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dead, a third time,-his friends, though apprehensive of his danger-forbore to ask the good man's aid again, seeing he had witnessed no better fruits, of all his former exertions.-Whereas, when they saw him, actually, in the last struggle, with the grim messenger,-"death," they ventured to ask, once more, the "prayers of his godly neighbors.' The preacher was accordingly sent for:-but, what farther encouragement he could give, he knew not. He withdrew, a moment, in painful suspense:when "the Heavens were as brass, over his head, and Jehovah had shut His ear, that He would no more hear." All the reply he could gain, was, "I will laugh at his calamity, and mock while his fears come, as desolation upon him!" With awful sensations, he entered the apartment of the dying youth: who raised his fainting head, and exclaimed, "Oh! Sir, you have now come too late! Heaven is lost, and my soul is gone for ever! Jehovah now, justly, laughs at my calamity, and mocks while my fears come, as a whirlwind, upon me!”. And thus, the once bold, but hapless youth, expired!

Fellow sinners, who read these lines,―remember,-Your vows to God,-yet unfulfilled,—are all registered against you, in the book of His account; and will, surely, assail you again, as so many barbed arrows, without remission, when times, for amendment, are for ever past and gone!

A Sea Captain of my acquaintance, that was a class-leader among Methodists, gave me this interesting account: "I once had a companion, of whom

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I was very fond. That companion died;-and I was exceedingly anxious to know what was his future destiny. One night,-upon the wide ocean, as I was lying in my birth,-the cabin, of a sudden, was filled with light, as bright as day:-and he appeared, standing erect, before my face. I fixed mine eye, steadfastly upon him; and beheld that his countenance bespoke great terror. He gazed, likewise, upon myself,-with much apparent agitation:--when, after some pause,--he threw open his bosom; and there poured forth, a stream of fire! (But, what was most mysterious to me,' continued he, "from the fire, there evidently pro ceeded, a sulpherous stench:-for a considerable space after, as perceptible to me, as any thing I had ever witnessed!)--From thence, I questioned no more, the sad fate of my once engaging, and much esteemed associate." (The person from whom I had this narrative; was a man of no common degree of skill and firmness:—and whom I should have judged the very last to countenance any thing of the kind, had he not been himself an eye-wit ness to the fact.)

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WHILE labouring near the bouudary of the United States, in 1827,-with no little encouragement from the salvation of souls:--on a certain occasion, I requested that all present, who felt a need of Christ; and desired an interest in the prayers of christians, would signify it, by rising up. Of the number that arose, I espied one, who appeared a new-comer altogether, into our congregation;--and after uniting in prayer-I moved towards him, to

offer some encouragement, for his perseverance, &c.--When, by way of compliment, I chanced to extend to him my hand:--which, to my surprise, he refused, by drawing back. Wherefore, I cast a glance, more fully in his face; and truly--the pale, self-condemning, horrible look, he discovered,--caused my flesh to run cold! And I thrust myself backward,-with a loud, mental cry, "A murderer," "A pirate!"

The next day he made an excuse to the house where I was lodging--and I told him my worst conception of his character:-even that he was a Pirate, and a Murderer. And, added I, "You appeared like the worst man, as I met you the last evening, that I ever beheld; and I was really frightened from your presence." He returned, "When you requested those to arise, who desired the prayers of christians, I thought that if any one needed them, I did—although I hardly believe in the existence of Deity;-and when you approached me, and offered your hand, you looked like an angel, and I turned from you. I have, madam, been a Pirate:-but I always lifted my hand against murder. Though I am guilty of every sin that was ever committed on the footstool:--and I confess to you, That I am the worst man, to be found upon the face of the whole earth.' This acknowledgment of his own guiltiness, was in the presence of two or more witnesses: which, I think, the remorse of his conscience, constrained him to make. He was a young man, of about thirty;—a stranger— but a few days in the place. And from the time I saw him, it seemed he crept off slyly--and so was

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heard from no more.--"A guilty conscience needs no accuser!"

*In the eighteenth year of my age, I commenced school-keeping in N. Hampton;-it being the eventful, and gloomy period of war between America and Great Britain; when many things, of a serious nature, occupied my mind. My father had command of the militia, at that time; and as an invasion of the town of P-th, was hourly expected, he was summoned to stand in its defence. It happened that a "sergeant" of his company, (a very promising young man, (and was crossing the Piscatequa, at a late hour of the night, and was accidentally drowned. This, with the circumstances concurrent, tended to arouse me again, to a sense of my duty to God:-he having been my school-mate,-likewise, school-master, but a short time before. But what I designed to say, more particularly, was this: The day prior to his decease, he was at H- -m, and called on the young lady, to whom he had paid his addresses for some space; and sang in her presence, twice or thrice over, the verse of Watts, "Why do we mourn departing friends," &c. She asked his meaning; but for being thus led, he was not able to account; and only replied, by presenting her the following lines:

"While bravely struggling, in the foaming wave, The shipwreck'd sailor, hopes his life to save:

* This, (with the preceding short histories,) was taken from my Journal.

And firmly clinging, to the floating oar,
At length is wafted to some friendly shore.
For me, alas! no friendly shore appears;
My cares increasing, faster than my years.
Deprived of ev'ry charm that sweetens life,
No pleasing home, no fond endearing wife,
In whose soft breast, I might my cares repose,
And in her circling arms, my eye-lids close.
But overwhelm'd by fate,* and anxious care,
My shattered bark, is driven to despair.
Written by S. L. of H.

VERSES

By Judge to Miss M.- and presented afterwards to myself.

Say, female stranger, who art thou?

That thus, art wandering through our land.
Thy youth, thy sex, thy modest brow;
Thy lonely state, may all demand.
Why is it, thou hast left thy home,
With strangers only to sojourn?
No friend attending, but alone,

Thou wing'st thy way, both night and morn?
Has some wild vision, struck thy brain;
To wander forth, from door to door?
Whilst friends, afar, in grief remain,
By restless, wayward fancy, bore?
If this be so, some friendly hand,
Should stay thy wand'ring, sooth thy pain:

*Predestinarian.

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