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THE DAY OF THE REDEEMER'S POWER.

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and kingdom, and carrying forward the grand purposes for which he has been exalted to his mediatorial throne. Wherever his Gospel is preached in simplicity and truth, success, greater or less, is made to attend it. Sinners are converted, and saints are edified and built up in their most holy faith. And so will it be to the close of time. His faithful servants in every age may rely on his word of promise: “Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." Never will the Gospel be preached in

God unto salvation. The Word of the Lord will never return to him void, but it shall accomplish that which he pleases, and prosper in the thing whereto he sent it. Distant, unborn generations shall yet be made to hear the voice of the Son of God speaking in his Word, and be quickened to spiritual life and energy.

world, and took to himself his great power and reigned, what a mighty change took place! The Holy Ghost was sent from on high, and his influences were communicated in richer abundance. Mightily, in consequence, grew the word of the Lord, and prevailed. It spread rapidly from city to city, from province to province, and from kingdom to kingdom, till it reached the utmost boundaries of the Roman Empire. Idolatry and superstition, and wickedness of every kind, were smitten down before it; and, in an inferior sense at least, the king-vain, and never will it cease to be the power of doms of this world became the kingdoms of our God and of his Christ. The Gospel was everywhere successful, and multitudes were daily added to the Church of such as should be saved. We would here make two remarks:We would remark, first, that we may consider the whole period of the Gospel dispensation as the day of the Redeemer's saving power; for during all that period does he exercise and display his power to save. It was at the commencement of this period that the Gospel was manifested, in the most signal manner, to be the rod or sceptre of the Saviour's strength. Then the ambassadors of Christ began to publish the glad tidings of salvation unto all nations, beginning at Jerusalem; God also bore them witness, both with signs and wonders, and divers miracles and gifts of the Holy Ghost; and the most pleasing and astonishing success attended their labours. What multitudes, in a short space of time, were brought to own Messiah's sway! what multitudes were blessed in him! and what multitudes called him blessed! To how many thousands did the Gospel prove itself to be the power of God unto salvation! and in how many different cities and kingdoms was the banner of the cross triumphantly unfurled! Then the Saviour, victorious by his Word and Spirit, made bare his holy arm, and ruled in the midst of his enemies. And still is that Gospel, which is mighty through God, preached; and still is it attended with power from on high. The rod of his strength is still wielded by the Redeemer; and still it bends the people in willing subjection under him. The same measure of success, it is true, does not uniformly attend the preaching of the Gospel. The divine blessing is sometimes partly withheld, and then the prosperity of Zion languishes, and the ministers of Christ complain that they labour in vain, and spend their strength for nought, and in vain. But never are the influences of Heaven entirely withdrawn from the Church; and never does the Saviour cease to give testimony to the Word of his grace. His power and grace as Redeemer are immutable. He is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. His arm is never shortened that it cannot save, and his ear is never heavy that it cannot hear. And though he may not always, in the same visible manner, and to the same extraordinary degree, manifest his power to save, yet is he still watching over the interests of his Church

We would remark, secondly, that while the whole period of the Gospel dispensation may be called the day of the Redeemer's power, particular seasons may especially be so denominated. We refer, of course, to seasons in which the grace and saving power of Christ are more signally and efficiently displayed. Such seasons there are to individuals. A man may have sat long under a Gospel ministry; he may have heard the terrors of the law denounced with startling energy by a son of thunder; he may have heard the grace of the Gospel displayed in all its attractive sweetness, in all its engaging tenderness, and in all its infinite richness and fulness, by a son of consolation; arguments the most powerful may have been addressed to his understanding, and appeals the most tender and affecting may have been made to his heart and his conscience; but all in vain. He has remained stupid and insensible, and heard as though he heard not. The waters of the sanctuary continued untroubled, and communicated no healing virtue. But at length the Gospel does come to him, not in word only, but in power, and in the Holy Ghost, and in much assurance. The understanding that was shut before, is now opened to receive the truth; and the heart that was formerly harder than the nether millstone, now melts under the power of the Gospel, and all is attention, and desire, and affection. The Saviour, by his grace and Spirit, has made his Word the rod of his strength to that man, and he sees and feels as he never saw and felt before. Thus the day of conversion is to every believer the day of the Redeemer's power; and to that period of redeeming power and love will every believer look back with feelings of gratitude and praise. Such a season did Paul enjoy, when, on the way to Damascus, the Saviour met with him and made himself known to him; and when, in one blessed moment, the proud Pharisee and cruel persecutor was changed into an humble suppliant and prayerful disciple. And there are seasons, too, which the believer experiences and can distinguish after conversion, in which the same power that saved him at first

is again more abundantly displayed towards him, and he enjoys fuller and richer communications of his Saviour's grace refreshing, comforting, and invigorating his soul.

Iis is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory; and to him every knee must bow. If you receive him not as your Saviour, you must meet him as your Judge. If you embrace not his mercy, you must sink beneath his righteous indignation. Remember that while he is omnipotent to save, he is also strong to smite. "Be wise, now, therefore; be instructed. Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all they that put their trust in him."

Biographical Sketch.

THE REV. GEORGE WHITEFIELD.

PART II.

IN 1739 Whitefield embarked a second time for America. He erected an orphan house in Georgia, and succeeded in placing the institution in a flourishing condition; and after making a tour through the whole of North America, as far as Boston, preaching, as usual, with extraordinary earnestness and success, he returned to England in the spring of 1741.

And such seasons there are to Churches, as well as to individuals. There are times of refreshing from the presence of the Lord enjoyed by the Church at large, or by particular Churches, when a spirit of grace and of supplication is more abundantly poured out-when both ministers and people feel more sensibly that the hand of the Lord is with them and upon them, and when the Gospel is rendered more extensively efficacious and saving. Such a season was that of which the day of Pentecost was the commencement. With what power and energy divine was the Gospel then carried home to the hearts and consciences of men! and how mighty and how blessed were the effects produced! Then were the arrows of the King sharp in the hearts of his enemies, whereby the people were subdued under him. Then the Holy Spirit descended in his richest effusions-in all his miraculous and saving influences; and the power was seen at once to be of God, and not of man. What a season of the Redeemer's power was that, when in one day, and by means During his long absence, however, his popuof one sermon, three thousand-three thousand larity had sensibly declined at home. The bigoted Jews-three thousand murderers of the Moravians had made inroads upon the society, Prince of Life, were converted, and added to and John Wesley had preached and printed a the Church! and when, in the space of a few sermon in favour of sinless perfection, and uniyears, multitudes of all kindreds, and nations, versal redemption, and had exerted himself and tongues, were turned to the Lord, and still more earnestly against the Calvinistic docmade obedient to the doctrine of Christ, and trines of election and reprobation-to which great grace was upon them all! Not to men- Whitefield was strongly attached. Upon both tion seasons of revival-many of which, how of these subjects Wesley wrote to his old ever, might be mentioned, and might well be friend, wishing to obtain his acquiescence in his considered as days of the Redeemer's power-I opinions. But Whitefield, though he could cannot omit noticing the period to which the yield to him upon neither, desired earnestly to | hopes and expectations of believers are direct- avoid all disputes. "My honoured friend and ed forward-the glorious era that is to usher in brother," said he in reply, "for once hearken the millennium. Then more than ever will the to a child who is willing to wash your feet. I Saviour appear in his mediatorial glory. Then, beseech you, by the mercies of God in Christ indeed, will be the reign, the spiritual and the Jesus our Lord, if you would have my love conblissful reign, of the Redeemer on earth. Then firmed towards you, write no more to me about the everlasting Gospel, the rod of his strength, misrepresentations wherein we differ. Why shall be sent unto all nations, and be attended should we dispute when there is no probability with a power and an efficacy that nothing shall of convincing? Will it not, in the end, debe able to gainsay or resist, and prove every-stroy brotherly love, and insensibly take from where sucessful. Then shall be the day of the Redeemer's power, when all opposition shall be put down, and his sceptre of righteousness shall command the world; for then that song of rejoicing and praise shall be raised, and be echoed through heaven: "Now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of his Christ. The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever!"

Reader, how do you stand affected to this glorious and exalted Redeemer? Have you experienced his grace? Have you been made willing in the day of his power? Are you rejoicing in his salvation? All dominion is his.

us that cordial union and sweetness of soul which I pray God may always subsist between ' us? How glad would the enemies of the Lord be to see us divided! How many would rejoice should I join and make a party against you! And, in one word, how would the cause of our common Master everyway suffer, by our raising disputes about particular points of doctrine." But these exhortations to brotherly kindness and forbearance were given in vain; and on his arrival in London he found that the || conduct of injudicious partisans, on both sides, had rendered a separation inevitable. "Ten thousand times would I rather have died," says he, "than part with my old friends. It would have melted any heart to have heard Mr Charles

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH-REV. GEORGE WHITEFIELD.

Wesley and me weeping after prayer, that if possible the breach might be prevented." But the breach grew wider every day. Some of Wesley's adherents sent threatening letters to Whitefield, intimating that God would speedily destroy him, and that his fall was as great as Peter's. His celebrity also seemed to have passed away. The twenty thousand who used to assemble at his preaching had dwindled down to two or three hundred. Worldly anxieties, too, were fretting him; for he was above a thousand pounds in debt, on account of the orphan school in Georgia. He called it truly a trying time; and it required all his zeal and intrepidity to encounter the numerous difficulties with which he found himself surrounded.

Shortly after his separation from Wesley, his friends built a large shed for him near the Foundery (Wesley's Church), upon a piece of ground which was lent for the purpose till he should return to America. As it was merely a temporary structure, to screen the audience from cold and rain, he called it the Tabernacle, in allusion to the movable place of worship of the Israelites, during their journey in the wilderness. A fresh awakening immediately began, immense congregations were formed, and new scenes of usefulness opened upon him daily. Having been earnestly invited to visit Scotland, by Ebenezer and Ralph Erskine, the founders of the Secession Church, he accepted the invitation in the year 1741. On his arrival in Scotland he proceeded immediately to Dunfermline, and preached in the Secession Meeting-house belonging to Ralph Erskine. Whitefield, however, was too liberal in his principles to limit the benefit of his services to any sect. "In every building," he said, " there were outside and inside workmen, and the lat ter was his province." And having differed from his new associates on this ground, he made a tour through the country, and, with the greatest success, preached in all the large towns to immense crowds. A large sum of money was contributed for the support of his orphan school; and he was presented with the freedom of the towns of Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen, Stirling, Paisley, and Irvine.

From Scotland he went, at the end of October, into Wales, where he married Mrs James, a widow. His marriage, like Wesley's, was not a happy one; and the death of his wife is said, by one of his friends, to have "set his mind much at liberty."

On his return to London, he engaged in a singular contest with the showmen and mountebanks, who then exhibited in Moorfields during the Whitsun holidays--when, as he said, "Satan's children kept up their annual rendez-❘ vous there." "This," says Mr Southey, was a sort of pitched battle with Satan; and Whitefield displayed some generalship upon the occasion." Attended by a large congregation of "praying people,” he began at six o'clock in

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the morning. Thousands who were waiting there for the usual sports flocked around him. "Glad was I to find," says he, "that I had for once, as it were, got the start of the devil. Being thus encouraged, I ventured out again at noon, when the fields seemed all white-ready, not for the Redeemer's, but Beelzebub's harvest." Thinking that, like St Paul, he should now, in a metaphorical sense, be called to fight with wild beasts, he took for his text, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians." "I could scarce help smiling," says he, "to see thousands, when one of the choicest servants of Satan was trumpeting to them, upon observing me in my black robes and my pulpit, all, to a man, deserting him and flocking to hear the Gospel. But this, together with a complaint that they had taken many pounds less that day than usual, so enraged the owners of the booths, that when I came to preach a third time in the evening, in the midst of the sermon, a merryandrew got upon a man's shoulders, and, advancing near the pulpit, attempted to slash me with a long heavy whip several times. Soon afterwards they got a recruiting sergeant, with his drums and fifes, to pass through the congregation; but I desired the people to make way for the king's officer, which was quietly done." When the uproar became, as it sometimes did, so great as to overpower his single voice, he called the voices of all his people to his aid, and began singing, and thus, what with singing, praying, and preaching, he continued upon the ground till the darkness made it time to break up. So great was the impression produced in this extraordinary scene, that he received one thousand notes from persons under conviction, and soon after, about three hundred and fifty persons were received into the society in one day.

In 1744, Whitefield embarked a third time for America, and remained there for upwards of three years. On his return to England, with a constitution shattered by his incessant labours and the unfavourable climate, he found his congregation at the Tabernacle nearly dispersed; and such was the depression of his own circumstances, that he was obliged to sell his household furniture to pay his orphan house debts. At this juncture, however, his cause was adopted by the celebrated Countess of Huntingdon, who appointed Whitefield one of her chaplains, and gave most efficient support to the Calvinistic Methodists, as his adherents were called, by building and endowing chapels for them in various parts of the country, and by erecting a college for training up young men for the ministry. At the house of the Countess at Chelsea, Whitefield preached to a large circle of the nobility, among whom were Lords Chesterfield and Bolingbroke. The former complimented the preacher with his usual courtliness; the latter is said to have been much moved at the discourse.

We cannot enter into a minute detail of the

composed into an easy and commanding attitude, Whitefield's 'clear blue eye' ranged over thousands and tens of thousands, drawn up in close files on the plain below, or clustering into masses on every adjacent eminence. A

host, and the feelings of the devout were disturbed by the scurrile jests of the illiterate, and the cold sarcasms of the more polished spectators of their worship; but the rich and varied tones of a voice of unequalled depth and compass, quickly silenced every ruder soundas, in rapid succession, its everchanging melodies passed from the calm of simple narrative to the measured distinctness of argument-to the vehemence of reproof and the pathos of heavenly consolation." "Sometimes," says his faithful adherent, Cornelius Winter, "he wept exceedingly; stamped loudly and passionately; and was frequently so overcome that, for a few seconds, you would suspect he never could recover; and when he did, Nature required some little time to compose herself. The agitated assembly caught the passions of the speaker, and exulted, wept, or trembled at his bidding. The thoughtful gazed earnestly on a scene of solemn interest, pregnant with some strange and enduring influence on the future condition of mankind. But the wise and the simple alike yielded to the enchantment, and the thronging multitude gave utterance to their emotions in every form in which nature seeks relief from feeling too strong for mastery."

incessant labours in which the remaining years of Whitefield's life were spent. He made seven successive voyages across the Atlantic, and pilgrimages incalculable to every part of Great Britain, and of the North American Continent from Georgia to Boston. He visited Ireland'rabble rout' hung on the skirts of the mighty twice, and, on the second expedition, narrowly escaped with his life from the fury of a Roman Catholic mob. It is stated by one who knew him well, that "in the compass of a single week, and that for years, he spoke in general fifty hours, and in very many sixty, and that to thousands." These unremitting labours at length completely exhausted his vigour. On his return from America to England for the last time, "he seemed," says Wesley, "to be an old man, being fairly worn out in his Master's service, though he had hardly seen fifty years." He died at last somewhat suddenly, at Newbury, in New England, on the 30th of September 1770, in the fifty-sixth year of his age. He preached in the fields on the Saturday, and died of a fit of asthma early on the Sabbath morning. According to his own desire, he was buried before the pulpit in the Presbyterian Church of the town where he died. The strictly intellectual character of Whitefield was perhaps not of a very high order. But his genius as a preacher was unrivalled. His oratory displayed unparalleled energy, He was thoroughly and continually in earnest. There was in all his discourses a force and vehemence of passion, a fervent and melting charity, and an earnestness of persuasion, which produced the most extraordinary effects upon hearers of every rank of life, and of every variety of understanding. "In Europe, in America, on board ship, in the workhouse, the bridewell, the barracks, the mansions of nobles, the parish church or Dissenting chapel, the street, the market place, or the bowling-greenaddressing the slave, the mariner, the emigrant, the poor, the prisoner, the soldier, the peer, wits, philosophers, statesmen, and mixed multitudes-his power was everywhere acknowledge and felt." The testimony of Hume, who said it was worth while to go twenty miles to hear him, and the transient delirium of Franklin, attested by the surrender, on one occasion, of all the contents of his purse at a charity sermon, contrary to his predetermined resolution, are remarkable proofs of Whitefield's powers as an orator. His knowledge of human nature was evidently profound, and he showed

We shall conclude our sketch of the characterof this distinguished evangelist—whose piety, self-denial, zeal for the truth, benevolence, and boundless charity, and unwearied diligence in doing good, entitle him to a place among the greatest benefactors of the human race, with the just and beautiful eulogium of Cowper

He loved the world that hated him: the tear
That dropped upon his Bible was sincere.
Assailed by scandal, and the tongue of strife,
His only answer was-a blameless life.
And he that forged, and he that threw the dart,
Had each a brother's interest in his heart.
Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed,
Were copied close in him, and well transcribed.
He followed Paul; his zeal a kindred flame;
His apostolic charity the same:

Like him, crossed cheerfully tempestuous seas,
Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease;
Like him he laboured, and like him content
To bear it, suffered shame where'er he went."

HINDRANCES.

great sagacity in the adaptation of his addresses THE WORLD'S HONOURS THE BELIEVER'S to the character and circumstances of the various classes whom it was his business to impress."Neither English reserve, nor the theological discrimination of the Scotch, nor the callous nerves of the slave-dealers of America, nor the stately self-possession of her aborigines," could resist the fascination of his eloquence.

"Taking his stand," says an eloquent writer, on some rising knoll, his tall and graceful figure, dressed with elaborate propriety, and

GIVE me honours;-what are these
But the pleasing hindrances ?
Stiles, and stops, and stays, that come
In the way 'twixt me and home;
Clear the walk, and then shall I
To my heaven less run than fly!

HERRICK.

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THE MISSIONARY.*

THE MISSIONARY.

A STORY OF THE AMERICAN FOREST.

Ir is a number of years since a cool October night found me travelling in our western wilderness. I had rode all day through an almost trackless wild, having little else but trees, with a part of their bark hewn off, to guide me; and it was now just on the edge of evening. The forests had already felt several frosts, and the various trees were assuming different shades-red, brown, and yellow. Though wearied, and on a wearied horse, I saw no prospect of a shelter de for the night, save the foliage of the trees, and the canopy of heaven. By the murmur of waters, I knew I could not be far from some great river, and hoped that I might possibly find a habitation on its banks. A full moon now rose through the trees, chequering the woods, as a stream of silver light was here and there poured through the branches, and giving it a wild, romantic appearance. I soon came near the river, and a small light, twinkling between the trees, gave the cheering assurance that human beings were near. I rode up to the door, and found the light came from a rude log-house, small, and hastily put together, with clay between the logs, and a chimney built at one end, on the outside. A little barn, a small garden, and a pretty grass-plot in front of the dwelling, seemed to indicate that the occupants, if poor, were not entirely without industry or taste. When I knocked, the door was opened by a venerable-looking man, who was bending under the weight of many years. I told him my situation-that I was a stranger, weary, benighted, and needing his hospitality. "I am alone," said the old man, "and have but poor accommodations; my dwelling is a house of loneliness and sorrow; but if you can put up with my few conveniences, you are welcome;" and with that he led the way to his little stable for my horse. While thus employed, the peculiar appearance and silence of the old man, together with a few slight hints which fell from him, excited my curiosity to study his character. On entering the cottage, I noticed that it was divided into two small rooms; and although the furniture was poor and coarse, yet everything was neat and in order. After partaking a hasty meal of plain food, I felt a desire to draw the old man into conversation; but to this he seemed unaccountably averse. He appeared kind and obliging; yet there was a melancholy hanging around him that was inexplicable. I imputed this to his solitary life, and we both sat silent. At the season of rest, he pointed to a rude bed, covered with bear-skins, in one corner of the room. "I am not able, sir, to give you a better bed; you will please to occupy that couch; I shall sit up."

Surprised at such a proposal, I said: "Your bed, kind friend, is more needed by you than by me. But have you no bed in the other room, that I can occupy ?" He shook his head. I continued, "I am youngI can lie on the floor in my cloak-a worthier Being than myself had not where to lay his head."

I saw the old man's countenance brighten at this; and I knew that I had touched a string in his heart that would vibrate. We sat down, and religion was introduced. I found him intelligent, clear, decided, and very pious. At my particular request, he gave me a brief history of his life, bringing his narrative to the present time. He was born and educated in New England. In the morning of life, he was tempted to leave his native village for what was considered a good offer in the new settlements. For many years his worldly concerns were thriving and prosperous; but at length, by some quibble of the land jobbers, the deed by which he held his land was discovered to be defective; and in an hour he was reduced from From " Simple Sketches," by the Rev. John Tod,

Philadelphia.

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comparative affluence to poverty. His wife died soon after this event; and he then retired to this lonely spot, intending to spend his life alone, living on what he could take by fishing and hunting.

"It will be five years the coming winter," said he, "since I was sitting here one evening, all alone, save my dog, which lay beside me. He was great company, and is now." Here he stroked the head of a large mastiff, who looked up, as if understanding the subject of conversation. "I was saying, it was in the evening, and in the middle of the winter. I had noticed, as the sun set, that he went down gloomy and red. It was not long before the winds began to rise, and sweep through the forest with a roaring truly dreadful. A darkness soon spread over the face of the heavens, so thick that not a star could glimmer through it. A storm was coming. It was a cold and piercing evening. The mighty trees bent before the wind, while their limbs and branches either broke and fell, or loudly creaked. Soon the snow began to fall-like feathers at first, but presently in thickening sheets, whirling in eddies, and curling in wreaths, and whistling shrill, as it coiled around the roots of the trees. I looked out of my little window, but could see nothing-all was darkness. I could hear nothing but the howling of the tempest and the loud yell of the wolves, which came mingling with almost every blast. It seemed as if the spirit of the storm was striding through the interminable forest in the greatness of his power.

"I was preparing to go to rest, when my dog suddenly leaped up and barked violently. I listened, and could plainly hear cries of distress. I kindled up my fire, took my lantern, dog, and double-barrelled gun, and went out. I fired my gun to frighten the wolves, and to give notice that assistance was near. I listened attentively, but heard only one faint cry for help-distant and indistinct. I called, but no one answered. I had searched a long time, was nearly numb with the cold, and about to return, when my dog came bounding through the snow, bringing a pocket-handkerchief in his mouth. I took the handkerchief, and followed him. At a short distance I found a horse's bridle and saddle; and after searching farther, I found, almost buried in the snow, an old man, with a child in his arms, about twelve years of age. The old man was faint, and almost stiff with cold; while the child, who lay upon his breast, with her arms about his neck, was yet able to cry, though her tears were frozen on her face. With much difficulty I took them to my dwelling; and, in the course of the night got them warmed and revived. The next morning was dark without, but still more sad within. The old man whom I had rescued from death was too feeble to rise; and the little girl had almost forgotten the horrors through which she had to lately passed, in her anxiety for him. She was a beautiful little creature; but thinly clad. I wondered how so frail a flower came to be taken from its proper soil, and exposed to such severities. She seemed to know but little about the old man, in whose protection she unhesitatingly relied, though it was easy to see that she regarded him with peculiar affection. I tried to amuse my guest, and, in the course of a few days, he was so much revived, that he could give me something of his history.

"I now learned what gave me but little pleasurethat my guest was a missionary sent out into the new settlements from New England. I had often heard his name mentioned as I went into a village somewhat distant, though I had never before seen him. He was peculiarly venerable and dignified in his look, with grey hair, and a wan countenance, though it was cheerful and calm. I hated the very name of a missionary; but the helpless situation of this old man, his interesting manners, kindness, and benevolence of

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