experience a death unto sin and a life unto righteousness. The Spirit of God now bore testimony to his spirit that he was a child of God; and so clear and satisfactory was the evidence of his acceptance with God, that from that time to the hour of his death he could never once entertain a doubt of its reality. Having received "the knowledge of salvation by the remission of sins"-being justified by faith, he had peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ; and this blessing, as in all other cases, was accompanied with an earnest desire for the salvation of all around him; he therefore prayed for the mercy of God to be extended to the family, and particularly to his father and mother; he also found it to be his duty to warn his old companions to flee from the wrath to come. Most faithfully and most affectionately did he address them on the subject of réligion, and exhort them to embrace Christ as their Saviour, who is able to save to the uttermost all who will come unto God through him. He now discovered a distaste for the follies of youth and a strong regard for the ordinances of religion. His favourite place was the Sabbathschool. To this institution he felt a strong attachment, which continued unabated to the end of life. As a teacher in the school he was a pattern worthy of imitation. In that office he discharged his duty with peculiar seriousness and diligence, manifesting the most affectionate regard for the children committed to his care. He frequently addressed them on spiritual subjects at the commencement or closing of the school; and it is hoped that the seed sown in this way will not be lost, but that the fruit may be seen in days and years that are yet to come. In the distribution of religious tracts he was diligent and persevering, and zealously laboured to impress upon the minds of the people he visited, the nécessity and importance of attending to the concerns of their souls. In his labours of love he continued to go on until the month of October, 1844, when, through bodily affliction, he was compelled to cease from active labour. For some time nothing serious was apprehended; medical aid was resorted to, and for awhile hopes were entertained of his recovery; but the disease mocked the power of medicine. To himself this appeared no less evident than to his anxious relatives and friends. At this, however, he felt no alarm, for death had lost its sting. His mind was kept in perfect peace, and he bowed in humble submission to the will of God. On one occasion he said, "I expect to have much pain to endure before I arrive at home, but then these light afflictions, which are but for a moment, will work out for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." One Sabbath afternoon, being visited by several of the friends, he burst into tears, and after a short silence exclaimed, "We know that we have passed from death unto life because we love the brethren. Your presence reminds me of the class-meetir.gs. I feel particularly interested in the welfare of the society and the Sabbath-school." A few weeks previous to his death he seemed for a short time to be under a cloud, and hence he said to a friend, "I am now walking by faith, and not by sight. I feel as if the Lord had forgotten me." In this state he did not long remain, for on conversing with Mrs. Priestly, on those beautiful lines in one of our hymns, "With pitying eyes the Prince of Peace, Beheld our helpless state; He saw, and oh! amazing love, a flood of heavenly light burst in upon his mind, and he had such views of the boundless love of the Saviour as filled his soul with unspeakable rapture and delight. On Monday, May 19th, brother James Wilkinson called to see him, and found him labouring under the most excruciating pain of body, yet rejoicing and praising God for bringing him out of the horrible pit and from the miry clay, and setting his feet on the rock, Christ Jesus. On being reminded of the mercy God had extended towards him, he broke out in songs of praise and thanksgiving for that sweet and delightful foretaste he enjoyed of the rest that remains for the people of God. On Sunday, May 25th, brother Silverwood and other friends visited him, and found him filled with joy and peace through believing, and rejoicing in hope of the glory of God; and he repeated the following verse: "There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign; The day following he was very weak, and scarcely able to speak. On being told that he was approaching his dissolution, he said, " Do you think so?" Being assured he would soon be with Christ, which is far better, he smilingly replied, "Yes, brother." After this he spoke but little; and on the following morning, about two o'clock, in consequence of a sudden rupture of a blood vessel, he escaped to that world where the inhabitants shall no more say, "I am sick." He died May 27th, 1845, aged 25 years. As to the general character of John Winter, he doubtless had his faults; but he had as few as most people; and I believe, as far as he was known, he stood high in public estimation. Before his conversion he was addicted to drunkenness and sinful pleasures. He was a great reader of useless and sceptical books; but as soon as he set out for heaven all these evils were for ever renounced. It has been sometimes remarked that few drunkards are fully saved from their intemperate habits-that this besetting sin follows them, and they are not unfrequently overcome by it. This is too true, as we have frequent cause to lament. Many persons of this class go on sinning and repenting, to the great dishonour of Christianity, and the reproach of the church. But the reason is, that they do not keep out of the way of temptation, but still hanker after the deadly draught, which poisons and ruins them. But John Winter was completely saved from this sin; and from being a thoughtless trifler, he became a particularly serious and steady follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. Nor was he less reformed in regard to his reading. Few young men make much proficiency in Christian knowledge and solid piety, unless they apply themselves to judicious reading. Their leisure time is thus well employed; their minds are stored with useful information; their judgments are formed; and while they are rendered proof against Satan's devices, they become useful members of the church of God. This, perhaps, was one means which preserved our late friend from apostacy and ruin. As he was a reader before his conversion so he continued still a reader; but instead of useless and pernicious books he read his Bible; this was his first book, and after this every publication of a religious nature to which he could have access, he read with avidity and attention; hence his profiting appeared in a solid sound judgment, and in scriptural and correct views of divine truth. This particularly applies to his views of Christian doctrine. The doctrine of the atonement was one to which he was unalterably attached. Here he was, as he used to say, upon a rock; and his clear perceptions of this doctrine, and his conscious interest in it, enabled him to think and speak with composure of his approaching death. Trusting in the death of Christ, was to him, in the true sense of the word, a going home. He could view it with the calm and steady satisfaction of a man who feels that he is safe. Humility was a remarkable trait in his character. He possessed an exquisitely tender conscience, and an awful fear of offending his Maker. His attachment to the doctrines and discipline of the Connexion was remarkable. He made it a point of duty punctually to attend all the means of grace, and was never absent when he could possibly be present. As a member of our Society his conduct, I believe, never gave pain to his ministers, nor to the people amongst whom he had cast his lot. The former he highly esteemed as the ambassadors of Christ; and the latter he loved as his brethren and companions in the tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, and he was always ready to do what he could for the support of the cause of God; this was by him considered a duty and a debt. In short, John Winter was a man of much prayer; and hence he was distinguished for piety through life, and for a happiness in death which those only can expect who live near to God. He was a Christian of no common order-and God took him. Barnsley. ORIGINAL ESSAYS, COMMUNICATIONS, &c. THE POETRY OF THE BIBLE. THE existence of poetry may be regarded as identical with the existence of human nature. The philosophy of the one is the philosophy of the other. If, with the skill of the anatomist, we could lay open the constitution of the inner nature, and reveal the relations of its faculties, and trace its mysterious connection with a material organization, we should find, that at the point where reason, imagination, and passion blend, and where the world within and the world without meet and harmonise, poetry has its seat and sphere. It is the offspring of spirit and matterthe image of a twofold creation. The laws of his being make man a poet. It is no choice of his, that the beautiful, the pathetic, the sublime, the glorious, cheer and charm him; education does not communicate this taste to him; civilization does not implant it; but it grows out of his complex nature, and is as essential to him as thought, sentiment, and emotion. Man could not be otherwise than poetical. The tribute of poetry is a tribute that the universe exacts of him. The earth, with its far spreading plains and heavenward mountains-the sky, with its daysplendour and night magnificence, demand it of him. If beauty and grandeur be around and over us, are they there for themselves or for us? Let nature answer; let religion, another and higher form of nature, answer; and all wisdom, and all feeling, endorse the reply, "They are for us." If for us, shall they be unheeded? If for us, shall no voice sing them-no pencil paint them? Every flower that ornaments the landscape, and every star that adorns the firmament-every joy that comes from communion with the universe, is an obligation to be poetical, for poetry is praise, and praise is our first and noblest duty. The most sublime thoughts of the mind, and the most intense feelings of the heart, cannot be expressed in the language of mere words, and therefore another language must be invented. If the upward excursions of imagination ever be made known-if the scenes that the quickened vision has grown bright over, ever be represented to other and less fortunate visions-if the tenderest emotions of the bosom, softened and subdued by love, or the stern workings of passion ever be pictured, a special language must be employed. It is here that poetry finds exercise. Whatever is on a level with ordinary thoughts and feelings, and can be portrayed by words, is not a subject for poetry. But when the mind rises to its loftiest height and realizes what words cannot embody, it resorts naturally and necessarily to images-it flies to the external world for assistance it calls to stars, clouds, mountains, oceans, and fields, to aid it in the expression of its intense conceptions and passions. The paucity and feebleness of human language drive the human mind to adopt another and a more energetic mode of communicating its hidden sentiments and feelings, and natural objects constitute that new and nobler language. It is the language of Jehovah. If the "High and Lofty One" would teach us the magnificent import of his eternity and omnipotence—if he would draw around him the solemn and august dignity of the sole King of the universe, he instructs us by the stupendous monuments of his might, and the sun and stars announce his perfect glory. Is material nature, then, the language of Jehovah? If this be its character, can anything be so suitable to shadow forth the ethereal within us? A medium through which God speaks-a medium through which we gather an idea of eternity and omnipotence-a medium that affords us a sanctified impression of that love which has enthroned itself in light, and diffused itself like light through all space, is surely a most appropriate channel for man to employ to declare his raptures and joys to his fellow. Certain conceptions are invariably associated by our minds with material things. The rudest intellect would connect grandeur with the mountain, and vastness with the firmament. If it had never seen a volume, it would still identify beauty with flowers, and melody with winds. The truth is, that we owe our ideas of grandeur, vastness, beauty, and melody, to these things. Apart from them our intellects would be vacant with regard to all such impressions. It is easy, then, to see how they form the most expressive language of the mind. If they are our earliest and our only representatives of sublimity and beauty, the intellect, active with powerful thought, and the heart, burning with fervent passion, would fly to them to symbolise all that dwelt within. It is on this account that poetry has been so much cultivated, when language has been in its most imperfect conditions. The feebleness of language does not necessarily indicate feebleness of mind. It does undoubtedly affect literature; it argues a small degree of embodied intelligence; but amid the greatest imperfections of language there may be vigorous and energetic intellect. If, in such a condition of language, a poetic spirit feel the yearnings of genius towards the bright and the beautiful, and if the song, almost unawares to himself, hymn its melodies through the quiet chambers of his heart, until the affections long to pour it forth on ravished ears, natural objects will more than supply the deficiency; the extreme poverty of words, and the poetic spirits will find that the Creator has furnished what art and civilization have denied. A large proportion of the poetry of all ages has been made up of the workings of the human heart and the scenery of the external world. These change not with years, and alter not with circumstances; they are one in their immutability, and consequently poetry has been capable of representing them in the rudest stages of society. The true source of poetry is therefore to be found in the powerful influence that the material universe was intended to exert over the human mind, and which it does exert, despite of the adverse consequences of sin. Another reflection grows out of this fact. If nature be full of poetry, so must be the Bible, for nature and the Bible are one in their origin and end; they are expressions of the same benevolence; they appeal to the same sentiments; they are lovely with the same beauty, and radiant with the same blessedness. The very same reason why nature is poetic, is the reason why the Bible is poetic; our mixed character, our flesh and blood, spirit and soul, constitution require it. If in nature there could be no full tide of thought and feeling without it, if the better part of ourselves would be dumb in everlasting silence but for its expressive and impressive language, can the celestial sentiments and the seraphic affections of religion dispense with it? A world without poetry would be a world without intellectual and emotional life. Such a world would be charmless to the eye and ear. Spring would have no garlands wherewith to wreathe it; autumn no golden sunshine to adorn its horizon and paint its clouds. The morning stars would have no songs to sing over it. Man would cease to be man upon it. If he did not degenerate into a brute, he would have to be exalted into an angel to bear it. A religion without poetry would be worse than a world without it. The nature of religion is derived from its spirituality. It is no earthly science; it has no palpable objects; it makes no disclosure of heavenly things to the senses; it is higher than the earth, and purer than fleshly senses; and therefore having to do only with spiritualities, conversant solely with those scenes on which the unshadowed light of eternity falls, and intent only on glorifying the infinite and immutable One, it demands poetic power to reveal its transcendant excellencies and to enshrine its imperishable loveliness. The laws of our nature also demand the presence of the poetic spirit in religion. No man can think thoughts that are worthy of his dignitythoughts that are pregnant with the life and light of the higher world; no man can feel emotions that gladden his heart and make it thrill as if Jehovah had sent a seraph to be the ministering priest at its altar, without becoming poetic. How then can we be elevated to the heaven of heavens by the power of religion-how become pure in heart and inspired in thought through its energy, if poetry be not in it? Further than this, the subject of religion is the perfection of poetry. That subject is the love of God. There is something within that impels us to value love far more than anything else and all things else together. Intellect is only glorious when it is sanctified by love, and when it gathers |