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my ready compliance, he having had no occasion of any suspicion of my present condition till that moment, tbat he broke into a passion, and with an oath, or curse, said, "what! you are not a Quaker, sure!"
But though I had made confession to truth so far, in that point, and the divine presence sensibly returned and advanced in me; yet upon this, I was ag.iiu silent, till clear in my understand ing what to answer in sincerity and truth. For as nobody before that time, had called me a Quaker, so I bad not assumed the appellation; which being given in reproach, was not grateful; though the thing in its proper sense most delightful. Nor did I then see whether I had so much unity with all their tenets, as might justify me in owning the name, (for in the unity of the divine love and life only had I known them,) till the power of that life of Him who forbiddeth all oaths and swearing, arising yet clearer and fuller in me, opened my understanding, cleared my way, and enabled me thereto ; and then said, "I must confess the truth, I am a Quaker."
But as tliis confession brought me still nearer the son of God, his love increasing yet more sensibly in me, so likewise it heightened the perplexity and disturbance of my friend, whose case thereby became more desperate in his own opinion: upon which, in an increase of heat and expressions therefrom, suiting so obvious a disappointment, as it then appeared to him, he threatened to have me fined by the Court, and proceeded against with the utmost rigor of the law; "What! must I lose my estate by your groundless notiousand whims V
But tbe higher the enemy arose in this wellmeaning but mistaken man, who thus, without design, became the instrument of my trial, the fuller and more powerful still was the lovo of God, whose cause I had now espoused, through his own aid, and the power of an endless life from him, made manifest in me: upon which I replied, in that culm of mind, and resignation to the will of God, that the life of the son of God enables to, and teacheth, " You may do what you think proper that way; but I cannot comply with your request in this matter whatever be the issue of it" And then he departed under great dissatisfaction, with all the threats and reproaches his enraged passions could suggest to him, under a view of so great loss.
Immediately I retired into my chamber; for perceiving my great enemy to be yet at work, to introduce slavish fear, aud, by that means, subject my mind, and bring me again into captivity and bondage, I was willing to be alone, and free from all the interruptions of company, that I might more fully experience the arm of the Lord, and his divine instructions and counsel, in this great concern and exercise.
The enemy (being a crafty and subtle spirit) wrought upon my passions not fully subjected,
and more artfully applied to my natural reason, (my understanding not being fully illuminated,) as his most suitable instrument. He urged the fine and imprisonment, and the hardships accompanying that condition, and how little help I could expect from my father or friends; who would be highly displeased with me, for so foolish and unaccountable a resolution as they would think it, and also the scoffings, mocking, derision, scorn and contempt, loss of friends and friendships in the world, with such other inconveniences, hardships and ill consequences, as the enemy could invent and suggest.
During all which time, from about eight in the evening till midnight, the eye of my mind was fixed on the love of God, which still remained sensibly in me, and my soul cleaving thereto in great simplicity, humility and trust therein, without any yielding to Satan, or his reasoning on those subjects, where flesh and blood in its own strength is easily overcome by him, but about twelve at night the Lord put him to utter silence, with all his temptations, for that season, and the life of the son of God alone remained in my soul; and then from a sense of his wonderful work and redeeming arm, this saying of the
j apostle arose in me with power, The law of tht spirit of life in Christ Jesus, hath made me free
i from the law of sin and death. Rom. viii. 2.
| And then the teachings of the Lord were
| plentiful and glorious; my understanding further cleared, and his holy law of love and life was settled in me; and I admitted into sweet rest
j with the Lord my Saviour, and given up in per
I feet resignation to his holy will, in whatsoever
i might relate to this great trial of my faith and
■ obedience to the Lord.
In the morning I went up towards the hall
I where the judges sat, expecting to be called as B witness in the case before mentioned; but before I reached the place, I saw my acquaint
| ance approaching me, with an air in his countenance denoting friendship and affection; and when met, he said, " I can tell you good news; my adversary has yielded the cause; we are
J agreed to my satisfaction."
Upon this I stood still in the street, and, reviewing in my mind the work of the Lord in me the night before, as already related, this Scripture came fresh into my remembrance, in the life of it, It is God who worketh in you loth to will and to do of his good pleasure: (Philip ii. 13 ;) for I was sensible it was tbe Lord's doing, and I accounted it a great mercy and deliverance; though I was by this means exposed to the view and observation of all; tbe pity of
J many, (as they judged of my case,) and the scoffs and censures of the baser and more ignorant sort, which was for Christ's sake only; jornone had any immorality to charge me with.
This happened at the time of the Assizes, and people from all quarters there, I quickly became the common subject of discourse and debate : for few could believe the report, and many came to see me afar off in the streets, would come in crowds to gaze. Some would take off their hats, and pretend to show more than ordinary complaisance, saluting me as atothertimes; but I not making any returns of that kind, some would fleer and giggle, and scoff and grin, and run away in loud laughter, saying I was mad: yet some others were struck with another passion; they turned pale, looked sorrowful and returned weeping: and one who had been educated at a University, to show at once his temper, manners and learning, after he had gazed upon me a while, among the baser sort, he cried out as if he had then been surprised with the discovery of some' new system, " He knows not a genus from a species!" when there was not anything previous leading to such an expression: yet he was mistaken in that, for I knew very well that dog is a genus, and cur, bull-dog, and blood-hound, are distiuct species of that genus; and at that time saw tlie nature and way of these brute animals too much resembled in that giddy mob; though I said very little to any of them, but gave them my face to their fill of gazing. And some, who but a day or two before durst not have discovered a disobliging look upon me, now insulted and triumphed; which put me in mind of asayingof Job, " But now they who are younger than 1, have me in derision; whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock." And likewise of some expressions in that little piece before inserted; [page 18 of the Journal, see previous note in the Intelligencer,] which I did not think nt the time of writing it would soon, if ever, be fulfilled upon myself, viz: "They gazed upon me, they said I was mad, distracted and become a fool; they lamented because my freedom came!"
(To bo continued.)
From "Hopes and Helps." • MORAL COURAGE.
[Continued from page 407.J
Youth is a beautiful season of life. It is full of brightness, and radiant in smiles. It may well be compared to a mountain rill that has just left its bubbling source, which laughs and dances along amid the beauty and freshness of the upland scenery, kissing the flowers that dip their fragrant lips in its lucid waves, aod smiling in the glad sunshine let in through the waving branches above it, before it reaches the great muddy stream to which it is unconsciously hastening.
This freshness and gladness that is so inherent in the youthful nature, should be carried into raaturer life. What a charm it would add to middle life and old age, if it were so. Youth's outgushitig gladsomeness, subdued by experience into a refined and happy tenderness, would be
like flowers and fruits dallying amid the foliage of the same bough.
Whatever charms we now possess, wo should retain to adorn our characters through every succeeding stage of life. It is wrong to lay off the charms of youth in old age. Age should heighten every spiritual beauty; experienceshould subdue and soften it. Each year should add new adornments, but lay off none. Age should be more beautiful and happy than youth. And ; so it will be, if life is properly lived, if health I is preserved, and the character every day beautified. A fretful, ignorant, unhappy old age is a i proof of youthful errors and manhood blunders | and views. It is the natural result of the life ; that has gone before it. If we live right, enjoyments increase with increasing virtue and wisdom.
Many of the springs of our purest happiness open in our affections. Every day should make these more pure, refined, and strong. The affections of youth are naturally volatile and liable to instability. In middle age, if they have been properly cultivated, they are deeper, warmer, truer, stronger, and enter into all the desires and plans of life; are the great substratum on which the solid masonry of life is built. In old age, they transfuse and transfix the whole being, shedding in all the chambers of the soul the soft, mellow light of life's cultivation and refinement. This is what the God of love designed old age to be; that season of life in which the power and law of love should imbue -and sway the whole soul; and if life is properly lived, this is what it will be. Affection, wisdom, and moral worth may all be augmented with the increase of years, and their triune glories so blended in age, that an angel beauty and blessedness shall be the crown to be worn into the company of cherubim and seraphim in the mansion of eternal progress and glory.
One thought here respecting the duties of youth to the world, as well as themselves. By an unalterable decree of nature, generations succeed each other upon tho staga of action in quick and rapid succession. As the world is left by one, it is taken by the next. All its great concerns, however important and grand, are left to succeeding hands. The present generation is the product of the past. Into it is gathered the congregated wisdom of all that has gone before. Marked, peculiar, and brilliant are the accessions to the wealth of our time. Discoveries the most unexpected and wonderful, improvements the most useful and permanent, and advancements the most rapid, mark the developments of this age. The present moment is pregnant with results greater than have yet been achieved. The wheel of progress has but just fairly started. It is rolling toward you, my young friends. Have you thought of it? It will ! soon be upon you. Have you ever thought that the world will soon be yours, with all its wealth and treasure, its pouip and splendor, its governments, laws, kingdoms, religions, philosophies, schools; its agriculture, commerce, arts, manufactures, sciences, offices, honors, distinctions, principles? Have you thought that all, yes all, of that great, glittering, glorious thing which we call the world, will soon be yours, to use as you please—the legacy of the past bequeathed to your hands? If not, it is time you had thought of it. Your fathers and mothers will stay but little longer. Many of them are tottering now on the brink of the grave. A few days, and all will be yours. What will you do with it? Will you preserve its institutions of freedom, benevolence, learning, and religion? Will you cultivate well its fields and shops, and nurse its commerce, which now binds all nations together? Will you teach well its schools, inspire its youth with noble principles of piety and affection? Will you endow its colleges, fill its professorships, i superintend its institutions of charity? Will you elect its officers of trust, administer justice, make laws, ordain decrees for nations? Will you cs- j tablish boundaries, rear up states, form governments, and preserve the liberties of the people? Will you do all this, yea, all that is to be done in this wide world? You must do it, or it will not be done. There will be nobody else to do it. | Are you preparing yourselves for this arduous,' but glorious task? Are you cultivating your minds, endowing your hearts with great and good principles of action, principles of morality and religion ? getting ready with stout, cheerful spirits for the work before you?
My soul writhes in agony at what I see about me—youth in the lawless riot of demented folly, wasting time and strength, and mind and heart, in the pursuit of every thing but enduring good, as indifferent to the calls of true interest as duty, as lost to sober sense as shame, casting their idolatrous offering upon the profane altar of the good of this world. Oh, youth of glorious privileges, youth of free, noble America, rise up and stand for the true and the good! You have no time or strongth to waste. Your duties are upon you. Evils are staring you in the face. It is yours to meet them with a noble defiance, and stay their progress of ruin. It is yours to abolish slavery, both mental and physical ; to destroy intemperance; to revise our statutes; reform our penal code; make our prisons and penitentiaries asylums for the morally sick and insane; exterminate war, and all its concomitant evils, from the world ; establish knowledge, religion, and free government in the uttermost parts of the earth; and bequeath to your children after you a legacy more rich and glorious than has descended upon you. Then your personal duties are not any less—yea, they are more; duties which involve the peace and happiness, and affect the very destiny of your souls, of those
immortal, living, glorious essences, you call yourselves, and whioh came from the hand of the living and loving God.
This is a bird's-eye view of your duties. They are coming upon you. Their shadows fall before you; even now they are resting upon you. Though they are and bear the name of duties, they are the most delightful works to which young, moral intelligences can be called. Says a German philosopher, "The two most beautiful things in the universe are the starry heavens and the sentiment of duty in the humau soul." As that sentiment is beautiful, so is the work to which it is called delightful. It is a work of sacrifice and effort; of labor and prayer; but it is rewarded with cheerfulness, joy, holiness, and an antepast of heaven.—Weaver.
LIFE AND POWER OF TRUTH.
Upon this wonderful and glorious All
I look, and see there's nought destroyed, or lost, Though all things change. The rain-drops gently fall,
But die not where they fall. Some part doth post Swiftly away on wings of air, to accost
The summer clouds, and ask to sail the deep
Some part anon into the ground doth creep,
Or oozeth softly through the dark deep earth,
Till forth it breaks with a glad sunshine birth, Ripples a dancing brook—then flows a river —
Then mingles with the sea—the air—circling forever.
Even so I looked on the vast realm of Truth,
And saw it filled with spirit, life, and power. Nought true did ever die. Immortal youth
Filled it with balmy odors, from the hour It first dropped gently from its upper shower
On high ; swiftly it flew away, or, sank Awhile amid the darkness that doth lower
Below, it Beemed to struggle; but earth drank
From sire to son ; from a«e to age it ran,
But flowing filleth every want of man.
Circling from God to God, through all eternity.
AN EVENING HYMN.
How many days with mute adieu,
Have gone down yon untrodden sky! And still it looks as clear and blue
As when it first was hung on high. A silence rests upon the hill,
A listening awe pervades the air, The very flowers are shut and still,
And bowed as if in prayer.
And in this hushed and breathless close,
That still, low voice in silence goes,
Which speaks alone, great God ! of Thee.
The whispering leaves, the far-off brook,
The hive-bound bee, the lonely rook-
Tbe darkening woods, the fading trees,
The grasshopper's last feeble sound, The flowers just wakened by the breeze,
All leave the stillness more profound: The twilight takes a deeper shade,
The dusky pathways blacker grow, And silence reigns in glen and glade,
All, all is mute below.
Now shine the 6tarry hosts of light,
Gazing on earth with golden eyes,
What are tbey in their native skies?
Nor hearken to what science tells, For O ! in childhood I was taught
That God amidst them dwells.
And other eves as sweet as this,
Will close upon as calm a day, And, sinking down the steep abyss,
Will, like the last, be swept away; Until eternity is gained—
That boundless sea without a shore, That, without lime, forever reigned,
And will when time's no more.
Now nature sinks in soft repose,
A living semblance of the grave, The dew steals noiseless on the rose,
The boughs have almost ceased to wave; The silent sky, the sleeping earth,
Tree, mountain, stream, the humble sod, All tell from whom they had their birth,
And cry, " Behold a God I"
From the Quarterly Reyiew A Treatise on the Nature, Fecundity, and Devastating Character of the Rat, and its cruet Cost to tlie Nation, with die best Means for its Extermination. By Uncle James.
[Continued from page 415.]
"The rat has formidable weapons in the shape of four small, long, and very sharp teeth, two of which are in the upper and two in the lower jaw. These are formed in the shape of a wedge, and by the following wonderful provision of nature have always a fine, sharp, cutting edge. On examining them carefully, we find that the inner part is of a soft, ivory-like composition, which may be easily worn away, whereas the outside is composed of a glass-like enamel, which is excessively hard. The upper teeth work exactly into the under, so that the centres of the opposed teeth meet exactly in the act of gnawing; the soft part is thus being perpetually worn away, while the hard part keeps a sharp chisel-like edge; at the same time the teeth grow up from the bottom, so that as they wear away a fresh supply is ready. The consequence of this arrangement is, that, if one of the teeth be removed, either by accident or on purpose, the opposed tooth will continue to grow upwards, and, as there is nothing to grind it away, will project from the mouth and turn upon itself; or, if it be an under-tooth, it will even run into the skull above. There is a preparation in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons which well il
lustrates this fact. It is an incisor tooth of a rat, which, from the cause above mentioned, has increased its growth upward to such a degree that it has formed a complete circle and a segment of another; the diameter of it is about large enough to admit a good-sized thumb. It is accompanied by the following memorandum, addressed by a Spanish priest to Sir J. Banks, who presented it to the Museum: 'I send you an extraordinary tooth of a rat. Believe me, it was found in the Nazareth garden (to which Order I belong.) I was present when the animal was killed, and took the tooth; I know not its virtues, nor have the natives discovered them.'"
We once saw a newly-killed rat to whom this misfortune had occurred. The tooth, which was an upper one, had in this case also formed a complete circle, and the point in winding round had passed through the lip of the animal. Thus the ceaseless working of the rat's incisors against some hard substance is necessary to keep them down, and if he did not gnaw for his subsistence he would be compelled to gnaw to prevent his jaws being gradually locked by their rapid development.
The destructive nature of the rat, the extraordinary manner in which he multiplies, and his perpetual presence—for where there is a chink that he can fill, and food for him to eat, there he will be, notwithstanding that a long line of ancestors have one after another been destroyed on the spot*—necessitates some counteracting influence to keep him within due bounds; this is done by making him the prey of hunting animals and reptiles, beginning with man, and running down the chain of organized life to the gliding snake. The poor rat, although he doubtless does service as a scavenger, and must have his use in fulfilling some essential purpose of creation, finds favor nowhere; every man's hand, nearly every feline paw, and many birds' beaks, are against him. The world thinks of him, as of the pauper boy in Oliver Twist, " Hit him hard, he ain't a'got no friends." Dwelling in the midst of alarms, he might be supposed to pass an uneasy and nervous existence. But it is nothing of the kind. The same Providence which has furnished him with the teeth suitable to the work they have to perform has endowed him with feelings proper to his lot, and no animal, if he be watched from a distance, appears more happy and complacent. In danger he preserves a wonderful presence of mind, and acts upon the principle that while there is life there is hope. His cunning on such occasions is often
•When the atmospheric railway to Epsom was at work the rats came for the grease which was used to make the endless leather valve, which ran on the top of the suction-pipe, ait-tight. Some of them entered the tube, from which they were sucked with every passing train; nevertheless, day by day, others were im1 molated in the same manner.
remarkable, and evinces a reasoning power of no contemptible order:
"A traveller in Ceylon," says Mrs. Lee, in her entertaining " Anecdotes of Animals," "saw his dogs set upon a rat, and, making them relinquish it, he took it up by the tail, the dogs leaping after it the whole time. He carried it into his dining-room to examine it by the light of the lamp, during the whole of which period it remained as if it were dead,—the limbs hanging, and not a muscle moving. After five minutes he threw it among the dogs, who were still in a state of great excitement, and, to the astonishment of all present, it suddenly jumped upon its legs, and ran away so fast that it baffled all its pursuers."
The sagacity of the rat in eluding danger is not less than his craftiness in dealing with it when it comes. A gentleman, Mr. Jesse relates, who fed his own pointers, observed through a hole in the door a number of rats eating from the trough with his dogs, who did not attempt to molest them. Resolving to shoot the intruders, he next day put in the food, but kept out the dogs. Not a rat came to taste. He saw them peering from their holes, but they were too well versed in human nature to venture forth without the protection of their canine guard. After half an hour the pointers were let in, when the rats forthwith joined their hosts, and dined with them as usual. If it comes to the worst, and the rat is driven to bay, he will fight with admirable resolution. A good-sized sewer-rat has been known to daunt for a moment the most courageous bull terrier, advancing towards him with tail erect, and inflicting wounds of the most desperate nature. The bite of any rat is severe, and that of a sewer-rat so highly dangerous that valuable dogs are rarely allowed by their masters to fight them. The garbage on which they live poisons their teeth, and renders the wounds they make deadly. Even with his great natural enemy and superior—the ferret— he will sometimes get the advantage by his steady bravery and the superiority of his tactics. Mr. Jesae describes an encounter of the kind, the circumstances of which were related to him by a medical gentleman at Kingston:
''Being greatly surprised that the ferret, an animal of such slow locomotive powers, should be so destructive to the rat tribe, he determined to bring both these animals fairly into the arena, in order to judge of their respective powers; and having selected a fine, large, and full-grown male rat and also an equally strong buck ferret, which had been accustomed to hunt rats, my friend, accompanied by his son, turned these two animals loose in a room without furniture, in which there was but one window. Immediately upon being liberated the rat ran round the room as if searching for an exit. Not finding any means of escape, he uttered a piercing
shriek, and with the most prompt decision took up his station directly under the light, thus gaining over his adversary (to use the language of other duellists) the advantage of the sun. The ferret now erected his head, sniffed about, and began fearlessly to push his way towards the spot where the scent of his game was the strongest, facing the light in full front and preparing himself with avidity to seize upon his prey. No sooner, however, had he approached within two feet of his watchful foe, than the rat, again uttering a loud cry, rushed at him with violence and inflicted a severe wound on the head and neck, which was soon shown by the blood which flowed from it; the ferret seemed astonished at the attack and retreated with evident discomfiture ; while the rat, instead of following up the advantage he had gained, instantly withdrew to his former station under the window. The ferret soon recovered the shock he had sustained, and, erecting his head, once more took the field. The second recontre was in all its progress and results an exact repetition of the former—with this exception, that, on the rush of the rat to the conflict, the ferret appeared more collected, and evidently showed an inclination to get a firm hold of his enemy ; the strength of the rat, however, was very great, and he again succeeded not only in avoiding the deadly embrace of the ferret, but also in inflicting another severe wound on his neck and head. The rat a second time returned to his retreat under the window, and the ferret seemed less anxious to renew the conflict. These attacks were resumed at intervals for nearly two hours, all ending in the failure of the ferret, who was evidently fighting to a disadvantage from the light falling full on his eye whenever he approached the rat, who wisely kept his ground and never for a moment lost sight of the advantage he had gained. In order to prove whether the choice of this position depended upon accident, my friend managed to dislodge the rat, and took his own station under the window; but the moment the ferret attempted to make his approach, the rat, evidently aware of the advantage he had lost, endeavored to creep between my friend's legs, thus losing his natural fear of man under the danger which awaited him from his more deadly foe."
Driven from his defensive position, the rat continued his attacks, but with an evident loss of courage, and the ferret ultimately came to the death-grapple with his crafty antagonist. A similar battle was witnessed by a friend, with the difference that the rat, being undisturbed in his advantageous position with regard to the light, finally beat off the ferret, which was absolutely bitten into shreds over the head and muzzle. The repetition of the same conduct by a second animal shows that this particular species of cunning is a general faculty of the tribe. Th« main superiority of the ferret is in his retaining