With the rope in his pocket with which he intended to carry out his awful purpose, he went to the meeting. Whilst pondering over his miserable condition, and the means of escape therefrom which satan kept presenting to his mind, the rap of the cane on the floor aroused his attention, the exhortation to resist the old adversary that once, and he should be free from his wicked temptation, took hold of his mind. It was to him a saving visitation of Divine grace. He resisted the temptation with success, turned from his purpose, and found the truth of the promise verified. He had not since been assailed by that temptation, and was, through the mercy of the Lord, enabled to rejoice in his happy deliverance from the dreadful state of mind he had previously been in. This declaration, from one who was a stranger to him, gave John, without doubt, relief from all his misgivings, and filled him with satisfaction in believing that his faithfulness in an apprehended duty had been savingly blessed to a candidate for immortality and eternal life.

SETTLING A DIFFERENCE.

Joseph Carrington was a minister, residing in Pennsylvania. He was not endowed with fine talents, but often showed great weakness. Though in conversation he was below mediocrity, yet in preaching the Gospel he was clear and powerful. To him the Lord was strength in weakness, a present help in time of need. When on a religious visit to England, the Friend at whose house he lodged entered his room one morning and excused himself for leaving home, which he was obliged to do, as he was on a committee appointed to endeavor to settle a difference between two Friends. Joseph said: "I will rise and go with thee." His host, knowing Joseph was a weak man when left to his own resources, was afraid to take him with him, lest he should prove a hindrance, and replied: "No; thou had best remain here, and rest thyself;" but Joseph persisted in getting up and dressing himself, and they set off on horseback.

They soon had occasion to ford a small river, when Joseph's horse stumbled and threw him into the mud. "Now," said his friend, "thou wilt have to go back; thou cannot continue on in this plight." 'Oh, yes," said Joseph, "I will go on; I cannot return now; that was an effort of the devil to prevent me from going."

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On arriving at the appointed place, they found the committee assembled, and the differing Friends present. Joseph requested the two Friends to be pointed out to him, and asked them to take a seat, one on each side of him. He then turned to one and said: "Now, John, let me hear thy story about this difficulty." "Thomas, thou must not say one word until he finishes." John commenced relating the cause of dissension, but had not proceeded far before Thomas interrupted with: "No, that was not so." "Stop, Thomas," said Joseph; "thou must wait for thy turn to tell it." After a little while, Thomas again contradicted John's statement. "Hold thy tongue, Thomas," said our friend, laying his hand on his knee. At length John finished his account, when Joseph turned to the other and told him to begin. He was soon interrupted by John, who was silenced by being told: "Thou hast had thy turn, and I have heard thee patiently; now thou must let Thomas go on, and thou be silent." When Thomas had proceeded a while, John again denied the statement, and Joseph desired him to remain quiet. When Thomas had no more to say, Joseph said: "John, thou art to blame, for thou began the difficulty;" and then explained how all had originated, and convinced John, who acknowledged he had done wrong, and that he regretted it. Thomas immediately said: "I, too, was to blame; if John began wrong, I was to blame for taking offence at it. I confess my error, and ask John to pass it by." They both arose and shook hands, and remained good friends ever after. Thus was settled a difficulty which had caused much trouble to the meeting for several years.

SERMON BY JAMES SIMPSON,

Delivered at FRANKFORD, Pa., a Few MONTHS BEFORE HIS DECEASE.

What I am now going to relate is but a simple story, and it is probable some of you have heard me tell it before; but it

has taken such possession of my mind that I thought I would just drop it for your consideration.

When I was young man, there lived in our neighborhood a Presbyterian, who was universally reported to be a very liberal man, and uncommonly upright in his dealings. When he had any of the produce of his farm to dispose of, he made it an invariable rule to give good measure, over good, rather more than could be required of him. One of his friends observing his frequently doing so, questioned him, why he did it? told him he gave too much, and said it could not be to his own advantage. Now my friends, mark the answer of this Presbyterian: "God Almighty has permitted me but one journey through the world, and when gone, I cannot return to rectify mistakes." Think of this, Friends, but one journey through the world; the hours that are passed are gone forever, and the actions in those hours can never be recalled.

I do not throw it out as a charge, nor mean to imply that any of you are dishonest, but the words of this good Presbyterian have often impressed my mind, and, I think, in an instructive manner.

But one journey. We are allowed but one journey through the world; therefore let none of us say: "My tongue is my own, I will talk what I please: my time is my own, I will go where I please: I can go to meeting, or, if the world calls me, I will stay at home; it is all my own." Now this won't do, Friends; it is as impossible for us to live as we list, and then come here and worship, as it is for a lamp to burn without oil. It is utterly impossible. And I was thinking what a droll composition man is; a compound of bank-notes, dollars, cents, and newspapers, and bringing, as it were, the world on his back, he comes here to perform worship; or, at least, he would have it so appear. Now, Friends, I just drop this before we part, for your consideration: let each one try himself, and see how it is with his own soul.

During a time when a pestilential sickness raged in Philadelphia, in the year 1692, Roger Gill, a ministering Friend from Great Britain was so dipped into sympathy with the sufferers, that he had no rest in his mind until he reached that

city on the tenth of Seventh Month, where he entered upon the service of visiting the sick and dying, and warning and comforting the living.

On the fifteenth, Thomas Story came to the city, who found Roger well, but he says: "many Friends on their sick and dying pillows; and yet the settled presence of the Lord was with them at that time: such is the goodness of God to his own people, that in their bodily or any other afflictions, his holy presence greatly abates the exercises of nature by its Divine consolation. O, the love that flowed in my soul to several in the times of my visits to them! in which I was lifted over all fear of the contagion, and yet not without an awful regard toward the Lord therein."

Roger, in one public meeting, told them that when one hundred miles from them, his love in the Lord was so great, that had he wings, he would have flown to them. In another meeting, during the time of the Yearly Meeting, he was brought on his knees in fervent and devout intercession with the Lord to stay his hand, adding if He would please to accept his life. for a sacrifice, he did freely offer it up for the people.

His offer seemed accepted. The general sickness abated, and he was soon taken down with the disease, after which time very few died. As he lay in great pain and affliction of body, he remembered his offering, and said to Friends around him: "It is not in my heart to repent of the offer I have made."

He was preserved in cheerful resignation, notwithstanding the great suffering he was enduring, and he remained watchful to speak a word in season to those around. He exhorted Friends to faithfulness, and said: "The Lord hath sanctified my afflictions to me, and hath made my sickness as a bed of down." Some at one time speaking of their hope of his recovery, he said: "Truly I have neither thoughts nor hope about being raised in this life; but I know I shall rise sooner

than many imagine, and receive a reward according to my works."

His sickness continued seven days. A few hours before his death, he took leave of his friends, and said: "Farewell, farewell, farewell, forever." He in great peace and sweetness, departed this life, Eighth Month 2nd, 1699.

CHAPTER XX.

SOCIAL AND CONVERSATIONAL.

Under date of 1653, Sewell says: The number of the professors of the Light [Quakers] increased greatly, and as it had been said, at first, that they should be destroyed within a short time, so now the priests began to say that they would eat out one another; for many of them, after meetings, having a great way to go, stayed at their friends' houses by the way, and sometimes more than there were beds to lodge, so that some lay on the hay-mows. This made some of the public church grow afraid that this hospitality would cause poverty, and that when these Friends had eaten out one another, they would come to be maintained by the parishes, and so be chargeable to them. But it fell out quite otherwise, for these people were the more blessed and increased, without falling into want.

This puts me in mind of what one of the daughters of judge Thomas Fell once told me, viz: That her father having been abroad, and coming home with his servants, found the shed so full of the horses of strange guests that he said to his wife, this was the way to be eaten out, and that thus they themselves should soon be in want of hay. But to this Margaret said, in a friendly way, that she did not believe, when the year was at an end, that they should have the less for that. it so fell out; for this year their stock of hay was such that they sold a great deal of what they had in abundance. Thus the proverb was verified, That charity doth not impoverish.

And

The truth of this was also experienced by those called Quakers; for though many people were shy at first, and would not