transgressors may be detected; the plot most cunningly devised and most secretly executed may be revealed.

With what caution, then, should we act-not in the commission of sins-but with caution to avoid it entirely. We should not even read such narratives, unless to improve them, and by means of them to guard ourselves against similar awful transgressions. And the only safety is always to set the Lord before us--to remember that he sees us-follows us and will one day bring us into judgment. Verily there is no darkness, nor shadow of death where the workers of iniquity can hide themselves.

Whitefield's Preaching.

THERE was nothing in the appearance of this extraordinary man which would lead you to suppose that a Felix would tremble before him. "He was something about the middle stature, well proportioned, and remarkable for a native gracefulness of manner. His complexion was very fair, his features regular, and his dark blue eyes small and lively. In recovering from the measles, he had contracted a squint with one of them, but this peculiarity rather rendered the expression of his countenance more remarkable than in any degree lessened the effects of its common sweetness. His voice excelled both in melody and compass, and in its fine modulations was happily accompanied by that grace and action which he possessed in an eminent degree, and which has been said to be the chief requisite in an orator." To have seen him when he first commenced, one would have thought him any thing but enthusiastic and glowing, but as he proceeded, his heart warmed with his subject, and his manner became impetuous and animated, till, forgetful of every thing around him, he seemed to kneel at the throne of Jehovah, and beseech in agony for his fellow beings.

After he had finished his prayer, he knelt a long time in profound silence, and so powerfully had it affected the most heartless of his audience, that a stillness like that of the tomb pervaded the whole house.

Before he commenced his sermon, long, darkening

clouds crowded the bright sunny sky of the morning, and swept their dull shadows over the building, in fearful augury of the storm.

His text was, "Strive to enter in at the straight gate, for many I say unto you shall seek to enter in, and shall not be able."

"See that emblem of human life," said he, as he pointed to a shadow that was flitting across the floor. "It passed for a moment, and concealed the brightness of heaven from our view-but it is gone. And where will ye be, my hearers, when your lives have passed away like that dark cloud? Oh, my dear friends, I see thou sands sitting attentive, with their eyes fixed on the poor unworthy preacher. In a few days we shall all meet at the judgment seat of Christ. We shall form a part of that vast assembly which will gather before his throne, and every eye behold the judge. With a voice, whose call you must obey and answer, he will inquire whether on earth you strove to enter in at the straight gate-whether you were supremely devoted to God--whether your hearts were absorbed in him. My blood runs cold when I think how many of you shall then seek to enter in and shall not be able. Oh, what plea can you make before the Judge of the whole earth? Can you say it has been your whole endeavor to mortify the flesh with its affections and lusts; that your life has been one long effort to do the will of God? No! you must answer, I made myself easy in the world by flattering myself that all would end well, but I have deceived my own soul and am lost.

"You, O false and hollow Christians, of what avail will it be that you have done many things-that you have read much in the sacred word-that you have made long prayers-that you have attended religious duties, and appeared holy in the eyes of men? What will all this be, if, instead of loving him supremely, you have been supposing you should exalt yourself to heaven by acts really polluted and unholy?

"And you, rich man, wherefore do you hoard your silver? Wherefore count the price you have received for him whom you every day crucify in your love of gain? Why, that when you are too poor to buy

a drop of cold water, your beloved son may be rolled in hell in his chariot, pillowed and cushioned about

nim."

His eye gradually lighted up as he proceeded, till, towards the close, it seemed to sparkle with celestial fire. "Oh, sinner!" he exclaimed, "by all your hopes of happiness, I beseech you to repent. Let not the wrath of God be awakened. Let not the fires of eternity be kindled against you. See there!" said he, pointing to the lighting which played on the corner of the pulpit, "'tis a glance from the angry eye of Jehovah! Hark!" continued he, raising his finger in a listening attitude, as the distant thunder grew louder and louder, and broke in a tremendous crash over the building, "it was the voice of the Almighty, as he passed in his anger."

As the sound died away, he covered his face with his hands, and knelt beside his pulpit, apparently lost in inward and intense prayer. The storm passed rapidly by, and the sun bursting forth in his might, threw across the heavens a magnificent arch of peace. Rising, and pointing to the beautiful object, he exclaimed, "Look upon the rainbow, and praise him that made it, very beautiful it is in the brightness thereof. It compasseth the heavens about with glory, and the hands of the Most High have bended it."

The Parting Kiss.

"I was but five years old when my mother died; but her image is as distinct to my recollection, now that twelve years have elapsed, as it was at the time of her death. I remember her as a pale, beautiful, gentle being, with a sweet smile, and a voice that was soft and cheerful when she praised me; and when I erred, for I was a wild, thoughtless child, there was a trembling mildness about it, that always went to my little heart. And then she was so kind, so patient; methinks I can now see her large blue eyes moist with sorrow, because of my childish waywardness, and hear her repeat, "My child, how can you grieve me so?" I recollect she had for a long time been pale and feeble, and that sometimes there.

would come a bright spot on her cheek, which made her look so lovely, that I thought she must be well. But then she sometimes spoke of dying, and pressed me to her bosom, and told me "to be good when she was gone, and to love my father a great deal, and be kind to him, for he would have no one else to love." I recollect she was very sick all day, and my little hobby horse and whip were laid aside, and I tried to be very quiet. I did not see her for the whole day, and it seemed very long. At night they told me mother was too sick to kiss me, as she always used to do before I went to bed, and I must go without it. But I could not. I stole into the room, and laying my lips close to hers, whispered, "Mother, mother, won't you kiss me?" Her lips were very cold; and when she put her arm around me, laid my head upon her bosom, and one hand upon my cheek, I felt a cold shuddering creep all over me. My father carried me from the room, but he could not speak. After they put me in bed, I lay a long while thinking. I feared my mother would indeed die, for her cheek felt as cold as my little sister's did when she died, and they laid her in the ground. But the impressions of mortality are always indistinct in childhood, and I soon fell asleep. In the morning I hastened to my mother's room. A white napkin covered her face. I removed it—it was just as I feared. Her eyes were closed, her cheek was cold and hard, and only the lovely expression that always rested upon her lips remained. In an instant all the little faults for which she had so often reproved me, rushed upon my mind. I longed to tell her how good I would always be, if she would remain with me. She was buried; but my remembrance of the funeral is indistinct. I only retain the impressions which her precepts and example left upon my mind. I was a passionate, headstrong boy; but I never yielded to this turn of my disposition, without fancying I saw her m''d, tearful eye fixed upon me, just as she used to do in life. And then, when I succeeded in overcoming it, her sweet smile of approbation beamed upon me, and I was happy. My whole character underwent a change, even from the moment of her death. Her spirit was forever with me, strengthening my good resolutions, and weakening my propensity to evil. I felt that it would

me once more.

grieve her gentle spirit, to see me eri, and I could not, would not do it. I was the child of her affection; Í knew she had prayed and wept over me, and that, even on the threshold of eternity, her affection for me had caused her gentle spirit to linger, that she might pray for I resolved to become all that she could desire. This resolution I have never forgotten. It helped me to subdue the waywardness of childhood, protected me through the temptations of youth, and will comfort and support me through the busier scenes of manhood. Whatever there is that is estimable in my character, I owe to the impressions of goodness, made upon my infant mind by the exemplary conduct and faith. ful instructions of my excellent mother.

An Incident at Sea.

AFTER We had been at sea nearly a month, a fine, stout sailor, about twenty-two years old, fell from the side of the ship, whilst engaged in repairing the rigging. He was the pride and "darling of the crew." And the passengers had singled him out as the best man who took his turn at the wheel, or climbed the shrouds. He had a free and noble bearing, an iron frame, a step like an antelope's, and face deeply ruddy and weather-beaten but ever ready for a smile. When the wind was howling heavily and the waves were running "mountain high,' and the order was given to reef or take in sail, he was always the first to mount the rocking mast, and the outermost on the trembling upper-yards, bending over their extremities to bind the flapping canvass, that would have dashed a less steady and powerful hand like a feather into the boiling sea.

It was a fine day. The ship was making easy way before a light breeze, and the passengers were on deck. The man whose name was William Hanney, was standing outside of the tafferel near the stern of the vessel, tying a thin cross-bar of iron across the lower part of the mizzen shrouds. Suddenly a splash was heard, and a faint scream, and the piteous cry, "a man overboard," resounded through the ship. We ran to the side, and