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gethcr; and to many other hardships was I with many others of my old companions, went to brought, having neither money, business, nor see him laid in the ground. We staid some time friend. This was a time of great distress to me, looking iuto his grave, and it arose freth in my who had till then lived in great fulness; and it was heart,—If thou art the next, how art thou preby the pood hand of Providence, I was preserved pared? This made me solid and considerate for from being forced into the military service, of awhile, yet going again with my companions and which I was in great danger several times. At1 drinking, thesethoughts soon went out of my mind, length I found means to return to England. After !1 was carried on by the fury of Satan, and the
some time, I again got into profitable business; my wife nnd children came to me, and it seemed as if Providence grew kinder towards us; but then on a sudden, in a few months, we lost three children, being all we had; and my wife was near following them, by reason of great sorrow. Notwithstanding my heavy afflictions, the strength of Satan was such, I seemed bound to serve him still, almost wherever he led me; only amidst some great temptations, a secret Hand preserved me when I knew it not, for the enemy sought even the destruction of my outward life:—
strength of my own inclinations, to be still more I and more wicked, rapidly filling up my measure of iniquity ;—and the chain by which I was bound seemed stronger and stronger. Notwithstanding all this, so great was the love and mercy of God to me, that Ho followed me by His reproofs in my heart, although I then know not what they were. By terrors and condemnation in my conscience, I had no rest; for fear possessed my heart many times; yet so hard—so dark was it—that until the Lord was pleased to touch it effectually, and to look on mo with ten
four instances of which I shall mention, when der compassion, I could not return.
rebelling against the conviction of my own heart The first was my going into a water, which proved so deep, that all who saw me in it expected I should be drowned; but my life was saved by the courage of a countryman, who leaped into the pool in his clothes (he being a swimmer, which I was not,) and camo just in timft to save my life.
Another instance :—As I was walking in the street one dark night, (having only a cane in my hand) two persons, called gentlemen, being drunk supposed me to be a person who had attempted to rob them. They came upon me with their swords drawn in their hands, threatening to kill me; but I stepping aside a little, they missed their first opportunity; and that little space being given, I had time to undeceive them, and so escaped.
Next was, (being intoxicated,) I got a fall from a horse, which threw me into tho road in the dark; by this I broke a bone, and lost the use of my right ear from a bruise on my head. Being insensible, there I had lain till lost, had not a countryman coming along stumbled upon nie. He caused me to be carried to a house, where I lay several hours ere I came to myself.
Next was, by another fall from my horse in the dark, when again intoxicated; from wbieh I was so hurt in my head, that I was taken up insensible from amongst several horses; so that, had not the same Hand, in this, as well as in all the other accidents, preserved me, I must have been lost.
When I considered these preservations, and how many of my acquaintances, with some of my companions, were cut off in the midst of their wickedness, it brought great terror on my mind, and a fear possessed my heart that I should be next. One of my companions, having by excess in drinking and otherwise, brought on a distemper in his young years which ended his days, I
In 1702, about the thirty-sixth year of my age, I then being servant to a great man,* in a family which consisted of about one hundred and twenty persons, I had contracted a particular friendship with a young man, who was almost as wicked as myself, with whom I was frequently practising some extraordinary excesses in drinking, gaming, and many other ways of wickedness, even to the endangering of both soul and body.
The Lord, who had seen that Satan was hurrying me into the pit of destruction, began to arise to be avenged of His adversary, and of that nature that had joined with him. First, He laid His judgment on my companion, who was taken suddenly with violent convulsions, so that for several hours his life was despaired of. I was actually playing at dice amongst my companions, when word was brought me that he was dying. I soon loft my game and went to him, which event I seldom remember but I am bowed in spirit, in thankful acknowledgments to the Lord, for His great mercy to so unworthy a wretch as I then was; and I am made to say mar;y times, "Surely if the Lord had not helped us, we had been as Sodom, and been made like unto Oomorrab."
To proceed. I was surprised to find my friend struggling as it were with death, and I sat me down on the bed on which he lay. He continued in this precarious situation for a considerable part of the night. Tlio consideration of his future state took hold of my mind, and I said in my heart, " If he go now, eternal misery must be his portion;" and turning the reflection hefrue to myself, fear, horror, and amazement seized me, which cannot be truly described by words. This settled upon my spirit, from under which I was not able to get; for the Lord broke in upon me. and deep was my distress of soul at this time: 'tis hard to tell my then thoughts, which were ♦ The Duke ot Northumberland.
accompanied with tears without words; and I had that night an alarming sight of the miserable state my poor soul was in. I saw that I was got as it were to the brink of the pit,—that my measure of iniquity was nearly filled up,—that if I went on, everlasting wrath and condemnation from God would be my portion; and I did not know how soon. I went to bed in order to get some rest after fatigue, and then to my friend again. I found him much down in mind; and what had happened made such an impression, that we came to the conclusion, that the amendment of our lives was absolutely necessary: but how to put it in practice we knew not, both of us being destitute of so much as a profession of religion; only for form's sake, and to please men, we sometimes went to a chapel that was in the house.
We began to consult what methods to take to put those good resolutions in practice; we sought to obtain a state of righteousness by walking in the way which led to it, to the best of our knowledge; we looked into the Scriptures; inquired concerning the principles and doctrines of religion,—and the Holy One of Israel who thus led us to seek Ilim, did soon perform his promise in helping us to find Him who is " the Author and Finisher of the faith of all who truly believe in Him." The family doctor (Heathcote) was with us about that time; he was a Quaker by profi ssion, and one of whom we had taken much notice. His conversation was sober and pure, but we thought him too full of self-righteeusness because he would speak of the peace and satisfaction he felt, and would recommend us to wait upon the L,ord in stillness, for wisdom and counsel. This was such a mystery to us, that we believed nothing of it; but the Lord, who regarded us, furnished him with suitable answers to all our subtle questions. Nothing, or very little, did I then know of the Quakers' principles. I thought them a foolish, mistaken people, and rather despised than hated them. Now the Lord, who would do us good, condescended in his love to undeceive us as to the Doctor, in the following manner :—I had brought occasionally into our company, a man who I thought was ahle to puzzle him, who asked him this question,—" Do you believe if you should die within a few minutes, you should be saved?" The Doctor considering it a very serious query, leaned back in his chair some minutes, quite silent. I felt much concerned in that question, and was ready to cat (as it were) the words, before they came out of his mouth in reply. Sitting uprightly again, he looked solidly, and cheerfully answered : "If I were to die now, I feel satisfied in my mind that the Lord would receive me in His mercy,"—(or to this effect.) I said to myself: " If this be true, and such a stato could be attained by me, it is worth the world and all thiugs in it."
Now, although our past sins were become such
a burden—greater than we could bear—yet the thought of turning Quaker was so terrible, that we concluded to have nothing to do with it, but try to find out some other way, whereby we might obtain pardon for our sins, and get peace with God. It happened that this Doctor had found in our master's library, ltobert Barclay's Apology, which he lent me to read; and when I had perused but a part of it, my understanding was so fully opened, as to the doctrinal part of Friends' principles, that, from that time to the present day, 1 have never had adoubt concerning their truth; and my friend was of the same opinion ;—but it brought us into a great strait. We saw they were right, but the way appeared so narrow, that as yet we could not think of so much as even attempting to walk in it. But God, whose eyes run to and fro in the earth, beholding the evil and the good in all mankind, saw our weaknesses, and the strength of our enemies. Many Scriptures opening clear to our understandings, for our comfort and encouragement, we were a little strengthened in our resolutions to leave all and follow the Lord in His own way; and I was very sincere and earnest in the work. My nights were often spent in waiting on the Lord in stillness and quietness of mind, which the Lord was often pleased to give me, frequently bringing to my remembrance my former experience; so that I witnessed the truth of that saying of Christ: "When the Comforter doth come, he shall bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever 1 have said unto you." Thus I was made sensible of His kindness, in visiting me even in my childhood. These things were clearly brought to the view of my understanding ; and in my waitings on the Lord, times and places were set before me when and where iniquity prevailed, as if it had been but yesterday. Thus the Lord reasoned with me, gave me understanding, and won upon my spirit by His great love and condescension, so that a desire was begot in my heart to follow Him; and for a trial of my obedience, He gave me this word, which lives on my spirit—" Cease to do evil." Under this exercise, I was as one dumb before Him, who opened my heart to say : " Lord, thou hast bid me 'cease to do evil;' how can that be? Thou knowest all my former resolutions come to nothing, and 1 am as dust before thee, wherein there is no streng'h. Oh .' do thou manifest thy power, that my soul may be obedient to thy will." After this supplication in soul, I was still awhile, when on a sudden I became as one in a trance, and my spirit was carried into a place that was very glorious, whore a voice of praising God was heard. I was willing to have staid there; but after some time, I heard a voice saying, " This is the power that overcometh the world, which those that follotc me truly shall enjoy, and be clothed in it."
None but sensible souls can understand how I was affected with this great condescension of the Everlasting God, to so wretched a creature as I then was, for I was in great distress; but God findeth a way to help such. In confidence of which, my heart was open to say: " 0 Lord! for a token of thy faithfulness, and that thou wilt be icith me; help mc, and give me victory over this evil;"—meaning that which had the greatest place in my heart.
Now what shall I say to extol the mercy and wonderful love of God? For many months after, I could not accuse myself in thought, word, or deed, in that particular evil. And I stand this day a witness for God, that He is both able and willing to save men from sin. At this time I am made to testify, in His fear, that it was by a measure of the same light and grace which reproved me for my sins, that my understanding was opened, and that 1 came to witness what I have beforo written.
[To b« continued. 1
PHILADELPHIA, THIRD MONTH 14, 1857.
Dr. Elisha Kent Kane, the Arctic Explorer from whose interesting work we have made some eitracts—died at Havana, where ho was residing on account of ill health on the 16th of Second month, in the 35th year of his age. He was a native of Philadelphia, where he was well known, and beloved by a large circle of friends.
Various public bodies and societies with which he was connected have expressed their appreciation of the worth of the deceased, and we extract from the proceedings of the American Geographical Society, of which he was a member, some remarks of the President, Francis Ilawkes, in announcing his death.
Gentlemen of the Society :—It becomes my sad duty, as your presiding officer, to bring to your notice the removal, by death, of one of our most distinguished associates. Our friend, Dr. Kane, is no more. I knew him intimately, and the strong bond of our personal friendship, while he lived, prompts me to solicit your indulgence if I depart from the formality of a mere official announcement on this occasion, and render my brief and humble tribute to the worth of a man whom I greatly loved. In my observation of human nature it has seldom fallen to my lot to meet a fellow being possessed of more s.'riking excellences, or in whom there was a combination more rare of seemingly opposite qualities; in him, however, they were all harmoniously blended, and it was precisely this fact which made him to me an object of deep and affectionate interest. To a fine mind, inquiring and
analytical, he added great industry ; and what he deemed worthy of study at all hestudied thoroughly. The range of his attainments, too, was varied, and he had roamed largely over the wide spread field of physical science. Both varied and accurate as were his attainments, there was a beautiful simplicity and modesty so blended with them, that no one ever could suspect him of feeling his superiority in learning over those with whom he mingled. He had not studied for ostentatious display, but for usefulness in his station. The strong trait in his character was his indomitable energy. In his small and feeble frame there was combined an iron will, a giant power of resolute purpose. Impulsive, ardent as he was by nature, one might have expected that his would be just the disposition to Jonp prematurely to conclusions; but a very slight acquaintance soon proved that such was not his habit of mind. Hardy have I seen so much of impulsive warmth blended with the sobernesB of patient, laborious inquiry, and sound practical judgment, as in him. Thus, for iustanee, the strong conviction he had of the open Polar sea, which he lived long enough to discover, was founded on no hasty or happy guess. In conversations which ho held with me on the probabilities of its existence, when our discussion turned entirely on scientific considerations, I found that he had reasoned out his conclusions by a chain of induction almost as strictly severe as mathematical demonstration; indeed, part of his process was mathematical. Before he sailed, he told me he was sure there was open water around the pole, and that if he lived to return he hoped to be able to tell me he had seen it. lie no more proceeded on conjecture merely than did Columbus in his assertion of the existence of our hemisphere. But with these intellectual traits, and with great personal intrepidity, he had a gentleness of heart as tender as a woman's. There was an overflowing kindliness in his soul which stirred up his benevolence to its lowest depths when he encountered human misery, • whether of body or mind. He spared not time, nor toil, nor money, to relieve it. I may not violate the sacred confidence of private friendship under any circumstances, and least of all when the grave has for a time sundered the tics which bound us as earthly friends together; but were it lawful to speak all I know on this point, both as his almoner and adviser, I could move your generous sensibilities even to tears, by stories of as pure, disinterested, liberal, self-sacrificing efforts for others, as any it has been my lot to meet with in the records of human benevolence. Alas ! my countrymen, what is his early grave but a noble testimonial to his humanity?' He is dead himself, because he would snatch others from death.
Another remarkable trait in his character was the power he had of commanding and exercising
"Affection shall tenderly cherish his worth,
A fellow voyager of Dr. Kane, (Dr. J. J. Hayes,) closed a lecture at Pittsburg, last month, with the following tribute:
"I have thus briefly, ladies and gentlemen, spoken of the results of this expedition, and I think I may safely say it will compare favorably with those of any other of any time. I have already said that for its existence we arc indebted to the liberality of Mr. Peabody, of London, and Mr. Grinnell, of New York; but the credit of its organization, its conduct, its success, and its ultimate safety, is due to its gallant commander, Dr. Kane. Standing in the relation to him that I have for so long a time—my captain through a long and trying cruise—my comrade through danger—my friend through suffering—I feel that it is hardly meet for me to pass a eulogium upon this world-renowned and distinguished man—nor would I more than merely mention his name in connection with his great public services, were it not that he now lies low in a foreign land, his fiery spirit scarce able to keep the breath of life These were some of his qualities as a man. Of within his little prostrate body. Put I will not what he has done in the cause of science, and of | pause to pay my tribute to his worth and rnanour chosen department in particular, there is but hood. He needs no praise from me. lie is be
an irresistible influence overmen. You, Sir (Mr. H. Grinnell), can bear witness with me to this. You have seen him when, with eentle firmness, when love and resolution were both unmistakably present, and both marvelously blended— you have seen him encounter the unequivocal purpose of insubordination and rebellion in the person of the enraged, reckless and desperate seaman who refused obedience, and who possessed a physical power that could have killed him with a blow. You have seen that light, frail frame, that, alas, now sleeps in death, approach with quick, firm step, and with no weapons but such as nature gives, he but fixes his keen eye on the offender, and the clear sound of his voice rings upon the ears, in no tone of passion or anger. Ho but talks, and there is some strange magic in his manner and his words; for presently the tears begin to mil down the rugged, sun-burnt cheeks of the hardy seaman ; he has humanized him by some mysterious pswer made up of love and reason mixed. Rebellion dies, and in its place is born a reverence and affection so deep, so devoted, that to the end of our dead friend's life, none love him better than the vanquished rebel.
little need that I should speak. In a short career of but 35 years, he has left upon the times in which he lived his impress so indelibly stamped that science numbers him with her martyrs, and will not let his memory die. He has told, too, so beautifully and modestly the story of his last suffering pilgrimage in her cause, and that of benevolence, that his remembrance will be kept green in the land of our fathers as well as in our own; for the English language is our common property, and that which is registered in the literature of that tongue, I love to think, is destined to a long existence and wide diffusion on our globe. Had he done less in science England would not forget him, for his benevolent heart led him to seek the relief of Englishmen, undismayed by the horrors and perils of an Arctic voyage; but what ho accomplished in science secured to him the generous tribute of acknowledgment and admiration from England's scientific men. He received there the medal of our sister institution, the Royal Geographical Society, her highest tribute to eminent service in geographical discovery.
And as for ourselves, there is little danger that wo shall forget him. He was a noble specimen of man, and he was our countryman. Letters may yield a graceful tribute to his worth in language fitted to her mournful theme; science may rear his monument, and tell the world she weeps over one of her most gifted sons, and this is all right; but there is a more touching tribute to his memory than cither of these:
yond mere praise. Nothing that I may say can add to his repulation. No words of mine can open wider your hearts of genuine sympathy, nor make you feel more deeply hnw hard is the fate that seems so likely ere long to snatch him from the honors that cluster round him. His name has become a household word wherever deeds of manly daring find appreciation. His heart is warm as the tropic air he now breathes; pure as the Arctic snows amid which he braved disease, and death and suffering. His fame is broad as the wide circle of the Polar summer's sun. History will record his triumphs, and mankind, in rendering its verdict upon the generation in which he lived, will encircle his name with rays of glory bright as those that beamed upon him from the Polar Btar of the Arctic winter."
Such is the testimony of a personal and professional associate, and there are many in this, his native city, who can also bear witness to his nobleness of disposition, his unselfish generosity and his unassuming deportment.
Died,—On the morning of the 27th of 2d mo. last, at his father's residence, James W. Lukens, in the 23d year of his age.
, On Seventh day morning, 21st ult., Bernice
C, daughter of Elizabeth C.and the late Captain John
, At his residence on Fourth street, Cincinnati,
on 15th ol 1st mo., John Robinson, aged 04 years. He was an Elder, and one of the heads of Cincinnati Monthly Meeting. He was ill only one week of asthma, anil although his sufferings were extreme, he was never heard to complain, and he remained quiet, and
his mind clear to the last. Closing his eyes, he ceased to breathe.
He left a widow and four children to mourn his loss. In the death of this Friend, Society deeply feels the bereavement; and also the community, as he was an old resident in this city, whose example showed " his life was in the right."
We publish the following deaths which occurred some time since, at the request of a subscriber.
Died,—At his residence in Mendon, on the 19th of 4th mo., 1817, William Webstee, in the 90th year of his age, a member of Rochester Monthly Meeting and Genesee Yearly meeting, a dilizent attender of meetings for worship and discipline, an affectionate husband and father, and beloved by his friends and neighbors.
, At her residence in Elk, Warren Co., Penna.,
29th of 12th mo., 1843, 8abaii W. Pound, wife of Daniel Pound, and daughter of William and Susannah Webster, aeed 49 yars, 5 months. She was a member of Collins Monthly Meeting, and Genesee Yearly Meeting, and a bright example in Society. During the latter part of her life, she lived very remotely from the Society of which she was a member, which she Je\l to be a great privarion. Her family sustained a great loss in her removal, for she was an affectionate wife and mother, and a kind neighbor.
, Of quick consumption, 27th of 5th mo., 1856,
at the residence of her parents, in Porter, Rock Co., Wisconsin. Rachel Pound, daughter of Jonathan and Deborah Pound, aged 28 years, 9 months. The sweet and pleasant composure of her mind through her illness, was a comfort to those around her. Her upright walking and example were worthy of imitation, and in her removal, her beloved friends have sustained a loss that will be sensibly felt.
For Friends' Intelligencer.
The writer regrets having so long delayed the preparation of the subjoined exhibit of the doings of "1 he Association of Friends for the Relief of the Sick and Suffiriiuj Poor," (more familiarly known as the "Fuel Association,") but believes it still to bo in time to claim the attention of such Friends as may not have contributed to the funds of the Association, as ere this article appears in print the Treasury will have become completely exhausted, if not in debt. He knows not how he can better preface the statement, before alluded to, than by referring to the simple and touching appeal inserted in this periodical, page 743 of this volume.
But to return to the Association. One hundred and forty-five tons of coal and twenty-seven cords of wood were distributed at a cost of S758 38.
Of the whole number relieved, 211 were married women; 22 were sinyle women; 289 were toidowed, and 22 condition not recorded. Sickness and infirmity was recorded as existing in 118 families, and 108 individuals appear to have been between the ages of 60 and 100 years; while 21 of the whole number were over 80, of whom '1 were recorded as being over 90 years of age.
Ten hundred and forty-six (1016) children were recorded as belonging to the families relieved, though this statement, it is again thought,
falls far short of the true number, from visitors occasionally omitting to record this item.
Of the total number of 544 cases relieved, 83 were reported as being colored persons; while of said total number, 137 were Americans; 333 from Ireland; 29 from other foreign countries. and 45 birth-place not recorded.
Twenty-five individuals were furnished with fuel (trice during the season; showing the entire number of heads of families relieved, including the number of married persons to have been 730, which, if added to the number of children reported, will increase the number of known recipients of the bounty of this Association to seventeen hundred and seventy-six; but even this is doubtless considerably less than the real number from omissions before alluded to, and from no record being made of aged persons and other inmates of the families relieved, and of whom there must necessarily be a considerable number.
While speaking of ar/es it might have been as well to have stated that between 20 and 40 constitute by far the larger proportion of those relieved when taken by classes of 10 years each, viz: between 20 and 30, 121 cases, and between 30 and 40, 132 cases.
The winter of 1845 and '46 was the first season the Association commenced giving out coal systematically, and the following statement possesses considerable interest as showing the disposition of the poor to avail themselves of the advantages presented by its use over that of wood as a fuel. In many instances the latter is used only for want of a suitable stove for the former.
Tons of coal. Cords of wood.
Winter of 1845 and '46, 5 88
Winter of 1855 and '56, 145 27
Showing the increase of the consumption of coal in 11 years to be from 5 to 145 tons. Philada/phia, Zrd month, 1857. J. M. E.
TO REMOVE BAD ODOBS. The Boston MedicalJournul mentions the following simple and economical apparatustor overcoming bad odors, and purifying any apartment where the air is loaded with noxious materials. Take one of any of the various kinds of glass lamps—for burning camphene, for example—and fill it with chloric ether, aud light the wick. In a few minutes the object will be accomplished. In dissecting rooms, in damp, deep vaults where drains allow the escape of offensive gases, in outbuildings, and in short in any spot where it is desirable to purify the atmosphere, burn one of these lamps. One tube charged with a wick is sufficient.
The worst examples in the Society of Friends, are generally among the children of the rich: There is no greater calamity than that of leaving children in affluent independence.— Clarkson's Portraiture of Quakerism.