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JUuni'r inn,
THE ELEMENTS OF DR. DODDRIDGE’S SUC
CESS, AS A PREACHER AND TEACHER.
Bat wh*t was the secret of Dr. Dod
dridge’s great success? He had * not ihe
rhetoric of Bates, the imagination of Ban
yan,-nr the massivw theology of Owen;’
and yet \is preaching and his publications
were as ttseiul as theirs. So far as we can
fieri it out, let us briefly indicate where his
greet strength lay.
A CLEAR AND ORDERLY MIND.
As already, hinted, we attach considerable
importance to his clear and orderly mind.—
He was an excellent teacher. At a glance
he saw every thing which couild simplify his
subject,’and hejiad self-denial sufficient to
(brege those good things which wou{4 only
encumber it. Hence, like his college lec
tures, his seriimrts were continuous and
straight-forward, and his hearers had the
comfort of accompanying him to a goal
which they Mid he constantly kept-in view,
it wasltis plan Dot only to divide his dis
courses, but to enunciate the divisions again
and again, till they were fully imprinted on
the memory;- and although such a method
would impart a fatal stiffness to many com
positions, in his manipulation it only added
dearness to his meaning, and precision to
his proofs. Dr. Doddridge’s was not the
simplicity of happy illustration. In his
writings you meet few of those apt allusions
which play over every line of Bunyan, like
the slant beams of evening on the winking
lids of the ocean; nor can you gather out of
his wriiirigssuch anecdotes as, like garnets
in some Highland mountain, sparkle in ev
ery page of Brooks and Flnvel. Nor was
it the simplicity of homely language, ft
was not the terse and self-co impending Sax
on, of which Latimer in one age, and Swift
in another, and Cobbett in our own, have
Veen the mighty masters, and through it
the masters of their English fellows. But
it vras the simplicity of clear conception and
Orderly arrangement. A text or topic may
t>e compared to a goodly apartment still
empty, atid which will be very differently
garnished according as you move into it
piece by piefce the furniture from a similar
chamber, or pour in pell-mell the contents
of a lumber attic. Most minds can appre
ciate order, and to the majority of hearers
it is a greater treat than ministers always
imagine, to get some obscure matter made
plain, or some confused subject cleared up.
With this treat Doddridge’s readers and
hearers were constantly indulged. Wheth
er they were things new or old, from the
orderly compartments of his memory he
fetched the argument or the quotation which
the moment wanted. He knew his own
mind, and told it in his own way, and was
always natural, arresting, instructive. And
even if, in giving them forth, they should
cancel the ticket-marks—the numerals by
which they identify and arrange their own
materials, authors and orators who wish to
convince and to edify must strive in the
first place to be orderly.
AN AFFECTIONATE SPIRIT —COMPARED WITH
JOHti FOSTER.
To this must be added a certain pathetic
affectionateness, by which all his produc
tions are pervaded. At the head of this ar
ticle we have placed together Doddridge
and Foster, because a Glasgow Majcenas
has effected the meeting. And no juxtapo
sition could better answer our purpose.—
Dogmatically, Foster was as evangelical as
the author of the Rise and Progress; in
sheer intellect he was immeasurably supe
rior; and in this long introductory essay,
without professing or designing it, he has
written something like a rival volume.—
But Foster complained that he knew wo in
stance in which he had been the means of
saving a soul; nor did this elaborate essay
furnish an exception. Nor can it be ascri
bed to want of earnestness. For tenacity
of purpose, cogency of argument, and so
lemnity of remonstrance, we know few ef
fusions equal to this remarkable appeal.—
|§ut there is a difference; the difference be
tween Esau, hard and hispid—and Jacob,
■oft and gentle. Each takes hold of the
reader and carries hjm resistlessly onward;
but in the one case he finds himself in the
grasp of a gauntlet—in the other, the hand
that holds his is like the mild clasp of one’s
mother. With Foster it is the ascendency
6( superior strength; with Doddridge it is
the might of tenderness. The brawny es
sayist is a schoolmaster, by the ear-tip lug
ging home the captive truant; the evangel
ist is a good shepherd, carrying back the
4trgy sheep on his shoulder rejoicing. And
fbofh represent two classes of orthodox
mreicherd—-the pastors and the pedagogues.
To the former class Doddridge belonged;
>Btid a greater than Doddridge—Paul.—
among his hearers, like a nurse
cherishing children, affectionately desirous
drihero,” and letting freely forth the yearn
ings with which his spirit was surcharged
-ms heart Was in his lips and eyes, his
Jtttfit Was in hW hand. But thany preach-
’
ers “know not xfrhat spirit they are of;” that
is, they have taken their doctrines from the
one dispensation, their spirit from the oilier.
They proclaim gospel tenets in a fulgorous
Sinaitic tone. The very texts which.con
vey towards guilty man the loving-kindness
of Heaven are converted into an angry ar
tillery; and the “joyful sound” of forgive
ness is shouted with clenched fists arid a
flashing - wonderful llva-t their
speedy is small? “He llHt winneth souk is
dri%o*s mcfffi Xvtsdom. There was some
thing in his’ temper and a fleet ions more
evangelical than even in his theology. His
remonstrances were compassionate; his re
proofs regretful amidst their faithfulness; his
warnings all thenvore solemn because of
their evident sympathy; and his exhorta
tions encouraging and alluring from the be
nevolent hopefulness with which they were
freighted.
HIS PERSONAL HOLINESS.
But we must go a little deeper. Macfi.
of the strength of Doddridge wafs-his person
al holiness. During the twenty years of his
Northampton ministry, it was his endeavor
to “walk with God.” Audit is a.spectacle
at once humbling and animating to mark
his progress, atid to see how that divinely
planted principle, which once struggled so
feebly with frivolity and self-indulgence
and the love of praise, had grown into “a
mighty tree.” Nor were liis immediate
bearers unaware of his personal piety and
his heavenly-mindedness. They knew how
unselfish and disinterested he was; how the
husband of an heiress, to whom he had
been guardian, made him a handsome pre
sent ns an acknowledgment for losses sus
tained by an overscritpulous administraiion
of her property; and how all the influence
which he possessed with noble and power
ful personages was exerted only on behalf
of others. They knew his pious industry,
and how Ihe hardest worker and the earli
est riser in all their town was the great doc
tor, ig.hotn so many strangers came to see
and hear. They knew his zeal for God,
and how dear to him was every project
which promised to spread his glory in the
earth; and how damping every incident by
which he saw God’s name dishonored.—
And in listening to him they all felt that he
was a man of God. And his readers feel
the same. They are constantly encounter
ing thoughts which they know instinctively
could only have been fetched up from the
depths of personal sanctity. The very texis
which he quotes are evidently steeped in
his own experience; and, unlike the second
hand truisms—the dried rose-leaves—with
which so many are content, his thoughts
have a dew still on them, like flowers fresh
gathered in fields of holy meditation.—
Even beyond his pathos there is something
subduing in Ins goodness.
niS DEVOTIONAL SPIRIT.
Yet we would not tell our entire belief
unless wu added the power of prayer.—
Some may remember the prayer at the com
mencement of ihe Rise and Progress. “Im
pute it not, 0 God, as a culpable ambition,
if I desire that this work may be completed
and propagated far abroad; that it may
reach to those that are yet tinhorn, and
teach them thy name and thy praise, when
the author has long dwelt in the dust. But
if this petition be too great to be granted to
one who pretends no claim but thy sover
eign grace, give him to be in thy Almighty
hand the blessed instrument of converting
and saving one soul; and if it be but one, !
and that the weakest and meanest, it shall !
be most thankfully accepted as a rich re
compense for all the thought and labor this
effort may cost.” And his secret supplica
tions were in unison with this printed pray
er. Besides other seasons of devotion, die
first Monday of every month was spent in
that “solitary place,” his vestry; and, de
ducting the time employed in reviewing the
past month, and laying plans for the new
one, these seasons were spent in prayer and
in communion with God. And none the
less for the accessory reasons already men
tioned, is it onr persuasion that the success
of his ministry, and the singular good ac
complished by his writings, are an answer
to these prayers. The piety of Doddridge
was as devout as it was benevolent; and to
his power with God he owed no small mea
sure of his power with men. Though ge
nius is longevity, and goodness is immor
tality, it is Providence alone which can pre
vent a name from perishing from off the
earth. That Providence has not only pre
served the name of Doddridge, but has giv
en to his writings a vitality shared by very
few of his religious or literary contempora
ries.—North British Review.
M ATTE R43fTf ACT \GE.
The matter of fact character of the nge is
thus hit off by Henry Ward Beecher in
one of his Lectures, and it seems indeed a
true picture. •A foreign writer remarked of
us that we were a nation of workers, and
on every house in the lane, there could be
seen an inscription, “No admittance except
on business .”
“This is nn age of matter-of-fact and
money-making. This fair earth, God’s tem
ple, has been converted into a counting
room. Glassy rivers are now only to sail
big ships on—green fields are only plough
ing grounds, at so much an aero—huge
mountains, so many cubic feet of copper or
coal—God’s lightuings are hired out by
the hour for the transmission of telegraphic
<tespateh£s, nd hie birds and flowers caught
Penfield, Georgia, Thursday, April 10, 18-51.
and caged, and exposed for sale in file
market place.”
SABBATH-SCHOOL TEACHER S PUAYEJR.
Nineteen years ago, in one of the princu
pal streets oflower New York, where.-at
prevent scarce else is heal'd but the din and
hustle of commerce, stood a little church.
Connected tfSjjrit was a flourishing Sun
day-school; ami Sabbatli alter Sabbath
might'be seen she ji trie chrMren, n.eatly at- 1
•4tnsds.-*nd with'rttfiHßMrtea -ift. their
pursuing their wav to this place of divine
instruction. - v t. . 1
In one comer of the leltoofiroom sat a
faithful teacher. Sabbath alter Sabbath,
through rain and shine, punctual and regu
lar, he might be seen at his post, surround
ed by his little flock. But though so faith*
tql in attendance and instruction, he per
ceived no fruit ot his labors, and began to
(eel sad and discouraged. “Why would
not the Lord bless him? Ho had been
(piihfut. Why could he not have one ot
those infant sopjs eagerly inquiring for the
Savior? Was God untrue to his promise?
Had Jesus Christ ceased to love the liitle
child?”
. ’Twas thus the teacher reasoned with
■himseH, as one day he slowly paced his way
homeward, from that Sabbath-school. lie
retired lo his room, and silting down alone,
again thought of his inlant souls, and how
he might awaken them to a sense of their
peril, and a Snvior's love. His instruction,
lie thought, had perhaps been too general;
had not pressed the gospel truth individual
ly enough, upon the minds of his dear chil
dren. True he had spoken lo them of their
souls’ salvation, and the love ol Christ—hut
it had been only in a general way; and be
ing taken in a general way, it seemed to
produce little or no affect, “I have not,”
said lo,“perhaps been sufficiently pointed
in my remonstrances and entreaties with
them lo come to Christ.”
Thinking thus within himself, lie deter
mined henceforth to make his instructions
more direct and personal to the minds ol his
little flock. In that teacher’s class was a
little boy, whose attendance was almost as
regular as that of his instructor. He loved
his teacher, and his teacher loved him, and
never met him, but that ihe face ol little
Theodore became radiant with delight.
Now. in this determination to individual
ize bi instruction, tl.e Jpcacjoer had selected
that litrle boy as the one W’ftTi whom he
should first commence his new method. He
thought within himself, “How can I best
accomplish it? it would hardly dotomake
him the principal subject and point ol in
struction nnd remark, before the whole
class; and yet the lime would hardly allow
lor such instruction to e very other member.
Jl he could see little Theodore alone, do
ling the week, he might perhaps more ef
fectually succeed in impressing his youth
ful mind,and so, in turn, the minds ol his
utiicr little children.
On the following Sabbath, the. efore, af
ter the completion ol I lie lesson, lie turned
to the little boy, who always sat at his right,
and told him to call at Ins room, on such an
afternoon of the week. Theodore retired
lo his home, thinking all the way what it
could be the teacher w'anted of him. “Per
haps he has some little present to give me
—some little memorial ol his friendship and
love.”
Wednesday afternoon came round, arid
at the appointed hour was lienrd the rap at
the door. He entered, and found his teach
er silling all alone in one corner of the room,
serious and thoughtful. The little boy laid
down his hat, and seated himself by his
side.
“Theodore.” said the teacher, “do vju
know why I have asked you here this niter
noon? 1 want to speak to you on a very
solemn and important subject, and that sub
ject is your soul’s salvation.”
The"little boy’s heart was moved, as his
teacher proceeded to tell him of a Savior’s
love, (and yet it was nothing more or less
then had been reiterated to him Sabbath af
ter Sabbath;) and still more moved and
melted te tears, as side by side he knelt vvitii
that teachei before the throne of grace. Oh,
with what earnestness did lie there plead lor
the soul of h.H little scholar! It pierced the
boy’s heart. It fell like seed imperishable
into broken soil.
Years passed on. That teacher and
scholar had been separated, perhaps forev
er. That little boy had grown up to man
hood. He was still unregenerate and world
ly. Oh where was that teacher’s prayer!
Had it been poured for naught. Had that
private remonstrance been of no avail?—
Ah.no! It had sent a thriil through that lit
tle child's heart, which was enduring. It
had touched a cord which continued to vi
brate long after all other of that teacher’s
remarks and instructions had been forgot
ten It had penetrated deep into his soul,
and there it lay imperishable—engraven ns
wiih n pen of iron. That earnest, supplica
ting voice still resounded in the dark cham
bers of his heart. The earnest, agonizing
look of that praying teacher’s countenance
seemed interwoven in the very texture of
his soul.
There as a sentinel it stood, amid the en
croachments of temptation; amid the follies
and delinquencies of youth, gently remon
strating and chiding by its presence. How
often, when about to yield to sin, had the
thought of that prayer suddenly risen up, as
a spirit ol the past, to restrain him from the
intended evil!
But that was riot all. That prayer not
THE TROTH rifloVE.
swered, but not forgotten by tin/God “of
| n^'i^yoyo
; offered for that soul, and we know that “the
| prayer of foith nvailetli much.”
i Nineteen long yea/s have sped away,
since scholar and teacher bent together bc
! foi the mercy seat. That teacher’s name
long since been forgotten. The coun
teriancesof those class-mates, of the superin
tendent, and- minister of that Sunday-school
and church, have long since faded from the
memory of the past, and sunk into deep ob
livion. But that last prayer will never—
can never be forgotten. Like an oasis, it
stands forth amid the desert of youthful fol
ly and sin, n beacon light on the dark shore
ot the past—a monument upon which is in
scribed “a Sabbath-school Teacher's faith
fulness and love.”
Sabbath-school Instructor! Do yon wish
for success in your labors? Do you seek to
sow imperishable seeds of truth, and create
enduring impressions upon the youthful
minds of your little flock? Let your instruc
tions and warnings and entreaties to the
members of your little class, be more per
sonal and direct. The common method of
instruction is not enough. Each one ap
plies it to the other—noone to himself. En
deavor to individualize your instructions and
re mu ik*. Hi at and light concentrated, are
tenfold more powerful than diffused. And
if God sees riot fit immediately l<> reward
your efforts, lie not discouraged. You may
lie sowing seed, which, alter you are dead
and gone—after your name and counte
nance bare long since been forgotten upon
earth—may spring up a glorious harvest to
your Redeemer’s praise. —Christ. Observer.
A SERMON FOR THE YOUNG.
Itemcmber note thy Creator in the days of lliy
youth.’’ Eccl. xii. 1.
I. What is it to remember your Creator?
(I.) Not simply to know about him; not
simply to he made acquainted with the fact
of his silence; not simply to have a knotti
er! go of his wonderful character, acts and
designs. This is all important, but not
what is intended in the text.
(2.) Not simply to think about him. You
may often think of God, what lie is, and
wliat he has done, and yet not remember
him at all according lo the meaning of this
passage of Scripture.
(3.) It is to heed his commands and obey
him; to do what lie requires ol’ you; to
take notice of all that he has taught respect
ing himselfand respecting your own wick
ed heart, with the distinct purpose of follow
ing the'course which he has |>oirited out.
11. Why should you do this in the days
of your youth?
(1.) Because it is the most convenient time.
It is a lime when your minds are most apt
to he tender and susceptible; when you are
enabled to feel deeply on the subject of reli
gion. If you live a lew years longer in sin,
you will find that your heart has become
hardened, and those warm and lively emn
lions which now visit you, will, in a great
measure, have ceased.
It is a time when you are most free from
care. Erelong the businessof the world
will eorfie upon you, and you will then be
very likely to think that you have no time
whatever, to give to religion
It is a time when you are most Iree from
temptation. You may fancy that the tem
tations to neglect this work are very strong
now, hut rest assured, they will grow strong
er as you grow older.
(•2.) It is the most suitable time. By re
membering your Creatoi now, you wi'l give
the “dew of vour youth” unto the Lord.—
There is something mean in trying to cheat
God out of til! the freshness and vigor ol
your life, giving to him only your days of
weakness, age and infirmity.
(3.) It is the only time of which you are
cerlain. It is more than possible that your
life is to he very short. It is more than
possible that you are even now drawing
near to the end of your course, and that if
you do not give to Ihe Lord the days of
your youth, you will have no other to give
him.
REMARKS.
1. If you obey the injunction in the text,
you will never regret it.
If you live a long life o i earth, you will
always be glad that you began to serve
God early. Arid when you reach the eter
nal world it will always he a source of joy
and consolation to you, that you entered in
to the service ot God when you were
young. *
2. If you do not obey the injunction in the
text, ydfi will always regret it.
II yon should chance at some distant day,
after many years of impenitence and sin
have passed, to make your peace with God,
it would be a source of shame to you that
you did not begin earlier to serve and hon
or your Maker. But if your life should
pass away in impenitence, and you should
go to llie eternal world unprepared, Oh!
then you would never cease to bewail arid
lament, that you did not give heed to this
call ol the Lord, and in these peaceful and
happy days which he is now giving you
thut you did not acquaint yourselves with
ready;-’
Susan WiliiamSNiVns the eldest of a large j
family of brothers dwelling irf j
a iltie cottage not far frtjm B— . She
was a dressmaker by trade, sod went t. the
% rt y zTi l
mm i
alter her long day’s work and weary walk, \
which she thought very hard; but she made !
no effort to render her home more comfort- j
able by the sacrifice of a. portion of those j
earnings which, little ns they were, rpight i
have been spent better than in the Cheap
finery with which, in imitation of her com- :
panions, she took pleasure in adorning her- ;
self.
When Susan came in of an evening, nnd :
threw herself on a chair declaring that she
was tired totler.ftiAshe never thought that !
her mother might be wetiry*also,ornfferedto
lighten her work and cares.’ As that’ fond j
and too indulgent mother said, “Who could ‘
expect it, poor tiling, when she had been
working hard all day?” But although.j
Susan could never-find time'to help iter ;
mother, she would often sit for a long time
trimming and re-iritiimi.ngfier straw bonnet, j
or altering her dress to the last new fashion, i
Proud of her personal appearance, and de
lighting in every opportunity of displaying 1
herself,thoughtless, weak, and easily led in- |
to evil, Susan Williams became a disobedi- !
ent and ungrateful child, an unkind sister, 1
and an ha hi tun 1 Sabbath-breaker, having no I
hope, nnd without God in the world.
Her favorite companion was a young girl 1
residing in lhe same village, and working
at the same house, who used to call for her 1
every morning in order that they might
walk” into B ~ together. As Airs.
Williams said, “It was as good ns a clock to
hear Ann’s cheerful voice calling out so
punctually at the same hour, ‘Susan! Susan!
are you ready?’” And to do Susan justice,
she seldom kept, her waiting very long, and
was frequently at the door, or window,
looking out for her.
Thus it happened one beautiful summer
morning. Susan was'leaning idly from the
window, listening to the singing ol the birds,
when a man, carrying a coffin upon his
shonHer, stopped just beneath her to rest.
‘•Poor Mary Grant!” said he to a neigh
bor, wiping bis hot brow as he spoke, and
iiis eyes loo,unobserved, “poor Mary Grant!
It wds very sudden. Oidv three days ago
my girls met her at a dance, and she
was the merriest of them all. She died in
the night, and so quietly, that her sister, who
slept with her, never heard a sound. What j
a solemn tiling death is!” j
“Susan! Susan!” called out Ann, from be- I
neath the window, “are you ready?”
Susan drew back and shuddered. Some- j
how it did not seem like Ann’s voice. The j
question rang in her ears like a warning,
and haunted her throughout the whole day. i
It so happened that Ann was detained at
B and as the girl walked home alone j
in the still evening, she had time for much j
serious thought. Every tomb in the old j
village churchyard, through which she had I
hitherto passed so heedlessly, seemed to !
have a voice on that night, and to exclaim 1
in solemn tones, “Susan! Susan! are you ,
ready.”
It pleaded God to make the sudden death
of poor Mary Grant one of the means of
awakening Susan, who was but a year
younger, to such deep convictions of her
own lost and sinful stale, and her need of a
Savior, that she soon afterwards became
completely altered. Her sisters and young
companions, won by Iter example were con
strained to admit that religion is something
more titan a name, and acknowledged its
power and reality in her changed charac
ter. It would be well if all believers wereas
careful as Susan became to adorn thedoctrine
of God Iter Savior in all tilings, and sobring
glory to his name who bad redeemed her to
himself.
Her little earnings now, instead of being
spent upon Iter own personal adornment,
were laid out, in the first instance, upon the
purchase of anew gown for her mother,
whose only excuse for not attending church
was the want of a decent dress in which to
i appear. A pleased and happy mother was
’ Mrs. Wilburns when she put it on for the
first time, but not nearly so happy as Sosnn.
| Alter this many little comforts gradually
! found their way into the cottage: the last
: of which we heard was a large family Bi
! ble, with so good a print that her mother can
| see to read it aloud to her children on the
i Sabbath day, even without her spectacles,
j aye, and on week days also, ever since Su
j sail, who is so handy with her needle, has
I taken to mending, after sho comes home
at night. How true it is that n willing
mind can find time for anything.
Not very long ago, Susan had a severe
illness which brought her to the brink of
the grave. Deatli knocked at the door,
I and called out Susan! Susan! are you rea
‘ dy?” and trusting in her Savior’s merits,
l the young girl could answer, “Yes,” with
out tear. Nay, she could even exclaim in
joyful triumph, “Come Lord Jesus! come
i qu.cklv! Thanks be to God, which giveth us
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ! ’
‘•Reader! reader! are you ready?” Have
you fled for relitge to the hope set before
you in the gospel? Have
did, renounced the error of your ways, ac
i knowledgcd ycuf misdoings, and come to
kM SLAIN, Printer.
/• . , . - *'VtT
vou U as Suddenly sis did fcrjj&r Mary
inquired of tb ioTif
rni rn, . • _
THE LAPLAND*MISSIOXARV.
sary tor life; and, what is worse, they bavij
not a knowledge of rha true God,ftnd His
Son Jesus Christ; and no one for a long time,
thought of going to tell these pp<>r Laplan
ders about Jesus Christ, who died to save
them.
It was about seventeen years ago Ilia l a
Swede, named Tollstrom, had been reading
a book which told of the sad state of spir
itual darkness of the Laplanders, and he
felt a strong desire to go and preach thts
gospel to them. This man, Tellstorm, hadi
himself lived without God; hut he was con
vinced of sin while hearing the Rev. George
Scott preach iii Stockholm; and lie anxious-
Jy put the question, ‘‘What must I do to be
saved?” He was a journeyman
and had been used to work on thfc Sabbath;
but that lie might be able to go to chtipel
011 the Sabbath, he gave up orife-sevfciuli
of his scanty food and wages. His growth
in grace, after he had found peace with
God, was most encouraging. He was soon
engaged in various efforts to do good; and
when he read of the wants of the Lapland
ers, he told Mr. Scott he very much wished
to go to them.
But there were many difficulties in the
way. “How can you learn the language?’’
said Mr. Scott to lum, “it is very difficult.”
“I have thought of this,” - he replied; “and
i heard there was a Lappish Grammar pub
lished many years ago; and, after a great
deal of trouble, I found one amongst the
lumber of an old book shop. I found, also,
a Lappish New I'estament. I have been
trying the language, and I firmly believe I
shall be able to master it.” “But,” said
Mr. Scott, “Me cold is so much greater in
i Lapland than in Stockholm, and you can
not get the same shelter and comfort as you
jdo here.” “I have thought of that, too,”
i he said, “and during the late severe weath
-1 er, I have gone up and down the stone
i stairs, that I might try whether I could bear
! the cold. I have not suffered at all; and I
1 am convinced that, in this respect, I anl
specially fitted for Lapland.” “What will
you do for food? You will get no bread or
I vegetables; all that you will have will he
the flesh of the rein-deer, smoked, or other
wise prepared.” “This,” said lie, “has not
given me a thought. I have been none the
worse for fasting once a week that I might
secure my precious Sabbaths; and if God
send me to Lapland, He will support me
there ” “But how will you hear the soli
tude? You may sometimes be placed where
for many dreary miles you could not meet
with a spiritual friend.” He was moved at
this, and said, “I seem too young a convert
to be removed from the careful nursing of
the Christian church. I feel how much I
need this; and yet, if God be directing my
steps to Lapland, my soul may certainly
rely on that word, ‘Lo. I am with you al
wuy, even to the end of the world;’ and if
Jesus be with me, is not this enough?”
REMARKABLE POW*ER OF MEMORY.
Facts compel the author to believe that
the powers of the memory are only hound
ed by the extent of its cultivation. Os the
extent of its natural capabilities, he has the
highest ideas. Indeed, he regards its powd
ers as almost infinite. Innumerable facts
tending to establish this conclusion, lie has
witnessed and experienced. On requesting
the South Boston Omnibus drivers to do er
rands in Boston, he observed that they took
no memoranda, yet committed no errors;
though they often do a score of errands at a
trip. The second time I went to Boston
post office, the delivering clerk, without
, looking over the letters and papers, said
there was none for me. I requested him to
| look, which he did, meanwltiie remarking
I that it was useless, but found none.
scores of times, the moment he me, re
: sponded that there was something or noth
j for me, without my oping able to detect a
j single mU.dite. Mr. VVorthen, baker, Man-
I fl, ester, N. H., serves about three hun
dred customers, two-thirds of whom take
more or less every morning; he sets noth
ing down till ho returns home, after having
: visited one-half ol them: yet lie forgot not
i one loat. A man in Halifax, N. S., enfi
; tell at onee the name and age ol every in
habitant in town, younjjand old. Alter de
| livering a lecture at Clinton Hall,on theim
provement of memory, one ol ibe audience
said that a cattle drover of New York, who
could neither read nor write, alter having
sold out large droves to different butchers,
kept their numbers, price, and every thing
in Itis mind, and could go round months af
terwards, and settle from memory, without
ever having been known to forget anything.
Persons who cannot read nor write have
astonishing memories—several hundred per
cent, better than others. The reasdh is.
in business transactions they are compelled
to remember, and thus strengthen ibis facul
ty. indubitable and universal facts com
pel (lie belie! that the human mifld is consti
tuted and capacitated, provided body
were kept in the right state, and this facul
ty disciplined in ths best manner, to recall
every event ol life.— Fowler on Memory,
giyn iif*! ■ ioj