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was already issuing from the windows of my office, and the flames from other parts of the house! Here I found the agents, who were on the spot before me. The hydrants were frozen, and the waters were thrown but feebly, though all exerted themselves to their utmost. We saw that all was gone. Suddenly, and with a tremendous crash, the roof fell in! The flames seemed to ascend in curling eddies to the heavens, carrying with them fragments of books and papers, which the winds swept over the city to the eastward, as if to carry the news of the sad disaster to our distant friends. Indeed,
a leaf of a Bible was found about three miles from the place, on which the following verse was but just legible: "Our holy and our beautiful house, where our fathers praised thee, is burned up with fire; and all our pleasant things are laid waste." Isa. lxiv, 11.
While standing upon the smoking ruins, about ten o'clock in the morning, a minister of the Protestant Episcopal Church informed me that this leaf had been picked up in the city of Brooklyn, and that it was in the possession of a gentleman in the lower part of the city, a bookseller, in Pearl-street. Irequested a friend to call and ascertain the fact, and if possible to obtain the relic, which seemed precious in my estimation. He accordingly called, and found it was even so; but the gentleman, wishing to preserve it as a memento of this disastrous event, and as an evidence of the truth of his
own statement, declined to surrender it to
Our "beautiful house," and all our "pleas
ant things"'-our books and printing and binding apparatus-were indeed "burned up with fire!" But the fire-proof vault had, by the skillful management of the firemen, preserved the account books, and most of the registry books for subscribers were saved by the timely exertions of the clerk of that department. The rest was gone, except about three hundred dollars' worth of books, and some of the iron work, stone, and brick about the building.
The writer of this paper stood, on that bitter winter morning, beside Mr. Waugh, looking upon the fearful conflagration. The dark cloud was upon that noble face; a cloud of deep sadness, almost of despair, and no wonder. The flames had gone so far that it was clear little or nothing could be saved, and, to add to the weight of the disaster, there was but a small amount of insurance, as most of the companies had been wrecked by the great New York fire two months before, in which twenty millions of property had been destroyed. Mr. Waugh was greatly depressed; at a meeting held in behalf of the Concern in the Greene-street Church, on the Monday following, he said that "by Almighty grace he had ever been able to prevent temporal matters obtruding themselves on the sanctity of the day of rest, but he must candidly admit the recent calamity so overwhelmed
him, that anxious care had harassed him on the preceding Sabbath."
That meeting showed how strong a hold the Concern had upon the heart of Methodism, and how strong, also, was the public confidence in the editors and agents. Able and effective speeches were made by Dr. Bangs, Francis Hall, Esq., and others, but the weight of the occasion of course fell upon Mr. Waugh, the senior Book Agent. His weight of character gave additional authority and power to his clear statements and urgent appeal; and twentyfive thousand dollars were subscribed on the spot. The news soon spread throughout the land, and contributions rapidly flowed in from every quarter of the country. The sum raised amounted, at last, to about one hundred thousand dollars, and as the establishment, through the excellent man agement of the agents, was free from debt, this amount of cash capital, with the unlimited credit at the command of the Concern, soon placed it upon a better footing than ever.
During his stay in New-York, Mr. Waugh was not only indefatigable as Book Agent, but also instant, in season and out of season, in all Christian labors. Every Sunday, when in health, he preached in one of the churches of the city or vicinity; and always with general acceptance. He was accustomed to say, however, that he could not preach at this time with the freedom and power that marked his ministry while in the regular pastoral work; and we may well believe it. It was only now and then that New York audiences had a true specimen of his preaching; under some special manifestation of the Holy Spirit, and in seasons of revival, his preaching was unsurpassed in point of earnestness, unction, and effect. This was especially the case in the great revival of 1831 and 1832; and the writer can well remember the almost terrific power of some of Mr. Waugh's exhortations to sinners in that time of awakening. But perhaps his greatest power lay in the gift of importunate and believing prayer; it was the wrestling of an earnest and forceful nature, imbued thoroughly with love to Christ and love for souls, taking hold fast and firmly of the promises of God. It seemed, sometimes, as though these potent prayers of his would take heaven by storm. Mr. Disosway speaks of one of these occasions when, after Mr.
Waugh's preaching had produced wondrous awakening, and crowded the altar with penitents, who had in haste fled to it while he preached, he continued preaching from the pulpit down into the altar, where, lifting up holy hands over one after another of them, as though he possessed the keys of the kingdom, he cried out, "Lord, bless this soul;" and one after another arose, as if the life of God had entered into their souls, giving thanks for the unspeakable gift!
At the General Conference of 1836, held in Cincinnati, Mr. Waugh was elected one of the bishops of the Methodist Episcopal Church. In this capacity he is so widely known in all parts of the land that no general eulogium of ours is necessary; while as to the details of his service, neither our limits nor the materials within our reach will allow us to dilate. His episcopal labors will find a more fitting chronicler hereafter. A brief but comprehensive memoir of him by Bishop Morris, published in the Western Christian Advocate, states that
He shared with his colleagues the toil and responsibility of the general oversight, and of presiding over five sessions of the General Conference, some of which were the most laborious and stormy ever known in the history of our Church. He presided, on an average, over about seven conferences a year, or say one hundred and fifty in all; and so tenacious was he of performing his whole duty, that, sick or well, he seldom called an elder to relieve him from the chair a moment. The number of days he spent in presiding and carefully watching over and directing the proceedings of ecclesiastical bodies must have been over a thousand.
The rule requiring the bishops to appoint the preachers annually, under certain limitations and exceptions, was carefully and faithfully executed by Bishop Waugh for nearly twenty-two years. The average number of preachers appointed by him per annum, was, probably, five hundred and fifty, or say twelve thousand in all.
What a fearful responsibility was involved! How many hard cases were decided! How severely were his sympathies taxed! How many disappointed expectants, both among preachers and people, to worry him with complaints, or petitions for relief not in his power to afford! But his principle of action under the rule was the good of the work first, and the accommodation of parties second. To this principle he adhered under all circumstances to the best of his judgment, and in doing so maintained at once the integrity of the Episcopal administration and the confidence of his brethren generally, both in the ministry and laity. The number of deacons and elders ordained by Bishop Waugh during his entire superintendence was, probably, from two thousand five hundred to three thousand.
In the discharge of the episcopal duties Bishop Waugh was perhaps as fully acceptable to the Church, in all its length and breadth, as any of our bishops have been. None doubted his devotion to the cause of Christ, his loyalty to the Church, or the impartiality and integrity which he brought to the administration of his high functions. His noble and commanding frame, the firmness, tempered with benignity, indicated, in the strongly-marked, yet fine features of his countenance, the depth and fulness of his voice-all these physical elements combined to add dignity to his calm demeanor in the chair. Of late years, after his hair had been whitened by time and suffering, there was a grandeur in his presence rarely seen; combined with a simplicity so unaffected, it was rarer still. While he was generally strict in enforcing the rules of order, he carried forbearance as far as was consistent with duty. His self-control was rarely ruffled. At the memorable General Conference held in New-York in 1844, the debates, as is well known, were earnest, heated, and sometimes almost stormy. In the height of the excitement, two members rose at almost the same moment-a Northern and a Southern man. Bishop Waugh gave the floor to the Southern member; the other, with some warmth, said that "the eye of the chair seemed always directed toward the South." The bishop said nothing till the speaker on the floor had finished, and then quietly remarked that "the brother was mistaken; the member from the South had first caught his eye." This simple explanation satisfied the whole body, and doubtless even the member who thought himself aggrieved needed no further apology.
In the discharge of his official duties, prudence was one of Bishop Waugh's most marked characteristics. He took no important step in haste, or without weighing, as far as possible, all its bearrngs upon the interests and feelings of others, and of the Church. This quality, cultivated by long habit, gave him, in his latter years, great weight in the counsels of the Church; and all who went to him for advice knew that if he gave it at all he would give it with wisdom and with judgment. His cares and solicitudes were more and more centered in the Church as he grew older; and of late his anxieties for her welfare, in view of the elements
of distraction at work, became sometimes nouncing his words distinctly. The hand excessive.
For many years before his death Bishop Waugh suffered greatly in his physical health. The symptoms were alarming; difficulty of breathing, pain in the chest, and occasional syncope, all indicating that the heart, the center of life, had been invaded by disease. These indications would have been sufficient to justify, in the eyes of the Church, his retirement from active duty; and it is possible that rest and quiet might have prolonged his life for many years. But it was not in his nature, nor within his sense of duty, to cease from toil while toil was possible. And so he went on, suffering, yet uncomplaining, from conference to conference, braving pain with calm endurance, and working up, amid his weakness, almost to the standard of other men's strength. During the last year (1857) he presided over six conferences, from Vermont in the east to Indiana in the west, besides assisting his colleagues at several others. Those who attended these last conferences with him, speak of an unusual tenderness and Christian gentleness in his deportment, as well as of marked fervor and unction in his preaching and in his prayers. He was evidently ripening for heaven. It was his habit, generally, to dismiss the conferences-sometimes leading the singing himself with the lines:
""Tis Jesus, the first and the last,
Whose spirit shall guide us safe home; We'll praise him for all that is past,
And trust him for all that's to come;" and the trustful spirit of this beautiful stanza grew in him more and more to the end.
of death was on him. Still, on the night before his departure from Carlisle, he gathered the young converts about the altar and gave them a parting address, full of wisdom and of love. What a privilege! How will those Christian converts treasure up these last utterances of the aged Christian bishop, who blessed them in the name of his Master, and then went home to die!
On his arrival at home he was taken with violent erysipelas, but through the skill of his attending physician, Dr. Dulin, the disorder had fully yielded, so much so, indeed, thut he was able to sit up and converse a little with his friends on the day before his death. On the morning of that day he led the family devotions, his now widowed consort reading the Scriptures, and he in his bed offering up to God the daily orison of a devout and trusting heart. On the evening of the same day a brother clergyman being present, he desired him to perform the family service, in which he was joined by our deceased brother in exclamations of thanksgivings. On the night of his demise those in his room heard him constantly engaged in a low and feeble voice in prayer. He first prayed for the Church, asking a heavenly blessing on the labors of the ministers of Christ; and then he pleaded fervently and earnestly for the prosperity of the missionary work; and then, with the heart of a Christian parent, interceded with his heavenly Father for his family.
He shortly after retired for sleep, and in a brief interval sounds of distress were heard, and even before his family could be summoned, or medical relief be procured, he ceased to breathe, and rendered
last words indicating that calmness and resignation that had been one of the most beautiful features of his life.
During the early part of the winter he was able to preach and to attend the services of public worship regularly in Bal-up his spirit to the God that gave it, his timore. About a fortnight before his death he was invited to Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where a great revival of religion was in progress. He was always deeply interested in the prosperity of Dickinson College, of which he was a trustee; and he always rejoiced to hear of the spread of religion among the students. This invitation, therefore, touched special sympathies of his, and he accepted it. He preached several sermons with apostolic zeal, in the fullness of the blessing of the Gospel of Christ; but in preaching the two last he had great difficulty in pro
In a conversation with a brother shortly preceding his demise, the subject of "death" was introduced, the brother remarking that "dying" was not the proper expression, but that "falling asleep" was the most suitable one. The bishop replied, "Yes! that is the proper expression-falling asleep." A few moments after, so calmly, so relying on the promises and mercies of God, he fell asleep-" fell asleep in Jesus.”
THE SURE WITNESS.
THE summer woods had spread
Hung dim and still about the house of prayer:
Turning the leaves of hymns,
I heard the winds, and ask'd if God were there! No voice responded while I listening stay'd, But peace made holy hushes when I pray'd.
With open, pinky hand,
I saw the wild rose stand
I cried, "Sweet hermitess,
Hast thou beheld Him who the dew distills ?"
The moon in splendor shone;
Who hides himself from men
In that great power through nature interfused? No speech made answer, and no sign appear'd,
But in the silence I was sooth'd and cheer'd.
Weeping one time, strange awe
A kingly splendor round about the night;
Of spinner never plann'd,
The finest wool was never wash'd so white: "Hast thou been in his hand ?" I ask'd the snow,
But never voice made answer, yea, or no,
Then said my heart, to me,
description of first impressions on seeing this singular creature is too good to be omitted:
"Here was a strange animal, with the head and tail of a pig, sometimes hanging on the limb of a tree, and occasionally swinging, like the monkey, by the tail. Around that prehensile appendage a dozen sharp-nosed, sleekheaded young had entwined their own tails, and were sitting on their mother's back. The astonished traveler approaches this extraordinary compound of an animal, and touches it cautiously with a stick. Instantly it seems struck with some mortal disease: its eyes close, it falls to the ground, ceases to move, and appears to be dead. He turns it on its back, and perceives a strange, apparently artificial opening. He puts his finger into the extraordinary pocket, and lo! another brood of a dozen or more young, scarcely larger than a pea, are hanging in clusters to the teats. In pulling the creature about, in great amazement, he suddenly receives a gripe on the hand. The twinkling of the half-closed eye, and the breathing of the creature, evince that it is not dead, and he adds a new term to the vocabulary of his language, that of playing 'possum.'"
A full-grown opossum is some seventeen inches long, exclusive of the tail, which measures eleven inches. Its height is seven or eight inches, or about that of the ordinary cat. Its principal color is a dirty white; the back and limbs are black; the tail is scaly, and the ears naked and black. The hands and nose are naked; the latter glandulous; its eye is small. black, and lively. The opossum is disagreeable in appearance, partly because its
The wind, the snow-storm, the fair hermit hair, neither smooth nor curly, is of a
The illuminated air,
The pleasure after prayer,
Proclaim the unoriginated Power!
The mystery that hides Him here and there Bears the sure witness, He is everywhere.
OPOSSUMS AND KANGAROOS.
HE marsupial animals are distinguished from all others by the sack or pouch in which they carry and nourish their young. This pouch is, in fact, but a folding of the skin below the stomach, but is supported by two bones attached to the pelvis, and these mark the scientific classification, in spite of all other points of difference. The greater part of the marsupials are peculiar to New Holland; consequently at the discovery of America very little was known of them, and the opossum was the first to introduce them to the notice of the civilized world. Audubon's
dirty, dead color, as if the animal were sick. It exhales a fetid odor, which, however, does not hinder the negroes from eating its flesh and finding it delicious. This fetidness, which is much stronger when the creature is provoked, is its only means of defense, as it does not seem to know how to bite, though armed with teeth; nor can it flee, as its gait is not much swifter than that of a hedgehog.
In a savage state the opossum inhabits all North America as far up as Pennsylvania. During the day it retires to its burrow, which is dug in a thicket at some distance from the abodes of men, where it sleeps curled up dog-fashion. At night it is out hunting for its food. It easily climbs trees, where it catches birds on the nests. It seems to have an epicurean taste for birds' flesh and birds' eggs, and spends much of its time in hunting them. The berries of the persimmon tree are
great favorites in their season, and other | another species, Dasyurus Maugei, which berries, nuts, reptiles, and insects are not is somewhat smaller than the preceding. refused. Sometimes it commits depreda- He says: tions in the poultry yard, sucking the blood of its victims, and leaving their dead bodies behind.
it. Though not vicious, we could not perceive that it was susceptible of any attachment to the person who fed and caressed it. The hours for its meals were always times of much interest to us. It seized the strips of flesh, raw or cooked, with great eagerness, and while eating it would occasionally toss them into the air, and then catch them with much dexterity, apparently for the purpose of giving them a more convenient direction. It also used its fore
"We kept one alive five months on board the Urania. This elegant animal tried to bite only when tricks were played upon it. Fleeing Nearly allied to the opossum is the Spot-with a little niche that had been provided for from too bright a light, it seemed best pleased ted Martin, or long-tailed Dasyurus, of New Holland. The body of this animal is a foot and a half in length, and the tail about as much longer. The hair is a beautiful maroon marked with white. It has a little of the physiognomy of the genet, and many of the habits of the martins. The structure of the feet does not allow it to climb trees; but after passing the day in sleep in some hole of the rock, it comes out at night and goes in quest of birds, little animals, and insects, on which it feeds. As it preys mostly upon the young of the ornithorhynchus and kangaroo, it sometimes falls short of game and fares quite poorly. At such times it descends to the seashore, and voraciously attacks the halfputrid carcasses of dead fish thrown up by the waves. Sometimes it crawls into the yards of the colonists, and kills off all their poultry. All the other species of dasyurus have the same habits as this. Gaimard gives us a few observations upon
paws in eating, and when it had finished a meal it would sit upon its haunches and rub its fore paws together precisely as we do our hands, passing them occasionally over its smooth, humid nose, its ears, and the top of its head, as if to remove any particles of aliment that might have lodged there. These indications of excessive neatness always followed every meal."
The Koala, or Womrat, is classed among frugivorous marsupials. Its toes have the peculiarity of being divided into two groups, of the thumb and index on one side, and the remaining three fingers on the other. Its tail is but a mere rudiment. It frequents the neighborhood of the Wa