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From the London Methodist Magazine.
ILLUSTRATION OF LUKE XXTII. 45, “ The Sun
was darkened .”
“ Behold 1 what wonders mark his death :
Wheure are these prodigies! What but the band
Os God can shake the pillars of the earth,
Seal up the sun, and rend these rocks in twain,
Turn day to night, tear down the temple's vail,
Breakup the graves, ‘ nud bid the saints come
forth.”
Os all the miracles recorded in Scripture,
none more deserves our attention, or per
haps is less regarded, than the eclipse that
happened at the death of Christ. This
eclipse was astonishing beyoud conception,
and could only be produced by preternatur
al agency. For we may learn from the
Sacred Writings, ‘hat the moon was full,
and consequently there could be no regular
eclipse of the sun at that time, yet the
darkness ivas great, and all nature seemed
he in convulsions. We find the fact no
ticed by several philosophers and historians
of those times. It was observed by Lucian,
by Phlpgon, the freed-man of the F.mpe
rour Adrian, by Dionysius, and by Phile
mon in Egypt, who, in particular, was so
Struck with this surprising phenomenon,
that he cried out in the utmost astonish
ment, “ Either the world is destroyed, or
the God of nature suffers.”
That this darkness was preternatural,
and not occasioned by the conjunction or
opposition of any of the heavenly bodies, as
some. thrngh ignorance, have supposed,
I shall endeavour to shew, as it is as capa
ble of a mathematical demonstration as aoy
proposition in Euclid.
First, then, an eclipse may be of two
kinds, eitlv r olar or lunar. A solar
eclipse, or what is commonly called an
eclipse of the sun, is occasioned by the in
terposition of the opaque body of the moon
between the earth and the sun, and can
happen only when the moon is new. As
the moon passes between the earth and the
sun, if she hide the whole body of the son
from us, it is called a total eclipse ; when
•he hides only part of the sun, it is called
a partial eclipse. \ A lunar eclipse is occa
sioned by the interposition of the earth be
tween the moon and the sun, whose sha
dow then often falls on the moon, and de
prives her of light; this can happen only
when the moon is in opposition to the sud,
or full.
Now it is plain, that, had the moon been
new when Christ suffered, the darkness
•would not have been so wonderful, as the
sun might then possibly have been eclipsed.
But the moon, as I before observed, was full
& of course in the opposite part of her orbit;
had there been any eclipse at that time, it
must have been a lunar one, and even that
would have been invisible at Jerusalem.
It is thus demonstrated that the moon could
not cause the darkness ; and as it is known
from experience, that there is no other
||>lanet between the earth and the sun capa
ble of eclipsing that glorious luminary, we
(oust pronounce that (he darkness which
THE MISSIONARY.
happened at the death of Christ was a phe
nomenon not to be accounted for in any oth
er way than by the interference of iufinite
power and wisdom ! The snn cannot be
darkened but by the interposition of some
opaque body, or a miracle from God. The
sun-was darkened without the interposition
of aey opaque body : Therefore, that dark
ness must immediately arise from the aerea
cy of God.
Such was ene among the many miracles
which attended the death of Him, at whose
presence the pillars of heaven tremble,
the sun and stars fade away, the earth
melts, and the deep-rooted mountains are
no more ; and whom, ere long, we shall
behold coming clothed with majesty on (he
clouds of heaven, to reward every man ac
cording to his works!
—-o02o:ae:oz
From the London'Baptist Magazine.
Woman in India ; a Poem ; Part /. Female
Influence. By John Lawson , Missionary
at Calcutta. Foolscap. Bvo. Ij. 6 d.
Lawson.
The subject of this poem is calculated to
excite a deeper and more intense interest
than perhaps any other. To us, woman is
associated with every thing that is lovely;
and in relation to our temporal concerns,
regarded as the happiest boon of heaven.
It has been justly remarked by the cele
brated L e< tyard, that women, in all coun
tries, are civil and obliging; that they are
ever inclined to be gay and cheerful, tim
orous and modest. They do not hesitate,
like men, to perform a generous action.
“ To a woman, (he observes) whether civ
ilized or savage, I never addressed myself
inJanguage of deceocy and friendship, with
out receiving a decent and friendly answer*
In wandering over the barren plains of in
hospitable Denmark, through honest Swe
den and frozen Lapland, rude and churlish
Finland, unprincipled Russia, and the wide
spread regions of the wandering Tartar, if
hungry, dry, cold, wet or sick, the women
have ever been friendly to me, and uni
formly so.”
Indian women, whose degraded state had
long outraged every feeling of humanity,
are not less susceptible of these amiable
qualities. We could easily mention nume
rous instances of the most exemplary piety
and devoted affection of these unhappy
women; and it would be difficult to select
from ancient or modern history, a more
striking instance of genuine piety and he
roick bravery than is narrated of a Hindoo
woman of the vilest description, in our Pe
riodical Accounts.
The poem before us, onr respectable Au
thor informs us, was undertaken in behalf
of this most interesting hut degraded por
tion of the female sex; and it is his ulti
mate design 11 to exhibit woman with re
spect to the influence she possesses, (to
which the part published is devoted) the
excellency to which she may attain; the
state of degradation in which she is some
times found; and the obligations, especially
of the Christian female, to lift the voice of
pity against the revolting miseries of her
sex in these heathen lands.”
This poem, like “ Orient Harping,' 1 is
very desultory; but is not eu that account
loss interesting. A mind strongly imbued
with the most amiable qualities, and earn
estly engaged for the best interest of man
kind, is most conspicuous throughout. The
minstrel attuning his lyre in the scorching
regions of the East, and every where sur
rounded by the most abominable and revolt
ing scenes of idolatry, cruelty, and lust,
pays a tribute to his uative country, retrac
ing the scenes of infancy, and recollections
of former times, in such a manner as must
excite the sympathy of every feeling mind.
Dr. Johnson observes, “as every man's
performance, to he rightly estimated, must
be compared with the opportunities and ob
jects with which he is surrounded, curiosity
will ever be excited to discover how much
must be ascribed to original powers, and
how much to casual and adventitious help.”
It has been said, that some of our most pop
ular poets of the present day have repaired
to the lakes, that their delineations’ might
exhibit the vivid freshness and reality of
the scenery with which they were sur
rounded. Whatever effect they may have
produced by these advantages, we think
the following “ Farewell to England ” (of
which we can only extract a part) will
yield t* none in pathos and accurate de
scription.
“ 0 not for me,
Far distant England, do thy proud trees lift
Their various verdure to the vigorous suu,
That beams but blasts not; neither for these eyes
Do thy rich luxuries of prospect spread
Thy breadth of glory rusticb and refined }
For I have said farewell—farewell forever,
Scenes of my early days, by me no more
Revisited.”
During the progress of this poem, our
amiable Author was visited with a heavy
dornestick affliction in the death of his child,
which, as he observes, 44 unexpectedly fur
nished him with a mournful exemplification
of some of the principles advanced.” To
those of our readers who have lost a darl
ing child, the following beautiful apostro
phe must be touchingly and exquisitely af
fecting.
“ O she is gone !
The cherub hasted to its uative home.
All wasting death hath triumphed o'er my child.
GO YE INTO ALL THE WORLD AND PREACH TUB GOSPEL TO EVERY CREATURE-3 ksus Christ.
MOUNT ZION, (HANCOCK CO. GA.) MONDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1821.
Sweet wither'd Jflly t thou wast riven, and flung
Across my shaking knees, a lovely wreck
Os innocence and beauty. Long 1 saw,
Long, long, the fearful presage hang about
Her beauteous features, dark'ning round her eyes.
But they would smile with gladdening lore upon
me.
Tome thou wast a plaything beyond price.
Health in thy countenance, and sprightliness
In all thy motions, made thee like a being
Os fancy sporting in a pleasant deam !
O ‘twas too like a dream I Thy yellowish locks
Os shining hair, parting with infant grace
Upon thy snowy forehead, and tty soilings,
Pleading expressively when.thou wouldst play.
With my fair sea-shells tinged with blushing stains
Like thy own ruby lips, aud thyclear voice
So musical and merry, with thy arms,
All plump and white entwined around my neck,
Glow on my anguish'd mind, while I remember
Thy labouring breath when dying ; and tby pale
Shivering and sickly hands, which could no longer
Grasp the cold cup of water ; and that look
That plaintive look, which spoke a thousand
words
Os calm, unutterable fondnrss. Mute
Became thy little tongue ! Forever quenched
In settled dimness were thy sorrowful eyes.
Upraid nie not! Speak notpf the greatsoul,
Nor shame these burning teats! May not stern
man
One moment weep? I couidnot then control
The tumult of my heart, when death had done
Such deadly work.
Stay ! stay, thy heavenwardfight!
‘ ; y girl, O breathe again ! I’ll bear thee fat
hrom this ungenial clime, and lay thee down
Midst fragrant honeysuckles, where the fields
Are flush with all that blooms to give thee health.
Thy fingers too shall pluck the earliest violets,
Clustering together in theirgreen recesses,
While the Iresh scent of earth shall strengthen thee
And thou with God’s good blessing shalt rejoice,
And bound with infant merriment upon
The beautiful meadows, and shall laugh to see
Thy dimpled likeness down in the glassy brook !
—O that was wildly spoken, for I clasp thee
Cold, cold and lifeless to my bursting boeom !
Still 1 would smile upon thee, O my love,
And thiuk of thee sped to thy better home.
Nightly thy prayers were innocently lisped,
Well taught by her who brought thee forth.
Farewell !
Thou blossom of my hope—hut not forever,
For I have heard thee talk of holy angels
Walking upon the cloudy plains on high ;
Oft have I heard thee sing their blessed song,
Faint hallelujahs swelling on thy lips,
The tender preludes of maturer hymns.”
After what tve have quoted, it will be al
most needless to say we think Mr. Law
son's poetry is of * very superiour order.
His thoughts are vigorously and happily
expressed ; his delineations are correct,
and he adjusts his pictures in the finest
light. But what is of much greater impor
tance, his powers are uniformly and scru
pulously consecrated'to the cross. We
therefore feel much pleasure in recom
mending this poem tc our fair readers, not
only on account of it intrinsick merit, but
with a view to stimulate them to that exer
tion commensurate tp tjie importance of the
subject. Many of opr most valuable insti
tutions owe their origin to female influ
ence, and to that source must be attributed
the principal blessings of domestick life ;
and as Mr, Lawson happily expresses it,
“ Where she dwells,
The angel of our homei in sovereign meekness,
A woman as she shouldbe, guiding still
The immortal mind committed to her trust,
The commonwealth is at her beck, and nations
Rise proudly o’er the wastes of savage being.”
From the Methodist Magazine,
ACCOUNT OF A CAMP-MEETING
held on Long-Island, New York state, from
the Ith to the 13lA of August, 1821.
The first day was spent principally in
landing and erecting the tents. On Wed
nesday, there were an usual eumber assem
bled from New-York, New-Haven, and
from various parts of the country. At one
time there were counted 37 sloops in the
harbour, besides two steam-boats from the
city, one of which was coming and return
ing every day during the meeting. On
one day, it was judged that there were not
less than 10.000 people on the ground.
The solemn exercises commenced under
very favourable auspices, a spirit of solem
nity and fervent devotion pervading the
assembly. At 10 o’clock, P. M. most of
the people obeyed the summons, and retir
ed to rest, and the ground was cleared of
stragglers. The united prayers of so
many kindred souls, who were apparently
aiming at the same things, could not but
afford anticipations of the Divine power in
the awakening and conversion of souls.
Accordingly, on the second day of the
1 meeting, some gave evidence of their de
sire to escape from their sins and lay hold
on eternal life. These became the sub
jects of prayer; and many of God’s people
were engaged in this laborious and delight
ful exercise. That God heard their pray
ers, was manifested by the songs of praise
which ware heard in the Camp.
In this way the meeting progressed, evi
dently under the “good will of Him who
dwelt in the bushj” until the last night,
when a more manifest 1 appearance of the
Immanuel was witnessed. By this time
many sinners were deeply wounded by the
14 sword of the Spirit,” and brought to cry
aloud for mercy. In addition to a large
praying circle which was formed on the
ground in the open air, in which hundreds
were engaged in singing and prayer, there
were several prayer-meetings in'tents. In
all these there were more or less of mourn
ing penitents, earnestly groaning for de
liverance from the bondage of corruption.
Several of these, in the course of the even 1 •
ing, were enabled to testify that God had
taken away their sins. The scene, indeed,
was solemn and delightful, beyond descrip- !
lion. The burning lamps, the shadowy 1
grove, the surrounding tents, the solemn 1
prayers, the concentrated notes of many 1
voices singing praises to God and the Lamb, 1
and the piercing moans of penitent sinners, 1
excited those mingled emotions, which are 1
better felt than described.
After being a short time in one of the
prayer-meetings, about twelve o’clock at
night I sealed myself at the door of mv
tent, in a solitary mood, and indulged my
self in silent reflections. 1 had but few
interruptions, as all were either engaged in
the solemn exercises of the evening, or re
posing in their tents under the protection
ot Him who never slumbers nor sleeps.
The pleasing sensations which were ex
cited by/surrounding objects, may be real
ized by those who have been accustomed
to ascend through things which are seen to
those which are not seen ; and in the midst
of the most profound contemplation of Him
whose perfections spread a glow of uncre
ated glory amidst the heavens, feel a con
scious sense of the communication of His
Spirit. To indulge in those speculations
which a cold calculating philosophy might
suggest, was not at all suited to the place I
occupied. The mind at once overleaped
the bounds of all material objects, and rang
ed through those fields of space, unoccu
pied by all but Him who filleth all in all.
A ray of the Divine glory shed such a lus
tre around, as to eclipse the glory of ail
created objects, and the mind,-as if moved
by a secret and irresistible impulse, refused
to dwell upon any thing of a terrestrial na
ture. The God who holds the destinies of
worlds in His hands, containing myriads of
intellectual beings, all alike the objects of
His care, for some moments was the sole
object of contemplatipn.
“All knowing!—all unknown !—and yet well
known!
Near, though reiLote ! and. though unfathom'd,
felt!
And, though invisible, forever seen !
And seen in all———
Each flower, each leaf—”
“ How shall 1 name Thee ?—How my labouring
soul
Heaves underneath the thought, too big for birth!”
Os causes mighty ! Cause uncaused ! Sole root
Os nature, that luxuriant growth of God !”
“Father of these bright millions of the
night,
Os which the least, full Godhead ’tad proclaim’d,
And thrown the gazer on his knee.”
How awful was this hour! Abstracted
from tbe world around me, all my powers
were lost in the contemplation of Deity.
Descending from this lofty summit, where
the soul caught fire from the altar of God,
my mind was tuned to the harmony of de
votion. I listened! The voices of many
were heard. They echoed through the
grove, and were carried off in pleasing
melody on the waves of the surrounding
waters. Among others the voices of mourn
ing sinners, were mingled with the ardent
intercessions of God’s people. The tong
of triumph heightened the melody, and
gave a zest to the pleasure of contempla
tion.
The only interruption to this pleasure
was, the voice of mirth and blasphemy
from the mouths of some sons of bel>al,
who occasionally approached the sncrcd
encampment. A sense of their unhappy
stale served to moderate my joy, and to
excite an involuntary sigh, on account of
the folly and madness of thoughtless men.
What a pity that any should so far forget
their true dignity as to sport with sacred
things, and make the worship of God an
opportunity for accumulating wealth! Th?
thought, that probably some of these mis
taken men might yet become objects of
the divine displeasure, spread a temporary
gloom over the clear sky now illuminated
by the radiant beams from the Sun of
Righteousness. This, however, could not
last long. Bodies do not tend to the centre
by the inscrutable law of gravitation more
forcibly, than mind, touched by the attract
ing love of Jesus Christ, moves towards
the heavenly world, and rests, almost with
equal trunquillity, as the ocean when un
moved by a breath of wind.
Pursuing, therefore, the train ofthought,
first excited by that Spirit which breathed
into man a living soul, 1 began to estimate
the amount of good which might result from
this meeting. The accidental as
they originated from the depravity of man,
and were brought into operation by those
unfriendly to the cause of piety, I could not
charge to the account of Camp Meetings.
Upon a fair estimation, therefore, these
subtract nothing from the total amount of
good. But I had hardly begun the calcu
lation, whgn a messenger brought the
heart-cheering intelligence of the conver
sion of some youths, who had been long
struggling under the mighty load of sin.
They ’ were now emancipated. Here,
then, are more immortal souls to be taken
into the account. How shall I make the
estimate ? By what rule shall 1 calculate?
The worth of a soul is to be the first thing
to estimate. But,
“ Knowest thou the importance of a soul immor
tal!
Behold the midnight gloryworlds on worldal
Amazing pomp !”■
“ One soul outweighs them all!”
If this -be so, who can estimate the whole
amount of good, when scores of these im
mortal souls are brought to a saving knowl
edge of the truth? Baffled thus in my at
tempts to ascertain the benefit which might
result from these solemn exercises, after
feasting awhile upon the thought of their
eternally praising God for having attended
this meeting, I retired, about 2 o’clock in
the morning, to rest; but the mind was
too eager to suffer “ balmy sleep” to sever
tbe chain of thoughts, now stretching
around the encampment.
It had already been ascertained that a
number of those who had become the sub
jects of converting grace, were the children
of pious parents. With the consent of their
parents they bad come to this meeting, and
were now prepared to return, and “ tell
how great things the Lord had done for
them.” Tt,e work, however, was not con
fined to these. Many stout-hearted sinners
were brought to tremble, and to supplicate
for mercy. How many were awakened,
how many converted, and how many were
aroused to activity in the cause of Christ, I
could not tell.* The influence of these
meetings is not restricted to the meetings
themselves ; but those who are here quick
ened, carry the sacred fire with them to
their neighbourhoods and families, and thu9
become instrumental of spreading the flame
in various directions.
Some objections arose in my mind, which
I endeavoured to answer. One of which it
may be useful to mention. It is asked,
“ Are not the passions of the people so ex
cited as to produce extravagances ?” This
may, indeed, be the case in some instances/
But this is not peculiar to Camp-Meeting*.
In every religious revival these excrescen
ces make their appearance. To lop them
off, without wounding the main trunk of
piety, requires a nice hand, guided by a
prudence which falls to the lot of but few.
Time and experience will correct the most
of them. It ought to be recollected, how
ever, that a luxuriant growth is proof of a
rich soil. But it is to be suspected that many
who make this objection, know not what
they mean. Passions are some of the con
stituents of man. He cannot exist’ without
them. Whenever, therefore, he is moved
in the pursuit of an object of importance
to him, whether it be religion or any thing
else, his passions are enlisted. And why
should theee passions be considered as per*
fectly harmless when temporary good is the
object of pursuit, and only reprehensible
when religion is concerned ? Sorrow, fear,
hatred, love, grief, joy, are all excited,
whenever the heart is powerfully moved
by the influence of God's Spirit. And the
result of this happy influence is, when
yielded to by the sinner, the fixing his pas
sions upon right objects. They may, it js
granted, be carried to excess, and lead the
subject of them to indulge in unseemly ges
tures, and improper expressions; but this
excess may be corrected by a judicious ap
plication of that discipline which the word
of God, under the management of a sober,
enlightened judgment, furnishes. After
all, how high the flame of divine love may
rise, and how diffusive it may become, and
how much of that which is deemed irregu
larity by man, may be considered order i a
the sight of God, who can tell ?
On Saturday morning the meeting closed,
and the people relumed to their several
places of abode, praising God for the exhi
bitions of His-power and goodness.
JVew- York, Sept. 2, 1821.
* It might be satisfactory if some method were
adopted at our Camp-Meetings to ascertain the
number converted.
WEST INDIES.
The following extract of a letter from Mr.
French, dated St. Evstatius, Dec. 16, will
be read with interest , at it describes a pleas
ing instance of the influence of Christian
Instruction.
I have on this island four established pla
ces of worship, in each of which I preach
once in the course of the week. The last
of those places was opened under the fol
lowing peculiar circumstance :—A slave
belonging to a person on this island had run
away from his master, and become a most
notorious robber, and having got others to
join him he was appointed their captain.—
He resided with them in the mountain*
fourteen months, but having been surprised
while committing one of his predatory
plunders, he was taken and put in confine
ment. His muster expostulated with him
on the badness of his conduct; but the
slave replied, that no one had cared for hie
religious concerns, and Iheurfore he had
been ignorant and wicked.
The master applied to me, and I told
him that if he would let me preach to hi*
negroes, I would save him a great deal of
trouble. I went to the robber, conversed
with him, and left him apparently sorry foe
his past wickedness, and purposing to act
very differently in future. The master of
fered me a large warehouse to preach in,
and has since fitted it up far the purpose;
I preach in it to all his negroes, with his
own family, nnd4o many others who attend
from the neighbourhood. The late robber
himself, I am happy to stale, manifests a