truth, but principally the ministry of Mr. P. Dickerson, until the year 1860, when the Lord led us to the ministry of Mr. J. Glaskin, then of Providence chapel, Islington. Here she was called upon to occupy a prominent position in the church till within a year of her decease, and through Divine grace maintained an honourable profession, and endured to the end. She was a quiet, unobtrusive Christian, yet always ready to aid forward the cause of God and truth as far as she could.

She was known to a great many of God's ministers and dear family, with whom she delighted to commune and take sweet counsel. She saw much affliction both in her own person and family, being afflicted with an internal complaint, which frequently laid her aside. Her last illness was of five months duration, and baffled medical skill. It was not, however, until a fortnight before her death that the fatal nature of her illness was known; disease of the heart set in, and she quickly sank.

But the Lord graciously gave her a calm, passive reliance on His promise; nor was Satan permitted to harass her mind; yet she longed for some further development of the Divine presence and power to her soul. She said she could not give up her hope; her precious Jesus had said it is finished, and it just suited her He had settled it; had He not done so she could not think now. Being at one time rather gloomy in

her mind she desired the hymn

"Begin my tongue some heavenly theme"

to be repeated. On the two last stanzas she said, "That is what I want; oh, might I hear His heavenly voice but whisper thou art mine," and repeated them over again as the sentiment of her soul. From this time forward she seemed to have no hesitation, and would converse of death with as much composure as if it was only going away to see a friend. To Christian friends who saw her she would say, I am going home, we shall meet again in heaven. On the last day of her illness, just previous to death, she appeared to be almost in heaven; a glimpse of glory filled her soul, she repeated,

"All hail the power of Jesus name,"

and requested those in attendance to sing it. She said Jesus had come to her and told her he knew her by name, and had clothed her in his own robe; and wished to impress upon us that Jesus had come himself, saying, he did not send any one else; but what her vision saw it is impossible to feel, say, or describe. Whatever it was it was glorious, if not beatific, for it appeared as a beautiful light, so bright, she said, "I cannot bear it, I must close my eyes ;" it was more than the body could hold. She said, "My Saviour will soon fetch his poor child home;" and after taking a sip of refreshment lay back in the bed, after which she knew no more pain; without either sigh or groan her happy soul was beyond all doubt ushered into the joy of her Lord, to be for ever with him. Well may Dr. Watts say-

"In vain the fancy strives to paint,

The moment after death;

The glories which surround the saint,

When yielding up his breath."

Her life and death may be briefly described by the following

lines:

"Her only hope was Jesu's blood,

And God's unchanging love.

She lived a debtor to his grace,

Rejoiced in sin forgiven;
Died in her Father's fond embrace,

And flew from earth to heaven."

She has left three dear children, whom may God in mercy preserve and bring to himself, as heirs of glory. Her mortal remains were interred in Abney park Cemetery, Mr. J. Glaskin, her late and last recognised pastor, conducting the funeral services. I am left to mourn the loss of a kind, loving, and devoted wife, and my children an anxious affectionate mother, but hoping to meet beyond the river.—I am, my dear sir, yours truly, J. J. WAITE.

11, Upper Park street, Islington.

Four Sons Dead in One Day.

A SHORT PAPER ON

THE PRIVILEGES, TRIALS, AND TRIUMPHS OF THE
CHRISTIAN FAITH.

CHAPTER IV.

"How safe are they, and only they,
Who in the Lord confide,
The Lord who did their ransom pay,
When on the cross He died.
Safe amid all the scenes of life,

Nor ought that they endure;
Trouble nor sorrow, pain or strife,
Can make them less secure.
Safe, when disease, with direful form,
Shall spread dismay around;
Should death o'ertake them in the storm,
They will in Christ be found.

Safe, they in Jesus's arms shall rest,
When nature's strength shall fail;
Nor aught shall e'er their souls molest,
Beyond death's gloomy vale.

Safe, though the worldling may despise,
And shake his doting head;
They, with their Saviour shall arise,
While he is filled with dread.

O, may this safety, grand, sublime,
Be known from shore to shore;
Safe through the labyrinths of time;
And SAFE FOR EVERMORE." *

I RETURN now to the Saturday evening when my soul was favoured to enjoy an hour or two in quiet reading and reflection. Like Benjamin Taylor, my study is in the top back attic. It is a small secluded spot; a room as full of books and papers and letters as it can well hold; but, when I am retired from the world; when I am enabled to lay aside every weight (and mine have been weights indeed, such as no soul on earth doth fully know)—and the sin that doth so easily beset me— -(and that makes my heart ache every day, except when faith carries my soul away from all these dark and deadly elements)-then, shut in by myself, Satan shut out, and with the gentle dew-dropping of the Spirit on my soul, the whispers of heaven in my heart, and the tender unfoldings of the word in my little mind, all carrying my thoughts up into the chambers of Ezekiel's vision, oh, then I feel more sacredly happy than in any spot or place on earth beside.

"Shut in by myself!" did I say? "Alone?" Nay, anything but that. Here is an assembly more immense than I can calculate. If I may apply Paul's testimony concerning Abel's faith, to the faith and works of many good men, then it will be seen I have a company exceed

*The sweet and truthful lines heading this chapter are from Mr. George Newman's little volume, "Affection's Tribute," published by Sheather and Co., 148, Upper Thames

street.

ing numerous; an army of faithful men, concerning whose mental, spiritual, evangelical, and literary labour, 1 may say, "By it, they being dead, are yet speaking."

Here are bishops, deans, doctors, and divines, of every shape and size. Here are Scotch Presbyterians, English Independents, Baptists of every shade, Methodists of all degrees, prophets, pastors, preachers, and penmen from all parts of Christendom; and the best of it is, they all come to me freely, kindly, courteously, and patiently wait until I have time and opportunity to look at, listen to, and learn of, them, their pedigree, and their grand pursuit. Oh, my readers, how wonderful appears the Lord's mercy to me! As I sit in my study this morningthis wintry morning-this 22nd day of March-when all nature seems in sorrow, a dreary-looking desert without, and scores of anxious cares within, I cannot keep my mind from going back. Seven-and-forty years ago this month, my grandfather died. He had taken me under his care, because the doctors said I could not live in the marshy parts of Kent wherein I was born; so my mother gave up her sickly little son, although the Lord (as she believed) said to her, through the instrumentality of her honoured pastor, "Mrs. Banks, take this boy and NURSE HIM FOR GOD!" And although her faith and prayers, and fond affection for me never ceased, yet she gave me up to the care of my grandfather and grandmother; and in the beautiful little churchyard of Cranbrook, in the Weald of Kent, I was located, when only seven years of age.

One disease after another threatened me. At one time blindness was almost my lot; but from that the Lord restored me; and ten thousand thanks would I render unto Him for the use of my eyes. 66 Bless the Lord, O my soul;" and to all that is within me, and to all that is without I would say, me, "Bless His Holy Name.' At another time a dreadful fever seized me, and I think they all thought I must die; but in the middle of one night, when all alone, upon a bed on the floor I lay, a stream of blood suddenly burst from my nose, the fever began to leave me, and again I recovered. God of Heaven! Do in mercy make me thankful at thy feet. One day, in my boyish pranks, I jumped hastily on to a heap of straw; that straw only thinly covered a pit full of slime and mire. Down into the pit I went; right up to my chin was I smothered. Instant death must have been my doom; but a man was passing; he saw my awful danger; he ran to my relief, and took me from that terrible pit and carried me to my home. Should not I most solemnly sing

"Preserved in Jesus, when

My feet made haste to hell! "

Ah! I ought indeed to live only to His glory, Who has to me so many great salvations sent. My grandfather was a parish clerk, and I was a kind of little page to him; I carried the keys of the church, I took in the banns of many a couple when they desired to be married, I poured the water into the font when the darling babes were to be christened. Yea, all but saying "Amen," I was almost a parish clerk myself. Do not be angry with me if I have a natural liking for the good old church still. But my grandfather was a printer, a bookbinder, and many other things besides. At ten years of age I began to be what they vulgarly call "a printer's devil," that is, with heavy "balls as they term them, I laid the ink on the type, so that the type might appear on the paper

I

and be useful for the purposes designed. I became passionately fond of printing; I am intensely fond of printing still. I have filled every office connected with the art and mystery of printing; I have been a printer more than fifty years; I am a printer still, and having just completed a handsome volume of five hundred pages, beautifully printed, illustrated, and bound, I feel no little pleasure, and hope (although the printing has plunged me into many a sea of sorrow) it is the Lord's good will thus to make some use of me.

When I was scarcely fourteen years of age my grandfather died. I think I see him in his coffin now. Oh, what a loss! nearly all the parish came out to weep when we followed him to the grave; there in that grave did lie the mortal remains of my earthly friend. But my grandmother and uncle continued me in the business, and for six years after that death I pursued my studies and labours in the printing office. For giving me an insight into that most valuable enterprise, the printing of books and of bills, I desire again to thank and praise the Lord, even now that I know with what anguish and woe I have passed through a period of more than half a century. Yes, yes, this very moment three things come to my mind which I almost am persuaded to believe are testimonies in my favour; yea, tokens for good, I must name them, although I vex my reader for thus wandering out of my way.

The first was this. In prayer one morning such a sense of the Spirit of Adoption possessed my soul that I most sacredly did call God My FATHER, and it appeared as though He did sanction the claim, for into His hands I rolled my every care. Connected with this relationship, has been baptized into my soul the truth of that holy scripture, “Whom the Lord loveth He correcteth; and SCOURGETH every son whom He receiveth." Has not this scourging been true in me? Many a proud one scorns and hates me; he can see nothing but my sins and frailties; he says I am a fool and everything that is bad. I must leave all these proud creedsmen who have a natural talent to study and to talk theology to that God and Father Who will not let any of us go unpunished, although all who in His Son believe shall be saved with an everlasting salvation.

Another thing I may mention, it may encourage some little babe in grace. It was one morning as on my bed I lay, my heart became gently filled with the greatness of those glorious words

"Here I raise my Ebenezer,
Hither by Thy help I've come;
And I hope by Thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home."

This verse exactly representeth the present feelings of him who, in the silent solitude of a wintry morning pens these scattered thoughts.

One other incident I record is this. I think-I hope-the Lord is about to give me St. Thomas's Hall, in South Hackney, to preach in, until we can see if it is His blessed will to enable us to erect our new tabernacle. Of course this movement causes me much searching of heart and great enquiry-"Is it of the Lord?"-"Will He go with me?" "Will He bless me?" or will it be, as many things have been, a disappointment and a grief? I accidentally, as we say, took up a book in which, on the top of one of the pages in large letters, stood these words :

"CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE."

Mr. J. C. Ryle, writing on the call of Moses by God, to go down to Egypt, speaks, first of the weakness of the instruments which the Lord often employs to carry on His work in the world, and then of the doubts and fears which good men have when called to any great work for God. Altogether, my work is to me very weighty, and in removing from our old chapel, which is unhealthy, and holds out no prospects of much good, I feel the need of that suitable word, "Certainly I will be with thee." Only then can good success attend our path.

But how I roam about. Now having done a little as editor and publisher for so many years I have had sent me the productions of all these deans, doctors, bishops, pastors, and penmen to whom I have referred, and with some of them in my silent moments I commune with much profit and delight. I would not have gone all this round-about way to come to my tale, but as so many links in the chain I could not deny myself the indulgence of retracing a few of the steps which I have been constrained to take in "the way He hath led me."

To return again, then, to the Saturday night to which I have referred, that Saturday on the morning of which I officiated at the nuptial ceremony of the daughter of him whose sudden death I have recorded in a previous chapter. On that Saturday night-a Saturday night in the month of December, 1866, when shut in my attic study; after a few silent words ascending in prayer I began to look at some of the more recent visitors who had obtained an entrance into my little sanctuary. How many of them I had looked at and silently conversed with I cannot now tell, but I remember well how deeply fixed my mind became when, on taking up a book called "The Scattered Nation," I was led to read a paper headed "The Twelve Tribes." This led to that scene which gave rise to the heading of my paper, "Four Sons Dead in One Day," which scene I believe is nowhere to be found recorded but in the pages of the good old Book, and which I purposed to have sketched this morning but a messenger has summoned me away. I am compelled, therefore, to stop here, but my readers shall have it all in time, if days and months are still given to their humble Servant,—