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eye,—let thousands and tens of thousands of tracts be poured in every town and village, and rural district, into the houses of the people, denouncing the errors of Puseyism, and especially their purpose of unprotestantizing England, - let the worst specimens of the heresy be held up to public reprobation, with the names of their respective authors,—let earnestness for truth and zeal for the salvation of men's souls, be seen breathing in all their movements,—let a really protestant feeling be generated among the people, divested of all political virus,-let frequent meetings for prayer and conference be held for the sole object of preserving to this land the blessings of the reformation,—and I cannot doubt that such hearty union and cooperation will be more than a match for all the learning, jesuitical skill, and indomitable activity, now enlisted on the side of opinions, which put bishops in the place of Christ, antiquity in the place of scripture, and outward rites in the place of the Redeemer's sacrifice, and the Spirit's renewing grace.

But I have already drawn too largely on the time and patience of the auditory. The case, however, is urgent, and the times demand of us that no honest friend of the reformation should be found slumbering at his post. The length of this service will not be matter of reproach to the preacher, or regret to his hearers, if a chord has been struck in any bosom, which may vibrate when the present service has closed, and when we have severally retired to the spheres in which providence has destined us to move. We have each of us a duty to discharge to our country and to posterity; for, rest assured, the present revival of popish doctrines in England is not a thing that will pass away without a struggle-long, and prayerful, and determined. At present, we are feeling nothing but the bitterness of contempt from a class of men who represent our pastors as deceivers of the people, and presumptuous obtruders on the sacred office. But the wide-spread inculcation of these doctrines may lead on to organic change; and if we are unfaithful to our trust, the time may not be far distant, when contempt may be followed by coercion, and when those who proved themselves unworthy of the blessings of the reformation may be left without the shield of its protecting power.—Dr. Morison's Signs of the Times.

WESLEY AND FLETCHER. Never since the days of Paul, was a man more assiduous in labour than Wesley. Not a day was given to repose, not an hour to unnecessary leisure. For more than sixty years, he rose at four in the morning, preached at five, and frequently in the evening. In his eighty-fifth year, he speaks of that day as a day of rest, in which he preached only twice. Before the latter years of his life, he usually journeyed on horseback, and read poetry, history, and philosophy as he rode, having no other time for such employments. “ Leisure and I," he said, “ have taken leave of one another. I propose to be busy as long as I live, if my health is so long indulged to me," and fortunately he was always well. For seventy years, he did not lose a night's sleep. He attended the conference; he directed the preachers; he kept a steady eye on Scotland and Ireland, on the West Indies and America; he founded schools ; he inspected the circuits ; after his eightieth year we hear of him in Holland, in Guernsey and Jersey, in Wales, in Scotland, in Ireland, and every considerable town in England; he systematized the rules of his order, and established that discipline which shows his foresight and energy and wisdom; he purchased ground and erected chapels; he wrote sermons, and essays, and tracts, treatises on Primitive Physic and on Theology, memoirs of good men, and notes on the New Testament, besides his numerous letters and copious diary. Sixteen octavo volumes of his works were published some time after his death. Always calm and cheerful, curious and acute, he read new books, and looked upon novel and strange things to the very last with all the interest of youth. At the age of eighty-five, we find him criticising new works in his brief and acute manner, visiting the wax-work at the museum in Spring Gardens, and “ the man who played so wonderfully on the glasses.”

Amid these complicated labours the solemn drama of that earnest, cheerful, and laborious life drew to its serene close. Already had one and another of his earliest and best friends lain down to his eternal rest. The affection of Charles Wesley for John was most sincere and profound. It never lost the freshness of youth. “My heart is as your heart,” were his


words in a letter ; “what God hath joined, let no man put asunder. We have taken each other for better, for worse, till death do us-part? no, but eternally unite. Therefore, in love which never faileth, I am

your affectionate brother.” This loving brother, blessed to the very end of his fourscore years, in the church and in his family, had calmly and joyfully met the change whose last pangs he had always dreaded. Mr. Fletcher too had gone. So gentle and pure a life as his, so cheerful and holy a character, so tranquil an end, the world has rarely seen. He was born at Nyon, on the shore of lake Geneva, and the many vicissitudes of his early life seemed to indicate that Providence was guiding him to an object that he knew not. Unsatisfied with the clerical profession to which he was early devoted, he left Switzerland and entered the military service of Portugal, destined for Brazil. What a beautiful soul seemed on the point of being lost! An accident (so men call it) changed his whole destiny. On the eve of embarkation, a servant overturned a kettle of boiling water upon his leg. He was left behind on the sick list. Recovering, he sought active service in Holland, but peace was declared and he passed into England. After a time he took orders in the Episcopal church, joined the Methodists, and by his holy life has made the little parish of Madeley, to which he was appointed, a name always to be heard with joy. His account of himself as he drew near the close of his useful but not protracted life, is too “ beautiful,” as Southey justly calls it, to, be passed over.

“ We are two poor invalids,” he says of himself and wife, “who between us make half a labourer. She sweetly helps me to drink the dregs of life, and to carry with ease the bitter cross.” “I keep in my sentry-box till Providence removes me. My situation is quite suited to my little strength. I may do as much or as little as I please, according to my weakness; and I have an advantage which I can have nowhere else in such a degree; my little field of action is just at my door, so that if I happen to overdo myself, I have but to step from my pulpit to my bed, and from my bed to my grave. If I had a body full of vigor and a purse full of money, I should like well enough to travel about as Mr. Wesley does; but as Providence does not call me to it, I readily submit. The snail does best in his shell."

A man averse to authority and the honours of office, but full of gentleness and benevolence, after a life of self-sacrifice, was now about to end his connection with the world and seek his home in heaven. • His death was as remarkable as his life. The hand of disease arising from previous exposure pressed heavily upon him. As he was performing the services of the Sabbath, he nearly fainted, but recovered and insisted on going on. After the sermon he walked to the communion table, saying, “ I am going to throw myself under the wings of the cherubim, before the mercy-seat.” “ Here,” says his widow, “the same distressing scene was renewed, with additional solemnity. The people were deeply affected while they beheld him offering up the last languid remains of a life which had been lavishly spent in their service. Groans and tears were on every side. In going through this part of his duty, he was exhausted again and again ; but his spiritual vigour triumphed over his bodily weakness. After several times sinking on the sacramental table, he still resumed the sacred work, and cheerfully distributed, with his dying hand, the love memorials of his dying Lord.” From that long service, made longer to him by hymns and exhortations, he retired to his chamber, never to leave it again. The next Sunday the whole parish were in mourning : the poor whom he had befriended, and many of whom had come from a distance, wished once more to look upon their beloved pastor and friend. Permission was granted, and they passed along by the open door of his chamber, and looked in upon the sick man, who sat supported in bed “ altered in his usual venerable appearance.” A few hours later his earthly career was ended. “I was intimately acquainted with him," says Mr. Wesley, “ for above thirty years. I conversed with him morning, noon, and night, without the least reserve during a journey of many hundred miles, and in all that time I never heard him speak one improper word, nor saw him do an improper action. Many exemplary men have I known, holy in heart and life, within fourscore years, but one equal to him have I not known, one so inwardly and outwardly devoted to God; so unblamable a character have I not found, either in Europe or America. Nor do I expect to find another such on this side of eternity.” “Wesley,” adds Mr. Southey, " had the temper and talents of a statesman; in the Romish


church he would have been the general, if not the founder of an order, or might have held a distinguished place in history as a cardinal or a pope. Fletcher, in any community, would have been a saint."

And now the messenger came for Mr. Wesley himself, and brought the token that he was a true messenger.

6 Those that look out of the windows shall be darkened, the grasshopper shall be a burden.” Fourscore years found him still active, travelling four thousand miles annually, preaching, writing, and directing the extended business of the society. Six years more and he began to feel that the machine was wearing out, that the “weary wheels of life must stand still at last." He could not well preach more than twice a day. His service at five in the morning, continued for so many years, was given up. He wrote in his cash account book with a tremulous hand, “For upwards of eighty-six years I have keep my accounts exactly. I will not attempt it any longer, being satisfied with the continual conviction, that I save all I can and give all I can, i. e. all I have.” Thus closed the accounts of one, who, never being rich, gave away during his life thirty thousand pounds! “Time has shaken me by the hand,” he said in the words of his father, “and death is not far behind.” The second day of March, 1791, came at last. Sixty-five years of his ministry had passed away. The horologe had pealed out the eighty-eighth year of his life, and the hands of the dial stood still for ever.

The body, dressed in his clerical habit, with gown, cassock, and band, lay “in a kind of state” in the plain chapel of the denomination, and multitudes flocked to look once more upon the mild and venerable features. The mourners were many, and at the funeral, early in the day for fear of a crowd, when the preacher read that part of the service, “ Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother”_his voice changed and he substituted the word father. The whole congregation burst into weeping. Thus ended the life of one of the most influential men of his age; whose authority at the time of his death, extended over more than a hundred and twenty-five thousand followers; and whose influence will reach down a thousand years.

American Biblical Repository.

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