ances. For a long time every exertion seemed fruitless, and even the doctor, who had come in, was beginning to think there was no chance of restoration; but at the end of almost four hours they perceived a slight motion of the heart, and soon after a faint attempt to breathe. "Thank God," said Thomas, "he has spared poor Joe a little longer."-" And spared him to repent, I trust," replied his wife. The doctor continued to apply proper means: the symptoms of animation increased, and in a few minutes Joe opened his eyes. It was still some time before he was sufficiently recovered to notice surrounding objects, and then it may be guessed how much he was astonished to find himself in the house of one whom he had almost insulted a few hours before. Though Joe had been wild and in many respects even vicious, yet he could not help feeling gratitude for Thomas's kindness and care; and when he had sufficiently come to himself to understand what had been done for him, he burst into tears, and said, "Ah, Thomas, I did not deserve all this." Thomas was very much pleased to see so much feeling in him, and he thought it was a suitable time to throw in something in the way of advice. "Nay, Joe," he replied, "if you think you ought to thank me who have done no more than my duty, how grateful should you be to that merciful God who preserved you, even when you were flying in the face of his commandments!" This remark seemed to make some impression upon Joe; and, after a pause, he rejoined, "Yes, indeed, so I should; but," he added, after another pause, "where is Harry Adams?"-" There is no hope for him, he is quite gone. They were searching for him for more than an hour, last night; but he was not found till this morning. God has cut him off in his sin, though you are spared." Joe was again silent and thoughtful; but at last, with fresh tears, he said, "God has been very good to me." Thomas, finding he was disposed to listen, continued the subject still longer, and pointed out the threatenings and promises of the Gospel. He told him, that if he would but pray for pardon and the assistance of the Holy Spirit, God would still hear him, and he would receive "repentance and remission of sins according to the riches of his grace." He spoke to him of the kindness and love of Christ, and of his death on the cross for the sake of saving sinners, exhorting him to seek an interest in his atonement; and he ended by proposing that they should now unite in offering up thanksgiving to Almighty God for his past mercies, and a prayer that he would grant his guidance and protection in future. Joe's heart was a good deal softened and impressed, and he willingly agreed to this proposal. It is not usual that wonderful and sudden events should be the means of converting those who had been before depraved or careless; and it may, indeed, generally be said, that if ordinary admonitions fail, there is little reason to hope that extraordinary ones should have more effect. "If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded though one rose from the dead," &c. Yet we may occasionally, though rarely, see that Providence does interpose, and in some remarkable manner prevent the sinner from running headlong into destruction. This seemed to be the case with poor Joe. That he should have been spared and his companion taken, especially when seconded by the kind care and advice of Thomas, under the blessing of God, made a deep impression on his mind; and when he rose from the bed on which he had been laid apparently lifeless, it was with a heart grateful to his divine Preserver, and resolved to lead a new life. Thomas, as we may suppose, was rejoiced to see these favourable signs of repentance and amendment; but he knew too well that a good beginning alone was not enough, and that there was still much danger of Joe's falling again into sin. He therefore did not consider his work ended, but determined to adopt some regular plan for the future. Joe worked hard all the week from morning to night, and when his work was done he was generally tired and glad to go to bed; or if he was not, as he lived in a steady farmer's family, he seldom got into harm in the evenings, except when he had a holyday. Sunday was therefore the day in which he was in the greatest danger; and it appeared to Thomas that the best thing he could do was to get Joe to spend his Sundays with him. There was, indeed, one obstacle; Thomas was a poor man, and had a young family, and giving a stout lad food once every week was what he could not well afford. But his wife and he consulted about it, and they agreed that they could perhaps manage, at least during the summer time; and that they should not determine what they should do in the winter till winter came. The plan was accordingly proposed to Joe, and he accepted it with thankfulness. After this time he came regularly every Sunday morning; and he went to church with the family. The evening employment, to say the truth, was at first a little irksome, especially during the fine long days, when he thought a walk or a row would be so very pleasant. But God enabled him to persevere; and before the summer was over, he said that he liked a great deal better to read and pray, and teach the children, with his friend Thomas, than to go with the pleasantest party he had ever joined. I do not remember exactly how they managed when winter came; but I think I have heard that Joe's master allowed him to take his dinner in a basin. I cannot indeed be quite certain how this was; yet I can assure the reader that Joe is now very much respected, and is universally thought a pious and excellent young man; and I have heard him say, that, under God, he attributes his conversion and reformation to having learnt how to improve his Sunday evenings. TO MY SOUL.-WRITTEN UNDER AFFLICTION. Each fearful blast but hastes thee on In that blest port of endless rest Think on the mercies of thy God, He will not leave thee now; Eternal Truth can ne'er retract "Blest are the mourners," saith the Lord, 66 They shall be truly blest; Their days of sorrow I will cheer, And guide them to my rest." The tears the patient sufferer sheds And turn the dole of darksome night ELEANOR. REVIEW OF BOOKS. The Remains of Henry Kirke White, of Nottingham, late of St. John's College, Cambridge; with an Account of his Life. By Robert Southey. Vol. III. Longman and Co. London. 1822. Pp. xx. and 186. THE name of Henry Kirke White is, we doubt not, well known to most of our readers. Fifteen years have elapsed since the two former volumes of his "Remains" were published; and, as Mr. Southey remarks, few books that have issued from the press, during that period, have excited such general and unabating interest. A third volume is now added; the contents of which are highly interesting and instructive. They consist of letters, essays, and poems, chiefly on religious subjects; and as the former volumes bore testimony to the extent of Mr. White's genius and learning, so the one now before us proves the sincerity and fervency of his religion, and while we admire the talents, we admire still more the genuine piety of H. K. White. It is unnecessary here to retrace the incidents of his short and interesting career: these, we presume, are already deeply impressed on the minds of those into whose hands this review may fall. But the history of the circumstances which led him to exchange the proud dogmas of the Deist for the humble faith of the Christian will be highly gratifying to our readers. It differs materially from the account of the same event already published. At a time when Henry doubted the truth of Christianity, and professed a carelessness concerning it,-which he was far from feeling,-it happened that Mr. Almond (now rector of St. Peter's, Nottingham) was accidentally present at a deathbed, and was so struck with what he there saw of the power, and influence, and inestimable value of religion, that he formed a firm determination to renounce all such pursuits as were not strictly compatible with it. That he might not be shaken in this resolution, he withdrew from the society of all those persons whose ridicule or censure he feared; and was particularly careful to avoid Henry, of whose raillery he stood most in dread. He anxiously shunned him therefore; till Henry, who would not suffer an intimacy of long standing to be broken off he knew not why, called upon his friend, and desired to know the cause of this unaccountable conduct towards him self and their common acquaintance. Mr. Almond, who had received him with trembling and reluctance, replied to this expostulation, that a total change had been effected in his religious views; and Bible to be the word of truth and the stand- This excellent work did not produce the desired effect. It was returned with disapprobation. Upon this Mr. Southey well remarks: Men differ as much in mind as in countenance: some are to be awakened by passionate exhortation or vehement reproof, appealing to their fears and exciting their imaginations; others yield to force of argument, or, upon slow inquiry, to the accumulation of historical testimony and moral proofs: there are others in whom the innate principle retains more of its original strength, and these are led by their inward monitor into the way of peace. Henry was of this class. His intellect might have been on the watch to detect a flaw in evidence, a defective argument, or an illogical inference; but, in his heart, he felt that there is no happiness, no rest, without religion; and in him who becomes willing to believe, the root of infidelity is destroyed. Mr. Almond was about to enter at Cambridge; on the evening before his departure for the university, Henry requested that he would accompany him to the little room, which was called his study. "We had no sooner entered," says Mr. Almond, "than he burst into tears, and declared that the anguish of his mind was insupportable. He entreated that I would kneel down and pray for him; and most cordially were our tears and supplications mingled at that interesting moment. When I took my leave he exclaimed, 'What must I do? you are the only friend to whom I can apply in this agonizing state, and you are about to leave me. My literary associates are all inclined to Deism: I have no one with whom I can communicate!""-Pp. vi. to x. This occurred early in the summer of 1803, soon after Henry had completed his eighteenth year. Mr. Almond shortly went to reside at Cambridge, and Henry had then no religious associate. But his serious impressions continued to increase, and with them his knowledge of the depravity of his heart, which he now discovered to be "deceitful above all things and desperately wicked." In November, the same year, he addressed a letter to Mr. Almond, from which we select the following passages, as very expressive of the deepest humility and contrition. My dear friend, I cannot adequately express what I owe to you on the score of religion. **** You were the first instrument of my being brought to think deeply on religious subjects; and I feel more and more every day, that, if it had not been for you, I might, most probably, have been now buried in apathy and unconcern. Though I am in a great measure blessed, I mea blessed with faith, now pretty steadfas and heavy convictions, I am far from bei happy. My sins have been of dark hue, and manifold: I have made fame my God, and ambiti my shrine. I have placed all my hopes on the things of this world. I have knelt to Dagon; I have worshipped the evil creatures of my own proud heart, and God had well nigh turned his countenance from me in wrath; perhaps one step further, and he might have shut me up for ever from his rest. I now turn my eyes to Jesus, my Saviour, my Atonement, with hope and confidence; he will not repulse the imploring penitent; his arms are open to all, they are open even to me; and, in return for such a mercy, what can I do less than dedicate my whole life to his service? My thoughts would fain recur at intervals to my former delights; but I am now on my guard to restrain and keep them in. I know where they ought to concentre, and there, with the blessing of God, shall they all tend.Pp. 7, 8. It is much to be regretted, that, with the exception of the passage just quoted, no index can be found to the state of Henry's mind during that period which elapsed before he attained to the Christian's privilege of " peace and joy in believing." The struggle was, no doubt, severe. The mind that has once gloried in scepticism must needs feel it a difficult task to receive meekly the "truth as it is in Jesus." The great adversary will not be idle: he will harass and distract the mind by sceptical, blasphemous, and wicked thoughts. Yet in Henry the victory was complete. The change from an avowal of Deistical tenets to an acknowledgment of the Christian religion, has, it is greatly to be feared, in too many, been the work of the head rather than of the heart. Overwhelmed by unanswerable arguments, they have been driven to forsake a favourite cause, for one to which they gave a cold assent, but not a cordial reception. Unenlightened by the HOLY SPIRIT, the opinions have undergone a change, whilst the heart has experienced no conviction of its depravity, nor any need of a Saviour's atonement. Far otherwise was the case with H. K. White. In him the change was not one of opinions only; it was a change from sin unto holiness, from darkness unto light, from the power of Satan unto God; it was 66 a passing from death unto life." Before his conversion his ambition had been to shine in the literary world-an ambition of all others most pure, or we should rather say-least criminal: but, when he began to see the worth of religion, how much his views were changed, the following extract will prove: My next publication of poems will be solely religious. I shall not destroy those of a different nature, which now lie before me; but they will, most probably, sleep in my desk, until in the good time of my great Lord and Master, I shall receive my passport from this world of vanity. I am now bent on a higher errand than that of the attainment of poetical fame. Adieu to literary ambition! Writing to another friend, he says: I have from conscientious motives given up too intense study; and as the great end which I set before me, is not the attainment of learning, but utility in the church of Christ, I shall take care not to let the pursuit of letters interfere with ministerial usefulness. No sooner had he experienced the inestimable value of religion in his own heart, than he became truly anxious to preach to others the glad tidings of salvation. Religion now appeared to him of paramount importance; addressing his brother Neville, he says: Had I it in my power to procure you all the riches and honours of the world at a wish, I should think I gave you infinitely more than them all by giving you religion, The blessings of human life are at best precarious; but this can never fail you, and is then most valuable when all other comforts fail. His desire to become a Minister of religion appears to have been founded on the purest motives; which we give in his own appropriate language. I am desired to state the reasons for my wishing to enter the ministry. I will do it as briefly as I can. Since I was awakened to a true sense of religion, I have always felt a strong desire to become useful in the church of Christ; a desire which has increased daily, and which, it has been my supplication, might be from God. It is true, before I began to be solicitous about spiritual things, I had a wish to become a clergyman, but that was very different. I trust I may now say, that I would be a Minister that I may do good; and, although I am sensible of the awful importance of the pastoral charge, I would sacrifice every thing for it, in the hope that I should be strengthened faithfully to discharge the duties of that sacred office. I think I have no other reason to offer but this; the hope of being an instrument in the hands of God to the promotion of his glory is my chief motive. With regard to the doctrines of the Church, contained in the Articles, I conceive them to be strictly formed upon the Gospel, as setting forth salvation through the blood of Jesus Christ alone; the original depravity of man, whereby he is rendered utterly unfit for every good thing, and dead to the light of truth, until he is renewed and born again in the Holy Spirit by the free grace of God; and as teaching that no man can claim acceptation on account of his works, because, being of ourselves incapable of doing good, they spring from the grace of God, and to him, therefore, must be as signed; but that they are the fruits and testimony of sound faith.-P. 132. But The early death of Mr. White prevented his usefulness in that sphere in which he so ardently longed to move. In his one-andtwentieth his feeble and conyear, sumptive frame sank under the severe course of study to which he subjected himself. He has, we are aware, been often accused of a crime little short of self-murder, for having thus, perhaps imprudently, sacrificed his health and life. a better apology for his conduct, in this instance, cannot be found than in the sense of the vast importance and responsibility of the pastoral charge, which he entertained. He felt it his imperious duty to endeavour, by constant and severe study, to prepare himself for the holy office of a Christian Minister. In a fragment which he has left, "On the Dignity of the Pulpit," page 158, his sentiments are clearly expressed. A preacher ought to regard himself, in Scripture phrase, as a "vessel of honour set apart to God; as a mean by which the Almighty Father of the universe makes known his will to mankind, and directs his people in the paths of truth and holiness. He ought, therefore, to take heed that he be duly qualified by learning, and a chaste and correct taste, to fill with propriety the sacred function to which he has been called by the Divine will. I say, he ought to beware, with all possible anxiety, lest, by any neg ligence or carelessness on his part, he disgrace, instead of honouring the sacred office, and tempt the God before whom he ministers |