gles of rivalry in which the majority of mankind are involved, could so well command the unfortunate bondsman to set his thoughts and affections rather on things above than on things on the earth? The person, whose simple narrative we are relating, felt this, and had reason to bless heaven for the institution of a christian priesthood.

This person had a son, for whom his heart felt more than the usual fondness of a father. Every gift of genius, many splendid virtues, and many of the milder attractions belonged to his character. But long before his reason opened, he had become a convert to his father's infidelity. The seeds were sown too early and too deep to be rooted up at pleasure. The conversion of the parent was not accompanied by the conversion of the child. Irreligion was too strongly for tified by passion, by youthful confidence, by the pride of opening reason, and by the sarcastic vigilance of gay companions, to resign its possession of the young man's soul. The life he had led, was a practical commentary on the lessons and example he had reccived. At the loss of his father's property, he plunged deeper into excesses. His vices were not checked, they only became meaner, and his father saw too plainly that he was irrevocably given up to ruin. Few can imagine the agonies of recollection and anticipation which thus harrass ed the old man's soul. And few, who have not felt the pow.

er of religion, can imagine the mitigations which were poured into it, by the voice of one, whose sole business it was, like his master, to go about doing good. In a word, the conversation of a priest healed the very despair which could trace its origin up to the mistaken hatred of priests.

He

But this was not all. He had a daughter to whom he looked to smooth and soften the pillow of his age by her cares, and to perfume it by her virtues. She was to him a jewel of excellence, a flower of beauty-his pride and his idol, and the charm of his existence. But the tomb claimed her, and left him-no, not desolate. The common friend of both remained behind. remained behind, who, as he wiped away his Own tears, taught the bereaved father by example, as well as by precept, the art of religious consolation. How weighty, how forcible, how efficacious, came that consolation from the mouth of the minister of God! From him, who professed to stand as a link between the seen and the unseen worlds! Had no other circumstance occurred to reconcile Mr. Evanson to our clergyman, yet that reconciliation must have taken place inevitably, in consequence of the devout and sympathetic supplication offered up to the God of all grace and consolation, on the day that his daughter was consigned to the grave. The most hardened infidel opens his ear to the voice from the sanctuary, when sorrow and crushed ten

the world.

We have but one scene more in which to present these two persons together It was the dying scene. It is here that the most brilliant triumphs of the ministers of religion are displayed. What would have been Mr. Evanson's departing horrors, if his hand had not been pressed, nor his dying palpitations watched, nor his despair allayed, by the very man whom he once shuddered to encounter? They were a

The whole family were then called in, and after a solemn, and pathetic address, in which he bade them farewell, and bequeathed to them the richest treasures of advice, these were the last words he ever uttered: "And above all, you will exercise an undiminished and perpetual reverence for the ministers of religion. Had it not been for him who now stands at the side of my bed

MR. EDITOR,

I HAVE been sometime a widow, but when Heaven took away my husband, he left me one comfort, a child, a daughter, to moderate the sorrows of my condition. She reached her twentieth year, and was, what for me to say, would be supposed to be a mother's fondness; let others praise her; my life was wrapt up in her, por was her duteous return of gratitude less than my affection. I have lost her; death has torn her from my arms. For two months I was inconsolable, my tears flowed incessantly, and, like Rachel, I refused to be comforted A kind, unknown friend sent me the enclosed letter which con

vinced me that my immoderate sorrow was folly and impiety. I have tried to conquer my affliction, and submit to the will of Heaven. My loss is not uncommon, and those reasons which have been of so much use to me, may possibly, in the like case, afford comfort to others. I send them to you that they may be communicated to the public. The office you assume, demands of you every action of humanity, and none can be more truly so than to comfort the afflicted, and calm the stormy soul to peace. I am, &c.

MADAM,

YOUR daughter is not dead. You have not lost her. She has gone before you to her native country, whither yourself must shortly follow. Then why those streaming eyes, those vain laments, those agonies of woe? Can you recal her, or would you if you could? Consider calmly, had some

mighty prince required her attendance, would you not with joy have sent her to his courts? Would you not have parted with her pleased with the consideration of her advantage? In her absence would not your mind be satisfied with having well disposed of her? Can you grudge her to the king of Heaven, in whose presence is fullness of joy and pleasures forevermore?

But for yourself these sorrows flow, nor will I in moderation, blame them. She was the dearest blessing of your life; a child, a companion, a friend, dutiful, obliging and sincere, all this, and more. She was the wonder and delight of all who knew her. But the more her goodness, the greater her reward, and that should be your comfort.

The Almighty Author of all things has a right to dispose, as He pleases, of all his creatures, and it is impious in us to murmur at his dispensations. From Him she camc, to Him you owe the joy she gave you for nineteen years together. Does this demand no gratitude, and can you be angry because God has resumed what he but only lent? Examine human life. View its most cheerful side, its gaities, its joys, its pleasures. Alas, how low, how trifling and how transient all! Consider youth, health and beauty, how quick

ly are they gone! Is not the body subject every moment to accident, to pain, to sickness; the mind to anxious cares, to piercing griefs, and would you wish your daughter back again from heaven to such a state? Where she now is, no tears will ever flow; no sorrow, no discontent, no pain can ever there be known. To view the face of God, to sing his praises and admire his wonders, to possess the full fruition of every hope, and that for ages infinite, how vast the thought, how unspeakable the felicity!

Methinks I see her amidst a crowd of celestial inhabitants, encircled with glory, chanting hymns to her Creator for so soon releasing her from the sorrows of mortality.

Now, will you still lament, and let self love so far prevail, as to repine at your loss, when she has gained so much? How trifling was your pleasure in her society, compared with her eternal happiness! Dry up those tears then, for if in heaven, any thing could interrupt her bliss, your grief, I am sure, would do so. Imagine her descending from the skies arrayed in brightness, and enquiring the cause of your incessant love. Would you not blush to tell it, and must she not wonder that her felicity should bring you sorrow? From the Universal Spectator.

MR. EDITOR,

AT the earnest request of some enlightened friends, I transmit for your publication a prayer of ArchbishopTillotson, "which, as his publisher conjectured, he used before composing his sermons." We think it discovers a spirit so much in harmony with the gospel that it ought to be more widely diffused

Such a spirit, we believe, is slowly but surely becoming universal; breathing the love, the mildness, the good will of its divine author; banishing the exclusive rancour, the party zeal, the uncharitable bitterness, the blood thirsty bigotry of intolerance and persecution. These black vapours, burdened with mildew and death, are dispersing before this spirit of truth, this spirit of God, this day-spring from on high. The features of the moral landscape begin to as sume their native verdure and beauty. The smile of God seems to rest upon their freshness; while glimpses of a still purer sky are opening above, "the bright dilating blue of Heaven." O when will the broad illumination commence! When will the promises of Jehovah be accomplished! All remain firm and immoveable, Even now, with a voice of faith, and the voice of thanksgiving, may we exclaim, Alleluia: for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth. We will be glad, we will rejoice, we will give him glory.

Vol. VI No. 4.

A.

15

For the Christian Disciple.

"O Lord God of truth I humbly beseech thee to enlighten my mind by thy holy spirit, that I may discern the true way to eternal salvation; and to free me from all prejudice and passion, from every corrupt affection and interest,. that may either blind me or seduce me in my search after it.

Make me impartial in my inquiry after truth, and ready whenever it is discovered to me, to receive it in the love of it, to obey it from the heart, and to practise it in my life, and to continue stedfast in the profession of it to the end of my days.

I perfectly resign myself, O Lord, to thy conduct and direction, in confidence that thy mercy and goodness are such, that thou wilt not suffer those who sincerely desire to know the truth and rely upon thy guidance, finally to miscarry.

And if in any thing which concerns the true worship and service of thee my God, and the everlasting happiness of my soul, I am in any error and mistake, I earnestly beg of thee to convince me of it, and to lead me into the way of truth; and to confirm and establish me in it daily more and more.

And I beseech thee, O Lord, always to preserve in me a great compassion and sincere charity towards those that are in error, and ignorance of thy truth; beseeching thee to take pity on them, and to bring them