of misery, in which he would find "no place for repentance, none for pardon left." My fears were too soon realized. The letter addressed to me, informed me of the fatal fact. I scarcely stopped to read it through, and instantly hastened to the prison; I cannot describe the horror of the scene that presented itself. Upon a bed, in the apartment appropriated to the purposes of an hospital, lay the ill-fated votary of this world's false delights. The bed-clothes were covered with his blood, which, in spite of all the efforts of the surgeon to staunch it, still oozed from the wound with which the poor wretch had pierced his throat. He had nearly divided the windpipe, and all power of speech was completely destroyed. When I approached him, he looked up, and shook his head. Never shall I forget the ghastly countenance, in which the agopies of despondency, remorse, and desperation, were all combined in a terrific wildness that compelled me, for a moment, to turn away my eyes. I could not bear to contemplate the shocking image of suicide. He strug gled with the attendants to get his hands Loose, that he might prevent the surgeon from sewing up the wounded parts: this caused the blood to gush afresh; at length, however, he sunk fainting into that gentleman's arms, who requested me to withdraw for a few moments, until he should administer the miserable patient a composing medicine, if he should be able to receive it, upon his coming out of the fit.

I withdrew accordingly. When he recovered from this state of insensibility, he made signs that he wished to write; the materials were brought him; and he wrote the following words in a hurried and scarcely legible charac ter. For God's sake do not let Mr. go away-I want him-I must see him-bring him back-I will be, I am more composed." The surgeon's assistant came for me, and telling me that he feared the wound was too large and deep to be efectually sewn up, recommended me to be prompt in whatever I wished to say or do, as he had little doubt of his going off in the next attack of faintness.

I re-entered the room; the blood had ceased to flow, and his countenance appeared more calm and settled. He pointed to a chair at the head of the bed, and clasping his hands in an attitude of prayer, seemed to implore me

with great earnestness, to supplicate the Throne of Grace in his behalf. I complied with his desire. I had finish ed, and had seated mself upon the bed nearly overcome with oppression of heart, when, turning towards him, I saw his eyes lifted upwards, and fixed in a trance of fervor, in which he seemed to be wholly absorbed. His lips moved as he lay engaged in mental prayer, but no articulate sound proceeded from them. I watched him for some minutes, when, suddenly discovering that I had ceased to pray, he lifted his head from the pillow, and seeing me seated by him, he caught hold of my hand, and grasped it convulsively. The pain which the inotion of his head had occasioned, forced him to resume his former posture, but he still retained his hold of me, as if he dreaded to let go lest ha should sink for ever. It was with dif ficulty that I could command myself; when, with a faultering voice, I entreated him to be tranquil." I will come again to you in a few hours," said I, when I hope in GoD you will be better able to attend to me." He lifted up his left hand and spread it upon his breast, by which I concluded that he meant to convey a grateful acquiescence in my design. I then gradually attempted to withdraw my hand from his; but as I moved it, he pressed it more closely; and when I had succeeded in disengaging it, he raised his own and let it fall immediately, unable to support its weight.

I left him with very little expectation of seeing him alive at the hour when I proposed to return.

The time arrived, and to my great astonishment I found hita sitting up in his bed, supported by pillows. The surgeon still continued with him, under the apprehension that a hemorrhage would come on. As soon as the young man saw me, he beckoned to me to come near him; and writing upon a piece of paper, gave it me:-"O my dear sir! My worthy friend! Comforter of my soul! do not-O do not, I beseech you, let my rash action be ever imparted to my afflicted mother, should she regain her senses." I promised it should be kept from her knowledge. He would have bowed his head to thank me, but the stiffness of the wound checked him, He then again made signs for me to pray with him, and prepared himself to join me, by putting his hands together. When my voice

ceased, he closed his eyes, and remained perfectly still for near a quarter of an hour; and then opening them again full upon me, I was rejoiced to see that their frantic stare was changed for a mild and complacent gaze-a smile of grateful respect reposed upon his Tips; and he again took my hand, but with less force than before. His pressure was gentle, and repeated at intervals. He laid his other hand upon it, and for the first time since the dreadful deed he shed tears. As they rolled down his cheeks, the surgeon carefully wiped them off, that the dressings might not be disturbed by his own effort to do it.

I took this opportunity of rising from the bed to depart, when, taking a dictionary, which he had requested in writing might be handed to him, he turned over the leaves to find the principal words by which he might convey his meaning to me. By the means of this expedient, the following communication took place between us :

"Can I be forgiven? Is there any hope for such a sinner as myself? Ŏ speak! you are a minister of God! Dare you bid me hope?”

"Yes, I dare bid you trust in the Divine Mercy, if your repentance be sincere."

"How can I know that my repentance will be accepted?"

"You have the warrant of your Saviour's words to justify your hope that it will be- I am come to seek and to save those that are lost.?"

"Ah! I fear I am lost for ever!" "Not so! GOD is the judge! He looks upon the heart; and as He alone can judge of the sincerity of your penitence, He alone can give you hope of forgiveness."

"O my kind friend! could I die in this hope, I have no desire to live."

"Do not mistrust the Power and Will of your God and Saviour. Even now he has touched your soul with conviction that you require his forgiveness. Meditate upon this conviction until I see you to-morrow, and in the mean while I commend you to His Grace and Mercy."

He then closed the book, and signified to the attendants that he would lie down again. I bade him adieu, which he answered with a look of assent.

On the morrow I repaired to him again. I found by the report of the

surgeon that he had slept for three hours, and had awaked much refeshed, but that from the appearance of the wound there was great cause to apprehend that mortification had taken place. I learnt also that he had employed nearly two hours in writing a letter to me. When I went to him, he had the letter in his hand; he held it out to me, and putting it into mine, again had recourse to the dictionary; and pointing to the word resignation," I said "I would have it so."

He shook his head, and put his finger upon the word "rejected." I then understood that he felt his resignation might be rejected, as he had attempted to take away his own life. I asked him if this was what he meant? He pressed my hand in assent.-"If you feel resigned, it is the effect of your repentant consciousness-The wound which you have inflicted upon yourself, was the result of despair; but resignation is the companion of hope. You resign yourself to the merciful goodness of your GoD-You acknowledge your unworthiness-You rely on the intercession of your Redeemer-You abbor the iniquities of your life-You abjure the infidel principles which actuated you to neglect every religious dutyYou shudder with the deepest contrition at the deed of self-destructionYou repulse every idea of self-justification-You cast away every plea-every argument which the unbeliever has advanced in defence of suicide.

The

siness was already come upon him; and the short convulsive twitches of the body, which usually precede dissolution when mortification takes place, became more frequent. At last, a general insensibility spread itself over his whole frame-The hand that I had taken fell lifeless upon the bed; and an inward groan was the last symptom of life that shewed itself. The next moment he was numbered among the dead!

I returned to my house smitten with grief, and subdued by the sad spectacle which I had witnessed. I know not, indeed, a more difficult, or a more trying, duty of the pastoral office, than that which calls him to the death-bed of the self-murderer. In instances of insanity, the question is not left to his decision; but in those which the overwhelming force of disappointed pride and enfuri ated passion produce, the responsibility of a spiritual counsellor is fearfully inplicated He is conscious that he dares not inculcate an unqualified hope, and he feels that it is not for man to consign his fellow-creature to condemnation and despair-He can only in such cases wherein time is given, between the deplorable act and the hour of death, excite the repentant reflections of the dying man to an abhorrence of the rashness of the deed, and of the criminal pursuits which have led to it. Yet as it generally happens that, when reflection returns to the perverted mind, it brings with it a profound regret at having prematurely cut itself off from the continuance of life, it requires much penetration to discover whether the penitence avowed be the genuine sorrow of a renewed heart :and notwithstanding the most faithful efforts on the part of the Minister to make this discovery, he is too frequently compelled to content himself with recommending the wretched offender to the Divine Mercy, and with assuring him that it is infinite, and extends beyond the contracted limits of human judgment-still, he trembles at the possibility of the af frighted soul's clinging to a presump tuous dependence on the one band, or on the other, sinking into the sinful despondency of a repulsive mistrust. It is a most afflictive strait, both for the bewildered patient, and for him from whom he looks for comfort and, support in his last moments of remorse and dread. The humane sympathies

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of the man may incline the minister towards the milder course of administering consolation to the patientbut the godly faithfulness of the christian guide forbids him to temporize with the justice of heaven. It is true, be calls to mind where it is written that mercy rejoiceth against judgment," but with the acknowledgment of the one he is constrained to blend the convictions of the other, and he knows there is no intermediate alternative. In the case before me I beheld a young man, who, from the earliest period of expanding intellect to the dreadful instant of self-murder, had given the reins to his passions, and had unhesitatingly violated the purest principles of moral, social, and religious restraint-the profligate notions of the libertine, and thecorresponding insolence of the infidel, had supplanted every just, honourable, and pious feeling of the heart; the most lamentable consequences ensued, and even before he had contemplated the probable issue-for it is repugnant to humanity to suppose, that, had this beedless criminal foreseen the destruction which his guilt produced, he would have deliberately persevered in his evil ways that, could he have contemplated, as the inseparable certainties of his transgressions, a father's heart riven in twain, and a mother's intellect overturned by his implacable disobedience -a friend's wife degraded to infamy and contempt, and that friend himself murdered, by his licentious villainyhe would have deliberately arranged his plans to effect the progressive ac complishment of deeds so full of horror and perdition. But, of all the delusions to which man is subject, those with which his own corrupt heart obscures his judgment, are the most subtle and destructive-"So far I will go, and no farther," is the deceptuous persuasive with which he satisfies himself at his first outset in vice. Vain, presumptuous resolve!-Some other allurement courts his senses, the gratification of which demands a farther forfeiture of honour and virtue-this attained, another and another still succeed, until he finds himself so enveloped in the maze of depraved enjoyment, that he loses all power to retrieve himself by retreat, and he plunges forward with a desperate ardor, to some enterprize in iniquity, which at once becomes the limit of his crimes and the cause of

their punishment. It is then that reflection returns, and his conscience arms itself against him-that conscience which might have preserved him, had be listened in time to its seasonable admonitions, now persecutes him with maddening thought on what he has been, what he is, and what he might have been. He now possesses no power to remedy the past, no opportunity to secure the future, and no escape from the present. He feels that he is accursed by man, rejected by God, and hateful to himself. The burden of reflection becomes too heavy for his mind to bear; weakened as it is in all its best energies, by a life of dissipation, and overwhelmed by self reproach, no strength is left for endurance, no fortitude offers its aid to hold him up beneath the pressure of that retribution that crowds upon his soul in all the various shapes of personal disgrace, universal execration, and a remorseful reminiscence, fruitless of every other consequence but such as leaves him in the forlorn state of utter privation of all good, and a desolate consciousness that he suffers the deserved recompense of his iniquity, uppitied and disowned by all who knew him. He awhile surveys his condition-he looks around him from the brink of the precipice on which he stands-he sees the clouds of darkness behind him, he hears the thunders of wrath and judgment threatening him on all sides, even now the lightnings of divine vengeance burst upon his devoted head! No kindly refuge presents itself-no friendly arm upholds him-no shelter, no defence, within his reach! In every blast of the storm denunciation astounds his ear. casts a look beneath him-a fathomless abyss yawns to receive him. He can think no longer, he rushes upon the terrible alternative, and makes his woes eternal!

He

But, Sir, I will no longer dwell upon so melancholy a picture, which there is too much reason to fear, bears the portraiture of the life and death of many a self-destroyer, among those victims of a faithless world, who have sacrificed a life of early hope and future promise to the contaminations of the lawless and the vile, and have involved in the miseries of their fall, the happiness of parents, and the consolations of all who have relatively or socially been unfortunately allied to and connected with

them. I now subjoin the letter which the individual, whose death I witnessed, put into my hands a few moments be fore his burthened soul shook off the mangled remains of mortality. And most fervently do I pray that it may arouse the salutary emotions of earnest consideration in the heart of every youth who reads it, and so induce him, before it be too late, to make the wiser choice of that path of life through which religion and virtue will guide his steps in peace, unto the happy possess sion of a glorious immortality.

T

(To be continued.)

HISTORY OF PETER PLIANT. (Concluded from page 400 ) HERE is a sensitiveness in vice which, shrinking from an investi galion into its own designs, imparts a far greater degree of anxiety than any existing obstacles which may impede its progress. The means generally resorted to for the attainment of those designs, are invariably embittered by a restless feeling, arising from a consciousness that our intentions are not in unison with virtue.

It has been observed, that the actual possession of an object confers not haif the gratification we receive in the purs suit of it, when our hopes and fears keep the mind in continual suspense which suspense, when we are in the pursuit of unlawful objects, embitters the very means we use to attain them. Nor does the enjoyment of the object so attained alleviate the miseries endured in the search, but rather aggravates them, and leaves a consciousness of its impurity to terrify by reflec, tion

It was feelings of this nature which banished sleep from the eyes of Sir Edward; who, fearing some development of his intentions, kept a continual watch at his window, and saw the return of William Somers with his intended victim. He now beheld all his hopes dashed to the ground, and himself ruined in the eyes of those whose good opinion it was his interest to maintain. Delay became dangerous; and while the exhausted family were reposing from the labours of the preceding evening, he secretly left the house, and mounting a horse, took the road to London, hav ing bribed a domestic to carry his port

manteau to the next town, from whence it might be conveyed to the metropolis. Little suspecting his intentions, and feeling it a duty no longer to conceal his base designs, I waited on Sir Lionel as soon as rest had relieved my fatigue, to acquaint him with the whole transaction.

My early appearance created astonishment in the Baronet, who was sitting at breakfast with his sister. I apologised for the unseasonable intrusion, and merely stated that I had a few words to communicate to his private hearing when at leisure.

"At your service," was the reply; but being in no hurry, I waited till the repast should be over, and filled up the time by discoursing on our rustic entertainment.

"My sister, here," said the Baronet, smiling, was in good humour with every one but the farmer's daughters, whom I fear made too great an encroachment upon her privilege, and drew away all the attraction she meant for herself."

"For shaine, brother!" returned Miss Thrifty, peevishly; "you take a delight in misrepresenting me on all occasions, I protest."

"Nay, no words.-I'll pacify you;" and, ringing the bell, he ordered the servant to tell Sir Edward that breakfast was waiting.

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"Sir Edward," resumed he, turning to me, is a sovereign cure for all complaints, and the frown of anger will give place to the smile of joy when our redoubtable Baronet makes his appear. auce."

The servant returned with the intelligence that the door was locked, and no knocking could rouse him.

"Hey day,” said Sir Lionel; "I suppose his fatigue has made more than an ordinary impression upon him -I'll see what I can do; and he left the room.

I could observe this account made an instantaneous impression upon the Jackless lady; who, notwithstanding all the precautions of Sir Edward to the contrary, had imbibed a portion of jealousy which was not a little heightened by the present circumstance, and she sat a whimsical picture of doubt and fear, till the noise made by Sir Lionel in bursting open the door, and rather a vociferous exclamation of "The villain's gone!" produced a scream, and she sank into a chair.

"Sir Lionel Thrifty may thank the officiousness of Mr. Pliant for the unexpected absence of Sir E. C. who gives up all claim to the lands of his sister, is only sorry that he is not able to comply with the wishes of the family by an union with her. He is aware that his character will suffer by this step, but as he will be shortly in the centre of fashion, where he will forget the cir cumstance, he cares not what interpre tations may be put upon it.".

"A pretty scoundrel upon my word! Mr. Pliant, I thank you for your kindness, and am sorry that I placed a wrong construction upon it; at any rate his riddance is fortunate; for, as his views were interested, my poor sister would. only have been a sacrifice. However, I must console her on this subject: and by pointing out the danger she has. escaped, may perhaps alleviate a little of her disappointment."

I left him to pursue his intention; and all cause for secrecy being at an end, repaired to farmer Heartley's to acquaint him with Sir Edward's abrupt departure.

Poor Maria uttered an exclamation of joy at the news, as she feared some ill consequences might en

sue from her father's determination to resent the injury. The farmer himself received it at first with apparent concern, observing, that it was well the coward had flown, or he should have suffered for the outrage; but," added be, in an angry tone, he may yet know what it is to be in my power, and he shall be repaid for his villainy."

The village Rector entering at the moment, caught the farmer's angry glance, and hearing the conclusion of the sentence, judged, from what bad transpired in the village, the reason of his wrath." Hold!" interrupted he;