You're just the 
 man I hoped to see. The case is, I've hired the 
 field yonder, and am going to sow it with 
 wheat ; but being no farmer myself, I wish you 
 would stop and give me a little insight into the 
 business." 
 
 The other was about to excuse himself, for he 
 
828 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 felt particularlj anxious to finisli a piece of 
 ploiighing that day, whicli lie could not if de- 
 tained at all, when remembering the boot-mend- 
 ing, thought he, " The affair is coming right, so 
 soon. Here is an opportunity for illustrating 
 the Golden Kule, and returning good for evil. 
 I will render the assistance he needs, and when 
 asked what's to pay, will answer, ' !N"othing, sir, 
 nothing. I never make account of these little 
 neighborly kindnesses.' That will remind him 
 of yesterday." 
 
 So the deacon readily consented to do as re- 
 quested, and going over to the field, commenced 
 and finished sowing a bushel of grain ; scarcely 
 thinking, meantime, of how his team was 
 standing idle in the cool of the day : but glory- 
 ing in anticipation of the smart his neighbor 
 would suffer from the living coals about to be 
 heaped upon his head. The employer, who, 
 seated on a pile of stones in the centre of the 
 field, had watched the process in silence, now 
 rose to his feet, and very deliberately advanced 
 towards the obliging farmer. 
 
 " Now for my revenge," thought the latter, 
 seeing him about to speak,- but the other only 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES, 829 
 
 carelessly remarked, "It isn't much to do a 
 tiling wlien one knows how." 
 
 The deacon made no reply, bnt stood await- 
 ing the question, " How miicli do you ask for 
 your labor?" He waited in vain, however; 
 the question was not asked. The other began 
 to speak on indifferent topics, and the farmer, 
 unwilling to lose more time, turned and hurried 
 away to where he had left his team. He had 
 gone some distance along the road, when a 
 voice was heard calling, 
 
 " Hallo, deacon. Hold on there a minute." 
 
 The deacon turned his head, and his neigh- 
 bor, the cobbler, beckoned him back. 
 
 "He's just thought of it," said the deacon 
 to himself, half impatient at being again stop- 
 ped. " My triumph is likely to cost about as 
 much as 'tis worth, but I'll have it after all. 
 Urge as he may, I won't take a single dime." 
 
 So saying, he secured his oxen to a post 
 by the roadside, and ran back as far as the 
 wall, against the opposite of which, the cobbler 
 was carelessly leaning. 
 
 " Why how you puff, deacon ; there's no spe- 
 cial haste called for. I merely thought to ask 
 whether you don't imagine we shall have rain 
 
830 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 soon. You farmers pay more attention to these 
 things than we mechanics do?" 
 
 The deacon coughed a full minute, and then 
 answered that he " really couldn't say, hut it 
 seemed pretty near cool enough for snow," and 
 having given this opinion, he once more set his 
 face farmward ; musing as he went, whether it 
 might not have been well to have attached to 
 the Golden Kule a modifying clause, suited to 
 dealing with such people as his neighbor of the 
 awl and last. 
 
 The deacon loves to this day to tell the story 
 and laugh over it; but he never fails to add, 
 " Well^ well, it ended just as it should ; inas- 
 much as I was wickedly calculating on rejoicing 
 over iny neighhor''s humiliation.^^ 
 
"9 jiaDK a fnp, lit" 
 
 Several years since in the time of a revival, 
 the pastor of a cliurcli in the course of his 
 visits, inquired of the father of a large family, 
 who was not a professor of religion, how he felt 
 towards the subject. The answer was prompt 
 — " I have a hope, sir." " Indeed ! how long 
 hare you thought youi'self a Christian?" 
 " About ten years." " And if you have so 
 long thought yourself a Christian, why have 
 you never acknowledged Christ before the 
 world, and obeyed his dying injunction, 'this 
 do in remembrance of me V " 
 
 "Why, to tell you the truth, sir, thfere are 
 some members of the church who have not used 
 
 me very well ; one of them is Deacon S . 
 
 He has conversed with me on the subject of my 
 hope, and did not seem to think that I was a 
 Christian; and, as he has been one of the 
 church committee who attend at the examina- 
 
332 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 tion of candidates, I knew he would oppose my 
 being admitted. I have thought of joining a 
 church in an adjoining town, and conversed 
 with the minister about it, but somehow it was 
 never done. And then again, I wanted to have 
 my wife come forward with me ; but she did 
 not seem to see her way clear, and for ten years 
 I have been waiting for her ; and as she has re- 
 cently indulged hope, I trust now to have her 
 company." 
 
 " But," said the pastor, " if you are really a 
 Christian, I should not have thought these ex- 
 cuses would have satisfied you for so long a 
 time. The fact that some one had used you ill, 
 if that is the case, would hardly justify your 
 disobeying Christ. And as to waiting for your 
 wife to make a profession of religion, that is a 
 very mistaken view of duty. A husband may 
 with just as much propriety wait for his wife to 
 repent, or love God, or pray, before he would 
 do it, as to wait for her to get ready to make a 
 profession of religion, if she is not a Christian. 
 
 "But to pass over this subject for the pres- 
 ent ; in relation to your hope ; if it is a good 
 one, it must have led you to do all that you 
 knew to be duty. A hope that will not lead to 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. S33 
 
 this, will prove to be but as the spider's web 
 at last. Now sir, I presume, if you think your- 
 self a Christian, you love the duty of prayer." 
 
 " I do not live without praying, sir." 
 
 "And I presume," said the minister, "that 
 you think family prayer to be a duty for every 
 Christian head of a family." 
 
 " Most certainly," was the reply. 
 
 " I presume, then, you have maintained wor- 
 ship in your family that have been growing up 
 around you, since you think you became a 
 Christian ?" 
 
 " Why — ^no — sir — I have not felt like really 
 praying in my family." 
 
 "But you think it to be a duty for every 
 Christian, if I u.nderstood you." 
 
 " Why, yes, sir, I think it to be a duty ; but 
 you know we are none of us perfect. We offend 
 in many things, and in all come short." 
 
 " But do you not intend commencing family 
 \^'orship ?" 
 
 " Why, as to that I cannot say exactly." 
 
 " But how, dear sir, do you get along with a 
 hope, which lets you live, year after year, in 
 the neglect of what you know and acknowledge 
 to be a Christian duty ?" 
 
334 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 " O, sir, I pray that God will forgive me." 
 " But how do you think that God will regard 
 such a prayer ? Just look at it for a moment. 
 You go and tell God that you have done wrong 
 in neglecting to pray in your family, that you 
 are sincerely sorry for it, and ask him to forgive 
 you. And suppose God should reply, ' Do you 
 intend to commence family worship to-day?' 
 ' O no,' you reply, ' I have not thought of doing 
 it to-day!' — 'Do you intend doing it to-mor- 
 row V — ' I hardly think I shall,' you reply. ' Do 
 you intend ever to commence praying in your 
 family?' — 'Why, as to that I cannot say ex- 
 actly.' Now, my dear sir, what do you suppose 
 God will think of such a prayer ? You tell him 
 you have done wrong in not praying thus, and 
 that you are sorry for it, but yet, at the same 
 time, you do not intend ever to jperform that 
 duty, for the neglect of which you are so sorry ! 
 Would such a prayer be anything less than 
 ' abomination' in the sight of God ?" 
 
 The foregoing is the substance of a conversa- 
 tion which actually took place some years since ; 
 and the individual is, for aught I know, in very 
 much the same state that he was then, as it re- 
 gards any profession of religion. 
 
A TEUE STORY. 
 
 Chtldeeit should be early impressed with the 
 necessity and importance of recalling and con- 
 fessing their sins. To confess particular sins is 
 often a profitable exercise, as, by repeating only 
 a general confession, they may acquire a habit 
 of passing it thoughtlessly over, or of looking 
 upon sin merely as something of common and 
 unavoidable occurrence. The following story 
 was related to me by the person under whose 
 observation the incident happened, and will 
 serve as a striking instance of the hardness of 
 heart which may come upon those who neglect 
 or omit this important duty. 
 
 Several years since, the commander of a ves- 
 sel, on the eve of sailing for America from Cal- 
 cutta, was applied to by a seaman for the purpose 
 of being engaged in his employ. He professed 
 to be an Englishman, and by his conversation 
 
836 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 appeai'ed to be above the class of ordinary sail- 
 ors. He was pale, and thin, and withal had 
 such a dejected and care-worn countenance, 
 that he seemed hardly fit to undertake the du- 
 ties of a long voyage. He produced, however, 
 testimonials of faithfulness and industry from 
 several respectable employers, and as he de- 
 clared himself in good health, and stated that 
 the climate had caused his temporary emacia- 
 tion, he was engaged, and forthwith entered 
 upon the duties of his new station. 
 
 After the vessel had set sail, he became dis- 
 tinguished among his fellow-seamen for his re- 
 serve and unwillingness to be associated with 
 them, evidently not from pride, or personal dis- 
 like to them, but from a peculiar sullenuess of 
 temper ; and the abstracted and unhappy look 
 which he always wore, and the short, repulsive 
 answers which he gave to all, soon estranged 
 him from the kind regards, and even the passive 
 notice, of his companions. He was, however, 
 statedly seen at his duties ; passively and silent- 
 ly obedient to every order, neglecting nothing 
 that was assigned to him, and under all circum- 
 stances appearing cold, and unmoved, and un- 
 interested. 
 
ESrCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 837 
 
 " Never," said Ms commander, " have I seen 
 siicli a personification of a statue. His features 
 were as of chiselled marble — ^fixed and unre- 
 laxing ; and his eyes one amazing expression 
 of sullen despair. In so large a ship's company 
 we were not often thrown into close or familiar 
 contact, and when not in the act of obeying my 
 immediate orders, he would always avoid me 
 when I approached him. Though there was 
 everything in his air and conduct to repel in- 
 quiry, yet I several times ventured to ask him 
 particulars of his health or history. His an- 
 swers, though respectful, were short and un- 
 satisfactory ; and, indeed, he seemed possessed 
 of a peculiar faculty of repulsing even his su- 
 periors. 
 
 " Nearly two months of the voyage had 
 passed without any incident occurring worthy 
 of note. I had remarked no change in him, 
 except that he had become evidently much 
 emaciated ; and though no complaint escaped 
 him, he was visibly and daily losing strength. 
 When I told him I was willing to excuse him 
 from his more laborious duties, he coldly re- 
 plied : ' I do not wish to be idle ; I .am not so 
 
 strong as I might be, but I am well enough 
 22 
 
338 INCIDENTS AND NAUBATIVES. 
 
 This was said in his usual repulsive tone ; and 
 as I saw his unwillingness to receive even the 
 expression of kindness or interest, I forbore to 
 molest him further. 
 
 "About this time we experienced a severe 
 hurricane, which required every one at his post 
 and at active duty. In the course of the day I 
 missed the English seaman, and on asking for 
 him, was told he was so feeble as to be unable 
 to leave his bed. Being myself constantly en- 
 gaged in the duties of my station, I gave ordei-s 
 that he should be well taken care of ; and when 
 r afterwards inquired about him, I was always 
 told he was well enough, but was too cross and 
 lazy to work — ^that it was of no use to offer him 
 any kindness, as he would only answer angrUy 
 in return — and that he was of too bad a tem- 
 per even to eat more than occasionally a sea- 
 biscuit. Even if I had leisure to attend to him, 
 I own I had almost conceived a dislike to the 
 man, so forbidding and disagreeable had been 
 his whole behavior; consequently I felt but 
 little inclination to have more intercourse with 
 him than was necessary. My engagements, 
 however, -were too peremptory to admit of fur- 
 ther attentions on my part, than inquiries re- 
 
IKCIDENTS AND 2SrARRATIYES. 839 
 
 specting him. For three weeks we experienced 
 sucli a continuance of boisterous and severe 
 weather, that every man in the ship was in al- 
 most constant requisition. I was myself nearly- 
 worn down for want of rest ; and I should have 
 thought two hours of uninterrupted sleep a lux- 
 ury. 
 
 " At length we were cheered by the return 
 of fair weather, and never was rest more needed 
 and welcomed by all. It had become almost a 
 perfect calm, and about midnight 1 had thrown 
 myself across a berth and fallen asleep. I had 
 been sleeping probably not more than half an 
 hour, when I was awakened by a slight noise, 
 and standing up, I beheld at the foot of the 
 cabin stairs, a tall, strange-looking figure, wrap- 
 ped in a sheet which nearly touched the ground ! 
 One wasted arm was exposed, and as the ema- 
 ciated hand grasped the sheet, it seemed as if 
 through the transparent skin every bone could 
 be counted. The bright moonlight enabled me 
 to discern every feature, and so intensely were 
 the black sunken eyes fixed upon me, that for 
 an instant a feeling of awe came over me. The 
 next moment I was on my feet, and receiving 
 no answer to my question of 'Who are you?' 
 
340 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 I stepped forward, and raised my hand as if to 
 grasp the arm, when the man replied in a low 
 voice, ' Do me no harm, sir ; I am Ned "Wilson.' 
 It was the English sailor, whom I had not seen 
 for three weeks, and who had become so al- 
 tered, that, not until I had looked fixedly at 
 him, did I recognize his pallid features. 
 
 " I said to him, in a stern tone, ' And what 
 has brought you here at such an hour ? Come, 
 go immediately back to bed.' He answered, 
 but in a tone of voice so unlike his usual man- 
 ner of speaking, that I was touched in a mo- 
 ment, ' Don't speak harshly to me, sir, I beseech 
 you.' ' Well, then,' I said, as kindly as I could, 
 ' tell me what has brought you here at such an 
 horn-. It is not fit that one so enfeebled as you 
 appear to be, should be out of his bed. Come, 
 I will take you back.' 
 
 " ' ]^o, no,' and he gasped for breath as he 
 laid his hand upon my arm, ' they — my mess- 
 mates — ^would hear what I have to say, and it 
 must not be.' 
 
 " The thought instantly occurred to me that 
 he was not in his right mind, and I again said 
 to him, ' Come, come, you must go back ; it is 
 very wi'ong for you to be here ; you will be bet- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 341 
 
 ter in bed.' ' Sir,' said he, in a solemn tone 
 ' you must iiear me. I rise from my death-bed 
 to tell you what no other ears must hear, and 
 
 which must be told before I die, or ' He 
 
 stopped, and a convulsive shuddering shook his 
 whole frame. ' Or what ?' I asked. ' Or my 
 soul is lost forever !' he replied. 
 
 " I was for a moment subdued and awed by 
 his imearthly appearance ; and the solemn stUl- 
 ness that reigned around, added eifect to what 
 he said. It again occurred to me that he might 
 be raving, and I again endeavored to persuade 
 him to go to bed. But he stopped me with — • 
 ' As a dying man, I ^vill be heard ; and if you 
 would save my soul, you will hear me.' 
 
 "Willing to soothe his increasing agitation, I 
 told him then to be brief, as, if he wished to 
 communicate anything secretly to me, we should 
 soon be interrupted by the awaking of those 
 sleeping near us. He looked suspiciously 
 around, and approaching me closely, whis- 
 pered, 'But you must swear, swear solemnly, 
 never, never, to reveal what I shall confess.' 
 
 " I promised faithfully to keep his secret ; 
 and as, in broken and detached sentences, he 
 related the particulars of a dreadful crime 
 
842 INCIDENTS AIS'D NAEEATIVES. 
 
 whicli he had committed several years before, 
 I became almost as agitated as himself. As he 
 concluded he seemed relieved of a fearful bur- 
 then. "We -^ere both silent for several minutes. 
 'And now,' said he, grasping my arm, and 
 looking in my face, as if his destiny depended 
 on my answer, ' tell me if my soul is lost for- 
 ever?' 
 
 " I replied : ' Tom's is a dreadful crime : but 
 to the repentant sinner there is offered free for- 
 giveness." 
 
 " ' Eepentant !' he exclaimed, ' God, who sees 
 my heart, knows if I have repented or not ; but 
 I have never ventured to ask His forgiveness, 
 convinced that He could have no mercy for 
 me.' 
 
 " ' A7hy have you presumed to set limits to 
 His mercy ?' I said. He paused, and then an- 
 swered, ' For so many years I have been, ac- 
 customed to think of Him only as the angry 
 Judge of my soul, that I have never thought 
 of His mercy. If I had thought of it, I should 
 also have remembered that He has promised to 
 punish the wicked.' 
 
 " I replied, ' He will punish the wicked, but 
 the penitent sinner He wiU receive and pardon.' 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 343 
 
 " ' Eut my sin /' said he, emphatically ; ' can 
 such sin be within the reach of His mercy V 
 
 " I answered, ' The blood of Jesus Christ 
 cleanseth from all sin ; wash in it, and be clean.' 
 
 " ' Oh ! those precious words !' he exclaimed ; 
 ' they are like some half-remembered dream. 
 I have heard them many, many years ago ; can 
 they indeed speak to me ?' He sank back faint 
 and exhausted, and with difficulty I conveyed 
 him to his bed. I offered him some refresh- 
 ment, which somewhat revived Jiim, and giving 
 him in charge of one of his companions, was 
 leaving him to the repose which he seemed so 
 much to require, when he beckoned me to re- 
 main, and made signs for me to speak more. I 
 told him he was not in a condition to hear more 
 that night, and that I would see him in the 
 morning. He stretched out his hand, and, 
 clasping mine, would not relax his hold. I 
 stooped and whispered, ' I must leave you alone 
 with God ; to Him make confession of your sin, 
 and implore His forgiveness. I cannot save 
 you from His wrath, but One mighty to save 
 you has interceded for you, and He will pre- 
 vail. He has invited you to come to Him, and 
 accept the salvation which He died to obtain 
 
344 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 for you.' He pressed my hand, and then re- 
 leased me, repeating almost inaudibly, ' To- 
 morrow.' 
 
 " The next day, as soon as my leisure would 
 permit, I again visited him, carrying with me a 
 Bible, which I presented to him. He received 
 it joyfully, and exclaimed, ' This is the message 
 of salvation !' He was extremely weak, and 
 spoke with difficulty. His calm and pleasant 
 answers had attracted the attention of his com- 
 panions, and they gathered around him with 
 their characteristic kindness to administer to 
 his wants. I heai'd them, as I passed, wonder- 
 ing what could have changed his angry ways 
 towards them. He told me himself he felt 
 like another being ; and from day to day he 
 continued to rejoice in the new view he had of 
 the character ef Grod. 
 
 " He lingered two or three weeks, and then 
 died, calm and resigned. As his bodily frame 
 became more wasted and feeble, his mind 
 seemed supported and strengthened. His Bible 
 was always open before him ; and he was al- 
 most constantly engaged in prayer, his lips 
 moving when he could no longer articulate. 
 He expressed strong faith in the merits of his 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARBATIVES. 345 
 
 Saviour, and when thanking me for having led 
 him to that safe refuge, he said : ' Sir, it was a 
 confession of sin that brought me to his feet. 
 If I had been taught in early life to confess my 
 sins constantly to God, I should never have de- 
 spaired of Plis mercy. But I went on from sin 
 to sin, reckless and hardened, until I was 
 tempted to commit that fearful crime. I 
 thought I had already sinned past all forgive- 
 ness, and that this one could make me no worse. 
 But confession of sin brought repentance for 
 sin ; then this hard heart was softened, and first 
 felt the need and sufficiency of the Saviour. 
 Oh ! those who confess their sins to Grod, and 
 repent, will never stay away from Christ.' " 
 
E^fnrraatinii nf 50tlliEra ^itt. 
 
 The distinguislied "William "Wirt, witMn six 
 or eight montlis after his first marriage, became 
 addicted to intemperance, the effect of which 
 operated strongly on the mind and health of his 
 wife, and in a few months more she was ntim- 
 bered with the dead. Her death led him to 
 leave the county in which he resided, and he 
 moved to Bichmond, where he soon rose to dis- 
 tinction. But his habits hung about him with 
 jolly and frolicsome spirits in bacchanalian 
 revelry. His true friends expostulated with 
 him, to convince him of the injury he was doing 
 himself. But he still persisted. His practice 
 began to fall off, and many looked on him as on 
 the sure road to ruin. He was advised to get 
 married with a view of correcting his habits. 
 This he consented to do, if the right person of- 
 fered. He accordingly paid his addresses to 
 a Miss Gamble. After some months' attention. 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 347 
 
 he asked her hand in marriage — she replied : 
 " Mr. Wirt, I have been well aware of yoiu* 
 intentions for some time back, and should have 
 given you to undei-stand that your visits and 
 intentions were not acceptable, had I not recip- 
 rocated the affection you evinced for me. But 
 I cannot yield my assent until you make a 
 pledge never to taste, touch, or handle any in- 
 toxicating drinks." This reply to Mr. Wirt was 
 as unexpected as it was novel. His reply was 
 that he regarded the proposition as a bar to all 
 further considerations on the subject, and left 
 her. Her course to him was the same as ever — 
 his resentment and neglect. In the course of a 
 few weeks he went again, and solicited her 
 hand. But her reply was, her mind was made 
 up. He became indignant, and regarded the 
 terms she proposed as insulting to his honor, 
 and vowed it should be the last meeting they 
 should have. He took to drinking worse and 
 worse, and seemed to run headlong to ruin. 
 One day, while lying in the outskirts of the 
 city, near a little grocery or grog-shop, dead 
 drunk, a young lady whom it was not necessary 
 to name, was passing that way to her home, not 
 far oif, and beheld him with his face upturned 
 
348 INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 
 
 to the rays of the scorching sim. She took her 
 handkerchief with her own name marked upon 
 it, and placed it over his face. After he re- 
 mained in that way some hours, he was awa- 
 kened, and his thii'st being so great, he went into 
 the little grocery or grog-shop to get a drink, 
 when he looked, and the name was on it. After 
 pausing a few moments, he exclaimed, " Great 
 God ! who left this with me ! Who placed this 
 on my face !" ISTo one knew. He dropped the 
 glass, exclaiming, " Enough, enough !" He 
 retired instantly from the store, forgetting his 
 thirst, but not the debauch, the handkerchief, 
 or the lady, vowing, if God gave him sti-ength, 
 never to touch, taste, or handle intoxicating 
 drinks. 
 
 To meet Miss G. again, was the hardest ejffort 
 of his life. If he met her in her carriage, or on 
 foot, he would dodge around the nearest corner. 
 She at last addressed him a note under her own 
 hand, inviting him to her own house, which he 
 finally gathered courage enough to accept. He 
 told her if she bore affection for him he would 
 agree to her own terms. Her reply was : " My 
 conditions are now what they ever have been." 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 349 
 
 "Then," said the disenthralled Wirt, "I accept 
 them." 
 
 They were soon married ; and from that day 
 he kept his word, and his affairs brightened, 
 while honors and glories gathered thick upon 
 his brow. His name has been enrolled high in 
 the temple of fame, while his deeds, his patriot- 
 ism and renown, live after him with imperish- 
 able lustre. How many noble minds might the 
 young ladies save, if they would follow the ex- 
 ample of the heroine-hearted Miss G., the friend 
 of humanity, of her country, and the relation of 
 La Fayette. 
 
(Kjit (^il IrJiDnl-jinttsf. 
 
 " I WILL walk witli you, if you have no objec- 
 tion," said Mr. Elliot, to his niece, Isabel, as she 
 Avas about leaving the farm-house, at the close 
 of a charming summer-day. 
 
 "I shall be very glad of your company," said 
 Isabel, " but perhaps you do not know where I 
 am going." 
 
 " To no very bad place, I am sure." 
 
 " Oh, no ; I am going to the old school-house 
 — to a prayer-meeting." The last words were 
 uttered with some hesitancy. Was she ashamed 
 to avow the object before her? No, for though 
 she had seen but sixteen summers, she had 
 stood up before the congregation, and publicly 
 avowed her attachment to the Eedeemer. With 
 a " single eye," she was engaged in his service, 
 winning the admii-ation of young and old by her 
 unwearied labors of benevolence. Though ex- 
 tremely diffident it could never bring a blush 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 351 
 
 upon her cheek to have it known that all her 
 hopes were garnered in her Saviour's love. 
 
 Her hesitancy in naming the prayer-meeting 
 was owing to the fact, that, her uncle, who was 
 on a brief visit to her father, was an infidel. 
 He had early left the roof of his pious father, in 
 order to push his fortune in the great world. 
 He was i-esolved to be rich. Bidding adieu to 
 his weeping parents, and his unaspiring brother, 
 he betook himself to the city, where, in the strife 
 for gold, broken hearts and ruined souls are 
 disregarded. With unsurpassed energy he en- 
 gaged in the strife, and was successful even to 
 the measure of his own sanguine expectations. 
 Business called him to other lands, where the 
 Sabbath wrought no restraining iniiuence, and 
 called up no recollections of the scenes of his 
 early days. He became intimate with those 
 who delight in eradicating divine truth from the 
 mind, and in confirming the opposition of the 
 heart to God. When he returned to his native 
 land, he regarded the Bible as a cunningly de- 
 vised fable, and looked with contempt upon 
 those who were striving to secure eternal life. 
 
 When Isabel mentioned the prayer-meeting, 
 he paused, and a frown passed over his counte- 
 
352 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 nance. Had the place of meeting been any 
 other than the school-honse, he would have suf- 
 fered his niece to go alone. But that old school- 
 house, the scene of his early studies — rose before 
 his mind's eye with great distinctness. He had 
 not set foot in it for forty years. He must enter 
 it once more, even though at the expense of 
 witnessing devotions which he regarded with 
 contempt and scorn. 
 
 To Isabel's. great delight, he walked by her 
 side towards the place of prayer. On the way, 
 his conversation was so com-teous and refined, 
 and so affectionate towards herself, that she 
 could not help maldng the inquiry, " How can 
 one so intelligent and susceptible of feeling, be 
 at enmity with God ?" 
 
 When they turned into the lane which led to 
 the school-house, Elliot became silent. When 
 they reached the grove of lofty pines which sur- 
 rounded the ancient and somewhat dilapidated 
 building, he paused, and listened to the sighing 
 of the evening breeze. A faint smile passed 
 over his lips, and then a tear stood in his eye. 
 Isabel observed it, and devoutly hoped that the 
 softening influence of the scene might prepare 
 his heart to receive impressions from the devo- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 353 
 
 tional services which he was to witness. He 
 crossed the well-remembered threshold, and 
 after surveying for a moment the changed as- 
 j>ect of the room, seated himself in a corner 
 which he had occupied forty years before. A 
 few aged and careworn pilgrims had assembled 
 to hold communion with their God, and to re- 
 ceive strength to enable them to persevere to 
 the end. One, by whose side Isabel took her 
 seat, asked her, in a whisper, "Who is that 
 man?" 
 
 " He is my uncle," said Isabel, with a smile 
 which she ever had in readiness for the aged as 
 well as for the young. 
 
 "Is that Israel Elliot's son?" said the old 
 lady ; " I must speak to him for his mother's 
 sake, if he is ever so rich." Kising and making 
 her tmsteady way to the rich merchant, she 
 said, "She tells me that you are Israel Elliot's 
 son, who has been gone so long. I said to her, 
 I must speak to you for your mother's sake ; 
 she was a ministering angel to me. I am glad 
 to see her son, and to see him look so well. 
 Tour mother is not here to welcome you, but she 
 will be ready to welcome you home to heaven. 
 You went, contrary to her wishes, to seek the 
 
354: INCIDENTS AND NABRATIVES. 
 
 •world, but I hope, now that your hair is gray, 
 that you have sought and found a better portion. 
 Tou do not remember me." 
 
 Elliot, somewhat annoyed, looked towards 
 Isabel, who stood by the side of her aged friend. 
 
 " This is Mrs. Hubbard," said Isabel. 
 
 " I recollect you," said Elliot, courteously ex- 
 tending his hand. " Tou were often with my 
 mother. You had a son who was my chief 
 playmate : how is he ?" 
 
 " George's grave has been hollow for many a 
 year. He died twenty-five years ago." 
 
 "Is it possible!" 
 
 " I counted on having him as the stay and 
 staff of my age, but God took him, and what 
 was I that I should withstand God ? I gave my 
 free consent to his will. George was a Chris- 
 tian ; I shall soon go and be with him." 
 
 A number of persons entering the room put 
 an end to the conversation. The silence which 
 preceded the services of the meeting, told elo- 
 quently upon the heart of the skeptic. His 
 thoughts were busy, and scenes and incidents 
 which had long been buried in forgetfulness, 
 rose to view. George Hubbard, who had sat 
 by his side in that self-same corner, was moul- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 355 
 
 dering in his grave ! EecoUections of other 
 companions thronged his mind. They soon 
 gave place to the image of one whose gentle 
 tones had lingered long in his ear, even after 
 he laid his entire heart on the altar of mammon. 
 He remembered his early dreams of happiness ; 
 how entirely they were associated with that 
 gentle girl ; her sorrowful, half-reproachful, and 
 despairing look, when he announced his pur- 
 pose of leaving the sweet influences of home in 
 order to gain that wealth which she regarded as 
 valueless in comparison with the treasures of 
 the heart. 
 
 For the fi.rst time he was half inclined to con- 
 fess that he had acted unwisely in suffering his 
 affections to run to waste that he might heap up 
 treasures which he must shortly leave. 
 
 His attention was arrested by the moving lips 
 of his mother's friend. Her eyes were closed. 
 It was plain that she was engaged in mental 
 prayer. He tried to awaken a feeling of con- 
 tempt, once so ready to rise at every exhibition 
 of what he was pleased to term fanaticism. 
 Those moving lips brought to mind those in 
 connection with whose remembrance no profane 
 feeling might find place. The prayers taught 
 
356 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 him in infancy were again as familiar as house- 
 hold words. The solemn thought of sin, and of 
 an endless futui'e, long banished from his mind, 
 were again present. The fearful hour, when 
 almost persuaded to become a Christian, he said 
 to the heavenly voice, " Go thy way for this 
 time," passed in solemn review before him. 
 He covered his face with his hands, and felt 
 that, notwithstanding all his riches, he was a 
 wretched man. 
 
 His reverie was broken by the voice of his 
 brother, who, in the absence of the usual con- 
 ductor of the meeting, commenced its services. 
 He addressed a few words to his brethren and 
 sisters. They came from the heart, and reached 
 the hearts to which they were addressed. Per- 
 haps his voice was a little tremulous in conse- 
 quence of his brother's presence. "With that 
 exception, the exercises of the meeting differed 
 in no respect from their usual character. Had 
 any allusion been made to Elliot, it is probable 
 that feelings of resistance would have been 
 awakened within him. He was let alone, save 
 by the silent uplifting of hearts who were inter- 
 ested in him for his mother's sake, and the con- 
 sequence was, that his own sad thoughts pressed 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 857 
 
 the moi'e heavily upon him. "When the meet- 
 ing was closed, he sat apparently unconscious 
 of what was passing around him, till only his 
 brother and niece remained in the room. He 
 then suddenly started, exclaiming, with a forced 
 smile, " I had nearly forgotten myself amid the 
 recollections of the past." On the way home, 
 he sldlfuUy resisted all attempts of his brother 
 to lead the conversation to serious subjects. 
 When he entered the house, a careless observer 
 woidd have said he was in joyous spirits, but to 
 the anxious eye of affection, his gayety was 
 plainly forced. He retired at an early hour. 
 He arose early in the morning, and announced 
 his purpose of returning to the city, offering as 
 a reason, the pressing claims of business. His 
 brother entreated him to remain a few days 
 longer, but in vain. The heart and conscience 
 had made their last ineffectual effort to be 
 heard. The man of business was himself again. 
 The skeptic was again secure in his skepticism. 
 "Therefore shall they eat of the fruit of their 
 own way, and be filled with their own devices." 
 
SlE Sttrihnt, raitl; a BtnmL 
 
 A MINISTER of tlie Gospel in one of tlie nor- 
 thern cities, some years ago, became deeply im- 
 pressed with a desire for increased usefulness. 
 He thought much upon the most probable means 
 for the accomplishment of this object. The 
 ordinary opportunities of access to his people, 
 by pulpit ministration and customary pastoral 
 yisitings, did not satisfy his soul. He longed 
 to lead his flock directly to Christ ; to witness 
 a greater degree of spirituality among them. 
 At length, he resolved to visit every family, 
 and, as far as practicable, to ascertain the spirit- 
 ual condition of each of its members, by per- 
 sonal conversation upon religious experience. 
 At an appointed time, he entered upon his la- 
 bors of love. He called on one and another of 
 the families of his people, had every household 
 gathered, and with much afiectionate concern 
 spoke to them of the necessity of living each 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 359 
 
 day for God and for eternity. His own soul 
 was comforted, and lie felt that his labors were 
 not in vain in the Lord. 
 
 A day or two after he had commenced this 
 heavenly employment, he called at the house 
 of one of his most pious and iniluential mem- 
 bers — a man of wealth. The father was absent 
 at his place of business, but his mother, an 
 amiable and pious woman, was at home. On 
 making known to the latter his desire that she 
 should summon her family to the parlor, and 
 acquainting her with his design to speak per- 
 sonally to them — to admonish, exhort, or encour- 
 age, as tliey might need, the mother thanked 
 him with tears of gratitude, but said, " I have 
 one request to make of you, sir." 
 
 " What is that ?" said the minister. 
 
 " It is that you will not say anything to" my 
 eldest daughter, Mary, on the subject of reli- 
 gion. I have prayed for that child for years. 
 I have talked to her again and again ; but her 
 heart is set upon vanity. Fashion and the world 
 are predominant in her affections. She has be- 
 come, of late, exceedingly sensitive to reproof 
 or admonition. Eespectful in every other re- 
 lation, she will not permit me to speak to her 
 
360 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 on religious subjects, without returning a vio- 
 lence of language entirely unbecoming a daugh- 
 ter. I have determined, therefore, to refrain 
 from any direct appeal to her, until she shall 
 give evidence of greater docility. Tou will 
 please, therefore, say nothing to Mary, whatever 
 you may say to the others. I should be sorry 
 to have your feelings injured, as well as my 
 own, by the manner in which I am but too con- 
 fident she would respond. May G-od bless your 
 admonitiolis to the rest !" 
 
 In a few moments the family was gathered 
 in the presence of the minister. Mary sat 
 among them. She had enter-ed with respectful 
 courtesy, and taking her position at a window 
 looking upon a street, apparently more interest- 
 ed at what was going on without, than attentive 
 to the conversation within. The minister spoke 
 fii'st to the mother, of her responsibilities ; then 
 to the son, a youth of intellect and promise ; 
 then to a younger daughter, and so on, until he 
 had administered his kind and fatherly instruc- 
 tions to all. I mean all except Mary ; to her 
 he said nothing. He seemed to be unconscious 
 of her presence. As tears of tenderness flowed 
 freely from all who participated in the delight- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 361 
 
 ful interview, Maiy sat at the window, playing 
 idly with the tasselling at the silken curtains, 
 her proud spirit refusing the least intimations 
 of sympathetic feeling. The brightness of her 
 eye was undimmed by any gathering tear — the 
 loftiness of her carriage was not, for a moment, 
 relaxed by the affecting scene before her ; and 
 when the minister said, " Let us pray !" she 
 arose not from her seat, to bow with the rest, 
 but remained still in her position in her scornful 
 unconcern, her delicate fingers toying with the 
 silken fringe of the drapeiy before her. The 
 minister poured out his soul in a fervent address 
 to the throne of grace. O, how earnestly did 
 he commit that family to the guardianship of 
 Heaven ! referring to them, in his supplications, 
 individually, and appropriately presenting to 
 the mercy of the Father, through the merit 
 of the Son. But he offered no prayer for JMCary. 
 Unconcernedly and proudly, she still played 
 with the silken toys. The prayer ceased — the 
 good man arose. Taking each by the hand, he 
 affectionately gave a parting admonition and 
 invocation ; and bowing coldly to Mary, who as 
 coldly returned his civility, he left the room, and 
 made his way to the entrance of the dwelling. 
 
362 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 ■He had scarcely passed the tliresliold, when 
 the words of the Hedeemer, ''I am not come to 
 call the righteous, but sinners to repentance," 
 flashed upon his mind. Suddenly pausing, he 
 said to himself, " Shall I refuse exertion for any 
 soul, to save which my Master came down from 
 heaven? N"ay, Grod being my helper, I will 
 return." 
 
 Again he stood in the parlor. The family sat 
 just as he left them, musing on the things he 
 had spoken ; Mary was, to all appearance, still 
 cold and unmoved. 
 
 ^Yith. a courage imparted by the Holy Spirit, 
 he walked to where she sat, and, taking her 
 hand in his, said, "It is a faithful saying, and 
 worthy of- all acceptation, that ' Jesus Christ 
 came into the world to save sinners.' Shall he 
 save you ?" 
 
 The rock was smitten ! the waters gushed 
 forth freely, and fully ! Mary, proud and scorn- 
 ful as she seemed to be, needed only the word 
 of invitation, to bow, and weep, and pray. 
 Then was heard the bitter cry, " God be merci- 
 ful to me a sinner." Angels hovered over that 
 little assembly, and ere the descending sun 
 gave place to the gathering twilight, the shout 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 363 
 
 of conversion ascended the throne, and there 
 was joy in heaven over the sinner that had re- 
 pented. 
 
 It has been years since the above has been 
 related to us, and we do not know that it ever 
 has been in print before. Its moral, which is 
 two-fold, is borne upon its very face. Mothers 
 may learn from it never to despair ; and minis- 
 ters may learn from it never to falter. 
 
" What knowest thou, wife, whether thou ehalfc save thy 
 husband." — 1 Coe. vii. 16. 
 
 The following extract from " My Mother" is 
 abridged from the Independent. 
 
 Most of the children of the family had be- 
 come hopefully pious. But the father at the 
 age of sixty-five was yet without G-od and with- 
 out hope in the world. He was a moral man 
 and seemed near the kingdom of heaven, but 
 still did not enter it. He had seen prosperity 
 and adversity — ^had passed through several re- 
 vivals of religion. And all this time his con- 
 version had been a subject of much solicitude 
 and prayer to his wife ; but with no visible ef- 
 fect. 
 
 At length she proposed to the children, at 
 home and abroad, to unite with her in prayer 
 for him, at a certain hour of the day. This 
 family concert was observed ; and still no visi- 
 
INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 365 
 
 ble effects. The faith of some of the children 
 began to fail ; but not so the mother's. Her 
 faith grew stronger and more importunate. 
 Her spirit had no rest. One night after they 
 had retired, she expressed in a few words her 
 concern for him. He gave but an indifferent 
 answer, and fell asleep. 8he arose in the ful- 
 ness of an anxious heart, and returning to the 
 sitting-room, raked open a bed of coals, and 
 spent the night in prayer. It was in the month 
 of February. As the morning approached she 
 fell into the following train of reflections : " I 
 have borne this burthen forty years ; I can carry 
 it no farther ; it is too heavy for me ; I must roll 
 it off on God. I feel that I have done ! I can- 
 not change his heart. I canH convert him, how- 
 ever much I distress myself. Perhaps I have 
 sinned in distressing myself as I have. God 
 may have seen in me the want of a simple re- 
 liance on him ; or the want of true and absolute 
 submission to his will. He may have seen me 
 unwilling or afraid to commit the matter of my 
 husband's salvation entirely to him. But I feel 
 that I mAiySt and do thus commit it to him now. 
 I will afflict myself no more. I shall still pray 
 for him, and use such means as may seem ad- 
 
S66 INCIDENTS AND NAREATIVES. 
 
 yisable, but — saved or lost — ^I leave tlie result 
 with God." 
 
 In the morning, after breakfast, finding him 
 alone, she addressed him in a few kind but ear- 
 nest words, respecting the prospect of their 
 speedy and eternal separation, and closed by 
 saying — "And now I have this one request to 
 make — devote this day to the concerns of the 
 soul — devote it to reflection and prayer. If you 
 cannot do it for yom- own sake, do it to oblige 
 me." Struck with her earnest manner, he said, 
 decisively, " I will.'''' She saw no more of him 
 till quite night, when he returned sad and 
 thoughtful. The next day, he again disappear- 
 ed and was gone till evening. He returned 
 thoughtful, but calm and serene. "I do not 
 know," said he, " what has ailed me to-day ; 
 my feelings have been unusual, and indeed very 
 sti'ange. It has seemed to me this afternoon as 
 if everything was changed. Everything ap- 
 peared to speak of God. The trees, the hills, 
 the skies — everything seemed to praise Him. 
 And I felt that I loved everybody. If there 
 
 is any one that I have hated, it is Mr. G ; 
 
 but I have felt to-day that I loved him like a 
 brother !" 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 367 
 
 His heart seemed overflowing with emotions 
 of this kind — as new and strange to him as the 
 expression of them was to his astonished and 
 rejoicing, yet trembling wife. 
 
 Who will go and do likewise ? Are there 
 not many wives with unbelieving partners who 
 may be encouraged and quickened to effort by 
 such an example. "Who knows but that they 
 may save their husbands instrumentally ? 
 
€^t Xui ttun. 
 
 " As 1 was coming to breakfast," said Mr. 
 Green to his employer, " I saw a piece of Hall's 
 fence down. As soon as the cows are turned 
 into the pasture, they will make their way into 
 his corn field." 
 
 " A man must see to his fences if he wishes 
 to preserve his crops," said Mr. Williams. 
 
 After breakfust and prayers. Green and "Wat- 
 son, who was also in "Williams' employ, set out 
 for the meadow, in which they were construct- 
 ing a drain. When they had gone a little way. 
 Green stopped, and tm-ning to Mr. "W., who was 
 within hearing, said, "Hadn't I better step 
 aside and put up the fence? That drove of 
 cows will make sad work with the corn." 
 
 " Hall must attend to his own business, as I 
 do to mine," said Mr. Williams. 
 
 Green and his companions went on their way. 
 When they came in sight of the exposed corn- 
 field, Green remarked, " If I were a Christian, 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 869 
 
 I should go and put up that fence ; and as it is 
 I should do it, if I were not to work for Wil- 
 liams ; my time belongs to him." 
 
 "Hall has not treated Williams very well," 
 said Watson. "I do not wonder that he is dis- 
 posed to let him manage his own concerns." 
 
 " It is human nature to be sure, and yet one 
 ought to be neighborly. I suspect Williams 
 h§s lost some leaves out of his Bible." 
 
 " What makes you think so ?" 
 
 " Because he acts as he does. He professes 
 to square his life by the Bible. ISTow the Bible, 
 at least the Bible that my father used to own, 
 had some such rules as these : ' Thou shalt love 
 thy neighbor as thyself. Do good to them that 
 hate you.' I can't say how much Williams 
 loves himself, but if he does not love himself 
 better than he loves Hall, he can't be on as 
 good terms with himself as most persons are. 
 I can't say but that he does good to Hall'; but 
 if he doos, he sticks very closely to the rule not 
 to let his left hand know what his right hand 
 doeth. Judging from what I see of his con- 
 duct, I conclude that he must have lost out of 
 his Bible the leaves containing the passages I 
 just now quoted, and some others like them." 
 25 
 
370 INOIDEKTS AND NAEBATIVBS. 
 
 " If we reason in that way, we must conclude 
 that there are a great many leaves wanting in 
 some folk's Bible. But the fault is not in the 
 Bible. None are perfect. Some have one fail- 
 ing, and some another : we must be charitable." 
 
 "That is just what the drunken man said, 
 when he wanted to be taken into the church ; 
 but the minister would not take him. "We 
 ought to be charitable ; bnt if a man steals my 
 pork, I do not think charity requires me to 
 believe him to be an honest man and to treat 
 him accoi'dingly. And so, if a man violates a 
 fundamental Bible rule, charity does not require 
 me to believe that he is a Christian." 
 
 " Don't you believe that Williams is a Chris- 
 tian ?" 
 
 " It does not become me to say who is, and 
 who is not a Christian. I am a great ways from 
 being one myself. There are a great many 
 good things about Williams. He is an honest 
 man — ^perfectly so. I do not believe he has 
 ever wronged a man out of a penny in the world. 
 He is liberal to the poor, is strict in keeping the 
 Sabbath. Some of his apple-trees once blew 
 down on Saturday night. I oifered to set them 
 up on Sunday — but he would not let me, and 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 871 
 
 60 lost them all. He seems to -n-aut to do good 
 som.etimes, — I don't know but lie ahvays does. 
 The only thing I find it difficult to get along 
 with, is his stubbornness. If he gets set against 
 a man, there is no turning him. Now here is 
 Hall. Williams won't do anything to injure 
 him to be sure, but he won't do anything to 
 benefit him. Hall has been greatly to blame ; 
 but still there are the words of the book. 'Do 
 good to them that hate you : but if ye forgive 
 not men their trespasses, neither will your Fa- 
 ther forgive your trespasses.' I do not see any 
 getting away from these words." 
 
 "There must be some way; for there is a 
 good deal of hard feeling in the world among 
 Christians." 
 
 " I don't see how they can jae forgiven ; and 
 a Christian with his sins unforgiven, can't be a 
 thousand times better off than a sinner. But 
 here we are, and must go to work." 
 
 After they had wrought for some time in si- 
 lence,"Watson looked up and said, " I say, Green, 
 what is the reason, seeing you know so much 
 about the Bible, that you are not a Christian?" 
 
 " There are a great many reasons — more than 
 I can stop to tell now." 
 
372 INQIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 "You must have studied the Bible a good 
 deal." 
 
 " I can't claim any merit on that score. "What 
 I know of the Bible, I learned when I was young. 
 When I was a boy, my father kept me at home 
 on the Sabbath, that is, out of meeting hours, 
 and made me read the Bible. Children were 
 not allowed in those days, to range the fields, 
 and rob orchards, on the Sabbath as they do 
 now. Parents looked after children more then 
 than they do now — maybe because there were 
 no Sunday-schools then — if so, it was all the 
 better for them." 
 
 "It seems that your father didn't make a 
 good man of you, after all." 
 
 " I am a better man than I should have been, 
 if he hadn't taught me to keep the Sabbath and 
 read the Bible. I tell you, "Watson, I have 
 passed through some pretty hard times, and I 
 should have been an enemy to religion, if I had 
 not known enough of the Bible to distinguish 
 between genuine religion and its counterfeit. 
 But I must not spend in talking, the time that 
 belongs to the man who hires me." 
 
 "When "Williams parted with his men in the 
 morning, he went to his pastor, to consult with 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 373 
 
 him respecting some repairs wliich were re- 
 quired for the meeting-house. When that topic 
 had been sufficiently disciissed, the pastor called 
 the attention of his visitor to the condition of 
 the spiritual edifice, and soon produced a deep 
 conviction in his mind that some effort in rela- 
 tion to it was necessary. 
 
 "Williams went home, and retired to his closet, 
 and made the matter a subject of prayer. Al- 
 most the first thing he thought of after he left 
 his closet was the exposed condition of his 
 neighbor's cornfield. There was, apparently, 
 very little connection between the cornfield and 
 eiforts for the conversion of men. Such efforts 
 he had resolved to make without delay. After 
 a few moments spent in reflection, he went to 
 the cornfield, drove out the cattle, which were 
 just commencing their depredations, and put 
 up the fence. He then returned to the house, 
 and felt strongly inclined to repair to his closet 
 again, and to make Mr. Hall a subject of spe- 
 cial supplication. He did so. His next reflec- 
 tions were respecting the wisest way of ap- 
 proaching Mr. Hall, and of exhorting him to 
 attend to the things belonging to his peace. \ 
 
M^ fm\ tit 
 
 " The way of the transgressor is hard." 
 
 The loay, the way, not the consequences 
 merely, but the wa]/ is hard. While the path 
 of the good shines brighter and brighter, that 
 of the bad is darker and darker. I was very 
 much impressed with this truth, in a recent con- 
 versation I held with an acquaintance of mine. 
 She said she thought of visiting Europe, but the 
 dread of storms on the Atlantic withheld her. 
 "I might be drowned," said she, "and I have 
 no religion." Again something was said of the 
 West India Islands, when she remarked, "I 
 should not like to live there, because of the 
 dreadful earthquakes that country is subject to, 
 and I might be swallowed up in one of them." 
 And so I found that whatever might be the 
 subject up, it had but one idea for her, " Was 
 there any danger of death ?" She said to me, 
 "I never lie down at night, but my miad is 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 375 
 
 troubled witla the dreadful fear that 1 may die 
 before moruing." And what to me was even 
 more astonishing and distressing, she told me 
 that " all her life long she had felt so." I saw 
 that her way was " hard," not only because of 
 the grievous fear, doubt, uneasiness, restlessness, 
 unsatisfied desire, and tormenting self-accus- 
 ings, she was constantly made unhappy by, but 
 still more was it " hard," because she was shut 
 out from the light and peace, the confidence of 
 faith, the satisfaction of hope that always results 
 from a sincere and abiding communion with 
 " our Father who is in heaven." 
 
 And who, that has any experience in the 
 " transgressor's way," but will acknowledge it 
 "is hard." I shall never forget my first lie (if 
 you will excuse the reference to myself), al- 
 though it hapiDened when I was a very little 
 girl. My younger sister had a cent, with which 
 she wished to buy a fig — and being too sick to go 
 down to the store hei-self, she engaged me to go. 
 Accordingly I went. As I was returning with 
 the fig nicely done up in a small paper, sud- 
 denly the thought occurred to me that I should 
 like to look at the fig. So I very carefully 
 opened the paper, when the fig looked so very 
 
376 INCIDENTS AND NAERATIVES. 
 
 tempting, I thought I could not help tasting it 
 a little at one end, and then I could explain the 
 affair at home. I had scarcely despatched that 
 bit before I wanted it all, and without much 
 more thought, I eat up the whole fig ! Then, 
 when the fig was all gone, and I had nothing to 
 do but to think, I began to feel very uncomfort- 
 able — my own faithlessness — my sister's disap- 
 pointment — I stood disgraced before myself. I 
 had done very wrong. I thought some of run- 
 ning away off somewhere, I did not know ex- 
 actly where, but where I should never come 
 back again. It was long before I reached 
 home, and I went as quickly as I could, and 
 told my sister that I had " lost the cent." I re- 
 member she cried sadly, but I went directly out 
 into the garden, and tried to think of something 
 else, but in vain, my own guilt stared me stead- 
 ily in the face, and I was wretched enough. 
 
 Although it wanted only a few minutes to 
 our dinner hour, yet it seemed very long to me. 
 I was anxious some event should intervene be- 
 tween me and the lie I had told. I imagined 
 it would relieve me. I wandered about the gar- 
 den with a very heavy sj^irit. I thought I would 
 give worlds if it had not happened. When the 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 377 
 
 dinner hour came, I was seated in my high chair 
 at my father's side, when my sister made her 
 appearance, crying and looking very much 
 grieved. My father immediately inquired what 
 the matter was ? Then my mother stated the 
 story, the conclusion of which was, that I had 
 "lost the cent." I can never forget the look 
 of kind, perfectly unsuspecting confidence 
 with which my father turned to me, and with 
 his large blue eyes full in my face, he said, 
 '■'■ Whereabouts did you lose the cent? perhaps 
 we can find it again." Not for one single in- 
 stant could I brave that tone and that look, but 
 bursting into tears, I screamed out, " O, I did 
 not lose the cent, I ate up the fig." A silence, 
 as of the grave, ensued. ISTo one spoke. In an 
 instant I seemed to be separated at an immense 
 distance from all the rest of the family. A 
 great gulf yawned between us. A sense of 
 loneliness, and desolation, and dreariness, came 
 over me, the impression of which, I presume, 
 will go with me forever. I left the table, and 
 all that afternoon, the next day, and duiing the 
 week, my feelings were melancholy in the ex- 
 treme. But as the time wore away, and my 
 father and mother, brothers and sisters received 
 
378 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 me back to their love and favor, my spirits re- 
 covered their wonted tone. The whole event 
 left an indelible impression on my mind and 
 heart. It convinced me that the way of the 
 " transgressor is hard." 
 
 I know the brow of sin sometimes wears the 
 stolen mask of pleasure. Eut it is only the 
 seeming, not the substance. Can any one com- 
 mit a greater mistake than to imagine happiness 
 attendant on vice ? When avarice blunts every 
 generous sentiment of the soul — envy creeps like 
 a serpent over the heart, withering and deaden- 
 ing all true affection. Ambition ti'amples be- 
 neath its feet the holiest and highest principles. 
 There is no balm for the disquieted heart but to 
 tear out the viper in the bosom. " The triumph 
 of the wicked is short. The joy of the hypocrite 
 is but for a moment." The good man's burden 
 at first seems too heavy, but a few years' endm*- 
 ing integrity, and the yoke is easy, the bm'den 
 light. The habit of any vice cannot long be 
 concealed. Human nature was not made for 
 hypocrisy. Every vice has its own peculiar foot- 
 prints. Society knows evil to be the great en- 
 emy of its peace. How hard is it for the bad 
 man to turn back ! Yet he can do it. Only 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 879 
 
 his will enchains him. God cannot ask what 
 man cannot do. Let ns not take sanction under 
 the saj'ing, " The Ethiopian cannot change his 
 skin, nor the leopard its spots." Our Gospel is 
 built on the return of the prodigal. What we 
 heartily desire we obtain. The feeling seems 
 to prevail that it is not safe to break off from 
 sin at once. The path of such half-soul endeav- 
 ors is always short. The partial reformer has 
 only lulled watchfulness to sleep. We are wept 
 over by the angels. Let the searching eye of 
 God keep the chambers of our souls clean. The 
 only pleasure that dies not in the using, is when 
 temptation has been overcome, when passion 
 has been subdued ; these color our earth with 
 the holy light of heaven. Let us live the life 
 of the righteous, so that we may die the death 
 of the righteous, and so, in the beautiful lan- 
 guage of David, we shall be satisfied when we 
 awake in His likeness. 
 
St^Dflntiigiii nf hing ilDitririDiis. 
 
 A STEANGEE of great distinction, and who had 
 played no inconsiderable part in the political 
 drama of the day, has lately returned to Paris, 
 where some years since he dwelt for a long time. 
 On his first visit to the capital, young and al- 
 ready famous, he married into the aristocracy 
 of the Faubourg St. Germain. The return of 
 this personage has excited the curiosity of the 
 Parisian world, justified, it would seem, by for- 
 mer eccentricities, and by a strangeness of 
 character which may be traced in the anecdote 
 now going the rounds of the talkmongers. The 
 individual in question was not born and edu- 
 cated in the class where he now finds himself 
 placed by the right of personal merit. Instead 
 of being tempered by early education, his dis- 
 position, naturally violent, unrestrained, and 
 uncultivated, was rendered almost ungovernable 
 by the habits of a life spent amid camps. His 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 381 
 
 fortune, too, like his greatness, came to him 
 late ; and it has been frequently remarked that 
 those who obtain riches by their own efforts, 
 and in middle life, possess a lively and powerful 
 attachment for the wealth which long privation 
 and laborious conquest have taught them im- 
 moderately to value. 
 
 At the time of this illustrious stranger's en- 
 trance into the world of Paris, those shrewd 
 observers, the envious and jealous of others' 
 prosperity, remarked that his shining qualities 
 were darkened by two very great faults — ava- 
 rice and brutality. The latter of these faults 
 was a sad feature in his married life, and was 
 the cause of poignant suffering to a wife, well- 
 born, brought up in the most polished society, 
 surrounded by affectionate relatives, and accus- 
 tomed to all the refinements of aristocratic good- 
 breeding. It was not long before she was made 
 to feel the change, for the character of her hus- 
 band began to display itself in the early days 
 of her married life, and a shade of bitter to 
 mingle with the sweetness of the honeymoon. 
 This was sad, and all the promised happiness 
 faded away. The union, which had commenced 
 under the most favorable auspices, saw its 
 
882 INCIDENTS AND NAEEATIVES. 
 
 cliarnis destroyed by storaiy half-hours, which 
 became more and more frequent. It required 
 all the rare virtue of the young wife not to suc- 
 cumb to the trials which humiliation, terror, 
 injury, and grief, compelled her to undei'go. 
 
 One day, after a scene of conjugal violence 
 which had occurred in the presence of many 
 witnesses, the ii-ascible husband entered his 
 own apartment, whither he was followed by an 
 old and tried friend, who by his devotion and 
 uprightness had earned the right to speak 
 2:)lainly, a right he did not hesitate to exercise. 
 Without heeding the still unsuppressed rage, he 
 very freely commented on the conduct of his 
 friend, so little becoming in a gentleman. The 
 culprit listened with a gloomy air, and when the 
 lecture was terminated, said — 
 
 "Tom* reproof is just; I deserve it; and I 
 reproach myself more bitterly than you have 
 done ; but what would you have ? It is stronger 
 than I am, it is out of my power to control it ; 
 I give way to my passion, fly into a rage, and 
 forget myself. "When it is over, I am ashamed, 
 despairing, and yet all this does not prevent me 
 from recommencing, and sometimes even the 
 very next day. It is fatal." 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 383 
 
 " Yes, very fatal." 
 
 " I have need of a good lesson, and will teach 
 it to myself." 
 
 And the culprit for some moments strode 
 through the apartment with rapid steps and 
 lowering brow, keeping silence, and twisting in 
 his fingers a cigarette. The expression of his 
 features, and the contraction of his forehead, 
 betrayed the painful thoughts and stormy con- 
 flict which were going on within ; then, his 
 resolution taken, he opened a drawer and took 
 from it a bank-bill for one thousand francs. 
 His friend looked on with astonishment, unable 
 to imagine what he was about to do. He rolled 
 up the bill, put it in the taper, and lighted his 
 cigar by the flame of the precious paper. The 
 friend, stupefied at this strange action, strange 
 in a man with whose excessive parsimony he 
 was so well acquainted, rushed towards him. 
 
 " Leave me !" said the miser, with choking 
 voice. 
 
 " But, yon are mad." 
 
 "IN'o: I know what I am doing — I am pun- 
 ishing myself." 
 
 When the bill was nothing but a small heap 
 of black ashes, our hero, and he may be called 
 
884 INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 
 
 one after this action — added ia a firm and sol- 
 emn voice — 
 
 " I swear, on my honor, that each time I give 
 way to any brutality towards ' my wife, I will 
 punish myself in the most sensitive part — my 
 love of money." 
 
 This oath was religiously kept. Since that 
 day the miser has strictly paid for the hrutality 
 of the husband. After a scene of violence he 
 appears before his self-appointed tribunal, and 
 submitting to the law which he himself lays 
 da^vn, he pronounces his sentence without ap- 
 peal. The condemned opens the casket which 
 contains his treasure. Pale and trembliug with 
 the effort beneath which his passion bends, he 
 takes a bank-bill and burns it. 
 
 The expiation was always proportioned to the 
 offence ; he had a tariff graduated by the de- 
 grees of crime ; for a harshness the price was 
 five hundred francs ; for a harshness before 
 witnesses, one thousand ; and if gesture and ac- 
 tion had followed the spoken bnitality, it was 
 two thousand francs. This course, his friend 
 states, might have ruined him, for in a single 
 month it cost him thirty thousand francs. But 
 happily it turned out otherwise. He became 
 
INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES. 385 
 
 an entirely changed man. His faults have 
 completely disappeared. The severity of the 
 remedy worked a perfect cm-e. Now he is 
 kind, gallant, and amiable towards his wife, 
 and his evenness of disposition is proof against 
 all shocks ; and, what is stranger still, he has 
 become liberal and generous, and spends his 
 ample fortune freely and intelligently. 
 
 Happy they who have not only the force of 
 mind, but the means of so eradicating a vice. 
 Whether many Parisian husbands will follow 
 the example when they have faults to correct in 
 themselves, is a matter of considerable doubt. 
 
 THE END, 
 
I' *,;.vs .v^a 
 
 st?