title: A discourse,
text: FLS 2015 062492 O - O ’ ^ * - ■* >6^ • " fr 4^. ^ 'f • o, (2* .Q' - r *« ^ '■ : : • c^ '^n <> '® * ** A^'' A .G^ ^ ' • ^ Q^ G ® ** ® -» \V * t ' • O ^ O J ‘ v ^ ■> ^ «0^ V <»’•«»-► ^ i c5> ^r. •* ♦ • ^ o * V C\ 4 \ • tf -■ o o * 4-’^ "^ •> .\ V ^ A V : » \ ^ *'••** A<^ A^ cN 45V//y>^ ^2^ : '^ov^ .' ° -f' *?* - ^ V' «*’•«>> o. *0^ <> <> ’ ^ ‘..o’ .^0^ •^> "b V A ' ^ 0> ^ * f\ jt^ o «JllYvv§> ' kT" ^ • ' * r\) 4^ O *■ V <> *’ • I* O ’ ^ O •iP .‘.l^'* > v' . > • •>. '*0 'i* . j^aPSL”. .«, *Aev^.*- -f* * a'^ ,0^^ '^''b -s'^ c0^.‘^% V >■*• .•'■;^- ■% ,0^ .IV. •*'0 ■' -p^Qt -^iC^ ^ - ;i * f% ^ <• 1 vO %•••'* ^ \/ 1*0 c*. V- '^<^ .'yCi&k' «. '* S' "^<0 '"■"’* ^ 0’ t ■* •*^ -O 0 ♦ O Ok'^ . •■ ' • « <5> ri\ 1^,* . "V '>* 4^*^ ^ o V . i-r.;e*4' - ■ *.^31^^' .p '.-.-o’ 'o ^rr:y cP ^ * * ■/S '^<t A <b '» •»'' ,0^ <% *■ C' *0 * * * * ^ <fc ^ \> • ’* • ® O’ % * * r ^ ^ SiSS • ^ ^ f((\wA‘‘ ^o c,'^ » V » ^ , A\\^^//h. o vP. ^ o } « « ?,‘ 'i'^ ^ °- •’ A -O '••'.* .0 ^,0'^ c»'* o< ' V'5 V. k- & /. %c,^ '"■ ■''TTT*' ^ ^'oW* 0’ •p_A ■■^^~ -fU-fP *. ^x/nu^ ’ ® ^ ^ *•#■«• (Jk ♦•«©* o. ♦ V *\’ °^ aV V' * ’ * 'o A *“ fV **“ ^ A <b '»."*' . 0 ^ A O' A.**., o^ '''Sk." C®'^ •‘c^*' '*°o> ‘‘ ■• '’ov^ •‘^^»’- "^ov _ • '«l^/ ■*'*^W'* .0'^ '<?• OCCASIONED B7 THE mu DESTRUCTION OF THE STEAM PACKET PULASKI ON HER PASSAGE FROM CHARLESTON TO BALTIMORE, AND THE LOSS OE ABOUT ONB HUNDRED AND rORTY Z.ZVB8, ON THE NIGHT OF THE 14th JUNE, 1838, DELIVERED IN THE INDEPENDENT PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, JULY 12th, 1833. By PRESTON, • • PASTOR OF SAID CHURCH. 4 % Sabannah: PRINTED BY THOMAS PURSE & CO. f ' t C 'w ^ . V t • •' ,>f'r': * * ■' >w t^> ^ ^ . / • ^ k -♦ • ^ V ) '^ • ^ } > ; • i *» •. » ^ M/* “J-t .A-' 9 D / 68 •> «► • A ^ W aA- M /* . • «• ^OF CO/Vc; Iti9y <p. </> tVASHW^^ >4 A , ‘<t- v. '.'■S * •>«> 0 li •^1* ^ ■ I I COMIVIUNZCATZONS. To Rev. W. Preston, Savannah^ July 13, 1838. Sir —We have been instructed by the Committee of Arrange¬ ments, to return you their thanks for the very impressive and elo¬ quent Discourse pronounced by you yesterday, and to solicit frr)m you a copy of the same for publication. We are. Sir, With great respect. Your obedient servants, ROB’T M. CHARLTON. . GEORGE WHITE. WILLIAM LAW. Savannah^ July 14, 1838. To the Hon. R. M. Charlton, Rev. Geo. White, Hon. William Law, Gentlemen —In complying with ihe request, communicated in your note of yesterday, for a copy of the Discourse, delivered on the 12th instant, I deem it proper to state, that it was jirepared under the pressure of unusual labour and debility. But I yield to the request, as a testimony of my individual respec and afiection to the memories of the deceased; and with the hope and prayer that God may add his blessing to its perusal. I am, gentlemen. Respectfully and affectionately. Your obedient servant, WILLARD PRESTON. ADDRESS. What means this movement in our city? this gathering toge¬ ther of her inhabitants ? this solemn procession of her citizens ? this congregating of her different religious denominations in this house of prayer? this united service of all her ministers at God’s holy altars? What has consecrated a day, usually devoted to se¬ cular pursuits, to religious worship? what mean these badges of mourning—this sable drapery which mantles this sanctuary? Sure¬ ly these things betoken no common calamity—no ordinary afflic¬ tion. Nor are they of difficult solution. The answer is found in every heart; it is imprinted on every countenance; it is read in the deep gloom, which, like a cloud, has settled over this whole community. It is expressed by the deep groans and sighs which come from the bleeding, bursting hearts of bereaved relatives and friends of every name and degree of endearment and intimacy. It is heard in the subdued utterance of those emotions of sympa¬ thy and condolence, awakened in every bosom, and enforced by many a painfully successive day of eagerness for more intelligence —of anxious suspense, from the first moment of the heart-rending tidings to the day of awful assurance. Nor are these evidences of some awful disaster confined to this city. Like groans are heard, like sighs are sent forth from the hearts of many a circle of mourn¬ ers, elsewhere. The same dark cloud, as it were, a funeral pall, broods over many a city and section of our country. Many a heart is this moment bleeding at the disruption of the tenderest ties ; ex¬ tending the desolation through all grades and degrees of domestic, social, civil and sacred companionship. Nor are the sad memen¬ toes of some awful disaster Airnished upon the land only. Would it had been so, had that been the dictate and course of infinite wis¬ dom. Deep as had been the affliction then, there had been allevi¬ ation ; a mournful pleasure, to have stood by the death-bed; to have administered the counsels and the consolations of the gospel; to have united our prayers before a throne of grace > to have ex¬ changed the parting farewell; to have given the last look to the enshrouded, encoffined remains and followed them to their narrow house. But not even that mournful satisfaction. Death has scat- 6 lered his trophies far and wide; they have been borne in all direc¬ tions from the fatal spot of arrest, on the bosom of the mighty deep. But, theie is consolation here, for mourners of the pious dead. Though the close death-embrace be dissolved, and the bodies of companions and members of the same family, who descended to a watery grave in each other’s arms, may have been wafted and be now wafting, in different directions, or wherever they shall find their last repose, they are under the constant inspection and watch¬ ful care of Him who is the Resurrection and the Life. To conceive, even, the consternation and agony which must have seized the immediate sufferers, we have no powers; the heart sickens and sinks at the thought—the reality far exceeds the utmost efforts of the imagination to pourtray. On the 13th of June, 1838, the steam packet Pulaski left this port for the city of Baltimore. Of more than seventy persons who em¬ barked at this place, 52 were inhabitants or residents, chiefly the for¬ mer, of this city.(') Among them were some of our most respect¬ able, enterprising and esteemed citizens. Some of these were ac¬ companied by their entire families—others ky most of their domes¬ tic circle; embracing, of course, relatives of every endearing tie ; others still, were following after their dearest earthly friends, who had shortly preceded them, with the fond hope and joyful expec¬ tation of a speedy re-union ; while all w^ere animated with the prospect of improvement, of ])rolit, or of pleasure. At Charleston, where they remained the first night, they w’ere joined by a still greater number, as fellow passengers, embracing many of the most respectable inhabitants, and some entire families, of that city and vicinity. On the .morning of the 14th, with at least one hundred and fifty, probably one hundred and sixty souls, exclusive of the officers and crew, whose number amounted to thirty-seven; the boat re¬ sumed her onward course towards the place of destination. The day had dawned mildly and brightly upon them, and “ the weather (writes one of the passengers,) remained pleasant through the day, with a fresh breeze and some sea.” Full of hope and with more than common confidence of a safe and speedy passage, the joyous multitiulc thought only of a happy termination of their voyage. With these feelings of hope and security, and the cheering pros¬ pect of “ only one night at sea,” the chief inducement with many for prefering this mode of conveyance, they left amid the saluta¬ tions and the adieus of numerous friends. “In consequence of a little sea-sickness, (writes the same individual,) in which the great¬ er part of the passengers shared, when evening came, most of them had retired.”(2) But let us here ])ause, and briefly comment on a few of the above most important, but deceptive expressions.— “Place of destination”—but alas, how different from that antici¬ pated! “The day dawned mildly and brightly”—but oh, to be succeeded by what a night! Day—the last to which tliey were here to awake 1 “ Full of hope”—ah, ho\v delusive ! IIow soon that hope to end in despair! “ More than a common confidence”— alas, how' vain ! “ Speedy passage”—it was so ! But it was to a watery grave ! A boundless eternity ! “ One night only at sea”— but it was their last on earth ! “ Happy termination of their voy¬ age”—but it was the voyage of life ! It terminated on the shoies of the unseen world! To those who were prepared to make it, a happy termination—the termination of all their sufferings and sorrows. All thus hushed in silence, save what betokened a safe and rapid progress, a silence which increased with the dee])ening slum- beis of the wearied and sea-sick inmates of their ocean-habitation, the hour of mid-nigln approached. But, ere that hour arrived, how changed the scene ! Hark! what frightful sound was that, which in an instant aroused the numerous slumberers from their sweet and quiet repose, and filled the confiding wakeful, with con¬ sternation and horror ! Ah, to not a few it was a summons to the bar of God ! They woke—to sleep no more, save the sleep of death—to open their eyes in eternity ! To others it was the last alarm—the alarm for immediate preparation for a quick exchange of worlds! But, ah! under what circumstances? Such as forbade that calm and sober and prayerful reflection, so essential to a peaceful death, and joyful interview with their final Judge! For though the Christian was there, the ministers at God’s holy altars,(3) and the elders of his Church, and other followers of the Redeemer in the regeneration, yet tliey had others for whom to care; others, to have abandoned whom, would have ill prepared themselves for Heaven—their fears to allay—their agonies to soothe—their pier- 8 fcing shrieks to hear, and hearing, heed—And their death grasp to f‘eel. Husbands and wives and parents and children of every age, from in’ fancy to ripening and ripened maturity: and brothers and sister sand friends, entire^ and in instances, numerous house-holds were there. Awful consternation and hofrid confusion now commingled all their terrors. For, think of the hurried assembling of the scarcely half clad members of the same family, who had retired to different and to distant berths for repose, thus suddenly awaked, in the darkness of mid-night, and all the lights, which to them supplied the place of day, extinguished !—the anxious, but fruitless gaze !— the eager, but scarcely more successful search of companion for companion—of parent for child and child for parent, while the mingled shrieks and cries and louder calls from so many voices prevented all recognition by the once familiar and well known sound. And now all prospect of re-union, save in another world, in numerous instances well nigh gone—in some, gone forever, by the impassable gulf, which suddenly, and “ with a mighty crash, intervened between the two extremes of their lately majestic, but now, frail, crumbling, sinking bark, which but a moment before, dashed “ like a thing of life” through the billows of the troubled ocean. Ah, see in fancy, if fancy can depict the scene, those dis¬ membered house-holds. Some indeed, more daring, nay, rather more affectionate, assayed to swim that gulf: but at the sacrifice of life^*^)*—they plunged, but never rose! But the agonised widow who saw the daring of no common love, was the widow only of a moment. The fatherless child too lived not to know its loss. And anon, one united shriek from a hundred voices rent the air, and the stillness of death ensued, save only from the cries which came from the comparatively few on broken fragments, scattered in all directions, the sport of every wave. They were soon wafted from the hearing of each others’ wailings—wailings for the dead and the dying, rather than at their own sufferings and perils, intense as the one, and imminent as the other. For to some, at least, life itself were hardly a coveted boon. They had seen those who were dearer than life, suddenly torn from them. All, all of earth desirable, gone ! forever gone! To others who survived the aw¬ ful catastrophy of that moment, a few succeeding days witnessed only to a lingering and most painful death. Of the fifty-two of this city, who embarked in that d<’Votc (l pack¬ et, tiirie only are known to have survived—of the whole ninnherof passengers, hut fifty-ninc.(‘’> The names of the lost from this city arc known to you all. I'heir memories are deeply engraved on all our-hearts. Among them were those whose death our u ho e community mourns. The deep sincerity of their grief is attested by past assendilies and utuinimous resolves of our citizens. Tl'.c proof is renewcil by the multitudes assembled here, to-day, to jpifi in these public solemnities, appointed for the purpose of testifying our esteem and aflection bir them while living, our g:iefat their death; and to pay deser\cd honors to their mimoiics. The use¬ fulness of their lives is inscribed on tablets iiiore enduring than monumental marble—on the annals of the city—rthe records of tb.e Church—and the hearts of us all. y\mong the deceased were thp mature in wisdom, nor less so, we trust, in gracC'—the enterprising and active citizen—the jiromising young man—those too who en¬ livened and enlightened and adorned the domestic and the social circle—the belovcil wife—the affectionate mother, and the lovely daughter. ^I'his house of God exhibits the tokens, (alas, how far short they come of a full expression,) of the deep-sealed grief of the Church and Congregation who statedly worship here. Of the seventeen of their own number, one only survives !—survives in lorlorn widou- h )()d ! and childless !—made so in amf)ment! 11 is house is li¬ terally left loliim desolate. Cut numerous are the mourning rela¬ tives >vho go about tfie streets. For them, what can we do? We tender to them our sympathies, our liveliest and lenderest sympa¬ thies. Oi\y tears have flowed, and will long continue to flow and mingle with their own. But alas, wliatare all these ? I'hey need infinitely more to sustain and console them. And let us lift our hearts in l.umble thankfulness to God ; thf’i’c is more at hand.— There is one who is touched with the feeling of our infirmity .— B 10 We will daily carry them to Him, in the arms of prayer. We will unite our supplications with theirs, before his throne of grace. But the voice of God in this awful providence claims from us the performance of other duties. It utters to us and to all the in¬ habitants of this city, a language of fearful import. God is ad¬ dressing to us most important instructions, and kind but loud ad¬ monitions. And that we may derive from them both, the benefits which they are intended and calculated to aff rd, I now proceed to address you further, from the following words: It is the Loud; let him do what seemeth him good. 1 Sam. iii: These words were uttered in the ceilain prospect of sore be¬ reavement and wide-sprea 1 desolation; bereavement and desola¬ tion soon experienced in all their bitterness; involving the disso¬ lution of the tenderest ties, sad calamity to the people of God, and the (lestructif)n of numerous lives. And when the messenger ar¬ rived with the heart-rendinjr intelligence from the scene of disas- ter and woe, all the city cried out. That divine visitation was indeed a jir^gment; a punishment for specified offences, which had received the pointed reproof, and provoked the fearful threatenings of the Almighty. It was not however such a judicial act as cut off all the sufferers from the fa¬ vour of God and the hope of Heaven. He that uttered the words of the text, and whose conduct was the chief occasion of this ex¬ tensive calamity, and was himself from heart-rending grief among the devoted sufferers, was a good man. His reformatioti in regard to the offence specifietl, catne. too late to prevent the fatal blow; but that Ins penitence came in time to secu.e his salvation, there is every ground to believe. But afllictions and calanilies not less painful have often been eyperienc d, unaccompan el by equal marks of the divine dis¬ crimination, as to their causes. Although sin is the fruitful source of all natural evils, in whatever form they come, yet they are not to be regarded as proofs of equal guilt in all who suffer them. It would be the height of injustice and presumption to draw such a conclusion; or even to infer any special criminality on the part of all who suffer. Natural evils are not dispensed on the principle of comparative ill-desert. Such a conclusion stands rebuke by our Saviour himself, in the noted instances of the fall of Siloam^s tower^ and PHaters mingling of the blood of the Galileans in their sacrifices. But wh.i.ever the affffction, or however compar 11 atively innocent or gnilty those may be who suffer, the language and the sentiment of the text are most appropriate, and should be deeply impressed on every heart, in proportion to its severity.— For it implies a direct recognition of the hand of God. It is the Lord. It is an expression f)f uncomplaining, cordial submission; of humble, undissembled piety. Let him, do what seemeth him good. How appropriate then to us on the present occasion. Our object will be to present some of the instructions thus sug¬ gested, and which the painful providence to which we have re¬ ferred, so solemnly and loudly enforces. First. In all the manifestations which God makes of himself to our world, it is his benevolent design to produce the conviction of his be¬ ing, presence and agency ; and thus secure th * a'.i'ec tiori and happi¬ ness of his rational cieatures. God is, essentially, love; and how¬ ever he exhibits himself he is prompted by the purest benevolence. All the displays of hischar.icter arebul modifications of this essential perfection of his nature, adapted to the nature and character of his creatures. The ways in which he has manifested himself wdlh this benevolent design, are various and multiform. With t’lis view'he has shown himself in creation itself. His image is, as it were, enstamped on all his w'orks. They show his eternal power and Godhead^ so that the atheist and the undevout man are without ex¬ cuse. Creation not only famishes proofs of his being, but displays of much of his character: of all his natural, an 1 traces at least of his moral perfections. But alas, with most men all this fails to secure the object. Familiarity with the w’orks of God prevents, or soon wipes aw’ay, those impressions which they weie designed and so well calculated to produce. Mankind grow' up in practical atheism, notwithstanding the abundant proofs of God’s existence with which they arc surrounded. They remain in ignorance of his perfections, notwithstanding the constant display of them be¬ fore their eyes. They realise not his close and constant inspec¬ tion, notw'ithstanding the evidence that his oinni^( lent eye is never diverted from them. The language (»f tlieir heart, if not of their lips is The Lord doth not see, neither doth the God of Jacob re¬ gard it. The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God .— Sin is indeed the source of all this atheism: (or they do not like to retain God ia their knowledge. But the benevolence of God, in the manifestation of himself, stops not here. Additional instruc¬ tions, in regard to his being, perfection and pcrsence, together with motives of increased urgency to enforce them, are afforded by his providence. And though all men wxre not agreed as to the ex- 12 tent and minuteness of the divine superintendence, yet few arc found who wholly discard the doctrine. They are compelled to admit it, not merely from the uniform order and regularity and harmony of his more manifest operations, hut from a thousand things of daily occurrence, which come within their individual ex- perience and observation ; from exposures atid rescues—from the unexpected realization, or inilooked-for disappointment of iheir hopes ; in a word, from marked discriminations t)f his holy sove¬ reignty, which constitute no small portion of every inan^s individ¬ ual history. The providences of God not only supply a commentary on his purposes, otherwise (iiscoverable, but powerfully enforce the Cf)n- viction of them. But alas, here too, familiarity, espe ially with beings prone as mankind are to forget God, and overlook or disre¬ gard the evidence of his being and his presence, weakens or des¬ troys all their f rcc. Voluntary ignorance, in the midst of the means <»f information, soon assumes the character of the most cri¬ minal indiflerence, or direct opposition. Self becomes a god, and the natural pride of the heart clothes him u i.h all his attributes.— Man throws himself upon his own imagined resources, and feels independent ol‘ his Maker. But th's spirit requires to be checked; and this course of the sinner t() he arrested. Hence God appeals in still clearer light. He shows himself in the cliaracter of a moral Goi'crnor: of a holy Sovereign ; doing what seemeth him good, without disclosing the reasons ol' his conduct. To jiroduce the conviction of his presence anil agency, he sometimes suspends the operation of established laws; as in the instance of mirarlis. Of lie brings the ehmients which they were designed* separately, to regulate, into conflict; as in cases of many kinds of calamity and disaster. Or he gives a controling power to that which is me ely incidental, and which, in its happy or unhappy results, those who overlook the liainl of God, term accident or chance, although all are essential parts of one great whole, and all subservient to one gran I purpose. But where all tliese fail, as fail they do with thouvands, to pro¬ duce the conviction to which they tend, (Jod often shows himself in direct interference with his creatures, in their individual charac¬ ter and condition, either in providential deliverances or overwhelm- ing judgements—in arts of special mercy, or signal calamity—in merciful preventives, or abandonment to ruin. God will make him¬ self known to the subjects of his moral government, and either win i3 Ifjcm to aflectionate loyalty, or clothed in terror cause them lofeaf' belore hitn. Thus will I magnify Hysrlf, and sanctify my^tlf\ and I will he known in the eyes of many nations, and tluy shall know that I am the Lord. In addition to all these methods of iri- slriiclion and admonition, and with the same betjevoletit purpose, God has addressed mankind in plain and simple luni^uage. He appeals to their hopes and their fears—to their hopes, in promises which include all the persuasiv s of a Ileaviui of endless and inef¬ fable glory ; pointing out the way to that world with so much plainness and e’earness, that the uayjaring men, though fools, shall not err therein : to their fears, in his threuicnings of eter¬ nal perditi«>n, warning them against the ruin of their souls. Here the lenderest accents of his mercy and compassion condiinc w ilh the deep anti awful tones of his threatened vtmgcance, to woo or to drive, to the only ark of safety, that they maybe forever happv. In a w«»rd, to make known the manifold wisdom of God, (i. e.) to display the Whole assemblage of his perft'nions—is the grand and benevolent design of Jehovali in every exhibition of himself. Second. In all the ju Ignlents Und calamities and afUiciions which are visited uptin ns, onr thoughts slnmld he supremely directed to¬ wards God in hmnhie and adoring recognition of his agency, aiul in deepened consciousness of our absolute (!<'pen(h;ncc on him.— Gal has, as alrei Iv seen, the most benevohmt desiirn in sending them. And it is not till all milder means have failed to reelairn and reform, that he clothes himself in terrors. He never rises up that he may d\) his work, his strange work, and bring to pass his act, his strange act, till his goodness lias tailed to lead to repentance. Judgment is liis strange work. He would win the revolted subjects of hi‘< government to submission and obedience, bv kindnesses and favors. He would have his voice to be heard and heeded, which spiniks in accents «)f love. Hy such manifesta¬ tions of himseh', he would have iis recognise his presence anil agenc\, and feel (nir depeiidence, indebtedness and obligations, lint alas, in the rich profusion of the divine goodness the Giver is forgotten—forgotten in the gifts be5t<)wed. There is rio sin niorl; characteristic of our race than forgelfuiiiess of God ; and especially th It f.»rnetfulness of Ili.n which consists in overlooking his haml ill whatever occurs, and oiir entiie dependence, ^du'y do not rpieS- tlon tlu^ great fact of God’s jirovidenCe ; hut they (!<► Hot I'ealise it. Ifihereis no ojren atheism, there is a criminal disregard. And what is the more singular, as well as deplorable, this forgetfulness is more common in public than in private, in severe than slight ca- 14 lamities. Hence while the afflictions of individuals often result in the moral reformation and the saving benefit of the individual sufferer, this effect is seldom produced on a community, under the severest judgments. General reformation seldom attends, or fol¬ lows in the train of a sweeping calamity. We stop not to enquire for all the reasons of a result so astonishing and deplorable. The source of the evil however is manifest: forgetfulness of God. We suffer our thoughts to extend no farther than to secondary causes. We forget the great first cause. We content ourselves with in¬ vestigating and detecting and commenting on the mere instrumen¬ tality. We overlook the divine agency. We regard the hand of man; but disregard the hand of God. Hence the indulgence of self-reproach, or a disposition to charge blame on others, in the evils endured. The guilty indeed should not be exculpated—nor go unpunished. There may be a duty to be performed towards them. But our duty stops not at their exposure and punishment. We are to remember that the agency of man, under whatever mo¬ ral influence it may be put forth, is not independent of the will or purpose of God. Is there evil in a city and the Lord hath not done it ? He has a wise and holy design in every event that oc¬ curs. And in them all he challenges our supreme regard. And our first and chief enquiry should be what hath God wrought ?— Or under the heaviest calamities, with Eli shouhl say. It is the Lord! In the reverse of this we are to search for the reasons why public calamities are so seldom followed by extensive, mo¬ ral improvement. The evils resulting from forgetfulness of God, are immense. There is not only a failure to secure the benefits in¬ tended and proffered—benefits seen in increased convictions of de¬ pendence on God; in deepened humility and contrision for sin; in invigorated resolutions of reforiuation : but increased obduracy, deadened sensibility, and a more benumbed conscience will be the consequence. And the danger is imminent of judicial blind¬ ness and hardness. Restraints will be weakened, it not thi*own off. This will soon be followed by an abandonment to the cease¬ less influence of selfishness, and the destruction of all moral and religious obligation ; and men will be lett to hurry forward with hastened and lengthened sti'ides in the broad road to ruin. Hence it often happens that one calamity follows another in quick suc¬ cession. When I begin,, I will also make an end^ saith the Lf)rd. Especially is this true of his covenant people. Judgments upon them come not singly, unless they are averted by their re¬ formation and return to duty. What solemn responsibility does 15 tins consideration throw upon them, when God arises out of his secret place, to lay his rod upon them. And alas, if judgment frst begin at the house of God, what shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God ? Third. Under the heaviest calamities and the sorest chastise¬ ments, we should exercise the most uncomplaining, confiding sub¬ mission to God. The language and sentiment of the text should be the language and sentiment of every sufferer. It is the Lord; let him do what scemeth him good. The natural sensibilities of the soul may be awakened, and arous¬ ed to such a degree, by the sufferings of others, or the recital of a tale of woe, a^ to paralyze the power of speech. Ah, how many felt this on receiving the awful tidings which overwhelmed us all with the deepest sorrow ; and feel it still on every attempt to con¬ ceive of the scene of despair and suffering which were felt, when so many souls were hurried, under circumstances so appalling and terrific, and God only knows in how many, or what instances, wholly unprepared, into the eternal world. Who among us, at the first announcement, but stood in silent amazement, or sent forth the deep groans of an agonised heart ? Nor can we do more to-day, nor ever, more, on any attempt to picture or conceive its horrors. Rut this may be a very different thing from feeling, and acting under the influence of the sentiment of our text. To the Christian indeed the shock may not be less. Its paralyz¬ ing influence may be equally great; indeed greater than actually occurred to any of us. It was overwhelming, and proved fatal to him who uttered the text; and he was a pious man. But in his case the whole heart flowed out towards God. It is the Lord; let him do what scemeth him good. The hand of God in the afflic¬ tion which prostrated him, and brought distress on the people of God, and filled all the city with consternation, he regarded as un¬ der the direction of infinite wisdom. And it awakened the most pious emotions of his heart; gave direction to his contemplations; and prompted the language of the most cordial submission. So will it ever be with the pious man. He may be overpowered for the moment. But when he is recovered from the first paroxysm of his grief, and with composure contemplates the greatness of the af¬ fliction, he hears and obeys the voice ; Be still and know that I J6 am God, When ho reflects on his own bereavement in all itshit- leriiess, and airgiavations, the language of hi* heart is, The Lord gave and the Lord hath iahen away,, and blessed be the name of the Lord, He is willing that the reasons of' the divine conduct should remain veiled in mystery, til] the light of eternity shall dis¬ close them ; assureil that though clouds and darlness are round about him^ yet righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne- His glorious ni.ijesly, his wise and holy sovereigtUy, are no subjects of terror to h.ini; no occasion of dissatisfaction : but rather of sweet and joyful contem|dati()n. The divine hanej is recognised and traced in ail the arrangeiuents, and he bows with silent submission. He knows that Gotl docs not willingly afflict and grieve the. children of men —that his chastisements are sent in love to them that love and fear and obey IJim—that whom the ].ord loveth he chastenelh, and scourgeth every son whom he receivfth. Christians look beyond the rod, to Him who hath ap¬ pointed it. 'I'heir submission is not coin|)f lied, but voluntfiry—not constrain¬ ed, but cheerful. It is not because resistance is vain, and there¬ fore they resign from weakticss to resist. But t'ley feel that God doth all things well; and that all things shall work together for good to them that love him. In the moral Governor of the uni¬ verse, they recognise the best and thekiiuh^st of fathers and friends ; and however hitter the cup, they drink it, saying. Not tur will, hut thine, O God, be done. These are some of the lessons inculcated by the text, and so¬ lemnly enforced by that awful providence which has occasioned our assembling to-day. We submit a few reflections: First. 'I'he calamity with which God has afflicted this city, claims from all the inhabitants, llie most serious and solemn con¬ sideration. God has recently dealt with us, after an unwonted manner, He has manifested Himself, clothed with peculiar terrors. The course which he has pursued towards the inhabitants of this city, has been suddenly and fearfully reversed. Hitherto He has dealt tovyards them in singular mercy. His providence has been marked with signal favours. We have been a highly favoured community. Our history for years past, has exhibited on every page of it, certainly in its records of a temporal nature, a striking 17 contrast to that of almost every other city in the land. In the general distress which has pervaded our Country, this place has indeed shared, but shared less than most other places. God too has thrown his protecting arm around us, and preserved our dwellings and property from desolating fires, and our persons from the pes¬ tilence which walketh in darkness^ and the destruction which wasteth at noonday: calamities which have been visited on nume¬ rous other places, and extensively desolated not a few of them.— Of these we have only heard with the hearing of the ear: our eyes have not seen them. When we consider that in many respects, we are peculiarly exposed, we arc constrained to say, and should say it with emotions of the liveliest and most humble gratitude to Almighty God ; He hath not dealt so with any other people, and as for his judgments we have not known them. Our city too has been fast recovering from her late depression. She was being fast restored to all her former prosperity. Activity is seen on her wharves and in her streets. Her sadness has been exchanged for the aspect of cheeifulness and joy. The fresh beamings of ani¬ mating hope are seen on every countenance. New and exten¬ sive enterprise have been undertaken and successfully prosecuted. All these blessings of providence—this recovered, or fast recover¬ ing prosperity—these successful operations, arc indeed still con¬ tinued to us. But who will say that the late painful providence has produced no paralyzing influence upon any of them—that no check has been put to enterprise, either by death or by despond¬ ency—none to plans of improvement—no diminution felt to weight of character—to wisdom of counsel—to energy of enterprise—to talent for planning and directing and executing—none to the force and weight of our best institutions, religious and civil and social. I need not name to you those individuals, whose death, with one consent, our whole community mourns.(^) I need not name to you those younger branches, of hopeful promise, just commencing the business of active life ; ah, and others still less mature, but budding, blooming ornaments of the domestic and the social circle, who, in the arms of their parents, also found a watery grave. I ask, do these things prefer no claims to our most serious and so¬ lemn consideration ? Do not these providences contain and address most solemn reproofs to us all? Is this no calamity? And are no provoking causes of it to be detected among ourselves ? Is not the question proprounded, and solemnly pressed ? Wherefore doth the Almighty contend with us? He who does not willingly C 18 afflict and grieve the children of men, never sends his judgments or calamities without the best of reasons. The curse causeless shall not comc^ is one of the first principles in the government of God ; and this sentiment is universal. We find it avowed and practised upon, under all the multiform religions which mankind have adopted. Hence the rites and sacrifices of pagans. A con¬ troversy then is implied in all the calamities which Jehovah sends. They may be blessings to individual sufferers ,however they may fall. They may prove to them a sudden removal from a slate of trial and sin and conflict, to a world where none of these are known—where all sorrows cease—where all tears are forever wiped away—where there is no more sin to awaken the accusa¬ tions of conscience and grieve the pious heart—where all is peace' and purity and bliss. Yet what greater calamity than this to the Church, and to the world. Hence exclaims one of the prophets of God, Woe is me, for the good man is perished out of the earth. Hence prays one of the pious kings of Israel, Help Lord, for the' godly man ceaseth—for the faithful fail from among the child- rcn of men' A train of evils follows, whose bearings and results can not be predicted—can only be known as they unfold them-- selves. Alas, then, what sentiments and feelings and fears and so¬ le nn consi leratio is sh udd be awakened in every bosom, by that indescribably awful visitation which has filled us all with the deep¬ est sorrow and grief. They are overwhelming now—but when these throbs and throes of grief shall have subsided, their effects’ will be visible ; will be felt. Second. We are placed by this visitation of providence in most solemn, responsible and critical circumstances. These are as fearful as the hand of God is visible. His benevolent purpose which prompts to all the manifestations which hemakes of himself is to reclaim mankind—to biing back this revolted world to loyal and affectionate obedience. With this view he dispenses his mer¬ cies—he bestows his blessings, and thus appeals to their gratitude. The goodness of God leadeth to repentance. But alas, how often, how almost universally, all this fails to win the hard heart of man. But when this fails; when no suitable returns of gratitude and love and obedience are made for his bounties and favors; when his goodness is consumed on the lusts of men, and it engenders the spirit of independence, of self-dependence, and pride is fostered and God forgotten, his very benevolence forbids him to stop here. It prompts to the employment of other means. Afflictions in dif¬ ferent forms, and of different degrees of severity are sent. If 19 these are unheeded, calamities follow—calamities of less or greater extent. And if these avail not, God will show himself clad in more awful terrors. lie will send his judgments, his sweeping judgments, and cause wide-spread desolation. When Ihegin^saith the Lord, I will also make an end. For the correctness of these positions, we appeal to the wdiole history of the divine administra¬ tion ; but need adduce no examples till an instance to the con¬ trary can be shown ; and this we conhden ly cl allenge. What then is our standing? rather, what is the stage or point, which we, as a city, occupy, in the process of God's dealings towards us? is now the solemn question which demands an unbiased, and ingenuous an¬ swer from every one of us; from this whole community. We need not refer again to that series of divine goodness, by which we have been so distinguished. And need we enquire what requital we have made. Could charity itself admit a doubt on this point, that doubt were removed by the clearest indications—the plainest solutions furnished by providence itself. Tine indeed, God has not withdrawn and withheld his bounties and his favours. His mercy is not clean gone forever. Nor is he w’ont to deal thus, till a whole community has become incorrigible—while perhaps even ten righteous men can be found in it. Finally. We are taught what estiinate to place on earthly pos¬ sessions and earthly expectations. Far be it from me to underva¬ lue the possessions, the well-founded distinctions, and the innocent and rational enjoyments of this world. The evil consists in pla¬ cing a wrong estimate upon them; in suffering them to become objects of supreme desire ; in usurping that empire of the soul which only God and eternal realities should hold. To these, all things else should be held in subordination. We do not indeed derive this lesson from the scene of desolation and woe, which we have been reviewing to-day. Every special adversity affords a lecture on the utter vanity and delusive nature of all earthly things. Yet no where is this false estimate, this vanity and delusion of the world, more forceably taught and corrected than by that scene of desolation and woe. What hopes were there in an instant dash¬ ed? What plans forever frustrated? What expectations placed beyond the possibility of realization ? Ah, too, and what earthly attachments in a moment sundered? And how does this teach us what hopes to indulge—w'hat plans to devise—what expectations to cherish—and what attachments to form. What of earth were then to be regarded as a substitute for an interest in the Redeemer, for that hope which is as an anchor of the sovl, both sure and steadfast, amid all the waves of a tempestuous sea, and which en- tercth into that within the veil, which has its firm hold upon the shores of a blessed immortality. Hear ou«* Saviour on this sub¬ ject : What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul? Hear loo that voice which cries. All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of of the field. The grass withereth—the flower fadeth, because the Spirit of the Lord bloiveth upon it. Surely the people is grass. 