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the loss of your brig? Think you she can swim loaded with the curses of the poor? with my curses, which have never yet been vain ?" "She has passed Brown's Island," said the owner, evidently affected by the vehemence of her manner," and that is the worst shoal in the bay." Rachel grew more furious, as the brig passed in safety any point or shoal, which was considered peculiarly dangerous, and, as the breeze freshened, her matted hair, floated out like streamers upon the wind, her long boney arms were extended with imprecating gestures, and she appeared, as she poured out her maledictions upon the authors of her calamities, like the evil spirit of the ocean, chiding forth the storms as ministers of her vengeance.

When the vessel had passed Beach Point, the last obstruction to navigation in the harbour, and forming the extreme southern cape, which protected the whole bay, the owner, relieved from the anxiety which the difficulty of the navigation naturally inspired, and which, perhaps, the ravings of Rachel increased, turned to the old woman, and again offered to console her for the loss of her house, and even tendered the use of another habitation; but she was raving in all the impotence of disappointed madness, her voice was inarticulate, she foamed at the mouth, and howled in most demoniac accents. Her face and swollen eyes, that seemed almost starting from their sockets, were bent upon the single object of her curses, when suddenly her voice ceased, and she leaned forward in the very ecstacy of expectation. The eyes of the company, following the bent of hers, fixed on the brig; her sails were shivering in the wind, and all seemed hurry and confusion upon her deck.

In a few moments she slowly sunk from the view of the spectators, and nothing of her was to be seen but a part of her top-gallant mast standing above the waves.

Rachel pitched forward into the water, as she saw the vessel sink, and, as the people were engaged in preparing boats to go to the vessel, she died unnoticed.

The brig, which had struck upon a sunken and unknown rock, was afterwards raised with the loss of

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nearly her whole cargo and one man, said, who had put fire to the house.

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The body of Rachel was found and buried on the spot where her house had stood. The rock, on which the vessel struck, is now called Rachel's Curse; and the grave on the promontory serves, to this day, as a landmark for the channel.


[From the same.]

THE enemies of our holy religion sometimes imagine that they derive an argument against it, from the effect which it has been known to work upon weak or uncultivated minds. They watch with care, the movements of a professing christian, that they may seize on some discrepancy as a loop to hang a scorn upon. The infidel lies in wait for some eccentricity in the new disciple, that he may impeach the motives of his actions: and above all, the effects, which strong doubts or highly inspired hopes, have wrought upon the convert, have furnished forth ample cause for the scoffs and sneers of the sceptic or infidel, who is ever too ignorant of the heart to know, that when the human mind is neutralized by a purer, and a purifying influence, there must necessarily be a powerful effervescence. That zeal, however, which is not according to knowledge, has ever been productive of deleterious effects wherever exer cised. Fleeing, as did the settlers of Plymouth colony, from what they denominated the lukewarmness of Erastian christians, as well as from the scourge of intolerance, it is not strange that they should endeavour to transmit to their successors, the principles for which they had suffered the persecution of man, and braved the war of the elements; they therefore impressed it upon the minds of their offspring, that they should serve the God of their fathers; and withal they were not unmindful of the mode. This zealous adherence to their own forms, even to the persecution of other sects, has purchased for them the censure of those who wish to be considered impartial historians; and the present genera.


tion affect to contemplate with horror the rigour, which the forefathers exercised towards their brethren of different denominations. For them, however, let it be said in extenuation, that they had suffered the scourge and banishment, that they had buffeted the storm, and repelled the savage, to establish in a wilderness the form of worship, and enjoy the peculiarities of a faith, which they believed once delivered to the saints;" and when strangers intruded themselves unbidden guests, it was natural for them to inquire for the "wedding garment." It was to be expected, that they would guard with eager jealousy, the entrenchments of their orthodoxy; and suffering as they had, from those who sat in high places, they justly dreaded the influx of any heresy, and prudently, if not wisely, determined to rush the embryo of that opposition, which they had so severely felt. They therefore, while they cultivated in their offspring all the stern dictates of Calvinism in doctrine, took care to purge the land of opposing forms by something more than words.

The old colonists, in the immediate vicinity of the place of landing of the pilgrims, have ever retained a strong predilection in favour of the doctrines and habits of their pious ancestors, and occasionally furnish conclusive evidence that the opinions and zeal, which inspired their fathers, are not entirely adapted to the present state of society.

The following narration will serve to illustrate one of the peculiarities which strongly characterized the opinions of the pilgrims and their descendants.

The town of Kingston, situated upon Plymouth bay, was visited by what is termed, a revival in religion; the influence of this new incentive was not confined to those, who had been long professors, and who now felt awakened to a new exercise of feelings and duties; but men and women, who had hitherto been careless of the "one thing needful," now sought to possess themselves of "the pearl of great price." Among those, who had evinced the clearest evidence of a renewed heart, was a young man named Thomas Weston. The various exercises of his vigorous and enthusiastic mind, were


peculiarly pleasing to those, whose delight it was to watch the upshootings of grace in the heart, to see the being, made in the image of his Maker,

"Turn from the grovelling cares of earth,
"And heavenward wend his way."

After some months had been spent in a constant exercise of those feelings, which appeared to form his new existence, and in a preparation for a matrimonial connexion, which promised, from the congeniality of disposition, feelings and professions of the object, to afford every happiness that he could ask on earth, it was observed that Weston did not exhibit those lively tokens of spiritual felicity, which had distinguished his early professions. The prayer which had so often ascended in holy confidence, and which had awakened the slumbering piety of age, by its glowing fervency, was now checked and cold, and scarcely audible. At length he ceased to participate in the service of these social meet. ings, which are thought to promote, in an eminent de. gree, the "life of piety in the soul." He was, indeed, seen occasionally in some retired corner, shrinking from observation, and almost from himself; and as a neglect of his ordinary occupation was equally visible, it was thought prudent to inquire into the cause of this falling off in spiritual and temporal duties.

It was evening, when the persons delegated to this important and delicate trust, entered the house of his anxious mother. "Thomas," said the matron, "the deacon, and our worthy neighbour the school-master." Weston raised himself from habitual respect, and turned his heavy black eye upon them, in token of recognition, then sunk again into his chair. When the prayer, (the alpha and omega of all old colony meetings or visitations) was finished, the elders entered upon the especial part of their errand. Weston shrunk, at first, from the close intimacy which they sought with his soul. He felt that feelings like his should be secret, because he knew them undefined and undefinable. They, however, succeeded in learning that he had sunk, as an almost necessary consequence of too highly wrought feelings, into a state of wretched despondency. That he not

only had lost his "first love," but he also was tortured by the fear that he was under the curse of that sin which "cannot be repented of."

The teacher endeavoured to sooth his mind, and awaken him to the comforts of the gospel, by directing him to the experience and examples of others; but in vain, for, the mind, that finds no balm for its wounds in the scriptures, dares not seek it from an earthly source. Finding that the soothings, which were offered by the school-master were unavailing, the other visiter deemed it just to resort to different means. He warned the wretch of the danger of such a state of mind. "The enemy of mankind," said he, "seeks the gloomy, the doubtful, and the wavering as fittest instruments for his designs. The mind, that refuses to rest upon the rock of ages, will, when the storm shall come, find its resting place the unstable sands of the shore. Where will be your hopes in such an hour?” "The storm has come," said Weston, without moving his eye from the object on which it rested, "the storm has come, and the winds have beat vehemently upon the slender roof of my hopes, and great and ruinous has been its fall."

"These ideas," said the deacon, "are not to be indulged; Satan, who is unwearied in his search for sculs, may form with yours a league, which shall be its eternal perdition."

"Do you believe," asked Weston, with energy, and raising his eyes for the first time, " do you believe that the evil one' can form a compact with the soul without a mutual and conscious agreement?"

“In a state, in which the mind appears much alienated from its ordinary habits of exercise, and consequently not able to judge of the power or resources of an assailant, there may be wrested from it, certain concessions, of which it will remain unconscious until it experiences its effects."

"But I have understood," replied Weston, with increasing interest," that when any being has covenanted with the devil, he is possessed of some peculiar powers, and allowed the exercise of certain privileges otherwise unattainable. I remember poor Charles Jones,

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