geon shade,

I feel the fainting pulse, I hear the (Like as yon bright resplendent orb of sigh,

day, I see the pallid

cheek, the closing eye; When he appears in beams of radiHe has no tender tie of father, friend ;

ant light, No children round the bed obsequious Quickly disperses midnight gloom tend;

away, He has no hopes on earth, content to And shines triumphant o'er departed lie,

night.) Alone, forsaken by the world, to die. Tis thine, religion, to give lasting In the deep cell, where chilling damps

peace, invade,

To swell our raptures, and our joys And dews and cold the plaistered dun

increase. He lies ; around him breathe no awful


LETTER FROM THE DEAD TO THE No organ heals, nor tunes the sacred


'TIS past! the voyage of life is o'er! Long trains of nuns(no sad procession) Ere while, I touch'd upon Hindostan's there

shore Breathe on the dying saint an holy To happier climes I safely found the prayer ;

way, No tinkling censor rolls its fragrance Where sullying tempests never cloud round ;

the day. No painted priests adore, and kiss the How sad our parting, when your bura ground;

ing tears No fancied angels to his sight are givn, Wept for my danger and increas'd my To waft his soul in extacy to heaven : fears, Cold and appalld he waits his coming When love at once retstrain'd, and doom,

bade me go, And sees but death and terror in the To gain those riches so much priz'd tomb.

below. The good man comes, in voice of Sad were my thoughts when winds pity calls,

with cruel haste, And gilds with hope the cells remot- Bore me relentless o'er the watery est walls ;

waste ; Tells the sick man the path of joy to When ev'ry surge recoiling from the tread,

stern, Forget the living, but adore the dead; Seem'd a new barrier to my wish'd Points to the future heaven in the sky; return; Bids the pale wretch on faith and hope And ling'ring fancy round thyself, and rely ;

home, Shews where the wretched will have Reproach'd the silly pride that made

rest, he'll go ; And tells the vanity of all below. And seem'd to say, how short is life

at best ! Then why for future ease change pre

sent rest? WHEN melancholy haunts the troub. Why quit the social joys of lorer, led mind,

friend? And sighs bespeak the anguish of the Why in a sultry clime thy vigour heart,

spend ! When not a ray of hope can entrance What joys can wealth bestow on wrin.

me roam :


find, Or calm our sorrows, or relief impart; Whatfluxury charm, or what fair form With all the virtues that adorn hertrain, engage ? Religion comes, the clouded soul to Such were my thoughts, but soon cheer,

new scenes arose, Dispels the gloom, and lulls to rest Scenes that our plans, add ærial hopes each pain,

oppose. Forbids eaclı sigh, and dries the fall. The black’ning clouds with more than ing tear.

midnight gloom,

kled age ?

Come hurrying on, the heralds of our With sweetest aspect and benignant doom.

mein, The timid day with trembling seems · Advanc'd thro' floods translucent to to fly,

my sight; While clouds on clouds embattle thro'. Around him beam'd effulgent rays of the sky:

light. The howling winds tear up the stub. The mighty regent of the waves was he born deep,

Whose voice could charm to peace And o'er the ocean's surface wildly the angry sea; sweep :

He smiling led me thro' those still do. The ruffling sails at once are split to mains, shreds,

Where more than midnight darkness The yards come tumbling on our fa- ever reigns. ted heads ;

Beneath the ancient hills, what wonOn liquid mountains now we seem to ders lie rise,

Hid thro' all ages from the mortal eye ; Now touch the sea bed, and now grasp Alcoves of amber breathing rich per. the skies.

fumes, Embath'd in briny waves, the sailor With crystal pannels and transparent clings,

domes. As thro' the shrouds the hissing tem- O'er beds of pearl, midst coral groves pest sings.

I stray'd, The pliant masts recoil like tighten'd Charm’d by the Syren and the gay bows,

Mermaid. And in the whirling gulph the seaman While thus I gaz’d, insatiate with the throws.

sight, The mighty waves with unresisting An heavenly spirit, clad in radiant 'dash,

white, Heave o'er the sides and every timber Beckon'd the way; and from the ocean crash :

borne, The winds remorseless down the rig. Uncheck'd we rose above the star of

ging tear, And gust on gust augments our still On wings etherial ; as we tower'd despair :

away, Till the mad deep rear'd up a pon- Ten thousand suns rose on the blaze d'rous wave,

ing day. And clos'd the vessel in a briny grave. From star to star we cours’d our rapO'erwhelm'd with billows, in con- id flight, fusion tost,

Each sense was drown'd and ravish'd Life hung suspended ; ev'ry thought with delight : was lost :

From heav'n to heav’n the milky way I breath'd no more, in mortal chains

we trod. confin'd,

The imperial palace of the eternal God 'Each sense with some new pleasure Shed brightness thro' the vast expanse was combin'd.

of sky, The storm loud thund'ring rag'd above In beams impervious to Creation's eye. my head,

But here I cease : no words, no tho'ts While calm I mov'd, all sense of terror fled :

A faint idea of this wondrous place ; The pervious ocean open'd to my way, Where saints, where angels, loud ho* And fishes sportive round me seen'd sannas sing, to play ;

And heaven's high dome with praises The shapeless pols pus, the diver's ever ring; dread,

The ravish’si senses lost, consum'd in In vain its ligamentous tendons spread; joy, The monstrous shark came crouching Make praise their pleasure, praise their to my side,

sole employ. Torpedos harmless thro' the waters Then, Harriet, come ; the world de. glide.

mands no care ; An ærial form, array'd in softest Come, and with me, immortal pleasgreen,

ures share


can trace

On a young man who died, leaving a widow, to whom he had been but a fe

months married.
NOR manhood's prime, nor healing art,
Nor friendship's tears, could wrest his mortal part
From death's strong grasp : The recent nuptial tie

For a short respite sued in vain ;

The active spirit loos'd from clay,
Hope fain would trace to realms of endless day:
Then hush'd be fond regret, each murmur calm,

Nor of his early doom complain.


which was,

In this place should be inserted a Letter from the Clergy of Connecticut, ta

Dr. Seabury, directing him, in case he should fail in his negociation with the English Bishops, to apply to those of Scotland; and also another from Dr. Seabury, to the Clergy of Connecticut, communicating an account of his failure in England : But these Letters do not appear on file, and all at. tempts to recover them have been unsuccessful. That such letters were written is known; and that the English Bishops refused to act in the case, for the reasons stated by them when first applied to; the most weighty of

that by consecrating a Bishop without his taking the oaths to the Civil State of England, they should incur what is there called a præmunire, that is, a deprivation of their civil rights and functions as Bishops. An act of Parliament, in their opinion, could alone enable them to proceed; this being refused, the business came to a close ; and Bishop Seabury proceed. ed to Scotland, where he obtained Consecration, as will appear in the following Letters.



IT is with great pleasure that I now inform you, that my business here is perfectly completed, in the best way that I have been able to transact it. Your letter, and also a letter from Mr. Leaming, which accompanied the act of your Legislature, certified by Mr. Secretary Wyllys, overtook me at Edinburgh, in my journey to the north, and not only gave me great satisfaction, but were of great service to me.

I met with a very kind reception from the Scotch Bishops, who having read and considered such papers as I laid before them, consisting of the copies of my original letters and testimonial, and of your subsequent letters, declared themselves perfectly satisfied, and said that they conceived themselves called upon, in the course of God's providence, without regard to any human policy, to impart a pure, valid and free Episcopacy to the western world ; and that they trusted, that God, who had begun so good a work, would water the infant Church in Connecticut with his heavenly grace, and protect it by his good providence, and make it the glory and pattern of the pure Episcopal Church in the world ; and that as it was

freed from all incumbrance, arising from connection with civil es. tablishments and human policy, the future splendor of its primitive simplicity and Christian piety, would appear to be eminently and entirely the work of God and not of man. On the 14th of Nov. my consecration took place, at Aberdeen, (520 miles from hence.) It was the most solemn day I ever passed; God grant I may never forget it!

I now only wait for a good ship in which to return. None will sail before the last of February or first of March. The ship Triumph, Capt. Stout, will be among the first. With this same Stout, commander, and in the Triumph, I expect to embark, and hope to be in New-York some time in April ; your prayers and good wishes will, I know, attend me.

A new scene, will now, my dear Gentlemen, in all probability, open in America. Much do I depend on you and the other good Clergymen in Connecticut, for advice and support, in an office which will otherwise prove too heavy for me. Their support, I as. sure myself I shall have ; and I fatter myself they will not doubt of my hearty desire, and earnest endeavor to do every thing in my power for the welfare of the Church, and promotion of religion and piety. You will be pleased to consider whether New-London be the proper place for me to reside at ; or whether some other place would do better. At New-London, however, I suppose they make some dependence upon me. This ought to be taken in. to the consideration. If I settle at New-London, I must have an assistant. Look out then, for some good clever young gentleman who will go immediately into deacon's orders, and who would be willing to be with me in that capacity. And indeed I must think it a matter of propriety, that as many worthy candidates be in readiness for orders as can be procured. Make the way, I beseech you, as plain and easy for me as you can.

Since my return from Scotland, I have seen none of the Bishops, but I have been informed that the step I have taken has displeased the two Archbishops, and it is now a matter of doubt whether I shall be continued on the Society's list. The day before I set out on my northern journey, I had an interview with each of the Archbishops, when my design was avowed; so that the measure was known, though it has made no noise.

My own poverty is one of the greatest discouragements I have. Two years absence from my family, and expensive residence here, has more than expended all I had. But in so good a cause, and of such magnitude, something must be risked by somebody. To my lot it has fallen; I have done it cheerfully, and despair not of a happy issue.

This, I believe, is the last time I shall write to you from this country. Will you then accept your Bishop's blessing, and hearty prayers for your happiness in this world and the next ? May God bless also, and keep all the good Clergy of Connecticut !

I am, reverend and dear brethren, your affectionate brother, and very humble servant,


[NO. XIV.]


I HAVE the pleasure of informing you of my safe arrival here, on Monday evening, so that a period is put to my long and tedious absence. I long much to see you, and flatter myself that it will not be long before you will do me the favor of a visit here. I want particularly to consult with you on the time and place of the Clergy's meeting, which should be as soon as is practicable.

My regards attend Mrs. Jarvis. Accept my best wishes, and be. lieve me to be your affectionate humble servant,




THIS honest and faithful historian, after having attempted the explanation of an ancient prophecy, adds, very finely, “ But why do I (weak man) thus open the curtain of God's most sacred taberpacle, to behold the mercy seat of his divine mysteries in the accomplishment of these holy oracles, when as they who have worn the ephod, and in whose hearts Aaron's rod hath budded, with a religious reverence have feared to look into the same. Therefore, with the charge of Joshua, I will not approach near the ark, and with Job's hearers will lay my hand to my mouth.”

With respect to prophesies, indeed, as well as any other mysterious matters, “ fools rush in where angels dare not tread;" and much harm has been done to the interior fabric of religion by the foolish pains that have been sometimes bestowed to defend its outworks, and to explain that, which, according to that honour of human nature, Sir Isaac Newton, cannot be explained till the event renders it certain,

IT is objected to many of our popular readers of that master-piece of composition, the Liturgy of the Church, that they read it rather in a tone of declamation than of supplication ; and that, in their ardor to find out new meanings in the prayers, and to lay a new emphasis on particular words of them, they appear to be rather more attentive to their own powers of declamation, than to ask in a proper way from the Great Being of all beings, the things for which themselves and their congregations have such great occasion. Earnestness is the soul of all public speaking, and whoever will really speak in earnest on any subject, will always speak 'well. Impress yourself properly with the subject on which you are speaking, and your tone of voice (however unmusical) will always be the proper one. Whoever really feels the urgency of sup. plication, or is enraptured by the gratitude of thanksgiving, will of necessity deliver himself in a manner well suited to each method of application.

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