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CHAP. XIV.

THE GRAND MORAL PREVENTIONS OF SUICIDE.

For, though I fly to 'scape from Fortune's rage,
And bear the scars of Envy, Spite, and Scorn,
Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage,

Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn.
For Virtue lost, and ruin'd Man, I mourn.
O Man! Creation's pride, Heaven's darling child,
Whom Nature's best, divinest, gifts adorn,
Why from thy home are Truth and Joy exil'd,
And all thy favorite haunts with blood and tears defil'd?'

BEATTIE'S MINSTREL.

Occasions of Suicide—Female Sex pitied—Deceivers warned, and the Wretched comforted—Crabbe's affecting Tale of Ruth—Judgment and Reason should rule in Affairs of the Heart-Tale of Constantia of Nottingham, in February, 1822, preparing a poisonous Draught, and preserved from Suicide by reading the Author's Sermon on Suicide providentially arrested.'

IT is owing to the neglect of the word of God, to their ignorance of the proofs and evidences of Gospel truth, and the supports of true religion, that men are

transported by the gusts of passion, roused by anger, stimulated by pride, carried away by resentment, maddened by revenge; and then, having been treacherously misled by evil companions, corrupted by atheistical principles, dissipated by neglect of religious duties, swollen with pride, vexed by disappointment of romantic speculations, goaded by reflection, familiarized to suicide in our demoralizing theatres, and by the frequent examples in the daily prints, they are goaded, beguiled, and hurried on, till, in a rash moment, they seize some deadly instrument, which terminates that life which no mortal power can restore, and destroy that immortal soul which worlds want wealth to buy.

There is one case, among the female sex, in which the heart bleeds with pity over the distracted mind of a virtuous woman, who, unsuspicious of guilt herself, has by degrees been beguiled by the serpent smiles of the base assassin of her honour, who has broken the solemn vows by which he seduced her. Thou monster! who spoilest the lily purity of the flower thou hast caressed, and then abandonest it to be trodden under foot, thy account at the bar of eternal justice will be indeed tremendous, and thy doom awfully terrible. Thou drooping flower, whose delicate mind,' like the

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rose-bud steeped in a shower,' hast been roughly and rudely swung and shaken by those who

were

'Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resign'd,'

to thee would I speak a word of caution, admonition, and hope. Thou hast a Father in Heaven, who has infinite mercy to pity thy weakness, to comfort thy wretched heart, to support thee under disgrace, abandonment, and penury, and to raise thee up friends. Rush not unbidden into his presence; hope in him; and keep thy post till he is pleased to relieve and comfort thee: thou mayest yet be preserved to glorify God and do service to

man.

There are some griefs which cannot be told, and are too mighty for the soul to bear without the arm of Omnipotence to help us; but, perhaps, no case is stronger than that in which

Might is right, and violence is law;'

where authority would compel us to do that which principle and inclination violently resist, and where Misery and Wretchedness rise up before us as the monsters that will seize us upon refusal! Such was the touching case of Ruth, related by Crabbe; but I would preface the quotation by observing

that, in such a case, religion should teach the oppressed to look up to a Father and a Friend in Heaven; and to think that He can make a way to escape;' and that, should a workhouse be our lot, it is better to sustain that in dependence upon God than rush unbidden into his awful presence!

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POOR RUTH'S HEARTRENDING SUICIDE. Ruth-I may tell, too oft had she been told

Was tall and fair, and comely to behold;

Gentle and simple in her native place,
Nor one compared with her in forin or face.
She was not merry, but she gave our hearth
A cheerful spirit that was more than mirth.

There was a sailor boy; and people said
He was, as man, a likeness of the maid :
But not in this for he was ever glad,
While Ruth was apprehensive, mild, and sad.
A quiet spirit hers, and peace would seek
In meditation-tender, mild, and meek!
She lov'd the lad most truly; and, in truth,
She took an early liking to the youth.
To her alone were his attentions paid
As they became the bachelor and maid.
He wish'd to marry; but so prudent she,
And worldly wise, she said it could not be.
They took the counsel, may they be approv'd;
But still they grieved and wailed, hoped and loved.
They were as children; and they fell at length:
The trial, doubtless, is beyond their strength
Whom grace supports not: and will grace support
The too-confiding, who their danger court?

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Then they would marry, but were now too late-
All could their fault in sport or malice state;
And though the day was fixed, and now drew on,
I could perceive my daughter's peace was gone.
She could not bear the bold and laughing eye
That gaz'd on her-reproach she could not fly;
Her grief she could not shun, her shame could not deny.
For some with many virtues come to shame,
And some that lose them all preserve their name.
Fix'd was the day; but ere that day appeared
A frightful rumour through the place was heard :
War, who had slept awhile, awak'd once more,
And gangs came pressing till they swept the shore.
Our youth was seiz'd, and quickly sent away,
Nor would the wretches for his marriage stay;
But bore him off, in barbarous triumph bore,
And left us all our miseries to deplore.

Then were wives, maids, and mothers, on the beach,
And some sad story appertained to each.
Most sad to Ruth; to neither would she go,
But sat apart, and suffer'd matchless woe!
And there she staid, regardless of each eye,
With but one hope-a fervent hope to die.
Nor cared she now for kindness; all beheld
Her who invited none, and none repelled :
For there are pungent griefs that sufferers hide,
And there are griefs that men display with pride:
But there are other griefs, that so we feel,
We care not to display them, nor conceal:
Such were our sorrows: on that fatal day
More than our lives the spoilers tore away:
Nor did we hear their insult-some distress
No form or manner can make more or less.

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