Without it, like the chained spirit of an active and busy mind, he would have given up the ghost. His notions of every thing were unlike the notions of those around him. The ultima thule of others were but the beginnings in the conceptions of his own mind. He needed but the glimmerings of light which to others must have been as plain as the noonday sun. In all things he was ambitious to excel, to outstrip the greatest deeds of others. What man had done was forgotten for what man might do. A partial failure in one thing stimulated him to greater exertions in another. Attempt great things-expect great things," was written upon all he designed to do, and upon all he accomplished. One thing only was wanting to make him the greatest and best business man of the age-that one thing was moral honesty, without which he could no more guide his ship with safety, than the mariner could his without chart or compass.

Look for a moment into the history of this wonderful speculator. He had been almost a beggar in boyhood, and for a time was in manhood. From this low condition, with no money, no friends, and no influence, he became, almost in the twinkling of an eye, a man of wealth and unbounded influence. His labours and taste for the last few years have been witnessed in a thousand forms. The artist, the mechanic, the merchant, the manufacturer, and the labourer have each been the better for his existence. The house of God and the house of feasting have each gone up at his bidding. Theatres and workshops, ships and ship canals, steamboats and canal boats, have all, from the growing timber on the woodland to the last touch of the painter, been conceived and finished as he designed them. His lands and his cattle, his houses and his horses were as those of Job before disease and misfortune made him a beggar.*

A Buffalo correspondent of the Albany Argus, in writing of Mr. Rathbun, says, "He had, indeed, provided for making ten millions of bricks this season. He owned some forty or fifty post coaches, and five or six hundred horses of a good kind. He had, as I understand, about fifty miles of the western end of the stage route between this place and Albany, entirely to himself; and it certainly was the best part of the whole line; having better horses and carriages, better attendance, and exhibiting a greater desire to accommodate the public. His range of stables, coachhouses, and workshops were all substantial and convenient buildings, and well appointed. Such also were his stores and warehouses: well built and weli filled."

Such is a part of the brief and interesting history of this strange man. We would be glad to close it here, were it not that this same history, which at first sight appears so prosperous, should, in its true contrast, be a warning to the many who are ambitious to walk in the same footsteps. We believe there was a time when Mr. Rathbun would have shrunk from the commission of crime. Prosperity blinded him, and he became intoxicated under the fulfilment of his moderate prophecies of success. When an abundance of the comforts and luxuries of life were his, he seemed the poorest and most miserable. The accomplishment of one plan was only the prelude to twenty others. Business grew upon him and weighed him down like an incubus. A thousand magnificent contracts were made, which were to be met by as many and as large payments. Pay-day came and found Mr. Rathbun unable to meet the demands presented against him. Here was his trying hour. His business, the sneers of the world, his half accomplished plans,-in a word, a failure involving his own ruin and the ruin of a multitude around him, were warring against conscience, duty, and principle. The former triumphed, and to hide the commission of one sin, he committed a thousand others. From one forgery of a few hundred dollars, he advanced in crime until he became the greatest forger the world ever knew. Together his forgeries, from the commencement to the close, amount to nearly seven millions of dollars, and not only does his history speak out his own ruin and disgrace, but also the ruin and disgrace of his own brother and nephew, who, induced by the evil example of an elder brother, were seduced to the commision of an act which has not only destroyed their reputation, but which has placed them in a prison house. His wife, too, who is represented as a worthy woman, is a sufferer from his crimes. Unable to bear the shock which the tale of his conduct produced, she is now suffering under an alienation of mind, which many think will end in her death. Such is the brief and melancholy story of a man who a few days since was prosperous, commanding the services of thousands, who are now as much his superiors as the honest eve are to the rich who obtain their wealth by fraud and dishonour

EXTRACT

To press forward is the only sure way you can take to avoid going backward; for we proceed in religion like a heavy body thrown upwards, which begins to fall the very moment in which it ceases to ascend.- Doddridge.

THE CHRISTIAN MOURNER.

Thy miracles of love

No joy to me impart ;

In me no tender passions move:
O my unfeeling heart!

When, Lord, to thee I turn,

Nail'd to th' accursed tree,
With no transporting love I burn,
Although thou diedst for me!

When I my sins recall,

To pass before my eye,
Scarce one bewailing tear will fall,
I scarce can heave one sigh!

Thy promises I lay

Close to my panting breast;

Fain would I hope-hope flees away!

And still I find no rest!

Thus must I walk below,
In fear and misery ;

And shall my bosom never glow
With fervent love to thee?

Unclose, unclose these eyes!
Pour in the longed-for day!
Before me bid thy glory rise!
My darkness chase away!

THE DRUNKARD.

He sips, and sips the flaming cup;
At length he drinks the contents up:
Then filled with deep remorse and shame,
That always blasts the drunkard's name;

Dread Sinai's thunders roll along,

And lightnings blaze with " forked tongue :"
His conscience feels the dreadful blast,
Till stung almost to death at last.

THE FRIENDLY VISITOR.

No. 223.]

APRIL, 1837.

[VOL. 19.

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LAST ILLNESS OF J. J., IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF LIVERPOOL.

"Hath not God chosen the poor of this world rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him?"-JAMES ii. 5.

Being a collector in the Liverpool District Provident Society, I was taking my usual round on the 23d of last January, when I was told by one of my subscribers that a poor woman in the next court particularly wished to see me. The name of M. J. was familiar to my ears, as I had several times called at her house. I quickly turned my steps towards her dwelling, and soon perceived, from her countenance, that she was in great affliction. She asked me to walk in, and directing me to her husband, who was in his bed in one corner of the room, she said (weeping bitterly as she spoke), "I am going to lose my best friend; my husband is in a decline; and I shall soon be left." I tried to lead her thoughts to that God who has promised to help all those who put their trust in him. I then entered into conversation with the invalid, whose looks convinced me that his earthly pilgrimage. would soon be ended; but, happily, I soon found that a gracious God had for many months been preparing this poor man for himself, having, by his blessed Spirit, convinced him of sin, and led him to the Saviour's cross in penitence, faith, and prayer; and had given him (as his history will show) there to realize his pardon, peace, and acceptance, to the rejoicing of his soul. He told me he had been blessed with a pious mother, who had anxiously prayed for him; but that for many years he had forgotten her instructions, and lived at a distance from God, neglecting his church and his Bible; and though he had often felt strong convictions of sin, he said, "It was not till God had severely afflicted me that I was led to ask myself the question, How do matters stand between my soul and God when I became alarmed." Then the remembrance of his sins was

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