tion from the tomb; let her example stimulate and encourage you to dedicate yourselves in early life to the Saviour.

On another occasion she wrote the following resolution in her diary: "I am determined this day to give up myself to God; let others do as they may, I will seek the Lord; I am persuaded I shall never enjoy the comforts of religion, unless I am decided; I hope the Lord has enabled me to resign myself to Him. O thou compassionate Saviour, thou only canst keep my wandering feet in thy ways. O preserve me; lead me through this wilderness of sin, and prepare me for thyself."

She deeply felt her need of divine teaching and guidance; she saw her own weakness, and looked to the Lord for strength. She considered life as very uncertain, even when in health, and felt the great necessity of being prepared for death and eternity. When writing on this solemn subject, she remarks: "O, how rapid is the flight of time; in a very little while I shall know what eternity is. O, how anxious I ought to be that it may engage more of my attention daily; that it may be my earnest desire to please God above every thing else, and to recommend religion by my walk and conduct. Lord, help me!"

When her health began to decline, she thus writes: "O, what reason have I for thankfulness, that I am not laid upon a bed of sickness and pain; how great that forbearance, that tender mercy which spares me. Lord, help me to devote health and strength, and every mercy to thy service. O that my greatest desire may be, to be in the hand of the Lord, meetening for heaven, and to be enabled to do his will. O Lord, make me thankful for my mercies, but let me not rest satisfied with any thing short of an interest in the precious love of a dear Redeemer. Nothing, nothing else will make me happy. May I daily pant and long for this more and more."

At another time she writes: "I am in the Lord's hands; and all that he does is right. He knows what I need. He may see it necessary to send me more affliction yet. I desire to acquiesce in his will, and that he may make me what he would have me to be." This was written but a very short time before her death. She had not an opportunity to make known her views and feelings in her last hours, as the closing scene was sudden and unexpected; but oh! what an unspeakable mercy, that the great work was not delayed to a dying hour; had this been the case, she had no time given her to prepare to meet her God. Her sudden removal speaks aloud to the young, "Be ye also ready, for in such an hour as ye think not, the Son of Man cometh." ANNE.

EXTRAORDINARY SUSPENSION OF ANIMATION.

[The following very remarkable account relates to the Rev. W. Tennent, an eminently pious and useful minister, who died in America about thirty years ago. It cannot be read without deep interest; and surprising as the narrative may appear, it is as well authenticated as any fact can be.—EDITOR.]

AFTER a regular course of study in theology, Mr. Tennent was preparing for the examination by the presbytery, as a candidate for the Gospel ministry. His intense application affected his health, and brought on a pain in his breast, and a slight hectic. He soon became emaciated, and at length was like a skeleton. His life was now in danger. He was attended by a young man, a physician, who was at-` tached to him by the strictest and warmest friendship. He grew worse and worse, till little hope of life was left. In this situation his spirits failed him, and he began to entertain doubts of his final happiness. One morning he was conversing with his brother in Latin, on the state of his soul, when he fainted, and apparently died. After the usual time he was laid out on a board, according to the practice of the country, and the neighbours were invited to attend his funeral on the next day. In the evening his physician and friend returned from a ride into the country, and was afflicted beyond measure at the news of his death. He could not be persuaded that it was certain; and, on being told that one of the persons who had assisted in laying out the body thought he had observed a little tremor of the flesh under the arm, although the body was cold and stiff, he endeavoured to ascertain the fact. He first put his hand into warm water, to make it as sensible as possible; and then felt under the arm, and at the heart; and affirmed that he felt an unusual warmth, though no one else could. He had the body restored

to a warm bed, and insisted that the people who had been invited to the funeral should be requested not to attend. To this the brother objected as absurd, the eyes being sunk, the lips discoloured, and the whole body cold and stiff.

However, the doctor finally prevailed, and all probable means were used to discover symptoms of returning life. The third day arrived, and no hopes were entertained of success, but by the doctor, who never left him either day or night. The people were invited again, and assembled to attend the funeral. The doctor still objected, and at last confined his request for delay to one hour; and then to half an hour; and finally, to a quarter of an hour. He had discovered that the tongue was much swollen, and threatened to crack. He was endeavouring to soften it by some emollient ointment, put upon it with a feather, when the brother came in, about the expiration of the last period; and mistaking what the doctor was doing for an attempt to feed him, manifested some resentment, and said, in a spirited tone, "It is shameful to feed a lifeless corpse;" and insisted with earnestness, that the funeral should immediately proceed. At this critical and important moment, the body, to the great alarm and astonishment of all present, opened its eyes, gave a dreadful groan, and sunk again into apparent death. This of course put an end to all thoughts of burying him; and every effort was again employed, in hopes of bringing about a speedy resuscitation. In about an hour the eyes again opened, and a heavy groan proceeded from the

body, and again all appearance of animation vanished. In about another hour life seemed to return with more power, and a complete revival took place, to the great joy of the family and friends, and to the no small astonishment and conviction of many, who had ridiculed the idea of restoring to life a dead body.

Mr. Tennent continued in so weak and low a state for six weeks, that great doubts were entertained of his final recovery; however, after that period he recovered much faster; but it was about twelve months before he was completely restored.

After he was able to walk about the room, and to take notice of what passed around him, on a Sunday afternoon, his sister, who had stayed from church to attend him, was reading the Bible, when he took notice of it, and asked her what she had in her hand. She answered, that she was reading the Bible. He replied, "What is the Bible? I know not what you mean." This affected his sister so much, that she burst into tears, and informed him that he was once well acquainted with it.

On our reporting this to the brother when he returned, Mr. Tennent was found, upon examination, to be totally ignorant of every transaction of his life previous to his sickness. He could not read a single word, neither did he seem to have an idea of what it meant. As soon as he became capable of attention, he was taught to read and write as children are usually taught, and afterwards began to learn the Latin language, under the tuition of his brother. One day, as he was reciting a lesson in Cornelius Nepos, he suddenly started, clapped his hand to his head, as if something had hurt him, and made a pause. His brother asked

him what was the matter. He said he felt a sudden shock in his head, * and it now seemed to him as if he had read that book before. By degrees his recollection was restored, and he could speak the Latin fluently as before his sickness. His memory so completely revived, that he regained a perfect knowledge of the past transactions of life, as if no difficulty had previously occurred.

This event at the time made a considerable noise, and afforded not only matter of serious contemplation to the devout Christian, especially when connected with what follows in this narration, but also furnished a subject of deep investigation and learned inquiry to the philosopher. But the most extraordinary circumstance remains to be told. While in the state of suspended animation already described, he was not only still conscious of existence, but of his entrance into a superior condition. When Mr. Tennent was earnestly pressed by his friends to communicate his views and apprehensions upon the interesting occasion, he discovered great reluctance to enter into any explanation of his perceptions and feelings at the time; but being importunately urged to do it, he at length consented, and proceeded with a solemnity not to be described: :

"While I was conversing with my brother," he said, on the state of my soul, and the fears I entertained for my future welfare, I found myself in an instant in another state of existence, under the direction of a superior being, who ordered me to follow him. I was accordingly wafted along, I know not how, till I beheld at a distance an ineffable glory, the impression of which on my mind it is impossible to commu

nicate to mortal man. I immediately reflected on my happy change, and thought, Well, blessed be God, I am safe at last, notwithstanding all my fears!' I saw an innumerable host of happy beings, surrounding the inexpressible glory, in acts of adoration and joyous worship; but I did not see any bodily shape or representation in the glorious appearance. I heard nothing unutterable. I heard their songs and hallelujahs of thanksgiving and praise, with unspeakable rapture. I felt joy unutterable and full of glory. I then applied to my conductor, and requested leave to join the happy throng; on which he said, 'You must return to the earth.' This seemed like a sword through my heart. In an instant I recollect to have seen my brother standing before me disputing with the doctor. The three days during which I had appeared lifeless seemed to me not more than ten or twenty minutes. The idea of returning to this world of sorrow and trouble gave me such a shock, that I fainted repeatedly.” He added, “Such was the effect on my mind, of what I had seen and heard, that if it be possible for a human being to live entirely above the world and the things of it, for some time afterwards, I was that person. The ravishing sound of the songs and hallelujahs that I heard, and the very words that were uttered, were not out of my ears, when awake, for nearly three years. All the kingdoms of the earth were, in my sight, as nothing and vanity; and so great were my ideas of heavenly glory, that nothing, which did not in some measure relate to it, could command my serious attention."

THE RESPONSIBILITY OF PARENTS.

BY THE REV. Mr. Grigg, of athens.

How is your every word, action, and look narrowly watched by your juvenile flocks, and converted into arguments for piety or apologies for error ! When it is seen that you are benevolent and amiable abroad, but are narrow-minded, rapacious, and intolerant at home—when you conform only on the Lord's day to the ordinances of religion, but live throughout the week strangers to the duties it enjoins—when you are zealous in defending its services and doctrines, but are as bold in denying their power, and resisting their heavenly influences-when ardently engaged in instructing the offspring of strangers in the Sunday school, you thoughtlessly neglect to cultivate the minds of those who are at home-what must your offspring conclude, but that you are pharisaic worshippers of the name, but are regardless and destitute of the religion you profess; that principles so lifeless, so inefficacious, and so cold, must be unworthy of their aspirations, their labours, or their hopes?

But what must be the poison of your example when you seldom or never convene them around the domestic altar for religious reading and devotion; when you are constant strangers to retirement in your own closets to commune with Him who sees in secret; when your social repasts, which plunder every element, call not forth at your tables a syllable of thanksgiving, which the Jews and even Pagans most devotedly offered up; when your domestics are left to themselves in walking their careless courses, or in making you the standard of their criminalities

and neglects, when professing yourselves to be Christians, you pay as greedy an adoration to the world as though you were not the disciples of a pure and self-denying religion, will not your householders, in consequence of such irregularities, be apt to wander from the paths of rectitude, and become exposed to the fearful effects of a lifeless profession of piety?

But, merciful God! what must be the fruit of your example, when your families perceive you desecrating the Lord's day to unhallowed cares, amusements, or idleness; when they seldom see you frequenting the tabernacles of Divine worship, and are rarely, if ever, urged by you to accompany you thither; when familiarized at home to unholy invocations, and heart-sickening converse about sensual and degrading follies, they contemplate your appetites pampered, your tempers unbridled, your sentiments unsanctified, which ought to burn in heavenly pursuits, and to be hallowed by the laws and the gentleness of the Gospel; when they hear you atheistically ascribing the fervours of Christian faith to the delusions of fanaticism; when they observe you reviling and contemning the observances of Christianity, or postponing or omitting them for every secular apology; when they learn too from your untrembling lips that a mere moral life will suffice the place of a Gospel faith, repentance, and piety; how can your households believe that a religion so dishonoured by you can be worthy of their reverence, their love, or their imitation? But must they not rather regard it as a sort of polite philosophy to atone for your past delinquencies-a kind of half-way system, leaving every one to the indulgence of his own ruling humours, and balanced, like Mahomet's fabled sepulchre, equally between earth and heaven?

It is vain to talk of christianizing society, when parental impiety pours forth such a torrent of desolation. It is these impure examples, and inconsistent teachings, that prove such formidable barriers to your offspring and domestics, so that all the labours of ministerial energy, and all the remonstrances of a few pious members, are incompetent to stem the current which their influence sweeps along. Your families find that it is far easier to manifest one showy action to the world, than to eradicate the poisonous weeds of their passions and vices; that it is far less difficult to copy the examples of the multitude, than to exercise the rugged virtues of discipline and self-control. It is, therefore, that they prefer to follow on in the wake of your miscarriages and errors, than to take up their Christian cross amidst difficulties, reproaches, and trials.

But, pause, I entreat you, Christian parents, and consider the awful consequences of your errors and neglects! The subjects of the little empire, whose sovereignty you fill, are to become heirs of the little dust you must one day leave behind you; but oh, if this be all-all the treasure you bequeath them, it is nothing, worse than nothing! If you leave not behind you the mantle of a parent's piety, every other endowment may prove a parent's curse, and may be forgotten and dissolved ere your remains shall have mingled with the dust. But here is a treasure you may and ought to leave them, richer and dearer than worlds heaped upon worlds. It is the legacy of a father's counsel;