your substance in riotous living, and are going to pay for your improvidence and folly. You have had the advantage of my precept and example, and you have turned a deaf ear to the one, and neglected the other."

"Reverend sir," my husband replied, galled by this reproof, which appeared to him, at that particular moment, an unnecessary aggravation of his misery, "reverend sir, your precept and your example have been my ruin; I have followed them both. You who had no experience of the temptations to which your weaker brethren are liable, who are already addicted to the temperate and daily use of ardent spirits, advised me never to sign a pledge. I have followed your advice to the letter. You admitted, that extraordinary occasions might justify the use of ardent spirit, and that, on such occasions, you might use it yourself. I followed your example; but it has been my misfortune never to drink spirituous liquors without finding that my occasions were more extraordinary than ever. Had I followed the precept and example of neighbour Johnson, I should not have made a good wife miserable, nor my children beggars." While he uttered these last words, my poor husband looked upon his little ones, and burst into tears: and the minister rode slowly away without uttering a word.

I rejoiced even in the midst of our misery, to see that the heart of my poor George was tenderly affected; for it is not more needful, that the hardness of wax should be subdued by fire, than that the heart of man should be softened by affliction, before a deep and lasting impression can be made. "Dear husband," said I, "we are young; it is not too late; let us trust in God, and all may yet be well." He made no reply, but continued to walk on, and weep in silence. Shortly after, the deacon appeared, at some distance, coming towards us on the road; but as soon as he discovered who we were, he turned away into a private path. Even the constable seemed somewhat touched with compassion at our situation, and urged us to keep a good heart, for he thought some one might help us, when we least expected it. My husband, whose vein of humour would often display itself, even in hours of sadness, instantly replied, that the good Samaritan could not be far off, for the priest and the Levite had already passed by on the other side. But he little thought-poor man-that even the conclusion of this beautiful parable was likely to be verified. A one-horse wagon, at this moment, appeared to be coming down the hill behind us, at an unusual rapid rate, and the constable advised us, as the road was narrow, to stand aside and let it pass. It was soon up with us; and when the dust had cleared away, it turned out, as little Robert had said, when it first appeared on the top of the hill, to be farmer Johnson's grey mare and yellow wagon. The kind-hearted farmer was out in an instant, and, without saying a word, was putting the children into it one after another. A word from farmer Johnson was enough for any constable in the village. It was all the work of a moment. He shook my husband by the hand; and when he began, "Neighbour Johnson, you are the same kind friend"-" Get in," said he, "let us have no words about it. I must be at home in a trice;" for, turning to me, "your old schoolmate, Susan, my wife, will sit a crying at the window till she sees you safe home again." Saying this, he whipped up the grey mare, who, regardless of the additional load, went up the hill faster than she came down, as though she entered into the spirit of the whole transaction. It was not long before we reached the door of our cottage.

Farmer

Johnson took out the children; and while I was trying to find words to thank him for all his kindness, he was up in his wagon and off, before I could utter a syllable. Robert screamed after him, to tell little Tim Johnson to come over, and that he should have all his pinks and marigolds. When we entered the cottage, there were bread and meat and milk upon the table, which Susan, the farmer's wife, had brought over for the children. I could not help sobbing aloud, for my heart was full. "Dear George," said I, turning to my husband, "you used to pray; let us thank God for this great deliverance from evil." "Dear Jenny," said he, "I fear God will scarcely listen to my poor prayers, after all my offences; but I will try."

We closed the cottage door, and he prayed with so much humility of heart, and so much earnestness of feeling, that I felt almost sure that God's grace would be lighted up in the bosom of this unhappy man, if sighs, and tears, and prayers, could wing their way to heaven. He was very grave, and said little or nothing that night. The next morning, when I woke up, I was surprised, as the sun had not risen, to find that he had already gone down. At first I felt alarmed, as such a thing had become unusual with him of late years; but my anxious feelings were agreeably relieved, when the children told me their father had been hoeing, for an hour, in the potato field, and was mending the garden fence. With our scanty materials, I got ready the best breakfast I could, and he sat down to it with a good appetite, but said little; and now and then I saw the tears starting in his eyes.

I had many fears that he would fall back into his former habits whenever he should meet his old companions, or stop in again at the deacon's store. I was about urging him to move into another village. After breakfast, he took me aside, and asked me if I had not a gold ring. "George," said I, "that ring was my mother's: she took it from her finger and gave it to me the day that she died. I would not part with that ring, unless it were to save life. Besides, if we are industrious and honest we shall not be forsaken." "Dear Jenny," said he, "I know how you prize that gold ring: I never loved you more than when you wept over it, while you first told me the story of your mother's death: it was just a month before we were married, the last sabbath evening in May, Jenny, and we were walking by the river. I wish you would bring me that ring." Memory hurried me back in an instant to the scene, the bank upon the river's side, where we sat together and agreed upon a wedding-day. I brought down the ring, and he asked me, with such an earnestness of manner, to put it on his finger, that I did so; not, however, without a trembling hand and a misgiving heart. "And now, Jenny," said he, as he rose to go out, “pray that God will support me."

My mind was not in a happy state, for I felt some doubt of his intentions. From a little hill at the back of our cottage, we had a fair view of the deacon's store. I went up to the top of it; and while I watched my husband's steps, no one can tell how fervently I prayed to God to guide them aright. I saw two of his old companions standing in the store door, with glasses in their hands; and, as they came in front of the shop, I saw them beckon him in. It was a sad moment for me. "Oh George," said I, though I knew he could not hear me, go on; remember your poor wife and your starving children!" My heart sunk within me, when I saw him stop and turn towards the door. He shook hands with his old associates; they appeared to offer him

66

their glasses; I saw him shake his head and pass on. "Thank God," said I, and ran down the hill, with a light step, and seizing my baby at the cottage door, I literally covered it with kisses, and bathed it in tears of joy.

About ten o'clock, Richard Lane, the Squire's office boy, brought in a piece of meat and some meal, saying my husband sent word, that he could not be home till night, as he was at work on the Squire's barn. Richard added, that the Squire had engaged him for two months. He came home early, and the children ran down the hill to meet him. He was grave, but cheerful. "I have prayed for you, dear husband," said I. "And a merciful God has supported me, Jenny," said he. It is not easy to measure the degrees of happiness; but, take it altogether, this, I think, was the happiest evening of my life. If there is great joy in heaven over a sinner that repenteth, there is no less joy in the heart of a faithful wife, over a husband that was lost, and is found. In this manner the two months went away. In addition to the common labour, he found time to cultivate the garden, and make and mend a variety of useful articles about the house.

It was soon understood that my husband had reformed, and it was more generally believed, because he was a subject for the gibes and sneers of a large number of the deacon's customers. My husband used to say, let those laugh that are wise and win. He was an excellent workman, and business came in from all quarters. He was soon able to repay neighbour Johnson, and our families lived in the closest friendship with each other.

One evening farmer Johnson said to my husband, that he thought it would be well for him to sign the temperance pledge; that he did not advise it, when he first began to leave off spirits, for he feared his strength might fail him. "But now," said he, "you have continued five months without touching a drop, and it would be well for the cause that you should sign the pledge. "Friend Johnson," said my husband, "when a year has gone safely by, I will sign the pledge. For five months, instead of the pledge, I have in every trial and temptation -and a drinking man knows well the force and meaning of these words -I have relied on this gold ring to renew my strength, and remind me of my duty to God, to my wife, to my children, and to society. Whenever the struggle of appetite has commenced, I have looked upon this ring: I have remembered that it was given, with the last words and dying counsels of an excellent mother, to my wife, who placed it there; and, under the blessing of Almighty God, it has proved, thus far, the life boat of a drowning man.'

The year soon passed away; and on the very day twelvemonth, on which I had put the ring upon my husband's finger, farmer Johnson brought over the temperance book. We all sat down to the tea-table together. After supper was done, little Robert climbed up and kissed his father, and turning to farmer Johnson, "Father," said he, "has not smelt like old Isaac, the drunken fidler, once since we rode home in your yellow wagon." The farmer opened the book: my husband signed the pledge of the society, and, with tears in his eyes, gave me back-ten thousand times more precious than ever-MY MOTHER'S GOLD

RING.

ANECDOTES OF PIOUS NEGROES.

From the Essex North Register.

"Thine own wickedness shall correct thee."-Jer. ii. 19.

"The sons also of them that afflicted thee shall come bending unto thee; and all they that despised thee shall bow themselves down at the soles of thy feet."-Is. lx. 14. Illustrated in the following Anecdote with which a friend has furnished us.

A man in Kentucky, buying a slave, went to his former master, and said to him, I want you to tell me all Cuff's faults. He replied, "He has none, except he will pray." Well, says his new master, I don't like that much, but I think I can break him of that. He took him home, and made him a servant in the house. He was soon observed, every day after his work was done, retiring to the woods. His master, unobserved by him, followed one day to the spot, and overheard him, engaged in prayer for himself and his wife. He returned, but did not say any thing to him at the time. When the sabbath came, Cuff went to meeting. When he returned, his master asked him how he liked the meeting. He answered, very well; there be good people. I thank the Lord I come here to live. His master then said to him, Well Cuff, I don't allow any praying on my ground: so you must leave off praying. I can't, says Cuff. But you must. I can't, massa. Well then, I will tie you up and give you twenty-five lashes, night and morning, till you do. I can't leave off praying, massa. So he tied him up, and gave him the twenty-five lashes, and then let him down, and Cuff went away singing,

"Soon my days will all be o'er

When I shall sin and sigh no more."

His master went into the house, and his wife said to him, Why don't you let Cuff pray if he wants to? It don't hurt us. He replied, that he would have no praying on his ground. He retired to bed, but through the agitation of his spirit he could not sleep. About midnight he awaked his wife, and asked her if she could pray for him. No, said she, I never prayed in my life. He groaned and said, Is there any one in the house that can pray for me? She replied, I don't know as there is any one but Cuff. Well, call Cuff then; I must have somebody that can pray for me. Cuff came in; and his master looked up and said, Cuff, can you pray for your master? He says, "Massa, I be pray for you ever since you let me down." The man and his wife were both soon brought hopefully to the peace of the gospel.

Who can fail to admire the Christian spirit of this suffering disciple? Though treated most cruelly, and for no fault, he says, "I be pray for you, massa, ever since you let me down." How perfectly illustrative of the Saviour's precept, "Pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you."-Matt. v. 44.

Who, again, can tell what firmness in duty, and perseverance in prayer will accomplish? Had Cuff yielded to the requisitions of an ungodly master, how great would have been the loss? But fearing God, more than man, how blessed the result! God will honour his devoted servants, however obscure. "I will set him on high because he hath known my name."-Ps. xci. 14.

May disciples of every grade be instructed by the example of this poor slave, and be as much more devoted than he as their privileges. are greater.

Ch. Adv.-VOL. XII.

3 F

We received the following from a clergyman of Virginia, who, we understood, was satisfied of the truth of the fact he stated.-EDIT.

A negro slave in Virginia, whose name we will call Jack, was remarkable for his good sense, knowledge of the leading truths of the gospel, and especially for his freedom from all gloomy fears in regard to his future eternal happiness. A professing Christian, a white man, who was of a very different temperament, once said to him, "Jack, you seem to be always comfortable in the hope of the gospel. I wish you would tell me how you manage it, to keep steadily in this blessed frame of mind." "Why Massa," replied Jack, "I just fall flat on the promise, and I pray right up." We recommend Jack's method to all desponding Christians, as containing, in substance, all that can be properly said on the subject. Take ground on the promises of God, and plead them in the prayer of faith-pray "right up."

Review.

PROCEEDINGS OF THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY OF THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH IN MAY AND JUNE, 1834.

In showing, in our last number, the ground on which the inferior judicatories of the church may and ought to resist the unconstitutional acts of the Supreme Judicatory, it fell in our way to reply to the tyrannical and slavish position contained in the third article of the reply of the General Assembly to the protest against the decision by which the appeal and complaint of the (Assembly's) Second Presbytery of Philadel phia were sustained. We now proceed to notice the other articles of this sagacious reply. The first is thus expressed:―

"The Form of Government vests in the General Assembly the power of 'deciding in all controversies respecting doctrine and discipline,' and to issue all appeals and references brought before them from the inferior judicatories.'"-See Form of Gov. ch. 12, sec. 5. "Now, as the question, as to the erection and existence of the Second Presbytery of Philadelphia, came regularly before the Assembly of 1832 and 1834, by appeal and complaint from the lower judicatories,* the said Assemblies not only had a right to 'decide' finally, but were imperiously called upon to 'issue' the case."

Here is a petitio principii-a taking for granted the chief matter in dispute; and not an iota of any thing else. Every point stated in this article of the answer to the protest had been ably controverted, and as the minority conscientiously believed, had been shown not to have the constitutional support which is here asserted that it had. On the contrary, it had been shown, as the protest responded to affirmed, that the principles acted on by the Assembly were "without foundation in our form of government," and tended "to abolish the constitutional rights of Synods, Presbyteries, and church sessions-to confound and contravene those original and essential principles of ecclesiastical government and order, which constitute and characterize the Presbyterian church." We thought and said in the Assembly, that in our best

*No judicatory but the illegitimate Second Presbytery of Philadelphia, ever appealed or complained to the Assembly on this subject. Why then mention judicatories in the plural number?-To make the thing look more constitutional?