by danger nor deliverance; till, some years afterwards, the truths of the gospel aroused his slumbering conscience, and brought him a penitent to the feet of the Saviour. Then he could look back with wondering and adoring gratitude to the Almighty Friend who had watched over him at a time when he knew him not, and delivered him from death, when to die would have been to perish for ever.

The narratives of captain Wilson and governor Melvill will have reminded many readers of the eventful career of colonel Gardiner, from the points of resemblance between them. A few brief notices of his well-known history will suffice for our present purpose.

Colonel Gardiner entered the army when very young, and followed the duke of Marlborough through his bloody and victorious campaign in Flanders. At the battle of Ramillies, his escape seems almost miraculous. A ball entered his mouth, passed through the back of his neck, and just missing the spinal column, came out behind. The allied army pursuing the enemy, the wounded were left upon the field, surrounded by heaps of slain, and exposed to the inclemency of the weather. In the morning, some French stragglers came up and

began to plunder the slain. Seeing the wounded youth (he was but nineteen) apparently just expiring, one of them was on the point of thrusting his sword through his breast, to destroy the little remainder of life, when, at the critical moment, a cordelier who accompanied the plunderers came up and checked his hand, saying, "Do not kill that poor child." A little wine being poured down his throat, he recovered from his death-like swoon, and he succeeded in inducing the men to carry him to a neighbouring convent, which he reached in safety, though he often seemed to be dying whilst on the way, and even besought those who carried him to kill him, that he might escape the excruciating anguish of his wound. As he was two nights and a day before his wounds were dressed, he often spoke of it as another astonishing providence that he had not bled to death. Though kindly received at the convent, a new danger awaited him there, from the ignorance and rudeness of the barber-surgeon who attended him. But by the blessing of God he survived all.

The next eleven years of his life, his biographer and friend, Dr. Doddridge, describes as "wild, thoughtless, and wretched." Throughout

this interval he was constantly rushing into danger, in consequence of his hot, impetuous valour; but still he was preserved by the watchful care of that God whom he was defying by his course of reckless profligacy. Toward the close of this unhappy period, two remarkable deliverances happened to him. As he was riding at full speed, down hill, in the streets of Calais, his horse fell, threw him over its head, pitched over him, and was killed by the fall; yet he received no hurt! Shortly afterwards, on returning to England, so violent a storm broke upon the vessel, that the captain urged the passengers and crew to go to prayers immediately, if they meant to go at all, for that in a very few minutes they must be at the bottom. In this extremity of danger, he did pray with the utmost fervency; and it was remarked, that whilst crying to God for deliverance, the storm abated, and they escaped. But so little affected was he by this rescue from impending death, that when some of his gay companions rallied him on the efficacy of his prayers, he excused himself from the scandal of being thought in earnest, by saying "that it happened at midnight, when his mother and aunt were asleep, or he should have left that part of the business

to them." "He recounted these things to me," says Dr. Doddridge, "with the greatest humility, as showing how utterly unworthy he was of the miracle of grace, by which he was quickly after brought to so true and prevalent a sense of religion." How truly he became, what his biographer here terms him, "a miracle of grace," is too well known, however, to need further illustration at our hands.

As many of our readers will probably be persons in humble life, who have enjoyed small educational advantages, it may be of interest to them to give some illustrative incidents of the providential care of God extended to individuals in a social position similar to their own. For this purpose we select and condense a few extracts from the "Life of George Noscoe, a Norwegian sailor." An introduction, from the pen of Dr. Raffles, of Liverpool, vouches for the truth of the narrative.

When quite a lad, Noscoe went to sea, as a cabin boy, and, as is often the case, was treated with the utmost cruelty by the mate of the ship, from whose hands he, on more than one occasion, narrowly escaped with his life. When at Gibraltar, he was ordered to draw up a heavy bucket of water from over the ship's

side. Not daring to disobey, he tried to do so, but was overbalanced by the weight, fell overboard, and sank to the bottom. Though four or five fathoms deep, the sea was so clear that the crew could see him, and were able to fish him up by means of a grappling iron affixed to a long line. He was apparently dead, but after using means for his restoration for about half an hour, animation returned.

The next day the brig sailed for the coast of Africa. As they lay becalmed, they were boarded by Algerine pirates, who plundered the ship of every morsel of provisions. The captain fell on his knees, imploring them to leave a little food to keep them from starvation, but they unfeelingly cut him down and left the vessel. Happily a breeze sprang up, which carried the remainder of the crew into Malaga. Here a new danger awaited them; they found the plague raging so fearfully that one vessel lost the whole of her officers and crew. God, however, in his great mercy, guarded them from "the pestilence that walketh in darkness," and Noscoe returned to Norway in safety.

Some years afterwards, during an action on board a French frigate in which Noscoe was