nions, but, according to his profession, he would have been struck with horror at the thought that God should have loved and have chosen him from eternity.

REV. JOHN WESLEY.

THE first time I had the pleasure of being in the company of the Rev. John Wesley, says a correspondent of the New York Evangelist, was in the year 1783. I asked him what must be done to keep Methodism alive when he was dead? To which he immediately answered, "The Methodists must take heed to their doctrine, their experience, their practice, and their discipline. If they attend to their doctrines only, they will make the people Antinomians; if to the experimental part of religion only, they will make them enthusiasts; if to the practical part only, they will make them pharisees; and if they do not attend to their discipline, they will be like persons. who bestow much pains in cultivating their garden, and put no fence round it, to save it from the wild boar of the forest."

Mr. Wesley, in the course of his voyage to America, hearing an unusual noise in the cabin of General Oglethorpe, the governor of Georgia, with whom he sailed, stepped in to inquire the cause of it. The general addressed him: "Mr. W., you must excuse me; I have met with a provocation too great for a man to bear. You know the only wine I drink is Cyprus wine; I therefore provided myself with several dozens of it, and this villain Grimaldi" (his foreign servant, who was present, and almost dead with fear)" has drunk up the whole of it. But I will be revenged on him. I have ordered him to be

tied hand and foot, and to be carried to the man-of-war which sails with us. The rascal should have taken care how he used me so, for I never forgive." "Then I hope, sir," said Mr. W., looking calmly at him, "you never sin." The general was quite confounded at the reproof; and, putting his hands into his pocket, took out a bunch of keys, which he threw at Grimaldi. "There, villain," said he, "take my keys, and behave better for the future."

REV. DR. SPRING.

DR. SPRING, of New York, related, some time ago, that during the period of a revival of religion in that city, a young lady, the object of high hope, the centre of wide influence, capable of noble things, yet careering on the giddy steep of fashion and of folly, created in him no small solicitude, as he would have to give an account for her soul, every avenue to which seemed most sedulously guarded. He delayed the visit of counsel and exhortation; and delayed till, rebuked by conscience, he could do so no longer. As soon as he called, and was ushered into the saloon, the first and only person whom he saw was this young lady, bathed in tears, who immediately exclaimed, "My dear pastor, I rejoice to see you. I was fearful I was the only one who had escaped your friendly notice." What a rebuke to fear! What an encouragement to hope and to action!

REV. MR. CLAP.

THE late Rev. Mr. Clap, of Rhode Island, was asked by a member of his church, whether he thought it right to engage in dancing? His reply was, "I should think that those who are out of Christ should have no heart to dance, and those who are in Christ will have enough else to do."

REV. DR. WADDELL.

THOSE Who have read Mr. Wirt's fine work, the "British Spy," will remember the graphic and touching description of the preaching of the blind Presbyterian preacher, as already narrated in this volume. It is no fancy sketch; the scene actually occurred as it is described. A descendant of his has lately published a letter which was originally addressed to Mr. Wirt, but not printed by him. It will be read with great interest.

To the Author of the British Spy:

The distinguished notice you have taken of the Rev. James. Waddell, of Virginia, in the character of the "Blind Preacher," has induced me to give you some account of an event unnoticed by you, and which forms an era in his life. I refer to the restoration of his sight. I do this with less reserve, since it is generally understood that the "British Spy" had been long a warm friend of the subject of this notice; and that his removal from the vicinity of the "Blind Preacher," in whose hospitable mansion he had received many and warm greetings, had left him uninformed of the event to which I have alluded,

and of the circumstances which I propose to detail. You have described him as blind, and, while occupying the rude enclosure of a forest pulpit, addressing an unseen multitude in strains of eloquence which might captivate cities and win the admiration of grave senates. The incidents to which I refer were more private; in his own house, and in the midst of his family. For eight years he had been blind—a stranger equally to the cheerful light of day and the cheering faces of kindred and friends. It will readily be supposed, that in this lapse of time great changes had taken place. The infant had left the knee to rove amidst the fields; the youth had started into manhood, and, bidding adieu to the haunts of his childhood, had gone forth to act for himself upon the theatre of life; with the hope, indeed, of again and again looking upon his venerable father, but without hope of that father's ever looking upon him. A calm and patient resignation had settled over the mind of this man of God, as a summer's cloud settles over the horizon of evening. Peaceful, hopeful, and reclining upon the bosom of heaven, every painful solicitude about himself had fled away. This personal peace and Christian submission were calculated, however, to concentrate his reflections and solicitudes upon the destinies of his family, here and hereafter. His eye could not now see for them; but he had a heart to invoke the watchfulness of an eye that neither slumbers nor sleeps; that neither grows dim with age nor infirmity. His palsied hand could guide them no longer, but patriarchal counsel was freely given, and enforced by the tremendous realities of a future existence. The thread to be followed through the labyrinth of life, it was taught, had its fastenings in eternity; time and all sublunary things should be viewed in the light of eternity. But, although the mental vision was acute and wisely circumspect, the dark curtain still hung over the organs of sight, and seemed to rise no more.

And what if it should be otherwise; that hope of sight

should take the place of resignation to blindness; and, more than this, that hope should be turned into fruition; that, after the darkness of eight years, he should be presented with a broad daylight view of every thing around him! And this, I assure you, was almost a fact; for, after an operation for cataract, which, in the progress of years, had rendered light sensible, and then objects faintly visible, a strong and well constructed convex lens, procured by the kindness of a distant friend, enabled him to see with considerable distinctness. At this juncture, I happened to be at his residence-called by himself, long before, "Hopewell," and now fulfilling, in happy reality, the import of a soft and cheerful name. The scene, without dispute, was the most moving that I ever witnessed. The father could again see his children, who riveted his attention and absorbed his soul. Among these, emotions of intense interest and varied suggestions were visible in the eye, the countenance, and the hurried movements. The bursts of laughter the running to and fro-the clapping of hands-the sending for absent friends-and then the silent tear bedewing the cheek in touching interlude the eager gazes of old servants, and the unmeaning wonder of young ones-in short, the happy confusion from the agitation of joy-all taken together, was a scene better adapted to the pencil than the pen, and which a master's hand might have been proud to sketch. How I regretted that the mantle of some Raphael or Michael Angelo had not fallen upon me; then had my fame and my feelings each been identified with the scene, and others should have been permitted to view upon the canvas what I must fail to describe upon paper.

The paroxysm produced by the arrival of the glasses having passed away, and a partial experiment having satisfied all of their adaptation to the diseased eye, behold the patriarch seated in his large arm-chair, with his children around him, scanning with affectionate curiosity the bashful group. There was a