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274

DESCRIPTION OF A CHRISTIAN.

in that rude hut, Mary's soft voice, rendered plaintive || and withered like grass:' life lost its attractions-earth and melancholy by her lonely condition, hymning her its loveliness-and home its endearments. She sunk favorite Psalmunder the loss of her children, and died of a broken heart."

"To heaven I lift my waiting eyes,

There all my hopes are staid;

The Lord who built the earth and skies
Is my perpetual aid.

Their feet shall never slide nor fall,
Whom he designs to keep;
His ear attends their softest call,
His eye can never sleep.

He will sustain our weakest powers
With his almighty arm;

And watch our most unguarded hours
Against surprising harm.

Israel rejoice, and rest secure

Thy keeper is the Lord:

His wakeful eyes employ his care
For thine eternal guard.

Nor scorching sun, nor sickly moon,
Shall have their leave to smite;
He shields thy head from burning noon,
From blasting damps at night.

He guards thy soul, he keeps thy breath,
Where thickest dangers come:

Go in and out, secure from death,

Till God command thee home.'

"After Mary had lived in this desolate and perilous condition some fifteen months, her character and history became known to a young man of kindred spirit. He too, from the age of twelve, had been exposed to the perils of war. He had served in many campaigns against the Indians, and had engaged with them in the battle field when quite a boy. He had traversed the Indian wilds from the Alleghanies to the mouth of the Ohio, and from the Kentucky river to the lakes. Fear he never felt, and he had imbibed a feeling of pity and contempt for any being who manifested that childish emotion. Mary's bold and fearless bearing attracted his notice; and though he had traveled much, seen and known many females, his heart had never before felt the influence of love and admiration combined. Mary's exquisite sensibility and tenderness, added to her undaunted courage, qualities so rarely found to meet in the same woman, induced him at once to offer himself as her protector and her husband. They were married;—and Mary's second husband proved himself to be, what she had taken him for, a man of true worth. He was one of the first pioneers of Ohio-contributed much to give to her constitution and laws their broad principles of liberty and equality-lived long to see and enjoy her prosperity, and died in good old age, not 'unhonored' though 'unsung.' But Mary had left him years before, for a better home. She lived to rear to maturity all her children, eight in number, and to them was attached with an intensity of affection which nothing could moderate. She bore all the privations of fourteen years of war, British and Indian, exposed to the most imminent dangers, and her heart and nerve never failed her. But when one, and then another, and yet another of her children were taken from her by the stern hand of Death, her heart was smitten

The stranger paused-the big tear stood in his eye, and with quivering lip he added: "The first daughter, born to me after my mother's death, I called Mary Craig, though my eldest had been partly named for her, years before. It was a most lovely child; but it had an unearthly beauty and sweetness about it. The neighbors noticed this, and whispered to each other, 'Little Mary will not live-she belongs not to earthher home is heaven.' She died at an early age; and still when I think of that sweet child, and its sainted grand-mother, my heart involuntarily exclaims'will the earth ever be blessed with another MARY CRAIG?"

DESCRIPTION OF A CHRISTIAN.

THE Christian sees the rise and fall of earthly potentates, and the convulsions of kingdoms, testifying of Him who ruleth among the nations, and accrediting his word; he experiences the conviction that the most delightful of all truth, the hope which perisheth not, is confirmed by the strongest of all testimony, that heaven itself hath ratified the peace which it hath proclaimed; he rests assured that "prophecy came not of old time by the will of man, but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost;" and although he knows not the mode of the operations of the Spirit, he sees the demonstration of his power. And "taking heed thus unto the sure word of prophecy, until the day dawn and the day-star arise in his heart," the true believer learns, from the things that are past, the certainty of things that are to come hereafter: he rests not satisfied with a mere name that he liveth, while yet he may be dead, but, having obtained that "precious faith," the germ of immortality, which springeth up unto eternal life, he experiences the power of the world to come, and unites the practice with the profession of religion; he copies the zeal of those who spend their strength for that which is in vain, and their labor for that which profiteth not, but he directs it to the attainment of an incorruptible inheritance—for he knows that his labor shall not be in vain while he yields obedience to that word which is the charter of his salvation, and which so unequivocally bears the seal and superscription of the King of kings.-Rev. Dr. Keith.

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SKETCHES BY THE WAY.

275

Original. SKETCHES BY THE WAY.*

-

"FROM MY NOTE-BOOK."

MR. HAMLINE,-In a former communication I attempted to give yourself and readers some "Sketches by the Way" from Cincinnati to Philadelphia, promising some notices of the latter city and its institutions, &c., in a future number. It was my intention to have fulfilled that promise at the present time; but I have concluded to postpone that, in order to notice places and scenes which have less frequently been made the subject of description, although not less devoid of intrinsic or relative interest.

On a bright Tuesday evening in May I found myself snugly situated on the schooner "Walter," one of the regular packets between Philadelphia and Lewes, Delaware, and then lying at the foot of Pine-street. There is something full of novelty and interest in vessels of this kind, to those who, like myself, had never been on the briny billow. Accustomed only to the certainty of steam navigation, to be dependent on winds and tides, was at once new and strange; and I must confess that a feeling of apprehension, to which I had formerly been a stranger, would now and then flit across my mind. We started about 9 o'clock in the evening, with a very light breeze, favorable, and the tide just going out. About 7 o'clock next morning we passed Wilmington, Delaware. This city is surrounded by most beautiful scenery, and from the river presents a very pretty appearance, situated as it is some distance back from the water. Seven miles below is New Castle, also a very pleasant place. The morning was extremely fine, and the river presented a sight full of interest to one not accustomed to such scenes. Before us were perhaps more than a hundred sails from the brig down to the little fishing-boat-all pursuing their individual interests, irrespective of the world around.

12 o'clock.-Fairly in the bay-fine breeze springing up, with a fair prospect of being in Lewes before night.

2, P. M.-Stiff breeze-sea rough-vessel rolling and tossing with considerable violence. Met a barque ship-passed within 200 or 300 yards—had a fine view of her saline majesty.

4 o'clock.-Sea still rough-female passengers all sea-sick. Sat on the bow of the vessel, and watched the "briny surge of the deep sea green" with great interest. Our vessel, at this moment, puts me in mind of the milk-maid in the fable-tossing her head with supreme contempt at the foaming waves-bow sometimes almost under water, and then high in air.

11 o'clock.-Safely moored at Lewes wharf. Experienced no sea-sickness while sailing; but when at anchor, (about 5 o'clock, waiting for tide,) the vessel rocked so violently as to make me deathly sick-had to

* Continued from page 216.

leave the supper-table, with its fine fresh shad, and go on deck, in hopes that the air would remove the cause-in vain-had to go to bed till 10 o'clock. What made it more unpleasant was, I had no companions, except the female passengers, all the men being sufficiently used to salt water to escape every thing of the kind.

The town of Lewes, to a stranger, assumes a very unique as well as antique appearance. The houses are mostly wooden buildings, and are weather-boarded with the same material with which the roof is covered, resembling our shingles, but larger and thicker. This is found to be much better there than the ordinary method; but it gives an appearance of singularity to the whole, which must be seen to be appreciated. Nearly all the houses are painted white, with red roofs, which, at a distance, leads the beholder to suppose they are chiefly brick. The principal brick house in the place is the Presbyterian church, a building erected in 1728, and where the late Dr. Wilson, of Philadelphia, commenced his ministerial labors. This church is now under the pastoral care of the Rev. Mr. Mustard. Besides this there is one Episcopal church— at present destitute of a regular minister-and one Methodist church-Rev. Messrs. Houston and Richardson stationed preachers.

In many respects Lewes is a peculiar place. A large majority of its inhabitants are strictly religious people. And in no place have I ever been where the people seemed to enjoy life with a greater zest, and to be freer from care than there. Situated at the distance of 150 miles from Philadelphia, and having but little intercourse with that place, except during the extreme summer heat, they have but little sympathy with the bustle, and ambition, and all-absorbing desire of money-making which characterize that great city. The natural consequence is, more of real enjoyment and less disturbance and anxiety from the cares and toils of life. This gives greater opportunity for the cultivation of the mind and heart. It also gives to society that pleasing naturalness which is so seldom met with in this artificial age, unless accompanied by rudeness, and neglect of mental cultivation. In fact, society there partakes more of that primitive simplicity and real goodness, which needs only to be seen to be admired, than almost any other place I have ever seen. And I could not help feeling || that I would rather possess the affections of such a people than the admiration of a world; for I have almost come to the conclusion that there is but little else than cold intellectualism in all the so-called feeling of the fashionable business world. This may be heresy; but I believe it is truth for all that.

There are many things in and about Lewes which possess very considerable interest to any but the careless visitor, whose thoughts and desires have been molded by the all-controlling code of fashion, and whose only wish is to pass away time. Among these objects of interest are the Mole, an artificial wharf built out 1200 feet into the sea, and the Break-water, an excellent artificial harbor for the shipping passing up and down the bay. But I return to my note-book.

276

ADVICE TO THE LADIES.

Saturday, 20.-I have seen-I have seen the great || cannons, which were used in the late war, and in some Atlantic, and heard its solemn roar, and had my feet way or other rendered unfit for further service. wet with its briny billows. How solemn! how grand! how sublime!-the mighty bass in the grand anthem of universal nature! No wonder that thou hast been the theme of the poet, or that the orator and the philosopher have called thee up to give sublimity to the conceptions of the one or beauty and force to the illustrations of the other. For ages hast thou stood-a memento of the power and wisdom of the almighty Framer of the universe, while thy awful roaring has lent similitudes to the inspired penman, as he faintly endeavored to describe the rejoicings of the blessed.

Wednesday. Started with a party of about forty ladies and gentlemen on a pleasure excursion for Cape May. After proceeding about half way, sea became quite rough, and the sky wore evident indications of a squall approaching; and as most of the ladies on board were more or less unpleasantly affected with the motion of the vessel, it was deemed best to relinquish the intended visit, and sail in smoother waters, and nearer home. This might perhaps more properly be called a religious company than any thing else-three clergymen on board, and a large proportion of the others professors of religion. Nearly the whole day was spent in singing sacred music, &c., and at 9 o'clock all returned highly delighted with the scenes of the day. During the day saw several porpoises playing around our vessel, many of them very near us, while sea-gulls and fish-hawks were constantly on the wing in our immediate vicinity.

Visited the light-house on Cape Henlopen-84 feet from the base to the upper platform-total height about 100 feet. This light-house has 18 silver polished concave reflectors of about 16 inches diameter, fastened upon a revolving wheel. There are two or three lighthouses on different points of the Cape; but this is the principal one. From the top of this light-house the view is very extensive. Some five or six ships were at the moment passing down the bay, discharging pilots, &c., while innumerable small sail were dotting the smooth surface of the deep. Cape May, with its light-large number of vessels into the harbor, and from the house, was distinctly visible-16 miles distant.

Tuesday, 4th of July.-The Break-water presents a most beautiful appearance this morning. A strong northeasterly wind, for a day or two, has brought a

mast-head of each one is seen the national flag waving Wednesday.-Rode into the country. This part of in the wind-the insignia of as free a people. May the state is very level and sandy. A new method of those stars and stripes never behold them less free! but, fencing arrested my attention. Posts are placed in the like a holy bond, may it ever unite us! and while it ground at regular intervals of two or three feet, and commemorates the virtue and the valor of our ancesbetween these cedar branches are laid horizontally, and tors, may it inspire us with similar feelings, that liberty compacted together. This forms a very cheap and and religion may continue to be our national characterpretty looking fence or hedge, although not very dura-istics! Then the last crash of a dissolving world shall ble. But few forest trees, and these mostly oak of different varieties, the foliage of which is very luxurious, rich, and beautiful. Whortleberry bushes in bloom, affording a delightful contrast to the dark foliage of the forest trees. Magnolia, also, in bloom, with its bright smooth leaves, and large white odoriferous blossoms, filling the air with rich fragrance. Nor must I omit the white shrub honeysuckle, (azalea viscosa,) whose delicate blossoms raise their modest head for the pleasure of the observing traveler, or the beautiful fringe tree, so rare in this country.

arise from the falling pillars of our republic, firm and
unshaken till the archangel's trump proclaims, "Time,
and the things of time, shall be no longer."
Yours, &c.,

G. W.

ADVICE TO THE LADIES. If you would be truly valuable, esteem not yourself chiefly according to your money and lands, but on the grace of your mind and person. Read a little more— read morality, history, innocent poetry, and the lives of Friday. Lewes, I find, is not without interest, when generous lovers. You dress well, and have the belle viewed in its relations to events and scenes of the Rev-air and mind: be as polite in your dress, and learn olution. Within sight of where I now stand, the en-to write a new style-I mean so as to write on all occagagement took place between the Hyder Aly and the sions, not as scholars but as gentlewomen. As you Gen. Monk. The former was commanded by Com. are ingenious, a little application forms you for good Barney, and manned by the flower of the American house-wives; but to improve the beauties of the mind forces. In this action, which was of very short dura- and carriage, will cost no more. Blend both accomtion, every officer on board the British vessel was either plishments together, and do not, as some, be mutes and killed or wounded. And within twelve hours after the statues in company; or, as others, perpetual drums. No capture, and before the blood could be washed from the longer be won by faces with brainless heads to them; decks, the captured vessel was anchored at Philadel-neither mistake a low bow for pure good manners; nor phia! An antiquarian friend pointed out to me a door, a well dressed head for quality; nor a fashionable coat still preserved, which had a large hole in it made by a for an estate; servile cringing for true love; nor a smooth ball from an English vessel during the late war; also a tongue for sense. Above all, do not mistake wit for door step, bearing a similar memento of former days wisdom; and cast a tender eye on him who has steady and scenes. Along the banks of a small creek on manly virtue and prudence in his conduct, and gives which the town is built may be seen three or four old fair hopes of his minding at heart-the main chance.

TO THE DEPARTED.

277

Original.

TO THE DEPARTED.

BY MISS DE FOREST.

To thy lonely, dark entombing,
Thou art, young Henry, gone-
Like a flower in its blooming-

In thy manhood's early dawn;
Thou hast faded from our vision

Like a morning star, away:
God grant in worlds Elysian
Thou art glittering to-day!

Was the Savior with thee, Henry,
In the lone, shadowy vale?
Did he throw his arms around thee,
When thy strength began to fail?
'Mid the waves of death, arraying

All their terrors round thy head, Didst thou hear his sweet voice, saying, "It is I. Be not afraid?"

How far'd thy young heart's idol,

In whom thou once did trust? Did she shrink from that sad bridal With corruption and the dust? Or did she nobly cheer thee,

Subduing, for thy sake,

The agonizing sorrow

Of a heart that fain would break?

Why linger'd then thy spirit,
As if it clung to earth,

While destin'd to inherit

A higher, nobler birth? Why flash'd, in that last hour, Such brilliance from thine eyeAs though some heav'nly power

Was teaching thee to die?

Perchance thy thoughts were wand'ring

Back to thy early home;
And the spirits of thy lost ones
Around thee seem'd to come--
Thy father and thy mother-
Thy sisters, dear and true-
And thy well beloved brother,

From his grave in ocean blue.
Perchance they hover'd o'er thee,
To watch thy parting breath-
To light thy way before thee,

Or soothe the pangs of death;
Perchance-but vain endeavor
Thy dreaming to explore!
Thou art gone from us for ever-
We see thy face no more.

No more thine infant daughter
Receives a father's care-
No more thy gentle Mary

Thine earthly love may share;

But where the winds are sweeping
Across thy snow-clad bed,
With voice of woe and weeping,

They wail the early dead.

Yet rest thee, Henry, rest thee

Within thy narrow home; And when, to cheer its darkness,

The sweet spring flowers come, Their beauty shall be garner'd

By loving hands, and free, And cherish'd by the mourner Like memories of thee.

And as they sprang in triumph From winter's dreary reign, When stormy life is over,

So shalt thou rise again; Aye, if thou sleep in Jesus,

To meet his smile, shalt rise, And bloom in endless beauty, Beyond the golden skies.

Original.

A FATHER'S TRIBUTE.

TO MARY J. G., ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

--

AMONG that bright and happy choir,
That strike their golden harps above,

An infant spirit tunes her lyre,

To praises of redeeming love-
Sweet as the hymns that angels raise,
The songs of this bright cherub's praise.
That spirit had her place on earth-

Her parents' joy and pride were there·
And bright hopes clustered at her birth,
In buds of promise sweet and fair;
But all were gathered ere their bloom,
And garnered in the silent tomb.

Her infant tongue had never learned

To lisp an earthly parent's name—
Scarce had her life's bright morning dawned
Before the early summons came-
God called her in her sinless prime
To worship in a fairer clime.

My child, she was your sister dear;
Bright as the brightest star of even
She shone upon our pathway here,

Then melted in the light of heaven.
Too pure for earth, this lovely gem
Now decks a Savior's diadem.

There in the glorious world of light,
Drawn by a sympathy divine,
Your blood-washed souls may re-unite,
And sweetly in communion join;
For kindred spirits, sever'd here,
Are bound in holier union there.

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Mr. A

The stranger received back the paper without any reply, but immediately presented in its place the subscription to the Bible Society, and in a few clear and forcible words, reminded him of its well-known claims, and again requested him to add something to his donations. Mr. A- became impatient.

SO MANY CALLS. was very uneasy under this appeal, but It was a brisk, clear evening in the latter part of there was something in the mild manner of the stranDecember, when Mr. A returned from his count-ger that restrained him; but he answered that, although ing-house to the comforts of a bright coal fire and he regretted it exceedingly, his circumstances were such warm arm-chair in his parlor at home. He changed that he could not this year conveniently add to any of his heavy boots for slippers, drew around him the folds his charities. of his evening gown, and then, lounging back in the chair, looked up to the ceiling and about with an air of satisfaction. Still there was a cloud on his brow: what could be the matter with Mr. A? To tell the truth, he had that afternoon received in his countingroom the agent of one of the principal religious charities of the day, and had been warmly urged to double "Have I not said," he replied, "that I can do nothhis last year's subscription, and the urging had been ing more for any charity than I did last year? There pressed by statements and arguments to which he did seems to be no end to the calls upon us in these days. not know well how to reply. "People think," solilo- At first there were only three or four objects presented, quized he to himself, "that I am made of money, I and the sums required were moderate; now the objects believe; this is the fourth object this year for which I increase every day; all call upon us for money, and all, have been requested to double my subscription, and after we give once, want us to double and treble our this year has been one of heavy family expenses- subscriptions; there is no end to the thing; we may as building and fitting up this house-carpets, curtains-well stop in one place as another."

The stranger took back the paper, rose, and, fixing his eye on his companion, said in a voice that thrilled to his soul,

"One year ago to-night you thought that your daughter lay dying; you could not sleep for agony: upon whom did you call all that night?"

no end to the new things to be bought-I really do not see how I am to give a cent more in charity; then there are the bills for the girls and the boys--they all say that they must have twice as much now as before we came into this house: wonder if I did right in building it?" And Mr. A- glanced up and down the ceiling, and around on the costly furniture, and looked The merchant started and looked up; there seemed into the fire in silence. He was tired, harassed, and a change to have passed over the whole form of his drowsy; his head began to swim, and his eyes closed-visitor, whose eye was fixed on him with a calm, inhe was asleep. In his sleep he thought he heard a tap tense, penetrating expression, that awed and subdued at the door; he opened it, and there stood a plain, him; he drew back, covered his face, and made no poor-looking man, who in a voice singularly low and reply. sweet, asked for a few moment's conversation with him. Mr. A- asked him into the parlor, and drew him a chair near the fire. The stranger looked attentively around, and then, turning to Mr. A—, presented him with a paper. "It is your last year's subscription to missions," said he; "you know all of the wants of that cause that can be told you; I called to see if you had any thing more to add to it."

This was said in the same low and quiet voice as before; but for some reason unaccountable to himself, Mr. A- was more embarrassed by the plain, poor, unpretending man, than he had been in the presence of any one before. He was for some moments silent before he could reply at all, and then, in a hurried and embarrassed manner, he began the same excuses which had appeared so satisfactory to him the afternoon before-the hardness of the times, the difficulty of collecting money, family expenses, &c.

The stranger quietly surveyed the spacious apartment, with its many elegances and luxuries, and without any comment took from the merchant the paper he had given, but immediately presented him with another. "This is your subscription to the Tract Society: have you any thing to add to it; you know how much it has been doing, and how much more it now desires to do, if Christians would only furnish means: do you not feel called upon to add something to it?"

"Five years ago," said the stranger, “when you lay at the brink of the grave, and thought that if you died then you should leave a family of helpless children entirely unprovided for, do you remember how you prayed? who saved you then?"

The stranger paused for an answer, but there was a dead silence. The merchant only bent forward as one entirely overcome, and rested his head on the seat before him.

The stranger drew yet nearer, and said, in a still lower and more impressive tone, "Do you remember, fifteen years since, that time when you felt yourself so lost, so helpless, so hopeless; when you spent days and nights in prayer; when you thought you would give the whole world for one hour's assurance that your sins were forgiven you?-who listened to you then?"

"It was my God and Savior!" said the merchant, with a sudden burst of remorseful feeling; "O, yes, it was he."

"And has He ever complained of being called on too often?" inquired the stranger, in a voice of reproachful sweetness; "say," he added, "are you willing to begin this night, and ask no more of Him, if he, from this night, will ask no more from you?"

"O, never, never!" said the merchant, throwing himself at his feet; but, as he spake these words, the figure

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