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of doing good is more encouraging than has been the case at any former period. We are requested to acknowledge with gratitude the donations already received from several of the preachers, and a few of the circuits; and to state that donations and subscriptions will continue to be received by the Rev. R. Gower, New Road; and Mr. John Pike, George Lane,

Oxford; also by Mr. Higgs, 179, Borough;
and Mr. Blanshard, City-Road, London.
When the whole have come to hand, it is
intended to publish, on the cover of the
Magazine, a list of the circuits and indi-
viduals who have contributed.
We are, your affectionate brethren,
R. GOWER.
ED. B. LLOYD.

POETRY.

THE SHIPWRECKED MARINERS. A freighted bark was white with many a sail

That fill'd its bosom with a homeward gale;
Its keel pass'd not the spangl'd foam between,
Nor play'd the sun-beam on the liquid green
Of the pure wave, so merrily, as flew
To figur'd happiness the joyous crew.

But ere on mid-sea wafted, stormy clouds Burst on the mast, fierce winds assail'd the shrouds;

Tremendous billows whirl'd it to their height, Then sunk it deep ingulph'd, with stygian might:

Lost was all government-dark was the sky
As caves beneath; and oft the anxious eye
Waited the livid light'nings, darting glare,
To seek around some refuge from despair
In distance awful;-but the hope was vain;
The storm grew wilder on the infuriate main;
From every wave the vessel's plunging head
Receiv'd the broken flood, profusely shed.
'Midst thunders, and the roaring billows,
peal'd

A long and awful shriek!-The vessel reel'd!
A crack tremendous, death's loud signal, cast
The parted wreck in shivers to the blast!
The main-mast floated on the heaving surge;
A hope forlorn that swept destruction's verge
It seem'd; for, bound with many a lash,
A crowd had held it, waiting for the crash.
Leagues it had travers'd while an irksome
night

Of lengthen'd bitterness, enwrapp'd from sight

Each face of woe; and oft a sudden cry
Told the dread tale, one sufferer less was nigh.
The storm was hush'd; the swell alone re-
main'd;

The long departed sun the horizon gain'd, When calls and whistles clear'd the mournful truth,

A veteran seaman, and a simple youth Were all that lived. With posture long unchang'd,

Their wishful eyes the wat'ry distance rang'd, For some approaching bark, or friendly shore. Where pitying aid their sufferings might implore;

Bot all was desolate; a dismal waste Where living floods, and clouds alone were trac'd,

Fatigu'd with tension, and benumb'd with cold,
The fainting mariner resign'd his hold;
When springing from the jaws of death,
aghast,

One bounding effort made, he strid the mast.
"Deliverance!" he exclaim'd; and moving

near,

He rais'd the pallid youth, and bad him cheer.
Then, first his soul a kindly pang confess'd;
He plac'd his icy temple on his breast,
And clasp'd him, that perchance, new warmth
convey'd

Might from his sightless eye remove the shade.
That rugged soul, contemptuous of distress,
By threatening death was aw'd to gentleness:
From all the world, but this poor youth, apart,
He own'd, for once almost a father's heart.
With difficulty poised, the weight he bore,
And watch'd the ruby current, as once more
It sought the cheek; then soon awoke those

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A mute and boding answer from the view. As day advanc'd the stretching prospect clear'd,

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And far before a black'ning mass appear'd"'Tis land-'tis land-" exclaim'd th'euraptur'd boy,

And nearly perish'd in his freak of joy. The helinless bark seem'd now with ease to glide;

Hope lent its shining sails, and stood its guide.
At length the coast was near; a shore of stone,
That seem'd nor human guest, nor herb to
own,

Apall'd the eye. The sudden shock to save
Of swift concussion, plunging in the wave,
The weary sufferers gain'd the rugged strand;
Stretch'd their cramp'd limbs, and joy'd to
find it land:

But hunger soon the wand'ring search impell'd;

They climb'd: and ridges vast in prospect swell'd:

The day was worn, fatigue their frame oppress'd,

Yet being none they saw, nor place of rest;

Nor grass, nor shrub adorn'd the rougli ascent;

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In crags the summit parted, widely rent
Not e'en an eagle found a covert there ;
The sea alone it touched, and barren air.
Back to the shore the heartless travellers
moved;

In silent gloom, despair's keen pang they proved:

With death's most dreaded form condemned to cope,

It seemed a dream fanatical to hope. Night spread her veil; a bleak and howling blast,

With doleful murmur, through each crevice passed;

And waves beneath, that broke with equal swell,

Moaned out faint sympathies, and seemed their knell.

New in distress, the youth profusely wept, And held the boatswain, till worn out, he slept. The Queen of silence, clad in robes of light, With whispered consolation calmed the night; Her crescent chariot seemed to speed her way To shed her benediction on the day.

The Veteran's eye had marked her earliest beam

"A ray of peace," he thought, "where thousands dream

"In slumbering ease!-a harbinger of death, "Where hunger preys upon the dying breath!" A plashing sound disturbed his thoughtful mood

And banished hope surprised the solitude! He sprang, some friendly oar to meet, with

Joy;

But soon returned to save the unconscious boy: A shark upon the rock his fin had spread, Raised his long jaws, and turned to grasp his head.

A mother's care had once this child inclin'd With Scripture facts to enrich his opening mind;

But dire example, and the snares of youth, Had lulled to fatal rest each warning truth: Now death assailed, that mind, so wisely stored,

Sought refuge in the hope those truths afford"And, are there not," he said, "by heaven conveyed,

"Assurances of providential aid,

"To those who ask it from the depth of woe? "Kneel down-that aid kind heaven may now bestow."

True worshippers, they found a holy Fane Whence the pure incense ne'er ascends in vain. They rose expectant,-waiting for replyWhen, suddenly, a cloud obscur'd the sky ;Loud cackling struck the ear, and falling round,

Faint birds of passage struggled on the ground: Dispos'd in ample heaps, they soon were made Altars of praise, like *stones near Jordan laid. Hunger no qualms allows:-one bird, at first, Ere the blood cool'd, allayed their burning thirst:

Then to the water's edge they turn'd their eye, Sought the tough weed, and scattered it to dry.

Large stores of plumes they stripped and hid with care,

A nightly covert from the chilling air. The weeds were dry; a knife and flint combin'd

To raise a flame; and ere mid-day they din'd. Oft on the fronting rock their linen stream'dThe weedy fire, by night, a beacon gleam'd. * With prayer each day was clos'd; each morning brought

The grateful offering, and the pious thought. Four suns had set, yet hope would still pre

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Recording monuments to place on shore, Whose every plume they thought inscribed above,

With faithful promise and unchanging love! The boat rowed off, the vessel stretch'd her sail,

The boatswain kneel'd, while morning beam'd And flew to Albion on a prosperous gale.

around,

And from his eyes large tears bedew'd the ground:

A tongue, unused to prayer, besought the skies,

With broken accents and untutored cries: But ardent was the address, with trust sincere, Prayer such as gracious heaven delights to hear!

Joshua iv. 3.

D. B.

The younger of the mariners related the writer, producing one of the wild-ducks which principal circumstances of the narrative to the fell upon the rock, dried in its asb-coloured feathers. He was living at the time in respectability exemplary life had long evinced the sincerity of as a tradesman, in the West of England, and his

the resolutions made in his distress.

Printed at the Conferenec-Office, 14, City-Road, London ; T. CORDEUX, Agent.

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THE

METHODIST MAGAZINE,

FOR MAY, 1818.

BIOGRAPHY.

MEMOIR OF MR. JOHN BARBER.
(Concluded from page 248.)

His second year in Bristol was not less laborious than the first. At the Conference in 1815, he was, for the second time, chosen President; the indispensable duties of which office, in addition to those of the Superintendent of a circuit and a large society, require exertions, to which few physical constitutions, however firm, at Mr. Barber's age, are equal. For some time prior to the Conference, the writer having observed, with much and painful concern, the serious inroads which had been made upon his health, and apprehensive of a dropsical affection, as the consequence, repeatedly undertook to warn him of his danger; and on one occasion said, "Sir, if you are not more careful, you will certainly leave your bones amongst us." But this, as well as every other attempt on the part of his colleagues, and friends in general, proved futile. Even Mrs. Barber's entreaties were unavailing to her expression of sympathy and apprehension, after a Sabbath of more than usual labour, he replied, "Ah! my dear, in the pulpit I forget all my sufferings.'

The following may probably afford additional proof how much he had his work at heart. A short time previous to his death, it having been observed to him that, in the event of some family arrangements taking place, he might be induced to settle in a certain circuit in which he had formerly laboured, and there spend the remnant of his days; he replied, with his accustomed earnestness, "Say nothing to me about settling; I hope God will grant me the privilege mentioned in the hymn, that I may,

"My body with my charge lay down,

And cease at once to work and live.'"

In this he obtained the wish of his heart; terminating, at once, his labours and his life.

Notwithstanding the natural strength of Mr. Barber's constitution, it had received a shock which was never recovered. During the latter part of his residence in Bristol, he was repeatedly attacked by severe indisposition; and, for some time previous to VOL. XLI. MAY, 1818.

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