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A long, deep groan was the only reply; but the whole body of the kneeling man was convulsed; and it was easy to see his sufferings, his contrition, his remorse, and his despair. The Pastor said, with a sterner voice, and austerer countenance than were natural to him, 55 "Know you whose hand is now lying on your rebellious head? But what signifies the word father, to him who has denied God, the Father of us all?" "Oh! press him not too hardly," said his weeping wife, coming forward from a dark corner of the room, where 60 she tried to conceal herself in grief, fear, and shame. "Spare, Oh! spare my husband-he has ever been kind to me;" and with that she knelt down beside him, with her long, soft, white arms mournfully, and affectionately laid across his neck. Go thou, likewise, my 65 sweet little Jamie," said the Elder, “ go even out of my bosom, and kneel down beside thy father and thy mother, so that I may bless you all at once, and with one yearning prayer. The child did as the solemn voice commanded, and knelt down, somewhat timidly, by his 70 father's side; nor did the unhappy man decline encircling with his arm, the child too much neglected, but still dear to him as his own blood, in spite of the deadening and debasing influence of infidelity.
"Put the word of God into the hands of my son, and *75 let him read aloud to his dying father the 25th, 26th, and 27th verses of the eleventh chapter of the Gospel according to St. John." The Pastor went up to the kneelers, and, with a voice of pity, condolence, and pardon, said, "There was a time when none, William, could 80 read the Scriptures better than couldst thou-can it be that the son of my friend hath forgotten the lessons of his youth?" He had not forgotten them-there was no need of the repentant sinner to lift up his eyes from the bed side. The sacred stream of the Gospel had worn a 85 channel in his heart, and the waters were again flowing, With a choked voice he said, "Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: And whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die. Believest thou this? She said unto him, Yea, Lord: I believe thou 90 art the Christ the Son of God, which should come into
"That is not an unbeliever's voice," said the dying
man triumphantly; "nor, William, hast thou an unbeliever's heart. Say that thou believest in what thou 95 hast now read, and thy father will die happy!" "I do believe; and as thou forgivest me, so may I be forgiven by my Father who is in heaven." The Elder seemed like a man suddenly inspired with a new life. His faded eyes kindled his pale cheeks glówed-his palsied 100 hands seemed to wax stróng-and his voice was clear as that of manhood in its prime. () Into thỹ hands, O Gōd! I commit my spirit;" and so saying, he gently sunk back on his pillow; and I thought I heard a sigh. There was then a long, deep silence, and 105 the father, the mother, and the child, rose from their knees. The eyes of us all were turned towards the white, placid face of the figure now stretched in everlasting rest; and without lamentations, save the silent lamentations of the resigned soul, we stood around the 110 DEATH-BED OF THE ELDER.
Benevolence of God.-CHALMERS.
It is saying much for the benevolence of God, to say, that a single world, or a single system, is not enough for it-that it must have the spread of a mightier region, on which it may pour forth a tide of exuberancy through5 out all its provinces-that, as far as our vision can carry us, it has strewed immensity with the floating receptacles of life, and has stretched over each of them the garniture of such a sky, as mantles our own habitationand that, even from distances which are far beyond the 10 reach of human eye, the songs of gratitude and praise may now be arising to the one God, who sits surrounded by the regards of his one great and universal family.
Now it is saying much for the benevolence of God, to say, that it sends forth these wide and distant emana15 tions over the surface of a territory so ample-that the world we inhabit, lying imbedded as it does, amidst so much surrounding greatness, shrinks into a point that to the universal eye might appear to be almost imperceptible. But does it not add to the power and to the 20 perfection of this universal eye, that at the very momen
it is taking a comprehensive survey of the vast, it can fasten a steady and undistracted attention on each minute and separate portion of it; that at the very moment it is looking at all worlds, it can look most point25 edly and most intelligently to each of them; that at the very moment it sweeps the field of immensity, it can settle all the earnestness of its regards upon every distinct hand-breadth of that field; that at the very moment at which it embraces the totality of existence, it 30 can send a most thorough and penetrating inspection into each of its details, and into every one of its endless diversities? You cannot fail to perceive how much this adds to the power of the all-seeing eye. Tell me, then, if it do not add as much perfection to the benevolence 35 of God, that while it is expatiating over the vast field
of created things, there is not one portion of the field overlooked by it; that while it scatters blessings over the whole of an infinite range, it causes them to descend in a shower of plenty on every separate habita40 tion; that while his arm is underneath and round about all worlds, he enters within the precincts of every one of them, and gives a care and a tenderness to each individual of their teeming population. Oh! does not the God, who is said to be love, shed over this attribute 45 of his, its finest illustration! when, while he sits in the highest heaven, and pours out his fulness on the whole subordinate domain of nature and of Providence, he bows a pitying regard on the very humblest of his children, and sends his reviving spirit into every heart, and 50 cheers by his presence every home, and provides for the wants of every family, and watches every sick-bed, and listens to the complaints of every sufferer; and while, by his wondrous mind, the weight of universal government is borne, oh! is it not more wondrous and more 55 excellent still, that he feels for every sorrow, and has an ear open to every prayer!
Death of the Princess Charlotte.-ROBERT HALL.
Without the slightest warning, without the opportunity of a moment's immediate preparation, in the midst of
the deepest tranquillity, at midnight a voice was heard in the palace, not of singing men, and singing women, 5 not of revelry and mirth, but the cry, "Behold the bridegroom cometh!" The mother in the bloom of youth, spared just long enough to hear the tidings of her infant's death, almost immediately, as if summoned by his spirit, follows him into eternity. "It is a night 10 much to be remembered." Who foretold this event, who conjectured it, who detected at a distance the faintest presage of its approach, which, when it arrived, mocked the efforts of human skill, as much by their incapacity to prevent, as their inability to foresee it! Un15 moved by the tears of conjugal affection, unawed by the presence of grandeur, and the prerogatives of power, inexorable death hastened to execute his stern commission, leaving nothing to royalty itself, but to retire and weep. Who can fail to discern on this awful oc20 casion, the hand of Him who "bringeth the princes to nothing, who maketh the judges of the earth as vanity;" who says "they shall not be planted; yea, they shall not be sown; yea, their stock shall not take root in the earth;" and he "shall blow upon them, and they 25 shall wither, and the whirlwind shall take them away as
But is it now any subject of regret, think you, to this amiable Princess so suddenly removed, "that her sun went down while it was yet day," or that, prematurely 30 snatched from prospects the most brilliant and enchant
ing, she was compelled to close her eyes so soon on a world, of whose grandeur she formed so conspicuous a part? No! in the full fruition of eternal joys, for which we humbly hope Religion prepared her, she is so far 35 from looking back with lingering regret on what she has quitted, that she is surprised it had the power of affecting her so much;-that she took so deep an interest in the scenes of this shadowy state of being, while so near to an “eternal weight of glory;" and, as far as 40 memory may be supposed to contribute to her happiness, by associating the present with the past, it is not the recollection of her illustrious birth, and elevated prospects, but that she visited the abodes of the poor, and learned to weep with those that weep; that surrounded 45 with the fascinations of pleasure, she was not inebriated
by its charms; that she resisted the strongest temptations to pride, preserved her ears open to truth, was impatient of the voice of flattery: in a word, that she sought and cherished the inspirations of piety, and 50 walked humbly with her God.
The nation has certainly not been wanting in the proper expression of its poignant regret, at the sudden removal of this most lamented Princess, nor of their sympathy with the royal family, deprived by this visita55 tion of its brightest ornament. Sorrow is painted in every countenance, the pursuits of business and of pleasure have been suspended, and the kingdom is covered with the signals of distress. But what, my friends, (if it were lawful to indulge such a thought,) what would 60 be the funeral obsequies of a lost soul? Where shall we find tears fit to be wept at such a spectacle, or, could we realize the calamity in all its extent, what tokens of commiseration and concern would be deemed equal to the occasion? Would it suffice for the sun to veil his 65 light, and the moon her brightness; to cover the ocean
with mourning, and the heavens with sackcloth; or, were the whole fabric of nature to become animated and vocal, would it be possible for her to utter a groan too deep, or a cry too piercing, to express the magnitude 70 and extent of such a catastrophe?
Remarkable Preservation from Death at Sea.
You have often asked me to describe to you on paper an event in my life, which at the distance of thirty years, I cannot look back to without horror. No words can give an adequate image of the miseries I suffered 5 during that fearful night; but I shall try to give you something like a faint shadow of them, that from it your soul may conceive what I must have suffered.
I was, you know, on my voyage back to my native country, after an absence of five years spent in uninter10 mitting toil, in a foreign land, to which I had been driven by a singular fatality. Our voyage had been most cheerful and prosperous, and, on Christmas day, we were within fifty leagues of port. Passengers and crew