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. 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!" 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 beer. more divine.

Whatever I had been able to conceive of the sublimity of Massillon, or the force of Bourdaloue, had fallen far short of the power which I felt from the delivery of this simple sentence. The blood, which, just before, had rushed in a hurricane upon my brain, and, in the violence and agony of my feelings, had held my whole system in suspense, now ran back into my heart, with a sensation which I cannot describe; a kind of shuddering, delicious horror! The paroxysm of blended pity and indignation to which I had been transported, subsided into the deepest self-abasement, hu

mility, and adoration. I had just been lacerated and dissolved by sympathy for our Saviour, as a fellow-creature ;—but now, with fear and trembling, I adored him as-" a God!"

If this description gives you the impression, that this incomparable minister had anything of shallow, theatrical trick in his manner, it does him great injustice. I have never seen, in any other orator, such a union of simplicity and majesty. He has not a gesture, an attitude, or an accent, to which he does not seem forced, by the sentiment which he is expressing. His mind is too serious, too earnest, too solicitous, and, at the same time, too dignified, to stoop to artifice. Although as far removed from ostentation as a man can be, yet it is clear, from the train, the style, and substance of his thoughts, that he is not only a very polite scholar, but a man of extensive and profound erudition. This man has been before my imagination almost ever since. A thousand times as I rode along, I dropped the reins of my bridle, stretched forth my hand, and tried to imitate his quotation from Rousseau ; a thousand times I abandoned the attempt in despair, and felt persuaded that his peculiar manner and power, arose from an energy of soul, which nature could give, but which no human being could justly copy.

PAUL BEFORE AGRIPPA.

I THINK myself happy, king Agrippa, because I shall answer for myself this day before thee, touching all the things whereof I am accused of the Jews; especially, as I know thee to be expert in all customs and questions which are among the Jews. Wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently. My manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among my own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews; who knew me from the beginning, if they would testify, that, after the straitest sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee. And I now stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers. Unto which promise, our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to come; for which hope's sake, king Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews.

Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise the dead? I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Which thing I also did in Jerusalem; and many of the saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief priests. And when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And I punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme. And being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto strange cities. Whereupon, as I went to Damascus, with authority and commission from the chief priests, at mid-day, O king, I saw in the way a light from heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me, and them who journeyed with me. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking unto me, and saying, in the Hebrew tongue, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? And I said, Who art thou, Lord? And he said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. But rise, and stand upon thy feet; for I have appeared unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister, and a witness, both of these things which thou hast seen, and of those things in which I will appear unto thee; delivering thee from the people, and from the Gentiles, unto whom I now send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God; that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them who are sanctified by faith which is in me. Whereupon, O king Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision; but showed first unto them of Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. For these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me.

Having therefore obtained help from God, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great; saying no other things than those which Moses and the prophets did say should come: that Christ should suffer, and that he should be the first who should rise from the dead, and should show light unto the people, and to the Gentiles.

THE TRUE POINT OF HONOR.

THE Spanish historians relate a memorable instance of honor and regard to truth. A Spanish cavalier in a sudden quarrel slew a Moorish gentleman, and fled. His pursuers soon lost sight of him; for he had, unperceived, thrown himself over a garden wall, The owner, a Moor, happening to be in his garden, was addressed by the Spaniard on his knees, who acquainted him with his case, and implored concealment. Eat this, said the Moor, giving him half a peach, you now know that you may confide in my protection. He then locked him up in his garden apartments, telling him as soon as it was night, he would provide for his escape to a place of greater safety. The Moor then went into his house; where he had but just seated himself, when a great crowd, with loud lamentation, came to his gate, bringing the corpse of his son, who had just been killed by a Spaniard. When the first shock of surprise was a little over, he learned from the description given, that the fatal deed was done by the very person then in his power. He mentioned this to no one; but, as soon as it was dark, retired to his garden, as if to grieve alone, giving orders that none should follow him. Then accosting the Spaniard, he said, "Christian, the person you have killed is my son; his body is now in my house. You ought to suffer; but you have eaten with me, and I have given you my faith, which must not be broken." He then led the astonished Spaniard to his stables, and mounted him on one of his fleetest horses, and said, "Fly far while the night can cover you; you will be safe in the morning. You are indeed guilty of my son's blood, but God is just and good, and I thank him I am innocent of yours, and that my faith given is preserved."

In the year 1746, when the English were at open war with Spain, the Elizabeth, of London, Capt. William Edwards, coming through the gulf from Jamaica, richly laden, met with a most violent storm, in which the ship sprung a leak, that obliged them, for the saving of their lives, to run into Havana, a Spanish port. The captain went on shore, and directly waited on the governor, told the occasion of his putting in, and that he surrendered the ship as

a prize, and himself and his men as prisoners of war, only requesting good quarter.

"No, sir," replied the Spanish governor, "if we had taken you in fair war at sea, or approaching our coast with hostile intentions, your ship would then have been a prize, and your people prisoners; but when distressed by a tempest, you come into our ports for the safety of your lives, we, the enemies, being men, are bound as such by the laws of humanity to afford relief to distressed men who ask it of us. We cannot, even against our enemies, take advantage of an act of God. You have leave, therefore, to unload your ship, if that be necessary to stop the leak; you may refit her here, and traffic so far as shall be necessary to pay the charges; you may then depart, and I will give you a pass to be in force till you are beyond Bermuda. If after that you are taken, you will then be a lawful prize: but now you are only a stranger, and have a stranger's right to safety and protection." The ship accordingly departed, and arrived safe in London.

GRIFFIN AGAINST CHEETHAM FOR A LIBEL.

I AM one of those who believe that the heart of the wilful and the deliberate libeller is blacker than that of the highway robber, or of one who commits the crime of midnight arson. The man who plunders on the highway, may have the semblance of an apology for what he does. An affectionate wife may demand subsistence: a circle of helpless children raise to him the supplicating hand for food. He may be driven to the desperate act by the high mandate of imperative necessity. The mild features of the husband and the father may intermingle with those of the robber, and soften the roughness of the shade.

But the robber of character plunders that which "not enriches him," though it makes his neighbor "poor indeed." The man who at the midnight hour consumes his neighbor's dwelling, does him an injury which perhaps is not irreparable. Industry may rear another habitation. The storm may indeed descend upon