fiable, as it is invaluable; and most gratifying is it, to be able to ascribe this habit, in the case of JOHN HENDERSON, in part, at least, to such an origin.

The following fragment of a letter (in the author's possession) from Mrs. H. More, addressed to John Henderson, a few months only before his death, will be read by many with deep interest, and, it is hoped, with a beneficial effect. A reference is therein made to this habit, under the term, "unprofitable way of life," but the amiable and distinguished writer was evidently unacquainted with the precise state of the case, and misinterpreted conduct, the cause of which was the farthest from disrespect. The faithfulness, however, of Mrs. H. More's address, cannot but excite admiration.

Copy of a Letter from Mrs. H. More, to John Henderson. Adelphi, 11th April, 1788.

Dear Sir, THOUGH I do not deal much in the doctrine of impulses, yet I feel an inclination to write to you, almost as irresistible as an impulse. Why you have for a long time past estranged yourself from the society of our family, I have never been able to guess. In it you would have found a friendship that neglect has not been able to destroy. Of Patty, you know this to be true ; of myself, I feel that it is so. That I have lamented, and do lament most unfeignedly, the unprofitable way of life you are fallen into, is most true. But that I have always thought it a state to excite compassion, and not resentment, is equally true.

It was perhaps not your fault, but mine, if I raised my expectations of your future figure, and usefulness in life, too high. I had chalked out in my mind a shining path,

in which I saw God had given you talents to run an illustrious career. That you have not yet fulfilled this evident destination of Providence is, I will confess, one of the heaviest disappointments I have met with in life. You know how often I have ventured on the privilege of an animated friendship, to express to you my regret, not only at your having suppressed the brightest intellectual powers, but the happiest natural dispositions; for I confess to you, that it was the pleasantness of your temper, and the gentle, and compassionate turn of your heart, which made your wit and learning interesting to me. One may admire parts, and knowledge, but one never loves them but for the sake of concomitant qualities.

Since you have withdrawn yourself from my society, I have often thought of you, often prayed for you, sometimes wept for you.

Believe me, I still feel no harsher sentiment towards you, than that of the most affectionate compassion. I hear you are ill; judge if that does not increase my concern for you.

I entreat you to take the best advice, and the best remedies! Think of nothing at first, but of re-establishing your health. I implore you to discontinue every practice that may be unfavourable to it.

When I have formerly urged you on this head, you told me that one righteous week would restore you. I speak not harshly. I know nothing of your present habits of life. But I know your disposition to carry every thing to excess : abstinence, as well as indulgence. And I believe that prudence and regularity, a quiet mind, self-controul, and self-approbation, would yet restore you. I know you have so high a sense of right that you can never be well, while you are not satisfied

with your own conduct. I wish you could point out to me any possible way in which I could be useful to you. He has been dangerously life, as a life in which the If he is well enough to

Mr. Wilberforce is at Bath. ill. I have trembled for his good of many is involved. invite you to see him, I entreat you to go. There is something healthful in breathing the air of active virtue and steady piety. Ask his advice; he is as wise as he is good. O consider that it is not too late. You are yet but a young man. The little time that is lost you may retrieve. I am convinced that if you would exert

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A hope is entertained that the reader will now excuse a few sentences, expressed in the first person.

Having been John Henderson's pupil, (at least from the age of eight to ten, when Mr. H. Sen. relinquished his establishment*) I naturally felt for him great reve

As the incident which occasioned this relinquishment was nearly attended with the loss of John Henderson's life, it may not be deemed incongruous to relate it.

Mr. Richard Henderson's boys had proceeded, one summer afternoon, to bathe in a favourable part of the adjacent River Avon, where they had gone a hundred times before. The writer of this was standing in the water, apart, with another boy, (Robert Drummond, son of Dr. Drummond, late an eminent physician of Bristol,) when a third boy came up, to duck one of us. Of the two, he happened to fix on Drummond, who struggled hard with him, for mastery; when, getting out of their depth, the tide carried them both away, and, in the presence of the whole school, they were drowned!

The boys had been accompanied to the water by the Usher and John Henderson. J. H.'s attention was engaged, at some distance, when, learning the accident, he hastened to the spot, but too late! The boys had disappeared! He then passed on by the side of the river, with the stream, eagerly looking at the water, to see if he could notice either of the boys floating on its surface, when one of R 2

rence, imperfect as my estimate of his mental qualities must then have been. At the age of fourteen, however,

the boys did appear! at the sight of whom, John Henderson rushed down the steep and muddy bank; plunged into the river, stretching his hand out, till he was completely under the water. For a few seconds, he was considered as drowned, when his hands appeared above the surface, and, finally, in a state nearly of exhaustion, he, with great difficulty, recovered the bank, and ascended, with the aid of the writer, and others, up the almost impassable side of the river, to the top. What rendered John Henderson's peril the greater, arose, from his pockets, at the time, being full of books.

The writer having mentioned his own narrow escape from being drowned, he may be pardoned in noticing two other serious accidents which befell him at this school. One, by having been pursued, and literally tossed into the air, by a vicious cow; and another, in having fallen out of a high sycamore tree, and which was followed by a state of total insensibility, for twelve hours. No permanent inconvenience arose from either of these accidents; but fourteen years afterward, in going to visit a friend, in the country, in company with the late valuable Dr. Ryland, and the writer's old and most respected friend, the Rev. Joseph Hughes, Secretary of the Bible Society, he was thrown out of his gig, by which he dislocated his ancle, and has now remained a martyr to the accident for the last thirty-five years! But the Almighty is not more to be thanked when he gives, than he is to be trusted when he takes away.

Many individuals have cause to acknowledge a good Providence, in preserving them through moments of peril, but no one appears to have had greater cause to notice such deliverances, than the eminent Richard Baxter.

A brief notice of a few of the principal of these, to some readers, may not be unacceptable.

1st. In the tumultuous times of the Commonwealth, the inhabitants of Kidderminster, (where Baxter was clergyman of the town,) conceiving, erroneously, that he was instrumental in removing a cross from the churchyard, proceeded, in a body, to Baxter's house, threatening his destruction: but, half an hour before, unconscious of his danger, he had taken a contemplative

I appeared in a somewhat new character. It would be presuming, to denominate it friendship, but he condescended to notice me; admitted me to his company; interested himself in my plans; recommended my profession to be that of a bookseller; expressed some favourable anticipations, and through the remainder of his life, treated me with an uniform kindness, which added to my admiration, an indescribable feeling of walk into the country, and thus escaped the death that was designed for him. The enraged populace met one of Baxter's friends, whom they beat so unmercifully, that he died soon after !

2ndly. As he was once writing in his study, a high shelf, over his head, full of large folios, suddenly broke down, when the ponderous books fell, some on one side of him, and some on the other, but not one of them touched him! The lightest of them might have fractured his skull.

3dly. He was riding a horse, in a field, when the animal ran away, and, jumping over the hedge, threw Baxter into a lane, on the other side. The horse came down immediately afterward, upon him, but the horse's fore legs went beyond him, and his hind legs, on the other side, whilst he remained unhurt by either.

4thly. In overtaking a laden waggon, in a narrow road, where there was no room to proceed, he made his horse ascend a bank, on the top of which he meant to proceed till he passed the obstructing vehicle; but his horse slipt, and threw him down the bank, when he rolled between the fore and hind wheels. The horses in the waggon, at that very instant, stopped, of their own accord ! One moment more would have crushed him to death.

But, perhaps, his most wonderful escape was from the physicians. An accumulation of infirmities had made him consult, in the course of his life, no less than thirty-seven professors of the healing art, in sundry parts of the kingdom, who differed widely in their judgments, and often prescribed, in direct opposition to each other; yet notwithstanding such hazards, and assailants, the Almighty protracted his valuable life to the age of seventy-six. It is no wonder that the good man, in his "Saint's Everlasting Rest," (a treatise not surpassed, in utility, by any work since the times of the apostles,) should have enumerated" the taking of nauseous medicines" amongst the serious evils of life!