ever, before the meeting closed he was weeping for his sins. The impressions made on his mind were such as he had never felt before, and he left the place blessing God that he had been thus led into his house.

REV. MR. RAWSON.

Moɛɛ than one hundred years ago, there graduated at Harvard University, a clergyman named Rawson, who subsequently settled in the ministry at Yarmouth, and Cape Cod. He used to preach very pointed sermons. Having heard that some of his parishioners were in the habit of making him the subject of their mirth at a grog-shop, he one Sabbath preached a discourse from the text-“And I was the song of the drunkard." His remarks were of a very moving character; so much so, that many of his hearers rose and left the house in the midst of the sermon.

A short time afterwards, the preacher delivered a discourse still more pointed than the first, from the text, "And they, being convicted out of their own consciences, went out one by one." On this occasion, no one ventured to retire from the assembly; but the guilty ones resigned themselves, with as good grace as possible, to the lash of their pastor.

REV. DR. WELCH.

WE copy the following interesting narrative from the Albany Express, October, 1847. It beautifully shows the advantages of self-possession in the preacher:

On Sunday evening last, a very large audience attended the

North Pearl Street Baptist Church, attracted in part by the fame and eloquence of the pastor, Dr. Welch, and partly, we doubt not, in consequence of the announcement made from the pulpit in the morning, that the rite of marriage would be solemnized at the close of the service.

The theme of the Rev. Doctor, was the power and goodness of God, chosen as the basis for an appeal to the Christian charities aad warm sympathies of his people, in behalf of the needy widow and children of the late sexton of the church, C. S. Morton, who, though a colored man, was distinguished for his estimable Christian character, habits of industry, strict integrity, and intelligence beyond the great majority of his class and complexion. The discourse was characterized by all the high and admired qualities which have placed Dr. Welch in the front rank of pulpit orators and extemporaneous preachers, and the appeal was not made in vain. In the midst of one of his happiest illustrations, and with voice and gesture admirably suited to the sentiment, he looked out upon the audience and exclaimed-" The Spirit and the Bride say, COME!"

The wedding party, having been notified of the time fixed upon for the performance of the nuptial ceremony, had stationed themselves at the foot of the stairway, in readiness for the signal, which was to be communicated by the sexton. The latter, when he heard the exclamation, "The Spirit and the Bride say, Come!" and saw the gesture, verily believed the time for the marriage had arrived, and immediately beckoned the party to approach. They promptly obeyed the summons, and bride and bridegroom, bride's-maid and groom's-man, marched solemnly up the broad aisle to the pulpit! The doctor was in the midst of his discourse. The whole audience saw the awkwardness of the occurrence, many understood the true cause of the mistake, and all looked to see the confusion of the clergyman, thus placed in a painful predicament. But

in this they were disappointed. Closing the sentence thus curiously interrupted, Dr. Welch calmly stepped down from the pulpit, and almost before the echo of his voice in the utterance of his discourse had died away, he was heard addressing the candidates for marriage in a manner most appropriate to the occasion, and in the beautiful style and fervid eloquence for which he is so celebrated. The ceremony over, the wedding party retired, and the preacher, as little disconcerted as if nothing unusual had occurred, re-ascended into the desk, and taking up his subject at the precise point where he had left it, (though he uses no written notes,) proceeded to finish his sermon. So admirably was the awkward incident managed, that we doubt whether the party occasioning it ever suspected any thing wrong.

AN AGED CLERGYMAN.

AN aged clergyman, when preaching in New England, some few years since, raising his voice with each succeeding word, and bringing down his clenched hand with amazing force upon the Bible at the last word of the sentence, exclaimed-" A deceitful wicked man is not fit to serve either God, man, or the devil!" Then, after a pause, he added, “And I'll tell you why. He is not fit to serve God, because he's unholy; he's not fit to serve man, because he's deceitful; and he's not fit to serve the devil, because he's not content with his wages. No," said the old man, with a shrewd look, "he's not content with his wages. Why," added he, "my children, I once saw a rogue of a soldier, for some crime that he'd done, tied up, and flogged with forty lashes; and while he was taking his wages, he made all sorts of noises, but he never once said that he liked it. No,

no, my friends, the sinner is not satisfied with the wages whi the devil gives, and he never will be for the wages of s is death.' Sinners! sinners! strike for higher wages.'

REV. JOHN SUNDAY.

THE Rev. Dr. Alder, in his admirable volume on the We leyan Missions, relates the following pleasing anecdote:

"I understand," said John Sunday, the converted Indian chief, to a congregation which he was called to address at Plymouth, in the year 1837, "that many of you are disappointed, because I have not brought my Indian dress with me. Perhaps, if I had it on, you would be afraid of me. Do you wish to know how I dressed when I was a pagan Indian? I will tell you. My face was covered with red paint. I stuck feathers in my hair. I wore a blanket and leggins. I had silver ornaments on my breast, a rifle on my shoulder, a tomahawk and scalping-knife in my belt. That was my dress then. Now, do you wish to know why I wear it no longer? You will find the cause in second Corinthians, fifth chapter and seventeenth verse: Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.' When I became a Christian, feathers and paint 'passed away.' I gave my silver ornaments to the mission cause. Scalping-knife done away;' tomahawk 'done away.' That my tomahawk now," said he, holding up, at the same time, a copy of the Ten Commandments, in the Ojibwa language. "Blanket done away.' Behold," he exclaimed, in a manner in which simplicity and dignity of character were combined, "Behold, all things are become new!"

ازار

THE following facts relating to the distinguished George Whitefield were published a few years since in Boston :—

There was nothing in the appearance of this extraordinary man which would lead you to suppose that a Felix would tremble before him. He was something above the middle stature, well proportioned, and remarkable for a native gracefulness of manner. His complexion was very fair, his features regular, and his dark blue eyes small and lively;-in recovering from the measles he had contracted a squint with one of them; but this peculiarity rather rendered the expression of his countenance more remarkable, than in any degree lessened the effect of its uncommon sweetness. His voice excelled both in melody and compass; and its fine modulations were happily accompanied by that grace of action which he possessed in an eminent degree, and which has been said to be the chief requisite in an orator. To have seen him when he first commenced, one would have thought him any thing but enthusiastic and glowing; but as he proceeded, his heart warmed with his subject, and his manner became impetuous and animated, till, forgetful of every thing around him, he seemed to kneel at the throne of Jehovah, and to beseech in agony for his fellowbeings.

After he had finished his prayer, he knelt for a long time in profound silence, and so powerful was the effect on the most heartless of his audience, that a stillness like that of the tomb pervaded the whole house.

Before he commenced his sermon, long darkening columns clouded the bright sunny sky of the morning, and swept their dull shadows over the building, in fearful augury of the storm. His text was-"Strive to enter in at the strait gate; for