mit yourselves, to give up your innocent and rational amusements. Now, out on you-shame on you-dolts, idiots that you are, for such perversion of language. Call you that rational, call you that innocent, which prevents your acceptance of pardon, and peace, and joy, at the hands of your Redeemer? As well might the loathed reptile spider refuse to disgorge its bloated bag of poison, on an offer of rescue from the fire into which it was to be thrown, as for you to falter and parley with your sins-your pleasures, your amusements, I care not what you call them-whilst you lose the hopes of everlasting life.

"My message is said, my exhortation is given; I can do nothing more for you, than recommend you to God, and to the Son of his love. Let us pray.'

The sketch I have attempted to give of the foregoing sermon, would be considered as feeble indeed by those who heard it. I can convey no idea of the effect which the venerable appearance, the awful intonation of voice, the confidence, the decision, the boldness, which the belief that he was moved to speak, not as mere man speaketh,-produced on himself and on the congregation.

The invitation to prayer was unanimously and simultaneously accepted, so far as regards posture: they all kneeled. A significant look from the preacher to the young person mentioned as being in the piazza on the arrival of Colonel Berkley, was unobserved; and whilst in deep and awful silence, there was a general expectancy, and even dread, of again hearing that voice which had in such harsh terms portrayed the dangers to which they were exposed, the Throne of Grace was most humbly, most devoutly addressed, in accents so soft, so sweet, yet so distinct, as can only

be described in the beautiful lines of the now neglected Denham: they were, indeed,

66 Though deep, yet clear-though gentle, yet not dull;

Strong without rage-without o'erflowing, full;"

and seemed to come from the inmost soul of one fully sensible that he was in the immediate presence of Him, who had promised to be in the midst of those who were gathered together in his name.

To many, in whom convictions of their hapless situation had been produced, and whose aspirations for deliverance were sincere, it sounded like the pleadings of a disembodied spirit, which, though freed from the encumbrances which flesh is heir to, was still bound by ties of love and affection to those it had left behind. So soothing, so delightful was the sensation produced, that when the old preacher, carried away by the vehemence of his feelings, cried in a voice high above that of the pleader, "Lift up your hearts!" there was a sweetly thrilling murmur responded from every part of the house,

"We lift them up unto the Lord!"

It was remembered, and afterwards mentioned, that when the first words of the stranger's prayer were pronounced, Colonel Berkley had raised his head and looked round, and his agitation for a few moments was very great; it appeared, however, to subside suddenly, and no further notice was taken of the circumstance. When the congregation rose at the conclusion of the prayer, Colonel Berkley remained in his kneeling posture. A cry immediately after arose, of "look to Colonel Berkley!" and the old preacher rushed forward, with the exclamation of, "Forgive me, Heavenly Master! if I have exceeded my commission-the experiment has been too much for him." The young stranVOL. I. 5

ger was endeavouring, in an agony of terror, to raise him up, without assistance-he was unable to do so : the poor old gentleman had been struck with a paralytic affection, and was deprived of speech and motion.

The situation of Mrs. Belcour and her daughters was distressing. The congregation, from motives of interest or curiosity concerning Colonel Berkley, or probably from both these causes, did not leave the house, and the press around the place where the ladies stood became extremely disagreeable. Besides her distress at witnessing the situation of her old friends and acquaintance, Mrs. Belcour was in an agony of impatience and chagrin at perceiving that both her daughters, but particularly the youngest, had suffered their feelings to be highly wrought on by the Methodist preacher.

The landlord of the inn now arrived to their assistance, and pressing them through the crowd, conveyed them safely to his house.

CHAPTER III.

Ruffian, let go that rude, uncivil touch.

Two Gentlemen of Verona.

THERE is a race of men, fast fading away from the memory of these latter times, whom I can remember as very useful, and frequently important personages, going under the denomination of jacks of all trades.' This will not appear strange, however, when I add, that of the description of persons I allude to, one only was allowed to each neighbourhood. It excites no surprise, therefore, that it is now as difficult to meet with a genuine old English convict, as it soon will be to find an old revolutionary officer.

Of these there was not in America, and that is a bold word, a more proper fellow of his hands, than Joe Nailor. He was at the service of any body and every body. Such was Joe's alacrity upon all emergencies, never once failing to appear in the very nick of time, that in more superstitious countries than these enlightened United States, he would have been supposed to be up to a thing or two,' the knowledge of which honest people had as well let alone. The gust had not been over five minutes, before Joe was examining the injury Mrs. Belcour's carriage had sustained by the lightning; and having ascertained that it was not so considerable but that he could repair it, he was forthwith invested with full authority to take it in hand, and by the following

morning he had remounted the box, and was ready to report it as in travelling order.

Joe Nailor possessed a quality in common with many of his adopted countrymen and country women: he was mighty inquisitive; and having but few concerns of his own to busy himself with, it was ever his delight to busy himself with the concerns of other people.

"And so your mistress," said Joe, as he was about to withdraw from the carriage and make his report of the completed repairs; " and so your mistress is off to the eastward, Quash ?"

"My name, Mr. Nailor," said the offended coachman, "is Lewis, when I am on these distant journeys."

"Oh, what! Lewis is your travelling name! Well, I understand all that. I have known something of these changes. I have been one of the alias tribe myself. But master Quash, alias Lewis, what takes good Mrs. Belcour so far from Rosemount this summer?”

Why, Mr. Nailor, can you tell me the what that would keep her home? First she travelled for her health; and then she took her daughters to see their aunts; and then she left them behind; and then she went for one, and then she went for the other; and now she is going for I don't know what."

"Why, for pleasure, Quash-I cry you mercy, Lewis. But I never for my part could understand the reason that your gay, fashionable, dashing people, who consider themselves the happiest people wherever they are, should always be so anxious to go and be happy somewhere else."

""Tis more than I can come at," said Lewis, "that mistress should leave such a home as Rosemount, to go