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of my motives. On entering, I was struck with his preternatural appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man ; his head, which was covered with a white linen cap, his shriveled hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the influence of palsy ; and a few moments ascertained to me that he was perfectly blind.

4. The first emotions which touched my breast were those of mingled pity and veneration. But how soon were all my feelings changed! The lips of Plato were never more worthy of a prognostic swarm of bees, than were the lips of this holy man! It was a day of the administration of the sacrament; and his subject, of course, was the passion of our Savior. I had heard the subject handled a thousand times : I had thought it exhausted long ago. Little did I suppose, that in the wild woods of America, I was to meet with a man whose eloquence would give to this topic a new and more sublime pathos than I had ever before witnessed.

5. As he descended from the pulpit, to distribute the mystic symbols, there was a peculiar, a more than human solemnity in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame shiver.

6. He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Savior; his trial before Pilate ; his ascent up Calvary ; his crucifixion; and his death. I knew the whole history ; but never, until then, had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, so colored! It was all new ; and I seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life. His enunciation was so deliherate, that his voice trembled on every syllable; and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. His peculiar phrases had that force of description, that the original scene appeared to be, at that moment, acting before our eyes. We saw the very faces of the Jews ; the staring, frightful distortions of malice and rage. We saw the buffet : my soul kindled with a flame of indignation ; and my hands were involuntarily and convulsively clinched.

7. But when he came to touch on the patience, the forgiving meekness of our Savior ; when he drew, to the life, his blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven ; his voice breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his enemies, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they

do”—the voice of the preacher, which had all along faltered, grew fainter, and fainter, until, his utterance being entirely obstructed by the force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible flow of grief. The effect is inconceivable. The whole house resounded with the mingled groans, and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation.

3. It was some time before the tumult had subsided so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usual but fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher. For I could not conceive, how he would be able to let his audience down from the height to which he had wound them, without impairing the solemnity and dignity of his subject, or perhaps shocking them by the abruptness of the fall. But-no: the descent was as beautiful and sublime, as the elevation had been rapid and enthusiastic.

9. The first sentence with which he broke the awful silence, was a quotation from Rousseau : “Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ, like a God!”

10. I despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced by this short sentence, unless you could perfectly conceive the whole manner of the man, as well as the peculiar crisis in the discourse. Never before did I completely understand what Demosthenes meant by laying such stress on delivery. You are to bring before you the venerable figure of the preacher : his blindness, constantly recalling to your recollection old Homer, Ossian, and Milton, and associating with his performance the melancholy grandeur of their geniuses : you are to imagine that you hear his slow, solemn, well-accented enunciation, and his voice of affecting, trembling melody : you are to remember the pitch of passion and enthusiasm to which the congregation were raised; and then, the few minutes of portentous, death-like silence, which reigned throughout the house : the preacher, removing his white handkerchief from his aged face (even yet wet from the recent torrent of his tears), and slowly stretching forth the palsied hand which holds it, begins the sentence : “Socrates died like a philosopher"—then pausing, raising his other hand, pressing them both, clasped together, with warmth and energy to his breast, lifting his “sightless balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul into his tremulous voice—“but Jesus Christ-like a God!" If he had been indeed and in truth an angel of light, the effect could scarcely have been more divine.

LXVII.—THE HOUR OF DEATH.

FELICIA HEMANS.

1. Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set --but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

2. Day is for mortal care,

Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer,

But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth.

3. The banquet hath its hour,

Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ;
There comes a day for grief's o’erwhelming power,

A time for softer tears—but all are thine.

4. Youth and the opening rose

May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee—but thou art not of those

That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey.

5. Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set --but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

6. We know when moons shall wane,

When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea,
When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain-

But who shall teach us when to look for thee?

7. Is it when spring's first gale

Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
Is it when roses in our paths grow pale?

They have one season-all are ours to die !

8. Thou art where billows foam,

Thou art where music melts upon the air ;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home;

And the world calls us forth—and thou art there.

9. Thou art where friend meets friend,

Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest-
Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend

The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

10. Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set,—but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

LXVIII.—THE PURITANS.

lunarli T. B. MACAULAY. 1. The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a peculiar character from the daily contemplation of superior beings and eternal interests. Not content with acknowledging, in general terms, an overruling Providence, they habitually ascribed every event to the will of the Great Being, for whose power nothing was too vast, for whose inspection nothing was too minute. To know him, to serve him, to enjoy him, was with them the great end of existence. They rejected with contempt the ceremonious homage which other sects substituted for the pure worship of the soul. Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the Deity through an obscuring veil, they aspired to gaze full on the intolerable brightness, and to commune with him face to face Hence originated their contempt for terrestrial distinctions.

2. The difference between the greatest and meanest of

mankind seemed to vanish, when compared with the boundless interval which separated the whole race from him on whom their own eyes were constantly fixed. They recognized no title to superiority but his favor ; and, confident of that favor, they despised all the accomplishments and all the dignities of the world. If they were unacquainted with the works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply read in the oracles of God. If their names were not found in the registers of heralds, they felt assured that they were recorded in the Book of Life. If their steps were not accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of ministering angels had charge over them.

3. Their palaces were houses not made with hands; their diadems, crowns of glory which should never fade away. On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked down with contempt; for they esteemed themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime language, nobles by the right of an earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of a mightier hand. The very meanest of them was a being to whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance belonged-on whose slightest actions the spirits of light and darkness looked with anxious interestwho had been destined, before heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity which should continue when heaven and earth should have passed away.

4. Events which short-sighted politicians ascribed to earthly causes had been ordained on his account. For his sake empires had risen and flourished and decayed. For his sake the Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the evangelist and the harp of the prophet. He had been rescued by no common deliverer from the grasp of no common foe. He had been ransomed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. It was for him that the sun had been darkened, that the rocks had been rent, that the dead had arisen, that all nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring God !

5. Thus the Puritan was made up of two different men, the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion, the other proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. He prostrated himself in the dust before his Maker : but he set his foot on the

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