eneath their power, and the conviction
that they carried with them; and when ye think of those convictions, and
contrast them with your conduct this day, does not the word _apostate_
burn in your heart? John Crawford, some of your blood have embraced the
stake for the sake of the truth, and will ye profane the Sabbath which
they sanctified? The Scotsman who openly glories in such a sin,
forfeits his claim to the name of one, and publishes to the world that
he has no part nor communion with the land that gave him birth. John
Crawford, hearken unto my voice, to the voice of your wife, and that of
your bairns (whose bringing up is a credit to their mother), and be not
guilty of this gross sin." But the fisherman, while he regarded not the
supplications of his wife, became sullen at the words of the preacher;
and, springing into the boat, seized an oar, and, with his comrades,
began to pull from the shore.

The thousand boats put to sea, and Mr. Simpson returned sorrowful from
the beach to the kirk, while Agnes Crawford and her children followed
him. That day he took for his text, "Remember the Sabbath day to keep
it holy;" and, as he fearlessly and fervidly denounced the crime of
Sabbath-breaking, and alluded to the impious proceedings of the day, his
hearers trembled, but poor Agnes wept aloud, and her children clung
around her, and they wept also, because she wept. But, ere the service
had concluded, the heavens began to lower. Darkness fell over the
congregation--and first came the murmur of the storm, which suddenly
burst into the wild howl of the tempest. They gazed upon each other in
silent terror, like guilty spirits stricken in their first rebellion by
the searching glance of the Omniscient. The loud voice of psalms was
abruptly hushed, and its echo mingled with the dreadful music of the
elements, like the bleating of a tender lamb, in the wind that sweepeth
howling on the mountains. For a moment, their features, convulsed and
immovable, were still distended with the song of praise; but every
tongue was silent, every eye fixed. There was no voice, save heaven's.
The church seemed to rock to its foundations, but none fled--none moved.
Pale, powerless as marble statues, horror transfixed them in the house
of prayer. The steeple rocked in the blast, and, as it bent, a knell,
untolled by human hands, pealed on the ears of the breathless multitude.
A crash followed. The spire that glittered in the morning sun lay
scatte