Still do you hesitate! When the terrors of the Lord have driven you so far from hell, that you are come closer to the gate of heaven, can you not find courage to knock, though this be written there, with the very sun-beam of God's grace, "To him that knocketh it shall be opened." And though He stands and invites you, beseeches you by his incarnation and all his humiliation, by his life of sorrows, by his temptations, by his hunger and thirst, by his mockeries and bloody sweat, by his agony, his crown of thorns, his wounds, his cross, his grace, by his passion, and all his love stronger than death,-by his many sighs, his many tears and many prayers, oh, when He who endured them all, beseeches you by all these, is it obstinacy, is it blindness, or is it that disbelief which makes Him a liar, that hinders you coming and finding that rest, which the Prince of Peace alone can give, and which is the foretaste of that rest "which remaineth for the people of God?" You are heavy laden with guilt. Scared with visions of punishment, the terrors of wrath take hold upon you, and your frighted conscience cries out, "Oh, how shall I appear?" Let the word of God be heard. "Through this Man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins." "There is, therefore, now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, (even to them that believe on his name), who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit." "Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with God, through Jesus Christ our Lord." And if you ask Jesus Christ, whether He will or can pardon and deliver you, he will answer as he did to a certain half faithless man, "If thou canst believe, all things (promised) are possible to him that believeth." But perhaps, the service of sin is your plague. You are groaning like the Israelites under the Egyptian task-masters, and crying out with St. Paul, "O, wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death!" It is no wonder the sinner groans, when his eyes are opened to know good and evil, for he there discovers, that he is an abused slave of a tyrant, who repays his labour with more labour, and moreover, chastises him with scorpions. How can he enjoy any rest, who is under the dominion of evil passions, tempers, habits? As impossible as to have quietness in the midst of a battle, or to be cool among flames of fire. Anger, envy, pride, lust, ambition, avarice, will suffer those in whom they reign to have rest, when they change their nature and cease to be evil. For this burden, Jesus Christ prescribes the same remedy as for the former, "Come unto me, learn of me, take my yoke upon you;" for this yoke, our Master, whose name be blessed for ever, hath made his own, in that He himself condescended to bear it for our instruction and encouragement. not like the Pharisees, who laid heavy burdens and grievous, on other mens' shoulders, but could not themselves touch them with one of their fingers. Oh no, "take my yoke, which I not only impose on others, but bear myself; (I am He was meek and lowly), and ye shall find rest, not only from fear of punishment, but from sinning, which causes that fear." "Unto you, God having raised up His Son Jesus, sent him to bless you, with rest and peace in this life and the future, by turning away every one of you from his iniquities." For the Son of God hath come even from heaven, and assumed the form of man, to take us by the hand, and keep us out of this slough of iniquity. He comes to give us power to become sons of God; He takes away the slavery to evil passions, and the badges of it, giving us the liberty, the name, the station, the privileges, the spirit of the sons of God, and the sure hope of the eternal inheritance which is reserved in heaven for us, who " are heirs of God, and joint heirs with Christ," and are "kept by His mighty power through faith unto salvation." Seek then to know Christ in the saving power of His cross. By it be ye crucified unto the world, and let the world be crucified unto you." Seek to have "the body, laden with fleshly sins," nailed to the tree whereon Christ made expiation for the sins of the world; thus shall you know Him in the fellowship of his sufferings," thus shall your old man be destroyed, that you should not serve sin; thus, having with the apostle cried out, "Oh wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me," you will with him exclaim, "Thanks be to God that giveth us the victory," a present and real conquest over sin, through Jesus Christ. Love is stronger than all chains, more powerful than all reasons, arguments, inducements, and the cross is therefore the power of God for saving men; because therein God commendeth his love to us, even when we were yet sinners, and the cross is thus the mightiest instrument of salvation, because it is the strongest argument of God's love to us. Oh may the love of God subdue us, Oh may the love of Christ constrain us, to love Him who first loved us, and to secure that belief, that peace, that rest which consists in being so actuated, pervaded, filled with love, as not to live to ourselves, but to Him that died for us and rose again. And so may the Holy Spirit of God, who is the comforter, and whom the Lord sent from the Father, to secure and increase that peace which He bequeathed to his disciples, fill us with all joy and peace in believing, that the rest which we seek, we may find and enjoy, now and through eternal ages. "He that committeth sin, is the slave of sin." "If the Son shall make you free ye shall be free indeed." Now, to the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, one BY THE REV. MARCUS DODS, We gage us in the consideration of the ancient prophecies which were there fulfilled,-in unfolding the revelations of the divine character which were there made, and in tracing the privileges, the duties, and the hopes which flow from thence to the fallen sons and daughters of men. We shall turn our view, therefore, for the present, to a subordinate, but by no means uninstructive portion of the scene. The one has had her heart torn by the course which she had seen her son follow, after having taken all pains to instil into his young mind a sense of his duty to God and to man, after all her instructions, and all her prayers; and now it is torn by seeing him perishing by a painful and shameful death. Probably she had often besought him, with all a mother's love, and a mother's tears, to remember the instructions of his youth. But in vain. She sees him brought to a premature end by his crimes, and she feels like a mother. But she sees, too, that the misery of his fate has awakened all those principles which his guilty career had weakened, but had not extinguished. The trial which unfolds to the world his guilt,—the fatal sentence in which it terminates, and the awful scene which carries that sentence into execution, all wring even to bursting a mother's breast, and make her wish she had never been a mother. But then she has much consolation. She can ap Let us look to the two thieves. The first thing that strikes us here is, that two men may be associates in guilt, and may be brought into condemnation for the same crime, and yet may be men of very different characters. These two thieves were condemned for the same crime, and it is distinctly admitted that their condemnation was just. Yet it is clear that there was a very wide difference between the men. The one seems to be completely hardened in guilt, suffering, as he is, all the pain and the infamy which he had brought upon himself by his guilt, he yet feels no compunction what-peal to God that her son has not been lost for want ever. He is only anxious to escape from his punishment; while, at the same time, he manifests a disposition just to plunge again into a fresh course of iniquity. He has apparently no fear of a judgment to come, but joins in the scoffs which the persecutors of the Lord were uttering against Him. He dies while his heart is yet burning with all that intensity of passion which had urged him on to the commission of those crimes that had brought him to this fearful end. The other, on the contrary, seems to be impressed with a very proper sense of the awfulness of his situation. He looks not on his executioners with the indignant ferocity of an untamed savage, but acknowledges that his punishment is just. He looks not forward to futurity with reckless disregard; for he feels that when his crimes against society have been expiated on the cross, he must appear before another tribunal, when the sufferings which he has endured, however painful, can form no expiation, and when he needs the interest of a powerful advocate. He feels all the impropriety of his associate's sentiments and conduct, rebukes him for them, and turning to his other fellow-sufferer, makes this request, "Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom." | of careful instruction. She has done her duty; and Let us look now for a little to the mother of the other criminal. The view is too painful to be dwelt upon. She sees the sufferings of the son for whom she What instruction either of these men had received, we are not informed, but it is certain that there must have been a cause for the very remarkable difference in their characters; and that, too, a cause not springing up at the moment when its effect became apparent, but a cause which must have been of long standing, and must have been in active operation at the time when the principles which distinguished their characters were first formed. In short, it is obvious, that as in their riper years they had been associates in crime, the dis-had felt all that foolish fondness which made her spoil tinguishing features of their characters must have been impressed in childhood. The one had evidently had good principles instilled into him in childhood; for it is absurd to suppose that they sprung into being all at once on the cross. The other, apparently, had never received any instructions whatever. This scene then may afford a most instructive and impressive lesson to parents. The mother of Jesus was there; and we may, without any violence, suppose the mothers of the other two sufferers to have been there also. Let us consider the different feelings with which they would contemplate the death of their offspring. him by fatal indulgence. She sees him perish like a wild beast which gnaws its chain in its agonies; and she justly recognises in this the work of her own hands. His sufferings serve only to exasperate his ferocity. They cannot awaken in his breast any dormant principles of early piety, for no such principles has she ever attempted to plant there. She sees him perish in all the exasperation of rage against those who have brought him to punishment, but utterly insensible to the guilt of his crimes. She retires from the bitter scene, but not with any feeling of consolation. She retires only to brood in secret over the melancholy recollection of her own want of real love to her child, and over the fearful anticipation of meeting him in judgment, and of hearing him accuse the author of his being, as the guilty cause of all his crimes and all his sufferings. Being bound to economize our space, we shall occupy little of it, in pointing out to parents the important lessons which result from the scene we have been placing before them, and which they can hardly fail to draw for themselves. We shall therefore do no more than simply request them to think of the deep responsibility that rests upon them, and press upon their attention the two following remarks: First, That in this land of Bibles, no man can perish through ignorance, without somebody, and especially parents, being guilty of his blood. Second, That neither the care of parents towards their children, nor their neglect of them, can fail, sooner or later, to produce its proper fruit, and to meet its due reward. template them without alarm; and thus composedly we descend into the grave without one serious thought of that judgment to which we are hastening. If such be the sinner's death, where can be his repentance? There may be anxiety, there may be fear-deep anxie ty, trembling fear-without one emotion of godly grief; but there can be no true contrition without something of anxious and fearful thought. And the careless sinner is deceiving himself, not only in counting on dying repentance and faith, but in counting on death-bed awakening or alarm. If he is anxious now, he may reckon indeed on being anxious then, whether penitent or not; but if he is careless now, he may reckon, not indeed with certainty, but with strong probability, on being then equally devoid of care and fear. Eighteen months have not yet elapsed since the fishing village of was visited with cholera, a disease which more than almost any other seems to suffer the mental faculties to continue in full operation. One of the victims was remarkable for his bodily strength, and not less remarkable for having lived alike fearless of God, and regardless of man. In a state of society We propose, next week, to return to the same scene, where right is frequently measured by force, he was a which is still rich in important instruction. DEATH-BED SCENES. No. II. As men live, so do men die. We are often warned against relying on a death-bed repentance, by the unquestionable fact, that such repentance is rarely found to have been genuine where we have the means of testing its sincerity by the unexpected recovery of the apparent penitent: returning life usually bringing along with it a fatal return to vanity or to vice. This consideration ought to prove alarming to those who are living secure in present impenitence, and comforting themselves with the expectation of repenting before they are summoned into judgment. But they have the reply, that late repentance is not necessarily insincere, and some may even suppose that the sorrowing sinner would then have been fit to die, although the result has proved that he was not fit to live. There is, however, another truth with which the careless must be plied, more alarming than the mere insincerity of dying contrition; a truth more frequently overlooked, and which, when stated, sounds more harshly in their ears, and is more ready to startle them into thought. It is, not simply that death-bed repentance is rarely sincere, but that such repentance, whether sincere or insincere, rarely occurs. If we except the children of God, and along with them those who have been habitually more or less anxious about their souls' salvation, we believe we may safely conclude that death, when it has fairly drawn near, seldom awakens even anxiety in the minds of men; and that the attendants on the dying bed are usually more solemn, more sorrowful, and more afraid, than is the dying man himself. We are aware that death, at its first approach, almost always produces a transient alarm, as in the threatening or commencement of deadly disease; and that where the final stroke is sudden and instantaneous, as when life is forfeited to the laws of the country, this alarm may frequently continue to the last. But in most other cases, whenever the work of death commences, the fear of death ceases. The culprit trembles for a moment, and resists the grasp of the officer of justice; but when he finds resistance vain, he walks quietly along, and even enters into friendly colloquy with the man who is conducting him to the judge. And just so we tremble for an hour, and struggle with death, till finding that he has indeed laid his hand upon us, and that we cannot escape, we coolly yield to his summons; we gradually become acquainted with his features, which seemed strange at first, and learn to con He man not lightly to be accounted of, possessing as he did muscular powers above all his comrades, many of whom might have been reckoned men of might. His strength, however, was but that of the savage, unadorned by any ennobling qualities of mind. Even courage did not characterise him. It was neither his skill nor his prowess in combat, that his companions feared to encounter; but they shrunk from the grasp of his mighty hand, with which, if he once seized them, they had no chance to contend. His slouching gait, and the sideward and downcast glancing of his eye, with which he seemed afraid to meet you full in the face, pourtrayed his mental features. In a word, as his bodily strength was compared to the tiger's, so were also his inward dispositions: cruel, cunning, cowardly, fierce, dogged, revengeful, untractable. was formidable to all, but chiefly to his friends; and some idea both of his superior strength and savage ferocity may be gathered from the circumstance, that when at one period of his last illness hopes were entertained of his recovery, his nearest relatives did not hesitate openly to express their regret. He possess ed resolution and firmness of purpose, which might have been available for much good, had they been directed to worthy objects. On one occasion, when I pressed on him the necessity of his making a decided effort against intemperance, to which he was a slave, he told me that he had once abstained from every thing stronger than water, during a period of six weeks. I was curious to know his reason for such self-denial, and to my question on this point the reply was most characteristic of the man, "Just because I took it into my head ;" and acting according to the same rule, when he took it into his head again, he returned to his former habits. His intemperance, however, had neither impaired his constitution, for malt liquor formed his principal beverage; nor wasted his little patrimony, for he was laborious, and spent no more than his daily earnings. Another and rather annoying instance of his self-will and firmness of purpose I encountered in reference to the Sabbath. I was endeavouring to impress the fishermen with a sense of the impropriety of casting their herring-nets on the day of rest, and to obtain their consent to refrain from the practice in future. Many earnestly desired the reformation, and all seemed willing to comply; only they wished that it should be matter of general agreement and compact. Having succeeded thus far, I entertained little doubt of carrying the measure; there being usually such a feeling of union amongst them, that a small minority was almost sure to accede to the wishes of the majority. The person we have been describing hap pened to be at sea at the time, but being anxious to have necessary in recovering from so severe a disease; and the point settled, I waited for his landing, and after talk- he was too self-willed besides, to think of obeying the ing over some other matters, told him that the desire on prescriptions of the physician, except, at least, in his the subject was general, and the consent hitherto unani- own presence. As gently as they could they pressed mous, and that it only required his concurrence to have the on him the importance of complying with the orders arrangement completed. He answered very coolly, and that had been given him. He bore their remonstrances for him very civilly, "They may all do as they please, for a little, but it was more than could well be expectbut if there is anything to be got, you may depend ed that he should bear them long, coming, as they did, upon it I'll go off on Sabbath." Not without bitter- from men whose wishes he was not wont to gratify. ness of spirit I learned at his lips the meaning of the At length he broke out into passion, got hold of a knife, proverb, One sinner destroyeth much good." The and, with oaths and curses, swore that he would stab Sabbath indeed to him, when not a day of work, was them if they offered any further interference. This was but the rest of the drunkard, for during many years he the last act he essayed to do, and these the last words he had never entered the house of God-except, how- uttered; or if he spoke any more it was in grudged and ever, that on a few occasions he might have been pre-monosyllabic replies to the physician's enquiries, and sent at our evening meeting. His conduct in this respect he did not defend on general principles, or contend that there was no obligation to frequent the place of prayer; but in his own individual case he held himself amply justified. The officiating clerk of the church was his cousin-german; and for any one to belong to the circle of his kindred, was in itself sufficient to mark him out as an enemy; but to him personally, over and above the common enmity of kinsmanship, he bore a grudge peculiarly bitter. So situated, and considering that it was impossible for him to enter church without seeing that man whose presence could not but most keenly excite his spleen, he looked on his attending as out of the question; and, moreover, as he had resolved never to suffer his hatred to be lulled asleep, he had determined, that during the lifetime of his cousin, he should not set his foot within the house of God. these were the latest spontaneous effusions of his heart. Self-will, impiety, revenge, formed the leading features of his character in life; the apparent cause of his death was his own wilfulness, and his dying words were expressions of blasphemy against God, and of hatred toward brother and friend. Even his iron frame could not long endure the treatment to which, by his stubborn heedlessness, it was now subjected, and his strength speedily sunk. I visited him the following morning, and found him supporting himself on his hands and knees, tossing and rolling about, and growling with pain and rage. He had said with Sampson, "I will arise and shake myself;" but he wist not that the great strength wherein he trusted was gone; and when he found that he was weak as other men, he seemed mortified and mad at the discovery. The utterance of his feelings was like nothing I had ever heard-like nothing human, but rather the growling of some savage beast; and it sounded not so much like the expression of agony, as of anger and vexation. If he might have been likened to a tiger before, in ferocity and strength, it was impossible to see him He now without imagining a tiger chained and wounded. The Almighty had pierced his frame with a dart which he could not pluck out, and bound him with a secret fetter which he could not break; the wound was galling him sore, and he murmured and bit the chain. It was vain now to ask any one to help him; not a creature would enter the dwelling, and the wretched family was left alone; the father and mother were both given up as hopeless, and the children sat watching the dreadful progress of the scene. In making the last round of the patients with the surgeon at night, we found the boy and girl both fast asleep on the hearth, worn out with watching, and fear, and sorrow. It seemed needless and cruel to awake them; we left the children to sleep, and the parents to die. When cholera began to prevail in the village, and he saw neighbour and companion cut down, one after another, he seemed to be panic-struck, and trembled for himself. He was soon seized, however, and there was manifested no more anxiety or thought of death. was more favoured than many others, in having several days to prepare for his danger; but although I conversed with him two or three times a-day, on his state and prospects, I could not perceive the slightest awakening of desire for the salvation of his soul. He appeared to know his danger, and "went as an ox to the slaughter, or as a fool to the correction of the stocks." There was something of unusual and awful interest in seeing the King of Terrors make his assault on such a man, in the prime of his life, and the fulness of his strength. And it almost seemed for a while as if Death had mistaken his victim, and attacked one whom for the present he could not overpower. The malady was virulent, and even his might appeared to have sunk beneath it; but under seeming weakness there was latent vigour. At a stage of the disease which is usually characterised by the complete prostration of strength, his wife, who attended him, was suddenly seized, and sunk helpless on the floor. He sprang up immediately, caught and carried her in his arins, laid her on another bed, and then, exhausted by the effort, threw himself back on his own! At length the medical attendant pronounced the disease overcome, and said that nothing but attention was requisite to ensure his recovery. But who was to pay him that attention? In the midst of numerous relatives, some of whom expressed their sorrow at his apprehended restoration, he had not a single friend. His eldest son and daughter, of thirteen and fourteen years of age, were in the house; but even had their years been less tender, they could not have waited night and day on both father and mother. After much persuasion, one of his brothers, who was himself, alas! soon to be numbered with the dead, together with a companion, was prevailed on to sit up with him for one night; and there was certainly kindness in the deed, but how did he requite it? He had never known what sickness was, and could ill conceive the care that was The Meanwhile the necessity of providing sick-nurses had become increasingly urgent; the nearest town at which they could be procured was twelve miles distant; and ill as I could spare the time, I determined to set out for them on the following morning. Before starting I revisited the patient, and with mingled feelings of peace and awe, I contemplated a different scene. The statue of an ancient warrior seemed reposing before me. sufferer having apparently put forth an effort which he could not repeat, had thrown himself on his back, and stretched to the uttermost every limb and muscle of his athletic frame. The height of his figure, and his amazing muscular power, which had both been partially concealed by his habitual slouch, were now fully develop ed. His head, covered with dark bushy hair, he had thrown quite back upon the pillow, he had uncovered his neck and breast, and from side to side of the couch had stretched, to their full length, his powerful arms. There was awful grandeur in the spectacle. I stood over him and gazed with wonder, as he lay motionless the model of Herculean strength. How is the terrible one brought low! How has the oppressor ceased! Is this the man that made the people tremble! The vital spark was not yet extinguished, but the struggle was over, and in so far as regards this world, "the wicked had ceased from troubling, and the weary was at rest." I returned in the evening with two sick-nurses, and finding that our physician, who for several weeks had rarely enjoyed two or three hours of unbroken rest, was in bed, worn out and unwell, I proceeded to conduct them to their respective destinations. One I left with a patient who was within a few hours of death, and repairing with the other to the shunned and desolate dwelling, I stood again by the bedside of the dying man. But the couch was forsaken and empty; the eye which had seen him saw him no more; the grave was now his bed; the green sod had covered him; his body had returned to the earth, and his spirit to God who gave it. THE FIRST FRUITS. By the Rev. ROBERT M'CHEYNE. THERE is something peculiarly interesting about the first fruits of a work of grace in a heathen land. Even the first ripe bunch of grapes, and the first ripe sheaf of corn, bring with them peculiar emotions of joy and gratitude, -how much more where the fruit is that of souls gathered into the garner of the Saviour! The missionary went forth weeping, bearing precious seed, long and anxiously he sowed, watering the seed with his tears, and seeking the sunshine of God's countenance with his prayers, and now, in the few blades that begin to rise above the ground," first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear,"—we behold with exultation the work of God begun, and, with quickened hope, we look for the time when the believer "shall doubtless come again, bringing his sheaves with him." The first fruits of the Moravian Brethren's mission to North America are of this most interesting character. Brother Christian Rauch was one of the first who resolved to leave Herrnhuth, to venture his life in preaching Christ to the American Indians. He arrived in Newport in July 1740, and having heard that an embassy of Wahikans were in the city, he went in search of them, and, to his great joy, found that they understood Dutch. Their appearance was ferocious, but he addressed two of them, Choop and Shabash, asking whether they wished a teacher, to instruct them in the way of salvation? Choop answered, "that he often felt disposed to know better things than he did, but knew not how or where to find them, therefore, if any one would come and instruct him and his people he should be thankful. They were all poor and wicked, yet he thought it might answer a good purpose if a teacher would come and dwell with them." Shabash also consented, and, with due Indian solemnity, they declared him their teacher. Rauch rejoiced to hear this declaration, and considered it a call from God. On the 16th August he arrived at Shekomeko, and was received in the Indian manner, with much kindness. He immediately told them the aim of his visit that "he had come to them from beyond the great ocean to bring unto them glad tidings of a divine Saviour, who became man, died, and rose again, and all this for us." They listened, were silent, and went away seemingly impressed. The next day he spoke again, but his words only excited derision; and at last they laughed him to scorn. Satan seemed to grasp his prey all the more, finding now that a hand was stretched out to save; drunkenness, and every vice, prevailed more and more, so that "they loved the dark ness." Still the faithful missionary persevered, travelling from one Indian town to another, with great fatigue, visiting the Indians daily in their huts, shewing them their guilt and their depravity, and extolling the excellency of Christ. No one would receive him to lodge in his house, so that, as he said, he was always seeking and never finding. But all his pains were forgot, when, one day, Choop the greatest drunkard of them all, the most outrageous in every vice, and one who had actually made a cripple of himself by his irregularities-was powerfully awakened, and enquired, with intense anxiety, "what effect the blood of the Son of God, slain on the cross, could have on the heart of man?" The heart of the missionary was turned within him whilst he testified of the power of the blood of Jesus. Soon after, Shabash was also awakened, and the work of grace became remarkably evident in the hearts of these two savages. Their eyes overflowed with tears whenever Brother Rauch described to them the sufferings and death of the Redeemer. These were the first fruits of Christ among the Wahikander Indians. Both became preachers of righteousness to their heathen brethren; Choop, especially, had a peculiar gift of expressing himself plainly and convincingly. The following is his own account of his conversion:-" Brethren, I have been a heathen, and have grown old among the heathens, therefore I know how heathens think. Once a preacher came and began to explain to us that there was a God: we answered, 'Dost thou think us so ignorant as not to know that? go back to the place from whence thou camest.' When again another preacher came, and began to teach us, and to say: "You must not steal, nor lie, nor get drunk,' we answered: Thou fool, dost thou think we don't know that? learn first thyself, and then teach the people to whom thou belongest to leave off these things; for who steals or lies, or who is more drunken than thine own people?' and thus we dismissed him. After some time Brother Christian Rauch came into my hut, and sat down by me. He spoke to me nearly as follows: 'I come to you in the name of the Lord of heaven and earth. He sends to let you know that he will make you happy, and deliver you from the misery in which you lie at present. To this end he became a man, gave his life a ransom for man, and shed his blood for him.' When he had finished his discourse he lay down upon a board, fatigued by the journey, and fell into a sound sleep. I then thought, 'what kind of man is this? there he lies and sleeps; I might kill him, and throw him out into the wood, and who would regard it? but this gives him no concern.' However I could not forget his words; they constantly recurred to my mind; even when asleep I dreamed of the blood of Christ shed for us. I found this to be widely different from what I had ever heard, and I interpreted Christian's words to the other Indians. Thus, through the grace of God, an awakening took place among us. I say, therefore, Brethren, preach Christ our Saviour, and his sufferings and death, if you wish your words to gain entrance among the heathen." The following letter, which he addressed to the Brethren in the colony of Pennsylvania, possesses the same marks of a mind taught of God:-"I have been a poor wild heathen, and for forty years as ignorant as a dog. I was the greatest drunkard, and the most willing slave of the devil; and as I knew no |