And on the rest shall not think best, Am I alone for what's my own, Will you demand grace at my hand, you teach me whom to set free, You sinners are, and such a share Such you shall have; for I do save A crime it is, therefore in bliss The easiest room in hell." They cease, and plead no longer: Their consciences must needs confess His reasons are the stronger. Thus all men's pleas the judge with ease Doth answer and confute. Until that all, both great and small, Are silenced and mute. Vain hopes are crop'd, all mouths are stop'd, Sinners have nought to say, But that 'tis just, and equal most They should be damn'd for aye. Now what remains, but that to pains Christ should condemn the sons of men, Oh rueful plights of sinful wights! Oh wretches all forlorn: "T had happy been they ne'er had seen Thus with great joy and melody Him there to praise with sweetest lays, Where with long rest they shall be blest, BENJAMIN COLMAN. BENJAMIN COLMAN was born in Boston, October 19, 1767, and was the companion of Cotton Mather at the celebrated school of Ezekiel Cheever.* He was admitted into Harvard College in 1688, and after receiving his degree of Bachelor of * Cheever died in 1708, at the age of ninetyfour, beloved and honored by all who knew him. Mather wrote an elegy on his death, which runs in this manner; VOL. I. A mighty tribe of well instructed youth, 5 Arts commenced the study of Theology. In July 1695, he embarked for London, with the intention of qualifying himself for his profession by an observation of men and manners in a wider sphere of action than the thinly settled and almost desolate Colonies of New England. He embarked on board "the good ship Swan," but in a few days she was found to be in a leaky condition, and the voyage was consequently prolonged to an unusual extent. Seven weeks had elapsed before the passengers could with safety indulge in the hope of a speedy relief from the tediousness of their situation, when an incident occurred which dimmed their brightest hopes. It was a fine morning in the early part of September; the breeze was just strong enough to allow all sail to be set to advantage, and the wearied inmates of the cabin, as they came on deck and received an answer in the affirmative to their often repeated inquiry whether the wind was fair, were gaily congratulating each other on the prospect of a quick passage to the desired haven. In a few minutes the cry, "a sail," was heard, and far on the weather quarter a white spot could be seen, which before noon proved to be a light and fleet vessel bearing down upon the Swan with every yard of canvass extended. She was supposed to be a French privateer, and after the female passengers had been assisted to a place of security, the necessary arrangements were made for her reception. There was a young man on board the English vessel who had often taken great pains to annoy his companions in the cabin by his malicious and atheistical sallies of wit. Before a gun was fired he informed Mr Colman, who was equipping himself with a musket and ammunition, that the passengers were seeking refuge below. "Sir," was the reply, "I shall use my poor endeavors in protecting this ship from the enemy." The other was so much abashed, and his shame so far surmounted his cowardice, that he determined to join in the fight. At the first discharge of small arms, however, he fell upon the deck, completely overcome by fear, and remained there till the Frenchman fell astern for a few moments to repair damages, when he lifted up his head and inquired "where is the enemy?" "He lies by," answered Mr Colman, "to charge anew with somewhat more vigor." At this the young man threw himself on his face by the hatches, and remained there till the boatswain giving him a hearty kick in the side, swore that he was in the way, whereupon our hero took refuge below and was seen no more till night. As evening drew on, the contest ceased, and it was ascertained that the Swan had sustained great damage in her hull, masts, and rigging, and that the chance of escape from the enemy was almost hopeless. Five men were wounded,-one of them mortally, but Mr Colman had suffered no harm. Great praise was bestowed upon him for his bravery, which was not expected in a slender youth, to whom constitutional weakness had given the appearance of effeminacy. To the encomiums bestowed on him, he replied by a frank confession that he had been in constant apprehension of danger through the day. He had been told that his courage would increase as the action grew hot, and he therefore loaded and discharged his piece with all possible despatch; yet after three or four broadsides he could not help wondering when this courage would come. The boatswain and the men who were managing the gun on the quarterdeck, often called on Mr Colman for assistance in charging, and made sport of the whole affair, forgetting, for the moment, that they were indulging their profanity in the presence of a minister. He did not cease from his labors, but reproved them for their wickedness while tugging with them at the breech of the same cannon, with his coat off, his sleeves tucked up, and his hat and wig thrown aside. Early on the following morning the Swan was surrendered to the enemy, having maintained a long and gallant contest with a vessel of more than thrice her number of men and weight of metal. When Mr Colman was taken aboard the privateer, he was robbed of his money, left almost destitute of clothes, and thrown into the hold with the sick and dying; yet his cheerfulness and resignation not only lightened his own sufferings, but dispelled much gloom and useless repining among 1 his companions. In a few days, having reached the shores of France, they were imprisoned at Nantz, and afterwards at Dinan. On the road to the latter place, the officer to whose care Mr Colman and the other captives were committed, halted at a little village, and the rabble immediately surrounded them, led on by their priest, who approached our young divine, and, holding up a crucifix, asked him if it were an object of worship. He was answered in the negative. The other, with genuine Catholic zeal, declared that he would prove it was, but here the French Provost interfered, and said his prisoner was a minister. "O diavole!" shouted one of the crowd, on hearing this intelligence; whereupon Mr Colman desired the priest to reprove the man. "No," said he, "it is too true; all heretics are out of the holy church, and therefore belong to the devil, are going to the devil, and are devils." Mr Colman then begged that his antagonist would not undervalue himself by holding conversation with the devil, and bade him farewell. An exchange of prisoners between the French and English took place at the expiration of two months, and Mr Colman was transported to Portsmouth. Very fortunately one of the female passengers in the Swan had concealed several pieces of gold for him; these she had conveyed to his hands at Nantz, and their amount was more than enough to carry him to London. At the city he was kindly received by his relatives and several dissenting clergymen, who rendered his abode in England both pleasant and profitable. He was appointed to take charge of a church in Bath, where he remained for two years. Here he formed an acquaintance with Miss Singer, then celebrated as a poetess, to whom, but for his assertions to the contrary, we should believe he became attached with more than a Platonic regard. His eulogies on her beauty and accomplishments, his constant mention of her in letters to his friends, and the occasional recurrence of her name in his private memoranda, evince an anxiety for her happiness more fervent and frequent than that milder solicitude which friendship excites. His first visit to her rural retreat, where she was accustomed to meditate and compose, called from him a |