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Original.

AN INCIDENT.

BY THE EDITOR.

-

AN INCIDENT.

THE character of John Hancock, whose name stands first amongst the signers of the Declaration of Independence, is familiar to all our readers. The following incident is closely connected with his memory. We narrate it not only as an interesting passage in the annals of New England Methodism, but also because it is a well authenticated fact in the history of a family of so great and merited distinction as that of the Hancocks.

In 18-, Mr. now Bishop H., was stationed in Boston, with one younger minister for his colleague. On a certain day a lady called on Mr. H. for religious conversation. She was dressed in the richest style of the times, was remarkably genteel in her manners, and her whole deportment indicated that she was familiar with the best society and moved in its highest circles. After some conversation, she informed Mr. H. that she wished to unite with his Church. She gave him her name, and referred him to several of the most respectable families of the city, that he might learn from them her character, and took her leave. After a few days, she called again, and on her still expressing a wish to unite with the Methodist Episcopal Church, Mr. H., who had satisfied himself that her character was unblemished, informed her that she would be welcomed to the bosom of the Church, if she could consent to the conditions of membership. He suggested to her that the Methodist Church-then in its infancy-was not composed of persons from those castes of society in which she had mingled, and, besides, there was a rule concerning dress which he felt bound to enforce; and its operation might be very embarrassing to one like her. "O, sir," was the spirit of her reply, "I have read your Discipline, and am fully prepared to submit to its requirements, or I should not have offered myself to your Church."

The day and hour came in which this lady was to be received into society. She presented herself on the occasion exceedingly changed in her outward appear ance. Her elegant attire was laid aside. Every article of gay apparel, every external ornament was dispensed with, and the plain, Quaker-like dress which the meek, unworldly Wesleyans of those times were accustomed to wear, was substituted in their place. This lady was the sister of the venerable John Hancock. And the reader will doubtless be curious to know how she came to be a Methodist, and what was the result of her union with that Church. In regard to her joining the Methodists, some may suspect that she must have become unhappy in domestic life, or unacceptable as a member of genteel society, or reduced in circumstances; or, if not one of these, some idiosyncracy of mind must have led her in this strange We were not able to ascertain from the highly respectable gentleman who gave us this account, and

course.

who received it quite recently from the lips of Bishop H., that any such causes had operated, in whole or in part, to bring this lady into the Church. As nearly as we can recollect the tradition, her own account of the circumstances was as follows:

She was a Unitarian; not that the liberal party of Boston and its vicinity had declared themselves fully at that time, or had set forth, in due and distinct form, the doctrinal views which they afterward, in the days of Mr. Holly, inculcated, but they were then divergent from the orthodoxy of New England, as well as from the cardinal doctrines of the Gospel. Such as they were, she affiliated with them, and understood herself to be a Unitarian. While passing along quite satisfied with her religion, a servant-maid (whether a Methodist or not we forget, if it was stated) brought into her house a duodecimo volume of Wesley's Sermons. The mistress casually laid her hand upon her maid's book, and read, if we mistake not, the sermon on the " Witness of the Spirit." It produced such an effect upon her mind that she proceeded to read the whole book. Under the instruction of Mr. Wesley by his written sermons, she became deeply convicted, sought salvation by faith in Christ, and found it. As she passed, one day, from her own church to her dwelling, she came by the Methodist chapel, and observing that the services were still in progress, she resolved to enter a few minutes, and ascertain, if possible, whether the same doctrines were there taught as those which she had found inculcated in Mr. Wesley's Sermons. On entering the house she found the preacher, who, it seems, was Mr. H.'s colleague, in the midst of his discourse, and she was soon convinced that his doctrinal views were in strict harmony with those of Mr. Wesley. The result of all her reading, experience, and discoveries, has been stated.

This lady became eminently devout and happy. She lived a few months with her husband, who then died and left her in possession of a large estate. She continued about three years after his death to spend her time and employ her influence in doing good of every sort to the bodies and souls of those around her. She dispersed her estate liberally to the poor, and especially to them who were of the household of faith. After yielding her time, talents, influence, and substance, to the Lord, and to his blessed cause, for the brief period above named, she died in holy triumph, and passed from a heaven below to a heaven above.

After her death, it was found that sh had remembered, in her will, the cause of God, and had devoted a liberal share of her estate to various benevolent and religious objects. And, most unexpectedly, those humble ministers of Christ, who had been the instruments of introducing her to the fellowship of the saints, were sharers in her numerous bequests. This is mentioned as a proof that she was satisfied to the end with the course she had taken.

To our pious readers we would say, borrow from this narrative whatever lessons you are able on the subject of living to God alone.

THE RESURRECTION.

Original.

THE RESURRECTION.

BY A. B. WOMBAUGH.

"If a man die, shall he live again ?-JOB.

"Fool!' saith the Atheist, 'tis a dream-a cheat

Of lying priestcraft. There is no God nor heaven!
The grave-the cold, damp dungeon of the scul
And body, yawns to receive thee! Darkness,
Not light, shall be thy recompense.'

*

Alas! poor unbeliever, thou art mad

Lost 'mid the mazes of thy thorny pride;
And while the sun shines broadly from the sky,
Thou gropest in caverns of philosophy;
Ay, like a moth art addled with a taper!
But we will ne'er forego our fond belief,
Anchored in heaven, and steadfast as the sun!"

GOODRICH.

BUT if Christ be not risen, our "faith is vain," as far as it involves the resurrection from their graves, of the untold millions of our race already borne off by the chill tide of death. To those, and all that now, and shall hereafter live, he is the "precious corner-stone"the only "sure foundation" on which to predicate their assurance of the immortality of the soul; and this, its kindred doctrine-the resurrection of the body.

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presents the deficiency as in our natural powers, and not in the subject under investigation. How little can we understand of that mysterious process by which the grain, as it dies, passes into a new form of life, so unlike to its former self, and yet in properties the same? Something better and fairer, then, may arise out of this handful of dust which we consign to corruption and to the tomb, as much above its former self, as the blade of wheat, or the tree, or the flower, transcends in beauty and value, the decaying seed from which it springs. It was a natural body; but in its new formation, refined from grossness, and beautiful from deformity, it may with propriety be called a "spiritual body;" descended from the first man of the earth, like him it was earthy; but in its renewed state it is like the glorified body of the second man-the Lord from heaven.

It will be in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, that this great and glorious change shall be effected, in which a world is interested. With his trump thrust through the parting sky, the angel will give the final sound, and in obedience to that voice piercing the dull leaden ear of death, all shall arise incorruptible and be changed.

"Wak'd by this summons from the sky,
The molder'd form, a quick'ning breath
Feels-glows-and breaks the grasp of death-
Bursts the vex'd grave, (its power how vain!)
And he who died shall live again."

Well then may the Christian rejoice in promises so certain, in prospects so bright, in a triumph so brilliant, in a glory so unutterable. Let the "sons of nature" discard this mystery, and call it a dream of the credulous; let them consign their bodies to the grave, with the fear or the hope that it may be the receptacle of both soul and body. Let them say to the loved departed, "Farewell! ye who were once the partners of our joys and sorrows! The cold embrace of death clasps your moldering bodies, and the shades of an impenetrable midnight brood for ever upon you."

But we will believe in a resurrection-that the same lovely forms we commit to corruption and earth, and bedew with our tears, and follow with regrets, shall meet us again, coming up fresh and fair; and in them shall the beauty and glory of Christ himself be seen.

That he did rise, evidence stronger than unbelief or reason could ask has been given-given by Cephas--by twelve of the most self-denying and disinterested men the world ever saw-then by more than five hundred men, besides women; most of whom were yet living, and ready to attest to this truth when the chief of the apostles so unanswerably presented it to the inhabitants of Corinth. "Collect the many proofs together," says Sorin; "consider them in one point of view and see how many extravagant suppositions must be advocated, if the resurrection of our Savior be denied. It must be supposed that ignorant and illiterate men who had neither reputation, fortune, nor eloquence, possessed the art of fascinating the eyes of all the Church. It must be supposed, either that five hundred persons were all deprived of their senses at a time, or that they were all deceived in the plainest matters of fact, or that this multitude of false witnesses had found out the secret of never contradicting themselves or one another. It must be supposed that the most expert courts of judicature could not find out a shadow of contradiction in a palpable imposture-that the apostles were idiots-"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy that the enemies of Christianity were idiots; and that all the primitive Christians were idiots." But as evidence the most indubitable assures us that Christ has risen from the dead, it is equally easy for others-for all men, to be raised; and since this has been predicted, and in part accomplished, all should be assured of the entire fulfillment.

As to the nature and properties of the resurrection body, we may not at present be able to understand, because it is refined and raised into something better and nobler. But this does not invalidate the doctrine-it

We believe we exult-we repeat the words of the apostle's triumph-for we feel something of their power, as we look over scenes of gloom and darkness suddenly irradiated by the splendor of the Sun of righteousness, and mortality itself awaking in freshness of life:

victory? Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

"O when will death,

This moldering, old partition wall throw down? Give beings, one in nature, one abode ?" Come-come, thou long wished for hour, when our sorrow shall cease-when freed from probation we shall ascend to that clime where forms never change, and hopes are not wrecked-where the rainbow of peace eternal bends its broad arch over the mercy-seat, and all is quietness and assurance for ever.

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THE MOTHER'S OFFERING.

Original.

THE MOTHER'S OFFERING.

"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!"

HEMANS.

DEAR SISTER HAMLINE,-My feelings have just been painfully called forth by the death of a most interesting boy, the son of Dr. S. W. Clarkson, formerly of your city. Never was there a child of lovelier promise. His surpassing beauty was less a subject of pleased observance, than were the bright intellect, and high-toned affections and feelings, with which every lineament was instinct. He was ill but a few hours. Pray, dear sister, for the bereaved parents. It is the third time they have been smitten by a similar blow. Who but God can give them comfort. To the mother, crushed as she is, yet has his sustaining grace been already extended; but the sterner spirit of man agonizes longer in its resistance to the fiat that thus bows it to the dust. I have rarely witnessed so touching an exemplification of the power of grace to sustain, as in the strength of our sister at the death scene of her child. I had trembled to meet her there, for I well knew her life was bound up in his. His young and singularly strong affection was the charm of her existence. She felt more for him than a mother's wonted love-she had transferred to him all the hopes and affections upon which the grave had already twice closed. Yet I beheld her, pale indeed as marble, and evidently sinking in frame beneath the weakness of fainting nature, but the calmness of perfect submission was upon her soul. When spoken to of her trial, by some friend, she simply replied, "He is the Lord's." She left the room of her dying boy voluntarily, and waited composedly for the announcement of his release. When told that the last struggle was at hand, she declined seeing him till the strife was past, adding, with clasped hands, "Lord Jesus receive his spirit;" and then she rose, and silently motioning those away who approached her, she went into the chamber of death. The pure spirit was fledthe little form, that only the day before had been a being of intense life and beauty lay stretched before her, a thing of clay. What a change!-yet did that mother, herself yet young, and with a heart full of unwasted feelings and deep susceptibilities, stand by that form upon which she had been wont to gaze with a seemingly idolatrous fondness, with solemn calmness. while she looked upon the faded and changed facethough even the spoiler had not divested it of its exceeding beauty-parting back the rich curls that clustered round the broad and polished brow; and at last kneeling beside it, she lifted up her voice in a prayer of unbroken fervor. She said, "I gave him to thee at his birth, O Lord! O give me grace to resign him freely." Such was the power of faith in this scene of trial. May all who are bereaved find access to the same Almighty Comforter.

For a

The following lines are but the tribute of sympathetic friendship:

We might have known thee all too fair and bright
For this dim vale, where joy has but a name-
Did we not trace in thy young spirit's light
A radiance deeper than earth long may claim?
Sweet flower of promise, with whose life's first morn
A thousand hopes were, clustering round thee, born.
Did not thy sunny being round thee fling
Too deep a gladness-too intense delight?
Thy beaming glance, so like a smile of spring-
Brought it no boding sense of early blight?

Too rich that glance with thy young thoughts' bright play,
And feelings' shadowy light deepening its ray.

It woke a love too strong for human ties-
Too deeply passionate for human hearts.
Love has no rest beneath the o'ershadowing skies—
Still from the earth the loveliest, soonest parts,
And thou-how looked we on thy form of light
And thought to save thee from death's gathering blight.
Death's blight!-not so-blest boy, we know thee borne
Beyond the touch of death and blight for ever,
And struggling love is called but to return
Thee, precious gift, back, stainless, to the Giver;
Not here undimmed had been thy spirit's ray,
But now 'tis sealed to ever brightening day.
We have not lost thee-even the lovely dust
O'er which love bent in agony's strong strife,
We yield it up but for awhile in trust,
The grave shall give it back to fairer life-
Death may not hold the empire of the tomb,
Our loved and mourned shall wake to immortal bloom.
Z.

Vevay, Ia., Sept. 16, 1843.

STANZAS.

How pure the light on yonder hills,
How soft the shadows lie;
How blithe each morning sound, that fills
The air with melody!

Those hills, that rest in solemn calm

Above the strife of men,
Are bathed in breezy gales of balm,

From knoll and heathy glen.

In converse with the silent sky

They mock the flight of years; While man and all his labors die, Low in this vale of tears.

Meet emblem of eternal rest,

They point their summits grey
To the fair region of the blest,
Where tends our pilgrim way.

The everlasting mountains, there,
Reflect undying light;

The ray which gilds that ambient air,
Nor fades nor sets in night.

Than summer sun more piercing bright,
That beam is milder too;

For love is in the sacred light,
That softens every hue.

From the London Imperial Magazine.

THE STAGE,

A PROMOTER

THE STAGE.

OF IMMORALITY.

MR. EDITOR,-Among the variety of interesting and useful discussions with which your columns are supplied, there appears to me one, not deficient in importance, which has not till lately occupied much of your attention, concerning the morality or immorality of the stage.

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I have spoken of the sentiments which generally pervade our plays-I will now speak of the language which they contain. And here I have no hesitation in saying, that it is equally bad with the sentiment. For can it possibly be denied, that our plays are abounding in jests on serious and religious subjects? So sensible do some of our play-poets seem to be, of the utility of this method, to ridicule Scripture truths, that every nerve is strained to accomplish this object; and, as a preparative, they often indulge their anxious auditory with phrases of a double import. Indeed, they well know that drollery is a powerful engine to do mischief to religion. Reason, with all its batteries, has never been able to shake it. Experience concurs with its dictates; and the greatest shrewdness and sagacity

When a disease, that is infectious, exists, and is likely to spread its contagion, it becomes the duty of all persons to warn the ignorant and the unwary, and to apply those antidotes which are the most operative and the most lasting. Although many good men are uniting their efforts to effect the good of the rising generation to train children to habits moral and relig-have never been able to discover any flaws in its moral ious and to remove them from that heathen darkness which too much, and too long, has pervaded the region of the poorer classes of society-yet, I think, with all their zeal, and all their endeavors, the desired end will not be accomplished, unless the great evil of our theatres be pointed out in a more general and public manner than has been hitherto done. It is, sir, this object which dictates the present observations; and, doubtless, the discussion of so general a question as the good or evil tendency of the stage, will prove of the greatest utility in assisting the labors of those benevolent individuals, who employ their time and their property, and exert their influence, in favor of the general good.

principles. But there is no fence against this flail of profane and scurrilous drollery, that, with its apish tricks and buffoonery, is able to render, not only the wisest man in the world, but the most solid and substantial truth, ridiculous. This plan, we know, is practially adopted, in many departments of life, in which we see men put off with a jest, what they can never answer with all their wit or talent. Do not our plays, also, abound in profane oaths? And if these vices I have enumerated be tolerated, as they certainly are, by a crowded auditory, what need is there of further proof that our theatres are great corrupters of public morals?

With respect to the effect produced on an assembly, by such sentiments and such language, we need only bring to our remembrance the nightly occupation of particular places, where the fallen victim of her own folly and sin occupies a seat, to catch some unwary youth, deprive him of his property, ruin his reputation, and bring disgrace upon his connections. "Perhaps there is not in the world so compact and concentrated a mass of human depravity to be found, as in the one shilling gallery of the large theatres, when any piece of low and indecent buffoonery is to be performed. The very lowest, foulest dregs of fomenting grossness and vice, are there, walking in tumultuous ebullition. Satan certainly has not on earth, another agent so teeming with future evils." This fact is still more important and alarming, in the scale of argument, when we know that "on the lower classes, the higher are built. They must stand or fall together. At any rate, if the former fail, the latter cannot keep their places,

For my own part, I am not aware of a more delusive amusement than the stage. Nothing perhaps has contributed more to corrupt the morals of a people, than play-houses and stage-poets. Nor is it difficult to make this appear so to the candid inquirer, if he will call to mind the means that are used to accomplish the intention of the authors. Let us not forget the general sentiments of most plays. There we find that pride, resentment, and false honor, are conspicuously sanctioned; that piety is very often represented in a ridiculous light; and that those who assume the character of public instructors, are made to be "wolves in sheep's clothing." It is frequently the case, that the grossest licentiousness is considered a minor fault, and matrimony, the ordinance of our Creator, is made a scene of burlesque, and contemptuous merriment. Is not the rake frequently the favorite of the piece? and at the end of the play, he often gets rewarded for his libertinism. Yet notwithstanding the notoriety of these facts, there are individuals, who, bearing the char-If you sap or corrupt the foundation, the superstructure acter of fathers, lead their children to those haunts of immorality! As a parent, I would raise my loudest voice against those sinks of iniquity, and lead the young and tender mind to a more chaste and innocent amusement. But can it be said that the theatre is a means of inculcating morality, and forming virtuous habits? Where is this lesson of morality taught? Is it in the representation of fictitious characters and incidents, made pliable to the nod of the stage-poet? Or is it in the lives of real characters of the worst description, with which theatres are at times favored?

VOL. III.-43

must be endangered. Of the lower classes, is the foundation of society formed. Here, then, in the theatre, is engendered the dry-rot, which, penetrating to the heart of the English oak that supports the state, destroys its very nature, and renders it not only useless, but highly insecure and dangerous."

It would be no difficult thing, to carry our thoughts to the audience at minor theatres; but confirmation of the above opinion, is fully in the consciences of your readers. And now I ask, If theatrical entertainments produce an effect so great, as to bring such an assembly

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together, where can possibly be the advantage of attending on them? for the exhibition must be congenial to the feelings and notions of this auditory, else they would not nightly pay for their admission.

I might, Mr. Editor, easily paint the character, and practice, of some of our performers and play-writers; but I have no wish to say any thing of living personages, more than this-Does their practical comment, on the parts they represent to their audience for imitation, correspond with the spirit of the doctrines of the benevolent and heaven-taught Jesus?

Indeed, after all that can be said in favor of the stage, experience and observation urge me to say of plays, as Cowper does of cards, if not to rank them among the most demoralizing of

-"all the tricks

That idleness has ever yet contrived,
To fill the void of an unfurnished brain,
To palliate dullness, and give time a shove."

I would close by observing, that the present subject is not a question of mere good nature. The public morals are involved in the regulation of the public pleasures; and an honest censor should chastise the encroachments of false taste, with as strong a hand, as that with which he would repel the inroad of a new vice. Food to man, is not more essential, than morality to nations. J. W. M.

THE CUP OF LIFE.

WE are apt to try to fancy in our youth, says one writer, that the sweet cup of life has not a drop of bitter; but we all soon discover that it is not so. With life, as with every thing else, we find the bright and delightful scattered thinly amidst an immensity of baser matter. Those who seek pearls are obliged to plunge into the deep briny sea, to drag them up, and even then, perchance, out of every shell, ten will be worthless; but did we find pearls hanging amongst grapes, or diamonds at the root of roses, we should value neither the one nor the other as they merit. As it is, threads of pain are woven so intimately in the web of life, that they form but one piece; and wise the hand that ordered it so.

"When sorrow fills my bitter cup,
And bids me drink its contents up;
Then Jesus, with his lovely smile,
Will hush my woes to rest the while."

Original.

REMEMBER ME.

BY MISS DE FOREST.

"Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom," Luke xxiii, 42.

ENTHRON'D on worlds of living light

My risen Lord I see by faith-
Girded with love, yet arm'd with might,
To save a world from sin and death:
Eternal honors now attend

The form once bow'd for human guilt,
Yet still he is the sinner's friend,
For whom his blood was freely spilt.

O, Savior, when the vengeful sword
Of justice hovers o'er my soul,
Speak thou the life-preserving word,

And make the wounded spirit whole!
Let not my sins, though crimson red,
A hindrance to thy mercy be-
The blood that was on Calvary shed

All loudly cries, "Remember me."
When waves of sorrow, rising high,
Would shroud me in their whelming tide
May I but feel thy presence nigh,

And safely o'er the billows ride! And when the tempter's artful wile

Would tear my soul from heaven and thee, Then wilt thou baffle all his guile, And in thy grace "remember me."

Thy Spirit, holy God, be mine!

O, clothe me in thy righteousness-
Thy wisdom in each action shine-

Thy meekness on my heart impress!
Then, when the hour of death has come,
Mounting on joyous pinion free,
My soul shall shout her welcome home;
For thou wilt still "remember me."

And when, with mingled hope and fear,
Loud echoing through the vaulted skies,
My Maker's mandate stern I hear,

Bidding the dead to judgment rise-
When, in the realms of endless day,
Thy glory evermore I see,

Then, then will I with rapture say,
"My Savior hath remember'd me."

DANCING.

"I AM an old fellow," says Cowper, in one of his letters; "but I had once my dancing days, as you have| now; yet I could never find that I could learn half so much of a woman's real character by dancing with her, as conversing with her at home, when I could observe her behavior at table, or at the fireside, and in all trying scenes of domestic life. We are all good, when pleased; but she is the good woman who wants not the fiddle to sweeten her."

O! THERE is beauty in the morn's first ray,
When the sun rises from his eastern bed-
And in the farewell gleam of closing day,
When in the west he drops his wearied head.
And there is beauty, when the silent night,
Wearing her starry coronet, comes forth,
Upon her polish'd car of silver light,
And
sways her
sceptre o'er the sleeping earth.

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