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Probably this religious concern was deepened by the event which called him away from school in 1833, namely, the death of his father.

Early in 1834, he was converted to God, being then in his 17th year. He always owned that his decision, under divine grace, was brought about by means of a local preacher in the circuit named Whitworth. But without saying one word in the way of disparagement of the noble order to which he belonged, it may be easily supposed that quite as effective, though seemingly a remoter cause of his conversion, was that early tuition and prayerful culture which had been bestowed upon him by his faithful mother. Surely many a case of apparently sudden conversion owes more to the grandmother Lois and mother Eunice" influence, than is entered to its account. That the change was radical, abundant evidence was soon forthcoming. Some of his relatives have often read some verses composed by him at this juncture, in proof of his anxieties for the spiritual welfare of all his friends. It is only a variation of the old orthodox method, "We have found Him of whom Moses, in the law and the prophets, did write: is not this the Christ?

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New purposes were formed; new objects and aims were before him; and newly awakened energies resulted, as always, from the event of religious principle having attained the ascendancy. The struggles of life commenced, but there is all the difference imaginable between a man's struggles who has obtained the greatest prize first, and those of another man who reverses the order of the Saviour's exhortation, to "Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness." His struggles for a trade-a business-a settlement in life, lasted six or seven years with various success.

In February, 1842, he married the daughter of the Rev. W. Worth, a highly esteemed Wesleyan minister, who has travelled, with acceptance, in several circuits in the south of England, and is now superannuated at Canterbury. As is the case in all similar transactions, in which divine guidance is obtained, he found a help-meet for him.

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And it was equally gratifying to his wife, to be able also to subscribe to this sentiment. Every relation which a good man sustains is a sanctified one. this was the case in his family relations all his friends were happy to see, and the parties immediately interested gratefully felt it.

About the period of his marriage, he entered upon the profession of a schoolmaster. For this he was well qualified by a thorough knowledge of whatever he professed to teach, a single-mindedness which attended his efforts, and an ever-present consciousness of his dependence upon divine aid. It may here be remarked, that he always began and closed his labours in the school by singing and prayer. If we add, that he was strictly conscientious, remarkably energetic, and benevolent, it will be granted at once, that the community which allows the diversion of such talents from this calling, when once given to it, errs. Let it not be replied that, "In society every man finds his level." We see many an illustration of the fact, that an able schoolmaster's services are just appreciated in the inverse proportion of their need; and the less need of this functionary, the better his remuneration.

The last few years of Mr. S.'s life were spent in business, not so much from choice, as in virtue of the promise it afforded him of being thus better enabled to meet the claims of an increasing family; and he did not miscalculate the pecuniary advantages of a change in his occupation. By steady persevering efforts in his business he materially improved his position, year by year, up to the period of his death.

Besides these advantages, he was enabled, after the calls of business were met, to devote a considerable portion of his time and energies to various philanthropic movements. The cause of education still owned him as one of its patrons. The Mechanics' Institution, established in Heywood, was, perhaps, indebted to no one so much as him. In this department, the nation, and almost every town in it, remembers many amateurs who look upon Lyceums and other institutions as so many stalls fixed on purpose to afford them the means of exhibiting their philanthropy as a very ornamental article.

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Our friend was a worker, and an effective one; so much so, that it can be seen very easily how, in many respects, the neighbourhood in which he lived presents a better aspect because he lived there.

The temperance enterprise, it might easily be supposed, would have his aid; and so it had, to no small extent. It was just suited to the genius of his nature, and was the means of greater good for his adhesion.

The value put upon his connection with these two interests was well betokened at his funeral, by the presence of a long train of members of both; all feeling it a duty to pay respect to the remains of their valued coadjutor. How fortunate is it, if a worthy successor has taken his place! And how would the cause of philanthropy rejoice if only one individual in every town, in every respect his equal, gave that cause the benefit of his exertions and influence.

There is a class of men who confessedly, for nearly one hundred years past, have laid England, perhaps the world, under greater obligation than any other class whatsoever, by their disinterested and pious labours, independently of the collateral benefits accruing to society by agencies originating in those aggressive principles which owe much of their development to the course of action which has distinguished the class referred to. It will be supposed, that the allusion is to the body of local preachers.

Mr. S.'s name was placed upon the plan in January, 1841; so that for nearly fifteen years he was engaged in preaching the gospel of the blessed God. For this work his talents were of the middle order, but they were well employed. His zeal was fervent, but he could not expend it in the advocacy of sectarianism. His selection of subjects for the pulpit was useful rather than profound in character. The matter of his sermons was respectable, not striking; his manner was free and open; his appeals, decidedly the best portion of his discourses, were earnest and pointed, often very stirring and useful. His principles were well defined. He was a Wesleyan Methodist without sectarian bigotry. This, in one aspect, may be taken to imply that, in the controversy, lately occurring in the Connexion,

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He hailed with pleasure the announcement, in the year 1849, of an effort to make some provision for sick and poor local preachers. He was present at the first meeting, held in London, after the formation of the "Mutual-Aid Association:" and, as might be expected of him, he maintained a growing interest in its affairs.

The harmony and consistency of his character were plainly seen, and were sufficient of themselves to endear him to those from whom he differed in opinion. Mr. Brown, his superintendent, says, that, as circuit steward, he never knew a man more faithful to his trust; and that, in so short a period, he had never formed a stronger attachment to a friend; adding, "Eminently faithful to his trust, and social in his habits, I knew none more disposed to reciprocate kind offices." A testimony this which longer and more intimate acquaintance could only have confirmed and made more emphatic.

On the evening of Tuesday, October 23rd, 1855, he visited and conducted his wife's class. In speaking to her in turn he urged her with much affection to a renewed dedication of herself with him to the God of all their mercies. He seemed in a most happy frame of mind both at the meeting and afterwards. The following morning was the day of doom to him; and we have now to narrate the story of his death. It is soon done.

On the morning of that day he was as healthful-perhaps sprightly is the better term-as usual. He discharged his personal and domestic duties with almost more than his common zest. In his supplications for the various members of his family he was more than usually discriminating, mentioning each one, both the present and the absent by name; and with great pathos and fervour besought the blessing of their common Father in their individual behalf. This done, he addressed himself to the duties of the day with commendable diligence. Those duties to-day called him from home; and in taking leave of his family, his manner

either had something prophetic in it, or they fancy it had, because of the feelings which cling to the recollection of that last adieu. The day was spent in his business with apparent success, and very likely with no lack of mutual gratification to himself and the parties with whom it was transacted, for it was in the nature of Mr. S.'s intercourse, even in the way of business, to prove highly gratifying. In the evening he met some pious friends,amongst whom were the ministers of the Heywood circuit and those from Rochdale, at Littleborough, about six miles from home, where the Rev. S. Coley was appointed to preach. He attended the service, and was much interested in the discourse, from Phil. iv. 6, "Be careful for nothing." After service he joined in an interesting conversation of a purely spiritual character at the house of a friend until the time arrived when the railway train was almost due. He parted from his host and made for the station close by, and in two or three minutes his spirit was separated from the body, and joined the company of the just made perfect. A train had been observed at a short distance, and under the impression that it was the one which he would have to enter, he made a spring to cross the line for that purpose. It proved to be an express train, which dashed through just as he set his foot upon the platform. He was a moment too late, and the consequence was instantly fatal.

His mangled body was taken to its last resting-place, whence, on the morning of the resurrection, it will spring forth, not "in dishonour," but "in glory," not "in weakness," but "in power;" not ": a natural body," but " a spiritual body."

The proverb is, "Of the dead and the absent say nothing but good." It may not be quite applicable to a biographical sketch; but we have little to contemplate that is exceptional. If what looks most like it must be named, it is something like precipitancy. But who does not see in the ardour in which this quality originates, an ample compensation for the failing itself? And who does not know that, but for the lead which such spirits

take, many a good work would be unat tempted that the timid caution lest he should make a blunder makes many a man of talent less useful to his fellows than another with far less capacity, and who is not overburdened with "discretion?" These thoughts had an illustration in the career of our deceased friend. His indeed was an ardour always burning; and he was ever intent upon the accomplishment of some good end.

Distinguished for his frank and open, honest and bold English character, none could understand without admiring him, His piety was enlightened and genuine, and without anything that was specious or obtrusive about it. He did not waste his energies in "seeming to be religious."

His patriotism did not take the hue of that professed by those who think their nation best distinguished by deeds of valour, so called; but it was true and benign. It fired him with an intense desire to improve and elevate his fellow men.

His sympathies were with the suffering of every grade, and many were the weepers when the rumour of his sudden decease was told. Many, besides his afflicted widow and four fatherless children, feel the stroke a very acute one, and will long feel it.

His death to young men says-Give up your hearts now to the all-inspiring influences of religion, which has "the promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come." To those who lately rejoiced in his fellowship and aid in the work of human improvement, “he speaks" a word of encouragement; exhibiting his own example to show how two talents become five, and five become ten. He addresses all in the language of inspiration, which he learnt so well to appreciate—“ Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might."

He preached his last sermon on the Sabbath preceding his death. May both the writer and the reader of these lines ponder well his text-" If the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the sinner and the ungodly appear?"-1 Pet. iv. 18. J. S.

Bankside Mill, Oldham.

Lessons in Parables.

THE TRUE WORSHIPPER. It is evening; and we are enjoying evening pleasures at the Fir Tree Cottage a home with which the readers of "Joshua of the Valley" are already familiar. My uncle, his friend the Elder Joshua, Rose Henson, and myself are seated around the fire. The fields, parks,

and woodlands without are covered with snow; but a genial warmth pervades our comfortable room. The logs are burning brightly. The cricket is chirping after his own quaint fashion. The long shadows of the inmates climb up the ceiling and flicker to and fro. The lamp is forgotten, and burns dimly for want of screwing up. The rose bushes outside the window, stripped of their leaves, rattle against the lattice work. Puss, big with self-importance, sits purring at our feet. Books lie scattered on the table and tucked up cosily in the arm chairs, so as to be "handy." Apples are roasting in the clean white ashes on the hearth, and chestnuts are popping among the embers. A few bunches of raisins and some biscuits stand in the centre of the group upon a rustic stool of my uncle's making.

We have agreed to meet twice a week to talk over such matters as engaged the attention of Christian while tarrying at the House Beautiful; and are successively to start a subject for conversation, by reciting a parable or sketch, or reading a brief essay composed for the occasion. It is with these starting points that I intend troubling my readers.

This evening, the Elder Joshua is to give us a theme; for we have resolved that age shall take precedence. For some minutes all are hushed; and deep thoughtfulness tones down the mirthful excitement which, we are free to confess, healthily expands our lungs and warms our hearts pretty frequently. Our venerable teacher takes off his velvet cap, and we all rise while he prays for a blessing on our social meeting.

"There are," says he, "treasures on a leaf, and wonders in a flower-beauties in a dew-drop, and analogies in a sunbeam-signs in a cloud, and tokens

in a rainbow-lessons in a life, and stars in a dark saying; various, manifold, and everlastingly increasing.

"For thought combines with and multiplies thought; and one pure image is the father of many more. One emotion strikes ten thousand strings in the heart, and a skilful harper may awaken

harmonies in the universe of man's soul whose echoes shall never die.

"And as the imaginings of a prattling infant play their part in maintaining domestic bliss, so do the musings of a single-hearted dreamer cheer and instruct the household of faith. Therefore I take up my parable concerning

66 THE TRUE WORSHIPPER. "He lived in a city which I shall call Znaim; and in an age when persecution was frequent and bitter, and when the populace were ready to perform any vile act likely to win the favour of those in authority. It was whispered among the neighbours, that this old man was certainly no papist, for he never went to mass-never bowed to the crucifix, or to the images and relics of saints; but worshipped a shadowless God. Many feared him; for he was a man of serious and reverend countenance, with piercing eyes that transfixed the hypocritical heart. He was occasionally seen poring over a parchment volume inscribed with Hebrew characters, and the ignorant people living around him did not care to provoke a necromancer, if haply he were one, to trouble them with spells. Yet, the goodness of his life astonished them; for he was kind to the poor, gentle to the afflicted and sorrowing, and never thought it a weariness to plead the cause of the fatherless and the widow.

"It was a cloudy, stormy day when he stood by a crucifix near one of the churches, surrounded by a wild mob of papistical traders and idlers, who threatened to stone him if he would not uncover his head in token of worship. Loud and long rang the noise and the tumult; and he endeavoured in vain to be heard. At length one who knew him, more in kindness than in anger

snatched the cap from his head, and his white hair hung loose in the breeze, waving like a standard of purity about his head. This lulled the clamour of the people, and taking advantage of the pause, he stretched forth his hand and spoke to them :

"Why, O my countrymen, are ye bent on folly and madness, trifling with your own souls by meddling ignorantly with mine? I am a man like you. I eat, drink, and sleep under the fatherly care of the same God. ("Thou dost not," shouted one.) My soul thinks and reasons, chooses and wills, loves and hates, with a vigour like that of yours. Why do you slight my manhood, even if ye will not respect my age? Am I the less a man because I refuse to be a foolbecause, like the noble Maccabees, I scorn to bow down to any graven image? Let the Jews, whom you despise and oppress, teach you better things than these.'

"Thou thyself art a Jew, I'll be sworn,' said a bystander.

"'Nay, I am no Jew, either by birth or faith, save as I worship the one God and him only.'

""Thou worshippest a shadowless God,' cried a mischief-loving lawyer. 'Thou hast confessed it ere now.'

"And I confess it again, vain reprover. I worship Hiм who hath no shadow-a God who is all light, and in whom is no darkness at all-a God whose manifestations are essentially light, and whose images consist not in shadows, but in reflections of his glory. I worship a jealous God, one who will surely punish those who affirm that he hath a shadow-one who will not give his glory to another, nor his praise to graven images. One who will permit neither his uncreated light, his divine essence, nor his created light, his manifestations of divine attributes, to be sullied by a community of worship with created mind and matter. Why do ye my countrymen, set up human reason, or, still more wickedly, human custom, in his place? Have ye no regard for your Maker? Is he so entirely such a one as yourselves, that your darkened reason causes his eternal majesty to cast a shadow? Are your understandings so much the brighter? Can your little

tapers illustrate Him who dwelleth in light inaccessible? Do ye seek to throw a shadow of his glory upon your evil imaginations, that you may fashion an image of Him, and say, "Lo, here his ways are dark!" and, "Lo, there he gives more light!" Hear it, ye wayward and willingly ignorant men: "GOD IS LIGHT, AND IN HIM IS NO DARKNESS AT ALL." From heaven itself comes the message. From the lips of the Most High proceeds this revelation. Hear its thunders, ye wicked, and tremble. Hear its music, ye penitents, and rejoice!

"My countrymen, beware! Beware lest, since ye like not to retain God in your knowledge, he gives you over to a reprobate mind. Why do you treat him as if he were scarcely worth the knowing-scarcely worth the serving— scarcely worth the loving? Why do ye trust your priests instead of trusting in your God and Redeemer, accounting the precious blood of Christ a common thing—a thing to be marketed by your priests as they list, and to be doled out by them for money? How long is it, ye men of Znaim, that man, treacherous and vile—man, who goes astray from the womb-man, in whose heart folly is closely bound, and deceit is fondly embraced-how long is it, I ask, since he has become more trustworthy than his Maker?'

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"Stop that man!' cried a priest who was standing at some distance, foaming with rage-Stop that man; he blasphemes the church and the mother of God.'

"Thou blind leader of the blind,' replied the old man; 'how long wilt thou teach these wretched people to pray to a woman?'

"At this the crowd yelled and raved like a wild beast, and some one hurled a stone, which struck the speaker's unprotected head, and he fell heavily on the pavement. At that instant, a lame dog, in size like a panther, came limping up to the pedestal of the crucifix, and, standing over the prostrate man, growled furiously at the crowd, and widened the circle around him. An hour previously, the old man had observed the dog's lameness, and, by dint of coaxing, had succeeded in dressing

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