CHAPTER V. The bereaved man, quitting his native shores, embarks for America; indulging the fond hope of sequestering himself in the solitude, for which he sighed. But, contrary to his expectations, a series of circumstances combine to produce him a Promulgator of the Gospel of God, our Saviour. Death's sable pall o'er all my pleasures thrown, Sad and forlorn, to the new world I fled, HAVING, as has been described, laid the companion of my youth, the wife of my bosom, in the grave; my spirit still hovered round her tomb. It has been seen, that my life seemed devoted to misery; that I wept at all times, except when I turned my attention to that bright world, upon which, I imagined, I was verging; that I wished the act of putting a period to a weary life had ranked among the Christian virtues; that I never more passionately longed for any good, than for the period, which was to put an end to my existence; that I had but few acquaintance, that I wished not to form pew connexions; that I was sick of the world, and all which it could bestow; that the retirement of my lonely dwelling was most acceptable to me; that I abhorred the thought of expecting any thing like happiness in this world; and, that I thus passed weeks and months, verily believing, that I should thus finish days, which, I cherished a soothing hope, would soon be • numbered. Through those sad scenes of sorrow, to which I was condemned, I had one friend, one earthly friend, from whom I derived real consolation. This friend was Mr. James Relly, the man who had been made an instrument, in the hand of God, of leading me into an acquaintance with the truth, as it is in Jesus. This kind friend often visited me; and in conversing with him, I found my heart lightened of its burden; I could better bear the pitiless storm, that beat upon me, when strengthened by the example of this son of sorrow; we frequently conversed upon the things of the kingdom, and Mr. Relly, observing my heart much warmed and enlarged by these subjects, urged me to go forth, and make mention of the loving-kindness of God. No, no, I constantly replied, it is not my design again to step forth in a public character. I have been a promulgator of falsehood. "And why not," he would interrupt," a promulgator of truth? Surely you owe this atonement to the God, who hath irradiated your understanding by the light of his countenance." But no argument, he made use of, was sufficiently strong to excite in my bosom a single wish, that I had either inclination or capability, for a character so arduous; my heart's desire was to pass, through life, unheard, unseen, unknown to all, as though I ne'er had been. had an aversion to society, and, since I could not be permitted to leave the world, I was solicitous to retire from its noise and its nonsense: I was indeed a burden to myself, and no advantage to any body else; every place, every thing served to render me more miserable, for they led my mind to the contemplation of past scenes, of scenes never more to return. Such was the situation of my mind, when, at the house of one of Mr. Relly's hearers, I accidentally met a gentleman from America. I listened with attention to his account of the country, in which he had so long resided; I was charmed with his description of its extent, its forests, its lakes, its rivers, its towns, its inhabitants, the liberty they enjoyed, and the peace and plenty, which I they possessed; I listened to every thing with astonishment; and I turned toward the new world my most ardent wishes. I communicated my desire to visit America to my mother, to my brethren. I was ridiculed for entertaining a project so chimerical. What, cross the Atlantic! For what purpose? To whom would I go? What could I do? What object could I have in view? I was unable to answer any of these questions; I had not a single acquaintance in America, indeed I had no wish to make acquaintance; I had nothing in prospect, but a kind of negative happiness; I did not mean to commence a voyage in pursuit of bliss, but to avoid, if possible, a part of my misery. My mind for a considerable time laboured with my purpose; many difficulties interposed; I would infinitely have preferred entering that narrow house, which is appointed for all living, but this I was not permitted. to do; and I conceived, to quit England, and to retire to America, was the next thing to be desired. Nights and days of deliberation at length convinced my judgment, and I was determined to depart for the new world. My few friends urged me most earnestly to let them apply to those, who had connections in America, for letters of introduction, or recommendation. No by no means, this would most effectually defeat my purpose; I would rather not go, than go thus. My object was to close my life in solitude, in the most complete retirement; and with those views 1 commenced preparations for my voyage. I visited the brother of my departed wife, and I beheld both him, and his children, with the same eyes a dying person would have beheld them; tears frequently stole down my face, and a thonsand thoughts, that served to harrow up my soul, crowded upon me. I was determined not to repeat this scene, and I bid them adieu; could I have done this upon a bed of death, how much happier should I have been! The place I now occupied, to which I had recently removed, was extremely beautiful; it was in the vicinity of London. I had a fine garden, and a delightful prospect; but my better-self had fled this globe, and with her fled iny soul's calm sunshine, every heart-felt joy. I was, as I have frequently said, extremely wretched; I spake to the master of a vessel, bound to New York; I agreed for my passage, my heart trembled, it was worse than death. He fixed the time for my departure; every arrangement was made. My brother, my widowed mother, I met them in my parlour; it was torturing. "Sit down, my son," said my weeping parent; my brother appeared a silent spectacle of sorrow; "I know you, my child, too well to expect I can alter your resolution; it is now too late to beseech you to reflect; I know you have long reflected, and I am astonished to find you still determined. You have a charming situation; your prospects are good; could you but make your mind easy, you might still be happy; why, then, this aversion to life?" I interrupted her, by declaring, that the whole world would not, could not detain me longer in England; yet I passionately loved my country, and my few remaining friends shared the best affections of my heart. This voluntary exile was worse than death; but I was impelled to go, and go I must. My poor mother threw her fond arms about my neck : "Once more," said she, "you leave me, but not now, as before; then you left me in my native place, among my natural connexions; then too, I had hope you "" and she would again be restored to me-but now⚫ burst into tears; my heart was agonized. I entreated her to consider me, as on the bed of death, nor again to think of me, as of a living son. Be thankful, my mother, be thankful it is no worse; be thankful I have not fallen a victim to the despondency of my spirit. I leave you with your children, with children kind and dutiful; and, what is better than all I leave you in the hands, and under the care of a kind God, who hath said, I will never "But shall I hear from you, leave you, nor forsake you. my son?" Do not, I entreat of you think of me as living; I go to bury myself in the wilds of America; no one shall hear from me, nor of me. I have done with the world; and, prostrating myself in the presence of my mother and my God, with streaming eyes, and supplicating hands, I commended my soul, and all who were connected with me, or allied to me, to that Being, who orders all things according to his own good pleasure. I left my mother in an agony of affliction, and retired, but not to rest. My baggage had been sent on board ship in the morning, and, accompanied by my brother, we took a boat and passed down to Grave's End, where I entered on board the vessel, that was to convey me to America, which, in my then judgment, was tantamount to quitting the world. The vessel, however, did not sail immediately; I had an opportunity of going on shore again, and spending some time at Grave's-End. Fond of being alone, I ascended a lofty eminence, and sat me down under the shade of a wide spreading tree; here I had leisure, and inclination for reflection. On one hand, I beheld the wide ocean, my path to the new world; on the other, the Thames, upon the silvery surface of which, many were passing to London. My mind rapidly ran over the various scenes I had witnessed, since my arrival in that great city. I dwelt upon the good I had lost, never more to be recovered. My soul sickened at the recollection of my heavy bereavement, of the solitary situation to which I was reduced. I was going from a world, in which I had some associates, and some friends, into a country where every individual was unknown to me! I was going on board a vessel, to the crew of which I was an utter stranger-all gloomy-truly gloomy. One idea, however, continued my abiding consolation; I might soon finish my course, and bid an eternal adieu to sorrow of every description. Yet I trembled at what was be |