that every argument, which I had ever read in favor of suicide, was most officiously obtruded upon my mind, and warmly impressed upon my imagination. It was stated, that my Almighty Father could not be angry with me for leaving such a world, in such circumstances; the opposition of reason seemed to result from the prejudices of education; and,' said illusive fancy, 'as it is appointed for all men once to die, * to do that to-day, which I may do tomorrow, and what I must shortly do, cannot be very wrong.' It is true, my monitor assured me, that the God, who had created me, was the only proper judge of the exact moment, when I ought to be removed out of time; that He best knew what benefit might accrue to myself, or the community, by my longer continuance in this vale of tears; yet these remarks, with many more of the same description, were not sufficiently imposing to endow me with resolution still to abide the pelting of the pitiless storm;' and I determined to finish my wretched existence, before the dawning of another morning. This was indeed a night of horror; but, in the moment of executing my fatal, my God-dishonoring purpose, the image of my Eliza, irradiating the prison walls, seemed to stand be

* Mr. Murray here partly quotes a passage of scripture which is very generally misunderstood. We take the liberty to subjoin what we consider to be its true sense. The apostle had been speaking of the resemblance between the Jewish and Christian dispensations, an analogy which he traces not only in the ninth chapter, but through it to the end, and far into the tenth. The men unto whom it was appointed to die were the priests, who died figuratively in their sacrifices. Their death was a sucrificial death, and for this reason it was compared to the death of Christ, who died a sacrifice for all mankind. Hence it is said, 'As, (mark the comparison) it is appointed unto men once to die, so Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many.' Here it is evident the death of these men was spoken of in a sacrificial point of view, because it is compared with the death of Christ as a sacrifice. The common death of all men is not sacrificial; and how then can it be compared with the death of Christ as an offering for the sins of many? But after this the judgment.' What was this judgment? Ans. A part of the Jewish ceremonies connected with the sacrificial death of the high priest. Hence, the breastplate of the priest was called 'the breastplate of judgment,' and the priest was said to bear the judgment of the children of Israel upon his heart when he went into the holy place. This breastplate he wore after his death in the sacrifice. The priest died once in the sacrifice, and after that bore the judgment of the children of Israel, i. e. their justification, upon his breast. They then stood legally judged, or justified, in the sight of God, and the breastplate was a sign of it. As the priest died for the Jews, so Christ died for all mankind. As after the priest's death he bore, in sight of all who looked for him, the judgment or justification of Israel on his heart, so Jesus, unto all who looked for him, appeared the second time, raised from the dead, bearing the judgment, or justification of all men upon his heart. For 'he was delivered for our offences, and raised again for our justification.' Rom. iv. 25.

T. W.

fore me. She appeared as if commissioned by Heaven to soothe my tortured spirit. I prostrated myself before the perhaps imaginary vision, and, for the first moment since I had occupied this dreary abode, my heart softened, and a shower of tears came to my relief; yea, and I was relieved. My soul became calm, and although every hope from this world was extinct in my bosom, yet I believed I should be better able to accommodate myself to whatever sufferings the Almighty might think proper to inflict. I passed the remainder of the night in endeavoring to fortify my mind; a pleasing melancholy took possession of my spirit. I drew consolation from remembering the time of suffering was not long; that there was a rest, a life of uninterrupted felicity beyond the grave; that of this rest, this life, no power on earth could deprive me; and that I ought therefore quietly to wait, and patiently to hope, for the salvation of my God. Thus, although my night had been sleepless, my mind became so calm, and my spirit so greatly refreshed, that when the keeper opened the door in the morning, to inform me, that in three hours he should lodge me in Newgate, 1 answered with unaffected composure: I am ready, sir.

In less than an hour, however, I had a new source of inquietude. My brother, William Neale, having received a hint of the arrest, had searched from place to place, until at length finding me, with tears of sympathy he reproached me, even in the presence of the woman, for not immediately summoning him to my relief. This female turnkey, observing the appearance of my brother, and the feeling manner in which he addressed me, began to hope, notwithstanding what she had termed my obstinacy, that they should reap some benefit from me after all. Why,' said William, 'did you not send for me immediately upon your entering this house?' 'Ay, dear sir, so I said: why, dear sir, said I, cannot you send for some of your friends? for I know'd as how the gentleman had many friends, and my husband would have gone himself to any part of the town, with all his soul. No one can ever say that we were backward in doing everything in our power to serve and oblige every gentleman that ever came into our house: and, though I say it, that should not say it, I believe there is not a house, in our way, in London, that has ever had more good people in it, as a body may say, than ours; and, says I, Lord, sir, says I, you need not for to make yourself uneasy; it is no crime, says I, to be in difficulty, or the like of that; the best people in the world, says I, are in the greatest difficulties, says I: I am sure, I have had my share of troubles and difficulties in this world, says I; but I had better, says I, have them here, than in a worse place; I hope I shall atone for all my sins here.' Thus did this creature's tongue run, and would have continued so to do, had not my brother asked if I had breakfasted. 'Ay, sir, I am glad to hear you say something of that. The poor gentleman has not seemed to care anything about eating or drinking: for my part 1 was frightened, in the dread of the poor gentleman's dying in the house: I would have urged him over and

over again; but said I, may be he will think as how that I mean my own interest, and so I did not care to say much about it; but, sir, the poor gentleman can't think you have any interest.' Get breakfast, ma'am.' 'Tea or coffee, gentlemen? 'Both, ma'am ; and, do you hear, let us have a private room.' 'Yes, sir.' When left alone, my friend and brother again reproached me for delaying my communications to him. I frankly told him that I was so far fiom being disposed to solicit his aid, that I seriously regretted he had discovered me; that I had no wish to involve my friends in my difficulties; that I would much rather continue a prisoner for the remainder of my life, than incur obligations which I had no prospect of discharging. 'Poh, poli,' said he, 'this is idle talk. You cannot believe you would be the only sufferer from your continuing endurance.' But I should not suffer long. You know not how long, however; drop the subject, here is breakfast; sit you down, and let us breakfast together; we will resume our subject by and by. Yes, William, we will resume our subject, by and by; but suffer me to observe, you shall not come under bonds on my account, neither shall you discharge my debts; consent to this stipulation, or I touch no breakfast. 'Pshaw, pshaw, how whimsical; but eat your breakfast man: I promise I will do neither. We then breakfasted in peace, and I derived a mournful kind of pleasure from the assurance, that I should not involve the brother of Eliza in my ruin. But, how great was my astonishment, when he ordered in the officer, who was also master of the house, when, after demanding and discharging his bill, he produced a receipt in full from my creditor, and a complete discharge for me. Thus was I liberated from the fangs of these harpies, and I accompanied this commiserating brother to his hospitable mansion, where he related to me the means by which he had discovered me.

Quitting this noble-minded friend, I hastened home to my suffering mother, who was in agonies on my account; ignorant where I was, or what was my situation, her apprehensions were of the most fearful kind. We mingled our tears, while she most affectionately endeavored to soothe me, and to bind up my broken heart; but my only remaining hope was, that, in this distempered state, I had not long to suffer. But, alas! here also I was deceived; long, very long have I continued, and with heart-felt sorrow, to tread this thorny maze. The brothers of my departed angel combined to help me forward; many plans were proposed for me; a sum of money was hired to place me, as a partner, in a mercantile house, and my brothers were my bondsmen! I detested the thought of new prospects from such a world as this, but, to my beloved William I was largely in debt; he had a growing fainily, and both gratitude, as well as justice, demanded I should make every effort for his remuneration. Thus I again became a melancholy man of business. It was supposed the road, not only to competency, but to affluence was open before me, and I was pronounced in flourishing circumstances. It was, for those who loved me, a pleasing dream; but

soon the golden vision vanished, and I awoke to the certainty of its being no more than a dream.

Again I returned to my lonely dwelling, pleased with the thought, that my solitude would no more be interrupted; again I detested the world, and all which it could bestow. Thus a few more melancholy months rolled mournfully away, and I expected to finish my days in the retirement, to which I was devoted. One consideration, however, still pressed heavily upon my mind. The very considerable sums, for which I was indebted to my generous brother, was to me a mighty burden; and this beloved brother, availing himself of my anxiety on this account, once more set me afloat. Many were the efforts, to which I consented; great were my mental sacrifices. But one expedient remained; it was a mournful expedient. I will not delineate. I pause; I throw a veil over many revolving months; let it suffice to say, my purpose was gained, my debts were paid, my pecuniary circumstances easy; but this was all. How mysterious are the ways of Heaven! how many torturing scenes I have passed through! But, blessed be God, I have passed through them. Thanks be to the Father of mercies, they can no more be reiterated. My newly acquired competency possessed no charms for me; I derived no satisfaction from anything around me. In fact, I had nothng in prospect, and hope seemed to have expired in my bosom.

CHAPTER V.

The bereaved man, quitting his native shores, embarks for America; indulging the fond hope of sequestering himself in the solitude, for which he sighed. But, contrary to his expectations, a series of circumstances combine to make him a Promulgator of the Gospel of God, our Saviour.

Death's sable pall o'er all my pleasures thrown,
My native isle to me a desert grown;

Sad and forlorn, to the new world I fled,
Amid its wilds to shield my widowed head.

HAVING, as has been described, laid the companion of my youth, the wife of my bosom, in the grave; my spirit still hovered round her tomb. It has been seen, that my life seemed devoted to misery; that I wept at all times, except when I turned my attention to that bright world, upon which, I imagined, I was verging; that I wished the act of putting a period to a weary life had ranked among the Christian virtues; that I never more passionately longed for any good, than for the period which was to put an end to my

existence; that I had but few acquaintance; that I wished not to form new connexions; that I was sick of the world, and all which it could bestow; that the retirement of my lonely dwelling was most acceptable to me; that I abhorred the thought of expecting any thing like happiness in this world; and, that I thus passed weeks and months, verily believing, that I should thus finish my days, which, I cherished a soothing hope, would soon be numbered.

Through those sad scenes of sorrow, to which I was condemned, I had one friend, one earthly friend, from whom I derived real consolation. This friend was Mr. James Relly, the man who had been made an instrument, in the hand of God, of leading me into an acquaintance with the truth, as it is in Jesus. This kind friend often visited me; and in conversing with him, I found my heart lightened of its burden; I could better bear the pitiless storm, that beat upon me, when strengthened by the example of this son of sorrow. We frequently conversed upon the things of the kingdom, and Mr. Relly, observing my heart much warmed and enlarged by these subjects, urged me to go forth, and make mention of the lovingkindness of God. No, no, I constantly replied, it is not my design again to step forth in a public character. I have been a promulgator of falsehood. 'And why not,' he would interrupt, a promulgator of truth? Surely you owe this atonement to the God, who hath irradiated your understanding by the light of his countenance." But no argument he made use of, was sufficiently strong to excite in my bosom a single wish, that I had either inclination or capability for a character so arduous; my heart's desire was to pass through life, unheard, unseen, unknown to all, as though I ne'er had been. I had an aversion to society; and, since I could not be permitted to leave the world, I was solicitous to retire from its noise and its nonsense; I was indeed a burden to myself, and no advantage to any body else; every place, every thing served to render me more miserable, for they led my mind to the contemplation of past scenes, Such was the situation of mind, when, at the house of one of Mr. Relly's hearers, I accidentally met a gentleman from America. I listened with attention to his account of the country in which he had so long resided; I was charmed with his description of its extent, its forests, its lakes, its rivers, its towns, its inhabitants, the liberty they enjoyed, and the peace and plenty which they possessed; I listened to every thing with astonishment; and I turned toward the new world my most ardent wishes. I communicated my desire to visit America to my mother, to my brethren. I was ridiculed for entertaining a project so chimerical. What, cross the Atlantic? For what purpose? To whom would I go? What could I do? What object could I have in view? I was unable to answer any of these questions; I had not a single acquaintance in America ; indeed I had no wish to make acquaintance; I had nothing in prospect, but a kind of negative happiness; I did not mean to commence a voyage in pursuit of bliss, but to avoid, if possible, a part of my misery.

of scenes never more to return.