DR.

The New-York Missionary Society in acct. current with Divie Bethune, their Treasurer.

1810. April 26. To cash paid Gray's dft.

April 2. By balance from old account,

from the Presbyterian Youth's Assistant Missionary Society,

31. By balance carried down,

281 25

150

120

Crane's

do.

75

Feb. 15. To

Mr. Alexander's do.

200

Cusick's dft.
Williams & Co. for printing, &c.
Mr. Alexander's board,

March 26. To

Cuffee's salary the first inst.
Obed Crane on account,

40

The following Character of Mrs. A. G. D. is taken from a small pamphlet published in Newburyport, in the course of the last year. We presume it will be interesting and edifying to the pious reader.

HER

ER natural disposition was amiable; her youthful deportment, pleasant and engaging. But it was not till about the age of nineteen, that her mind was impressed with the worth and importance of religion. Then she was led to see and lament that all her previous pursuits had been vanity; and that she had lived without hope, and without God in the world. An affecting sense of the guilt and danger of such a life, divested the world of its charms, and filled her mind with anxieties the most painful. The change became manifest to her friends. One of them questioning her on the subject, she could only reply, "I feel that I have a soul;" and burst into tears. As light and conviction increased, she became sensible, to use her own expressions, " of a deprayed nature, prone to evil, and averse from every thing good;" of a heart" especially opposed to the plan of salvation in the Gospel ;" an opposition which," she felt," Almighty power alone could subdue." Her mental distress was long and severe; her health sunk under the burden; and she seemed, at times, on the brink of absolute despair. At length, mercy dawned upon her mind, and a ray of hope was enkindled in her heart. It is remarkable, that her first relief was gained during a storm of lightning and thunder. The power and majesty of Jehovah were brought near; and she found she could contemplate them without terror She felt herself in the hands of a present God; and it was pleasant to be there. From this period, her health gradually returned; and her mind, calm and peaceful, tasted the consolations of a Saviour's love.

After a considerable time, she publicly owned her Saviour, and united herself to his people in the bonds of the gospel covenant. With what solemnity and affection this interesting act was performed, appears from the following passages, which were penned immediately afterward;

"Great and glorious God! Wilt thou, in infinite mercy, ratify in heaven, what I hope I have been enabled by thy grace, to do in sincerity on earth. Wilt thou be pleased to accept my poor, worthless, sinful self, and prepare me to glorify thee, here on earth. I am entirely unable to do any good thing; and if left to myself, I must sink and fall But Ö, for thy mercy's sake, keep me from dishonouring thy sa

cred name and cause. O, I would rather, if it be thy will, depart from earth this night, wilt thou but receive my departed spirit, than be left to wound the cause of the dear Redeemer; and his cause I shall surely wound, unless thou art pleased to take all my work into thy hands. O, my heart and soul beg for thy Holy Spirit to dwell in me, to enable me both to will and to do of thy good pleasure. O lead and guide me in the way everlasting; and keep me from falling, I intreat for Jesus Christ's sake, who is worthy all praise.

Olet me realize how entirely unworthy I am of the least of all mercies; and help me to adore and admire thy mysterious mercy and goodness, in allowing me to enjoy such rich privileges. O give me a thankful heart, that I may improve them to thy honour and glory."

On the morning of the following sabbath, she writes

thus:

"O let thy goodness awaken my stupid soul; and wilt thou assist me by the influences of thy spirit, while I attempt to meditate on thy great and mysterious love, which is to be celebrated this day. O, wilt thou permit such a vile and polluted creature to approach thy house, and thy table? May I too taste thy dying love, who am the worst and least? O, I am overcome with love divine.

On the evening of the same day, she writes:

"What shall I say? I am lost in astonishment while meditating on the mysteries of the day. Instead of being cut down and consumed, I, a guilty, polluted, hell-deserving sinner, have been permitted to wait on the Lord at his table; and though all unworthy the smallest crumb of mercy, (well may I stand amazed!) I have been fed with children's bread. Q, what marvellous love and condescension! Lord, instead of destroying me, thou hast fed me with thine own flesh.”

Her sacred profession was substantiated and adorned by her succeeding life. Though her external conduct had before been blameless, it assumed quite a new aspect. Other objects occupied her mind. Other pursuits engrossed her attention. The sweet and heavenly spirit of religion breathed in her soul, beamed from her countenance, and gave a charm to her whole deportment.

An adoring and affectionate sense of the Deity dwelt habitually on her mind His word was her constant compan ion. His house and ordinances were her supreme delight: VOL. IV.-No. V. 2 N

With gratitude and submission, she recognized his fatherly hand in her mercies, and her trials. To speak of his excellencies and his love, was her joy; and still more, to pour out her full heart before his throne, in prayer and praise.

By frequent and familiar intercourse with heaven, her mind was unusually abstracted from the world. She seemed like an inhabitant of another region. There her thoughts, her desires, and her affections habitually found repose.

Her humility was especially conspicuous. "O for a meek and lowly spirit; an humble and contrite heart!" these and similar expressions constantly occur in her writings."O, if I may be but a hewer of wood, or drawer of water in thy cause, and for thy people, I will praise thy name for ever." Elsewhere, she thus writes to a friend; " Pray for me, that I may have that humble, broken, contrite heart. which bows submissive to the will of heaven. O that I might get low in the vale of humiliation, where sweet peace, and humble hope, and heavenly joy are only to be found!— There, my dear, may we dwell together; and leave our cares at the footstool of His mercy, who shines on the dear valley with beams of divine compassion!"

Of the delights and sympathies of friendship, she was exquisitely susceptible. Her intimate friends were not a few; but she gave her whole heart to each of them. Her soul, was made up of gentle and generous sensibilities. In a degree very unusual, she was capable of forgetting herself, in her feelings for others. It is worthy of notice, that when her thoughts fixed upon the blessedness of heaven, the idea which was apt peculiarly to impress and console her mind, was this; that there, she might hope to see her friends, (especially some who were peculiarly afflicted here,) released from every sorrow, and perfected in bliss. Such expressions were not unfrequent in her letters. On a certain occasion, having made an apology to a friend to whom she was writing, on account of something which she had charged on herself as faulty, she closes the subject in this manner: "I must bid you adieu, begging that you will not blot me quite out of your book; if you do, I deserve it, and will try not to complain; because you can never take away the pleasure I shall have, of loving you and yours with the utmost ardour, not only while this heart is warm with life, but when it is chilled by the cold hand of that messenger who will never damp the flame, but will only purify, and make it burn the brighter."

Her concern for the immortal interests of her friends and velatives, was most tender and strong. No small portion of

She

her time was occupied in devising methods by which to press on their attention the all-interesting things of religion and eternity. Yet she frequently condemned herself that she did no more. Writing on this subject to a friend, she says, "I have felt at times such keen distress, that it has seemed as though my reason would forsake me; but still I could not utter what so oppressed my heart." Referring afterward to an instance of what she deemed uncommon faithfulness and zeal in another. "How it reproves," says she, " my guilty tongue, for all its sinful silence." adds, "O pray for me, that the feeble spark of grace, that seems almost extinguished, may be kindled to a flame, that will destroy all sinful fear, and make me hold in the dear cause of God; that I may work his work while it is called to-day, and find it my meat and drink to do his will." And afterward: "Your whole family shall have my ardent prayers, as ours will yours, I hope. O may we thus be "mutual helpers," mutual suppliants at the throne of grace. How great the mercy, there to meet, and mingle souls, and in the arms of faith and love, to carry our dear friends together, and beg for them what most of all we prize, with the sweet hope that Heaven will not withhold the blessings we desire."

But her benevolence was unconfined and universal. She felt for the whole human family. Looking around on her fellow creatures destined to death and immortality, yet thoughtless of God, absorbed in temporal pursuits, and wasting the season on which their eternal all depended, she was grieved, and at times almost overwhelmed. She frequently inquired of herself, whether some new, and hitherto untried exertions might not be made to counteract and arrest the evil. She put the same question to her friends. It was the joy of her heart to know that Christians were much engaged in prayer for Zion's prosperity. She was confident that a blessing would follow. Every instance of conversion, and even of awakening, of which she heard, seemed like life from the dead.

While thus awake to the spiritual interest of her fellowcreatures, she took a tender part in what related to their temporal comfort. Scarcely was there a scene of affliction or of joy, within the range of her information, at which her mind, exquisitely attuned as it was, and true to sympathy, did not vibrate. Nor was her sensibility a mere passive and shortlived impression, but a principle of vigorous and systematic exertion to do good. She seemed conscious of no value in money, except as it became the medium of relief and comfort to the distressed. Her plans and efforts of this kind were