whether you shall live in plenty and sleep on a bed of down, or live in straits and lie on a dunghill, compared to what shall become of you forever. But, above all, be not so mad as to envy sinners an unsanctified prosperity. Rather, when you see a man of opulence despising the Sabbath, or hear a wretch in a gilded chariot profaning his Creator's name, be ready to say, "Shall I complain of poverty, when my Lord and master had not where to lay his head? No, let me on the contrary, bless that adversity which caused me to consider. Let me be very thankful for that humble station which gives me access to communion with God, and does not waste my time with crowds of company. Who knoweth whether I should have retained my integrity, if I had been constantly surrounded with profane gaiety, swimming in pleasure, besieged by flatterers, solicited by sensualists, beset with temptations? O that I may be possessed of the pearl of great price, reconciled to God, united to Christ, adorned with Divine grace, and that I may be my Redeemer's at his second coming." (To be continued.) In the Eclectic Review for April last, we find a notice of a late publication entitled "The Book of the Seasons; or, the Calendar of Howitt." Nature: By William The work is highly commended by the reviewers, and they quote the following as the production of Mrs. Howitt. Though it is now summer, we think our readers will be pleased with the following lay, entitled WINTER. There's not a flower upon the hill, There's not a leaf upon the tree; The summer-bird hath left its bough, Bright child of sunshine, singing now In spicy lands beyond the sea.. There's silence in the harvest field, And blackness in the mountain-glen, And cloud that will not pass away From the hill-tops for many a day; And stillness round the homes of men. The old tree hath an older look; The lonesome place is yet more dreary; They go not now, the young and old, Slow wandering on by wood and wold; The air is damp, the winds are cold; And summer-paths are wet and weary. The drooping year is in the wane, No longer floats the thistle down; The crimson heath is wan and sere; The sedge hangs withering by the mere, And the broad fern is rent and brown. The owl sits huddling by himself, The cold has pierced his body through; The patient cattle hang their head; The deer are 'neath their winter shed; The ruddy squirrel's in his bed, And each small thing within its burrow. In rich men's halls the fire is piled, And ermine robes keep out the weather; In poor men's huts the fire is low, Through broken panes the keen winds blow, And old and young are cold together. Prays God that winter be not long. Turn to the wide, white waste thy Turn to the silent hills that rise And to those skies intensely blue. Silent, not sad, the scene appeareth; And fancy, like a vagrant breeze, The land of ice, the land of snow, The land that hath no summer-flowers, Where never living creature stood, The wild, dim, polar solitude, How different from this land of ours! Walk now amongst the forest trees,Said'st thou that they were stripped and bare? Each heavy bough is bending down crown Which winter regally doth wear. 'Tis well-thy summer-garden ne'er Was lovelier with its birds and flowers, 'Tis night! Oh now come forth to gaze We bless thee, Father, that we are! We bless Thee for our inward life; For its immortal date decreeing; For that which comprehendeth thee, A spark of thy divinity, Which is the being of our being! We bless Thee for this bounteous earth; We bless thee-for all good is thine. The earth is thine, and it thou keepest, Seed-time and harvest come from Thee, The earth is thine-the summer earth; Fresh with the dews, with sunshine bright; With golden clouds in evening hours, The earth is thine-the teeming earth; Against the time of storm and need. The earth is thine-when days are dim, And leafless stands the stately tree; When from the north the fierce winds blow, When falleth fast the mantling snow;The earth pertaineth still to Thee; The earth is thine-thy creature, man! Thine are all worlds, all suns that shine; Darkness and light, and life and death; Miscellaneous. SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF REV. JACOB GREEN, A. M., formerly Pastor of the Presbyterian Church in Hanover, Morris County, New Jersey. The subject of the following sketch, the father of the editor of this Miscellany, died in the month of May, 1790. The first part of the following narrative was entirely written by himself, and as stated in a note on the first leaf of his manuscript, was intended chiefly for his children, with an intimation that a part of his story might possibly be of use to some others, who might happen to become acquainted with it. There is, however, no reason to believe that the writer intended or expected that what he wrote would be made publick. This has induced the editor, during the forty years that his father's autobiography has been in his possession, to refuse to publish it, although urged to do so by several individuals to whom it has been read, and to whose judgment great respect was due. But it has recently occurred, that a connected sketch of the life might be given, and nearly in the very words of the writer, without either inserting the whole narrative, or giving any other impression of his character, than would be made, if the whole were published; and that if this were done, perhaps the writer's intimation, already noticed, would in fact be complied with-This therefore has been attempted-Parts of his narrative, interesting only to his family, have been dropped, and some other omissions, of no importance to a correct view of his character or opinions, have been made. A few occasional notes will be added by the editor at the foot of the page, and a brief account will be given of his father's life, from the period at which his own narrative terminates till the time of his death. SECTION FIRST. Parentage, Birth, Life, &c., till fourteen years old. I was born at Malden, about eight miles north of Boston, in New England, Anno Domini, 1722; the 22d day of January old style, or the 2d of February as the style now is. My father's name was Jacob Green, the youngest son of Henry Green, who had a large family of children, sons and daughters. My mother's name was Dorothy Lynde, daughter of John Lynde, of the same town. I had four sisters, all older than myself. old. My father died of a nervous fever when I was about a year and a half My only brother, Benjamin, came to New Jersey after I did, where he married, and has since lived.* Each of my sisters were married, and had a number of children. My mother lived a widow for two or three years, and then married John Barret, of the same town; by him she had three children. I lived with my mother and fatherin-law, Barret, till I was 14 years of age. When I was about seven years old, my father-in-law moved his family from Malden to Killingly, the most easterly town in Connecticut, about 60 miles from Malden. My mother and my father-in-law both died of the long fever, in the hard winter of 1741. My mother took much pains to teach me to read, and early to in * This brother, a man of eminent piety, was for many years a deacon in the church of which the subject of this sketch was the pastor. VOL. IX. Ch. Adv. stil into my mind the principles of religion. Before I was seven years old, I was at times much affected with the thoughts of the day of judgment, and future misery. At that age, I used with attention to hear my sisters read Mr. Wiggleworth's verses upon The Day of Doom, and those upon Eternity. That book used much to awaken and affect me: I have always had a peculiar regard for it, and have often wished it could be reprinted and spread among young people. My pious mother used to inculcate on me the necessity of secret prayer, and tell me how I must pray; and at about eight or ten years of age I began to pray in secret, at times. From seven to fourteen years of age, I had many serious thoughts about my soul and future state. But my corruptions were much stronger than my convictions In early life I discovered a nature wholly degenerate. Conscience used often to alarm me, and I often dreamed that the day of judgment was come, &c. When something alarmed me, I used to pray in secret for a few days, but soon omitted it again, and almost always found a dreadful reluctance to the duty. I had in those years many a struggle between conscience and my corrupt backward nature, respecting secret prayer. But I used for the most part to omit it, and sometimes I think for six months together. I had no religion but slavish fear, and corrupt nature was all the while growing stronger and stronger. SECOND SECTION. From fourteen years of age, until I entered College, between eighteen and nineteen years of age. When I was fourteen years of age, I was to choose a guardian, and be put out to a trade. With the advice of my friends, I went to live with one Henry Green, of Killingley. With him I continued 3 F about nine months; but when I was about to be bound to him, some difficulties occurring, I left him and went to live with one of my uncles, Daniel Green, of Stoneham, about ten miles from Boston, near my native place. With him I lived about one year. My indenture was written to bind me till I was twentyone; but some pecuniary difficulties prevented, and I left him and went to live with one of my mother's brothers, Thomas Lynde, of Malden, my native place. With him I lived about one year, when my brother-in-law, Bixby, coming from Connecticut, proposed a method for my going to College. I had for some years had an inclination for study. People took notice that I was bookish, and my mother used to say she would be glad if I could have learning. But there seemed no way for it, as I could not come at my property, till I was twenty-one years old. My brother Bixby proposed that my property, which lay in land, and that too in partnership, should be sold, though I was under age-I engaging to give deeds when I came to be of age: and by choosing a new guardian, and by application to the Judge of Probate, the thing was accomplished. I viewed it as a favourable providence, that three times I missed being bound out till I was twenty-one years old, which would doubtless have prevented a liberal education. About a month before I was seventeen years old, I went to a grammar school, and pursued my studies till July, 1740, when I was admitted into the college at Cambridge, near Boston, being eighteen years and an half old. But I am now to give some account of my convictions and religious exercises, from the age of fourteen, until this time. From fourteen to near fifteen, I passed my time in a large family of children, and among young persons full of vanity and folly; and I, like the others, had little or no sense of divine things, was very stupid, and neglected secret prayer almost entirely. From fifteen to sixteen, I had some convictions, and prayed in secret at times; but vanity and corrupt nature generally prevailed, and I knew little what religion was. In the first half of my seventeenth year, I had some strong convictions, the throat distemper being then very mortal in the town where I lived. I prayed at times, and was much afraid of going to hell; but the neighbourhood where I lived wholly escaped the distemper; and on the whole, I grew much more vicious. I lived with wicked_companions, one especially; and I now began to think myself old enough, and was encouraged to go into company, to dancing frolicks, &c. This was very agreeable to my corrupt youthful nature; and by the fall of the year I had become very vain, and was in the high road to destruction. But then I met with an awful shock, and stopped short in my career. I thought that I had committed the unpardonable sin; and it may be that but few who have not committed it, have had more reason to think so than I hadWhat reason I had to fear, will appear in the following narration: I had for several months depended upon making a visit to my mother, at Killingly, in the fall of the year. This was sixty miles from Malden, where I now lived. I had not been at Killingly to see my mother for the space of two years. In the course of that visit I expected an opportunity would offer to commit a sin, which my corrupt nature prompted me to. Sometimes, under conviction, I thought I would not commit such a sin; but generally my corrupt nature determined me to it, if I should have the opportunity. In the latter end of October I took the journey, and went by the way of Leicester, where a number of my relations lived. Between Leicester and Killingly, fifteen miles distant, was a gloomy wilderness, where, for the space of six or eight miles, were very few houses: I was a perfect stranger to the road, having never been that way before. It was a cloudy day, and later in the afternoon than I supposed, when alone I set out from Leicester, to go to my mother's at Killingly. By the time I had well gotten away from the habitable parts, I was overtaken by night, and it also be gan to rain. Before it was quite dark, I found a parting of the path; and having no opportunity to inquire, I happened to take the wrong way. After some time, I found the path I was in grew less and less, and it was very dark, being a rainy night, and no moon above the horizon. I soon supposed I was wrong, but expected the path would lead me to some house. Sometimes I dismounted and led my horse, thinking I could keep the path better than he did. Sometimes I rode and let my horse pick his way-at best there was nothing but a narrow cow path, and sometimes none at all. It was exceeding dark, and I could not find the way back to the parting of the paths-What to do I knew not. Sometimes I moved onward, sometimes stopped and considered; but generally kept going on. At length I came near the side of a river, or brook, swelled by the late rains, which roared down among the rocks, and made a hideous noise; and beside, it lay, as I supposed, between me and the path I must take, if I got right. At length the old logs, brush, and woods, became thicker and more impassable, and I was at my wits' end. I knew that bears and wolves were often in that wilderness, and I was entirely defenceless. Sometimes I thought of lying down under a log till morning. But I was cold and wet, for it continued raining. I had nothing with me to eat; my horse also was hungry, and nothing for him to eat-the frost hav ing killed every green thing; and if I let him loose to browse the bushes, he might leave me. What to do I knew not-In these circumstances my conscience fell upon me, and brought my sins and omissions of duty to remembrance; especially that I was now on a journey in which I proposed to commit sin. I had many reflections in my mind: I thought how justly God had permitted me to fall into such difficulties. Revolving much in my mind my situation in that wilderness, and my state as a sinner, my heart was inclined to cry to God for help. I made my address to him, and poured out my soul abundantly my circumstances enlarged my heart. I confessed my sins and omissions, especially my breach of promise; for I had on one occasion promised before God to pray in secret for a certain space of time, and had often broken such promises. In this my prayer and confession in the wilderness, I solemnly promised and vowed, and bound my soul before God as solemnly as I could, that if he would deliver me out of that wilderness, and grant that I might get safe to my mother's house that night, I would by no means commit the sin which I had for some time thought of committing; and also that I would, within one week after I got home from that journey, begin to pray in secret evening and morning, and continue so to do for a fortnight; and after that would endeavour to pray constantly-but that I would certainly pray for a fortnight. Having laid myself under the double bond of not committing the sin, and of praying for a fortnight, and having ended my prayer, I again attempted to move onward in the woods: and I had not gone many rods, before I saw a light, and not at a great distance. I made towards it, and soon came to a little house in the woods. The family was not yet abed. I made known my case; they told me it was about three |