tain. He, however, in a short time sailed for Jamaica-but he was never afterwards heard of. Some say he foundered at sea, at the very place where he had refused to rescue the poor suffering mariners; and others, that his crew mutinied, and ran away with the vessel to the negro coast of Africa. Whatever may have been his fate, it is certain that he never reached the end of his voyage, nor was he once spoke with or heard of after leaving this country. Little doubt remains but that he perished miserably, either on a barren coast, among cruel and relentless savages, or in the bosom of the raging ocean. Herein, therefore, as in many other circumstances of my life, I had reason to thank the goodness of Providence, which had directed me to leave his company, and to seek my fortune elsewhere.

THE LAST MARTYR OF THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS.

WE now come to the last of the Covenanting martyrs; James Guthrie had been the first minister who had suffered in the cause; James Renwick was the last. He may be called the Malachi among those modern minor prophets; he is described as a little fair-haired man, with a comely countenance, and great unction and sweetness of address. His letters, which are published, give evidence of learning, ardent piety, and something which verges genius. In one of them, for instance, he speaks of the muirs and mosses of Scotland being flowered with martyrs. He speaks repeatedly of Luther in the loftiest terms, and seems quite familiar with his writings. His last letter closes thus, "I go to your God and my God; death to me is a bed to the weary."

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He had a singular history-when a child of two years old, he of his own accord tried to pray. Some years later he was tortured with doubts as to the being of a God. Once looking at the mountains surrounding Glencairn, in Nithsdale, the parish of his birth, he cried out, "If these were all devouring furnaces of burning brimstone, I would be content to go through them all to be assured that there was a God."

These doubts passed away, and, like Chalmers at one period of his life, he seems to have passed some entire years in devout solitary contemplation of the works and being of a God. He was sent to the university, where he supported himself by teaching gentlemen's sons. In July, 1681, when only nineteen years of age, he saw David Cargill executed in Edinburgh; an event which sent him home a "sadder and wiser man." His mind was forthwith made

up to connect himself with the extreme section of the Covenanters.

After visiting Holland, and receiving license there to preach, he returned and added the weight of his youthful scholarship, ardour, and eloquence, to the Cameronian cause; his preaching gave a new impulse to the fading energies of the party; his beautiful boyish appearance, the fire which shone on his eyes and cheeks, his 'pleasant melting voice," the "seraphic enlargement" of his speech, served to unite in him the charms of a bridegroom and the energies of an apostle. Peden and he

were close friends. He spent two memorable nights with John Brown, the Ayrshire carrier. One chill, dark, November night, a thin, travel-worn stranger entered John Brown's hut, at Priesthill; his shoes were worn off his feet, his plaid hung dripping around him; John Brown himself was absent, the good wife looked at him with a certain suspicion, and it was left to her little daughter, Janet, to do as well as she could the offices of hospitality to the uninvited and unexpected guest; yet so carefully did the child take off his plaid, and so tenderly place him in the corner next the fire, that the stranger burst into tears, and into a blessing on the "bairn. At this juncture Brown himself returned; he recognised Renwick, and a night of plaintive, yet joyous talk and reminiscences succeeded. After a day and another night of the same mutual intercourse, refreshed and strengthened, he parted from John Brown to meet no more on earth, and went on his way.

For years he led a wandering life, preaching whenever he could find an opportunity to the "puir hill folk." After the Sanqu har declaration against the authority of James, which he penned, he became the object of unmitigated persecution; a reward of one hundred pounds was offered for his head, and fifteen distinct searches were made for him. Once he escaped by throwing himself into a hole on the side of a hill, which was protected from view by a heap of stones. His activity at this time was amazing; with all the rapidity of enthusiasm did he pass from parish to parish, baptizing, catechizing, preaching, protesting against King James and his July indulgence. Like that glorious monk in the "Roman," he became a "polyglot of prophets"-a "manifold infection" of earnest and solitary protest. At length his health began to fail, he could no longer mount or ride on horseback, and had to be carried to the place where he was to preach. Yet once there, recognizing an audience of the right kind, and feeling the fresh breeze of the mountain on his fevered forehead, ho revived, he strengthened, he was enlarged,

tions of the period. At the top of the ladder he prayed again, and at length expired with the words in his mouth, "Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit, for Thou hast redeemed me, Lord God of truth." He was just twenty-six years of age.

And thus had martyrdom borne its last pale flower, and the deep sigh of the mul titude said, "It is done." An era had passed away with that intrepid spirit, and a new time, less glorious, indeed, but marked by less troubled and conflicting elements was about to succeed.-Gilfillan.

FOUR SCENES IN A HUMAN LIFEA SKETCH.

"Angels are round the good man to catch the incense of his prayers."-TUPPER.

FOUR times I saw an earth-bound being, at the shrine of prayer. First it was a prattling infant, whose pure brow was yet unmarked by the cares of life. It had spent a day of childish glee, and now, as the hush of evening came, it longed to be folded in the sweet embrace of sleep. But ere it closed those laughing eyes, I saw its little form bowed by its mother's knee, while from its infant lips fell a sinless childlike prayer. Faint was that prayer, and feeble as the first whispers of the evening zephyrs, for the child could but faintly comprehend its meaning. Yet to his little heart it was as the faint voices of love, the heralds of joy and gladness. I marked it well, and as that little prattler lisped those words of childish confidence in a Heavenly Father's care, I thought I saw bright guardian spirits hover near, and with their quivering pinions, wet with the dew of heaven, brush from its tender heart the slight marks of sorrow the day had written there.

Years passed on, and again I saw that child; but 'twas a child no more. The golden curls of infancy had given place to the raven locks of youth; the once tottering step had become light with buoyant hope, and his heart beat high with youthful expectation. And the youth bowed before his God to ask for guidance in the way of life. All around, to him, seemed bright and beautiful, yet to his mind its brightness was but an emanation from his Father's throne; and as he prayed for that light to ever linger round his way, the guardian spirits of his infancy drew near and shed hallowed rays upon his youthful heart.

And again, I saw him when the careless glee of childhood, and the fiery heart of youth had passed away; and in manhood's prime, he was earnestly engaged in the heat of the warfare of life. Temptation hovered around him, and dark clouds of sorrow

hung grimly over his head. Danger was on every hand, and he must do or die. He felt himself unequal for the struggle, and yet gave he not over to despair, for he knew that prayer was heard in heaven. And as he raised his heart to God to ask for help, the softly whispered, "Lo, I am with you alway," fell on his fainting heart like dew on the sun-scorched flower; reviving and purifying, and again he went forth boldly to the battle.

snow.

Yet once again saw I that being bowed before the mercy-seat. Long years had passed away, and time's rough billows had blanched his locks white as the driven His journey is almost done, but ere he steps across the stream of death into the bright land prepared for him, he turns to review the scenes of other years. His vision is cleared now, for the toils of life are over, and he sees again the sunny days of childhood, bright before him when not a care was his, when a fond mother clasped him to her heart, and prayed Heaven to shield him from the shafts of sin.

Now he thinks of the bright dreams, the buoyant hopes, and the gay companions of his youth, how his dreams had been chilled by the cold reality of after years, his hopes crushed by the heavy hand of sorrow, and those companions of youth's bright morning, fallen from his path, like the faded flowers of autumn, while he was left to mourn them with a heavy heart. A scattered band are they, his early friends. Some have fallen where the smoke of battle thickened--the cannon's roar their only requiem. Others lay buried 'neath old Ocean's waves; full of life and hope they sank to their coral graves. Others, still, are sleeping where the bright sun shines, the wild bird sings, the tall grass waves, and the wild flowers bloom in beauty o'er them, on the broad prairies of the west. Thus have their lights gone out, till not one of the gay company is left save that aged man, and he, too, has come within sight of the stream over which his friends have passed, and he will soon be gone.

Now the sterner scenes of after life rise before him with all their joys and all their woes; he sees how the hand of God has assisted him in every struggle, and led him on through all life's dangers even to the present hour, gently smoothing down the roughness of the way. The old man's heart is melted, and he is a child once more. He bows his aged form to thank and bless the hand of mercy that has ever thus been outstretched to help and comfort him, and for the last time on earth, he prays. While his heart is raised in sweet communion with his God, the eye of faith peers through the worn out veil of flesh, and sees that home prepared for him above.

A clergyman who was chaplain of a squadron stationed in the Mediterranean for five years, related the following anecdote, which occurred during that time:

The commodore was a frank and generous man, who treated me with marked attention, and I used to preach in all the ships but one. This was a small frigate, and the captain was an irreligious and profane man. He used to say he wanted no Methodist parsons for a pilot, and he embraced every opportunity of annoying me. Being a person of a violent temper, he took offence and insulted the commodore, who meant to send him home. When I heard of his intention, I waited on the commodore, and said I was come to ask a particular favour of him.

"That shall be granted. I am always happy to oblige you. What is it ?"

"That you will overlook the conduct of Captain S," said I.

Nay, nay, you can't be serious. Is he not your greatest enemy, and, I believe, the only man who does not wish to see you on board the ship?"

"That is the very reason why I ask the favour, commodore; I must practise what I preach."

"Well, well, 'tis an odd whim; but if, on reflection, I can grant your request without prejudice to his majesty's service, I will do it."

The next day I renewed my petition. "Well," said he, "if Captain S- will make public apology, I will overlook his conduct."

I instantly got into a boat and rowed to the frigate. The captain met me with a frown upon his countenance; but when I told him my business, I saw a tear in his eye, and taking me by the hand, he said: Mr. I really don't understand your religion, but I do understand your conduct, and I thank you."

The affair blew over, and he pressed me to preach in his ship. The first time I went there the crew were dressed in their best clothes, and the captain was on my right hand; I could hardly utter a word, my

mind was so much moved, and so were the whole crew. There seemed to be more than ordinary solemnity among us.

That very night the ship disappeared, and not a soul survived to tell the tale. None ever knew how it happened; but we supposed, as there had been a gale of wind, she had foundered, and went down in the deep water.

How cheering the thought that the men thus suddenly summoned into eternity had listened to the blessed message of the Gospel, and that, too, under circumstances which, through the blessing of God, were so peculiarly adapted to prepare their minds to welcome and receive it.

LIFE IN A DUNGEON.

"FIFTEEN years," says Count Gonfallionier, "I existed in a dungeon ten feet square? During six years I had a companion; nine I was alone! Inever could rightly distinguish the face of him who shared my captivity in the eternal twilight of our cell. The first year we talked incessantly together; we related our past lives, our joys forever past, over and over again. The next year we communicated our ideas together on all subjects. The third year we had no ideas to communicate; we were beginning to lose the power of reflection. The fourth, at the interval of a month or so, we would open our lips to ask each other if it were indeed possible that the world went on as gay and bustling as when we formed a portion of mankind. The fifth we were silent. The sixth he was taken away, I never knew where to execution or liberty. But I was glad when he was gone; even solitude was better than the dim vision of that pale, vacant face.

"One day (it must have been a year or two after my companion left me) the dungeon door was opened, and a voice, whence proceeding I knew not-uttered the words, By order of his Imperial Majesty, I intimate to you that your wife died a year ago.' Then the door was shut and I heard no more; they had flung this great agony upon me, and left me alone with it again."

HENRY SPICER, Esq. London: Thomas Bosworth, Regent-street.

THIS is a history of a series of the most astounding and inexplicable phenomena that have ever come under the attention of mankind, or of a delusion as stupendous and remarkable as any to be found in the records of credulity and deception. During the last six years a movement has been in progress on the other side of the Atlantic, known as "the Rappings," or "Spiritual Manifestations," the adherents of which claim to hold intercourse with the Spirit world; the established mode of communion or correspondence being by successions of sounds like rapping or knocking. The credentials which the movement presents, and the evidence on which it is based, are so striking and respectable, that it demands something more than an incredulous smile or contemptuous shrug. Whatever may be the issue of time and investigation, its present aspect is sufficiently important, and presents features so startling and interesting, to warrant serious consideration. Without further comment, we subjoin a brief resumé of its history.

The origin of these knockings strongly reminds us of the pranks of "old Jeffrey," at Epworth Rectory, the residence of Mr. Wesley's father, as graphically and minutely detailed in one of the volumes of the old "Arminian Magazine." The village of Hydesville, in the State of New York, was the scene chosen by "the spirits" for the advent of their new movement. There resided a certain Mr. Weekman (unfortunate name! we are strongly tempted to alter the orthography), at whose street-door, one night in the year 1847, the sound of knocking was heard. When the door was opened no one

was seen.

Under the impression that it was a "runaway knock" from some mischievous youth, the door was closed. This was no sooner done, than again a loud knocking was heard; and the door was once more opened,--but still nobody was visible. This tantalizing process was not at that time further continued; but at the end of the year Mr. Weekman left the house. It was next tenanted by Dr. John D. Fox (another suggestive name) and his family; and here the spirits" seem to have met with congenial souls, for the ladies of Mr. Fox's family appear at once to have established a correspondence with their in

visible visitors. Mrs. Fox thus relates the commencement of their correspondence with "the spirits." The knockings having been resumed after their entrance into the house, as in the time of their predecessor, at first caused them considerable uneasiness; but on a certain night in the March of 1848, they resolved to retire early, in order to get a good night's rest, determining not to be disturbed by the noise, should it recur as usual:

"My husband had not gone to bed when we first heard the noise on this evening. I had just lain down. It commenced as usual. I knew it from all other noises I had ever heard in the house. The girls, who slept in the other bed in the room, heard the noise, and tried to make a similar one by snapping their fingers. The youngest girl is about twelve years old. As fast as she made the noise with her hands or fingers, the sound was followed up in the room. It did not sound different at that time, only it made the same number of sounds that the girl did. When she stopped, the sound itself stopped for a short time. The other girl, who is in her fifteenth year, then spoke in sport, and said, Now do just as I do; count one, two, three, four, &c.,' striking one hand on the other at the same time. The blows which she made were repeated as before. It appeared to answer her by repeating every blow which she made. She only did so once. She then begun to be startled; and then I spoke, and said to the noise, Count ten.' and then it made ten strokes or noises. Then I asked the ages of my different children successively, and it gave a number of raps, corresponding to the ages of my children. I then asked if it was a human being that was making the noise, and if it was to manifest it by the same noise. There was no noise. I then asked if it was a spirit, and if it was to manifest it by two sounds. I heard two sounds as soon as the words were spoken. I then asked of an injured spirit to give me the sound. I then heard the rapping distinctly. I inquired if it was injured in this house. It rapped. Was the injurer living? Same answer. I further understood that its remains were buried under the dwelling; that it was thirty-one years of age, a male, and had left a family of five children, all living. Was the wife living?-silence. Dead?-rapping. How long since?-two raps."

This kind of correspondence by means of raps continued, and subsequently it was found that communication might be facilitated by means of the alphabet, the invisible interlocutor knocking whenever the right letter was touched or spoken. By this means a complete and simple system of correspondence was established. In the meantime some members of the Fox family removed to the city of Rochester, and found to their surprise that these mysterious and invisible rappers accompanied them. The presence of the spirit manifestations in Rochester caused an immense sensation. A public meeting was called, and two committees chosen to investigate the matter; both of which, however, failed to solve the mystery. Meanwhile, the demonstrations rapidly progressed. The

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