meekness and fortitude; she was never heard to murmur at her affliction. She often said, "It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth to him good; the Lord is too wise to err, and too good to be unkind. I will wait patiently till my change come; the Lord will take me to himself, and reward me for all my sufferings here. He will give me a crown of glory, and I shall dwell at his right hand for ever. "There shall I bathe my weary soul, 66 Across my peaceful breast.' During the last few weeks of her life her affliction was more severe. But death had lost its sting, and the grave was no terror to her. She could say with the apostle, "I am now ready to depart and be with Christ, which is far better." A few days before she died she said to a friend, "there is something which gives me much trouble, some of our family are not converted to God, and I am afraid, when God comes to judge the world, they will be on the left hand. But I do pray that God, by some means, would bring them to himself; it is too much for me to think of being separated in eternity." Then, with tears rolling down her face, she said, Lord, save them, root and branch." On the Thursday previous to her death, she evidently knew that her end was near, for she said to a friend, "the time of my departure draweth near, and I shall soon, very soon, be with Christ, my Saviour, where I shall be free from pain and sickness; it is hard work to suffer thus, but it will soon be over." On the Saturday she called her mother, and clasped her arms round her neck, and said, "Oh, mother, I don't know what I must have done if I had not had you to look after me while I have been sick." Her mother asked her if she were happy, she said, "Yes, mother, my God is reconciled, I am happy, and I shall soon be at home." Early on Sunday morning, seeing her sister weeping at her bedside, she said, "Don't weep, Sally, my coronation day is at hand; glory be to God, I shall soon be at home." She lingered till a little after nine o'clock; and then, in the arms of her brother, she expired; her soul took its flight to God, who gave it, June 2nd, 1850, in the thirtysecond year of her age. "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord." C. TAYLOR, It Quite on the verge of heaven." There the soul holds communion with invisible realities. What she feels, it is impossible for any spectator to tell. Little words, when they issue from the quivering lips of the expiring Christian, have frequently a deep meaning. In the cold swelling of Jordan, the lingering spirit sometimes refuses to communicate with its earthly associates. Its thoughts, feelings, and affections are circled within its own undivided consciousness. appears quite alone with its God, as it makes its last struggles to shake off the encumbrance of mortality, and to get away from the body of its humiliation. Through such scenes has the soul of our departed brother passed. It is now sur rounded with the ineffable splendour and glory of the heavenly world. It has its robes washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb. It was, awhile ago, defiled, sorrowing, believing, praying, struggling, and conquering; now it is at rest in the paradise above. Our departed brother, W. Terry, was born at Mirfield, in the year 1830. His parents, of whom he was the eldest son, were pious. During the period of childhood William was the subject of religious impressions. The precise time when the Holy Spirit first shed its illuminating influence upon his mind, is not known. Like the morning light, it gradually entered his understanding, revealing to him his perilous position, and the necessity of seeking safety in the sanctuary of the Saviour's atone ment. Very early in life he received a religious education. His parents being anxious that his external improvement should be associated with the purest Christianity. And by the strict attentions which they paid to his moral training, he was happily preserved from those habits of immorality into which unguarded youths are too frequently betrayed. Thus blessed with parental admonition, and a religious education, and accustomed to kneel at the family altar, where he regularly heard heaven's blessings invoked upon his future path, we cease to wonder that there should be in his heart some good thing toward the Lord God of Israel. When very young he made the most important subjects matters for serious meditation. The goodness of God, the love of the Saviour, the mighty interests of the soul, death, judgment, heaven, and hell, were topics which occupied much of his attention. Filial affection and obedience were strikingly developed in his deportment. He "honoured his father and mother." But these commendable qualities, though connected with many other excellent traits, such as a generous disposition, sweet temper, and unaffected demeanour, would, nevertheless, without the vitality of religion, only have been as so many beautiful flowers scattered around an inanimate and breathless corpse. In the year 1842, when about twelve years old, our friends at Mirfield thought proper to hold some protracted services for the promotion of a revival of religion. During these services his impressions became deepened; and discovering more clearly his dangerous condition, he earnestly and believingly sought the pardon of his sins. After doing so for some time, with strong cries and tears, he obtained mercy, and was enabled to rest his troubled soul on the atonement of his Redeemer. could he exultingly sing, Then I can no longer fear: With confidence I now draw nigh, And Father, Abba, Father, cry.' Having thus given himself to God, he immediately united with his people; and from the commencement to the close of his fellowship with the militant and suffering church, he was known to bring a stain upon the cause. In the church, at home, and in the world, his conduct was such as became the gospel of Christ. never His zeal for the honour of God, and the salvation of souls was remarkable. Most actively did he labour to build the temple of our God. And by the excellence of his character, and the superiority of his intellectual attainments, he was rendered abundantly useful in the sphere in which he moved. There was not a work of faith nor a labour of love, in which he was not willing to engage. As a Sabbath school teacher he most efficiently discharged his duties. He had committed to his care the first class of boys, into whose minds he has, we trust, deposited those great principles which will form the ground-work of a holy life and happy immortality. In order to accomplish this great object he both read and prayed. This enabled him to meet, not only the intellectual, but the spiritual wants of his little charge. From his earliest years he manifested an ardent desire for mental improvement. With the languages, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, he was tolerably acquainted. His knowledge of music rendered him also of great service to the church. It was his office to play the organ in our chapel at Mirfield, which he did gratuitously. His ardent attachment to the cause of the Redeemer, to which he was affectionately united, and his love to its ministers, were great. He esteemed them very highly in love for their work's sake. And as he had a mind enriched with a large store of general knowledge, he was, to those ministers who were accustomed to visit his father's house, a pleasing, and interesting companion. His remarks in company were generally of a spiritual nature. His conversation was in heaHis love to the house of God was deep and ardent. The class meeting, prayer meeting, and week evening preaching he felt a pleasure in attending; and great were his spiritual enjoyments when there. The language of his heart was, "Lord, I have loved the habitation of thy house, and the place where thy honour dwelleth." ven. From a child he had been the subject of a severe affliction. For four years such was the state of his hip-bone that he was under the necessity of using a pair of crutches. He bore, however, all his sufferings with Christian fortitude, never uttering one murmuring word from its commencement until his removal to a better world. He felt the power of that correct sentiment, "God is too wise to err, and too good to be unkind." For years his parents had discovered symptoms of consumption; but it was not until about three or four months before his departure that these assumed anything like an alarming appearance. The insidious flame gradually increased, invading his constitution; and, though every means were used, and the aid of the most eminent physician called in, yet all failed. Early ripe for heaven, the pious youth was translated thither. Amid his 'increasing weakness, he constantly manifested that patience and resignation which Christianity alone can impart. For the last few days he was confined to his chamber, in which he held many pleasing conversations with his parents and friends on the blessedness of that religion which afforded him such pure enjoyments. During nearly the whole of his last illness he manifested a desire to recover. Not that he was afraid to die-no, for death had lost its sting-but that he might serve God more faithfully, and be more useful to mankind. A few days before his removal to heaven, a friend called to see him, and on saying, “William, what a blessed thing it is that you have not religion to seek now;" he replied, "Yes, it is, indeed." At this time he was not the subject of those ecstatic joys which he afterwards possessed; yet God was with him, and gave him such power as was more than equal to all his doubts and fears. He had the "Love that pain and death defies, Most vigorous when the body dies." On the Tuesday previous to his death one of the leaders called, and found him engaged in prayer for a clearer manifestation of the Divine presence. He did not doubt of his acceptance, but desired a fuller display of the Saviour's love. On opening his eyes he said, "I want to hear heaven described;" then added, "eye hath not seen, neither hath ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive what God hath laid up for them that love him; but it will be a place of permanent happiness." On his mother asking him the state of his mind, he said, "I feel comfortable, and a settled peace." She then read to him a hymn on heaven. His spirit now appeared to take fire at the altar. He cried out aloud, "Father, mother, and aunt, help me to praise my dear Redeemer, for he has revealed himself to me in a wonderful manner." After a short pause, he breathed out, "Glory, glory, glory to my God; I cannot sufficiently praise him." On Thursday he continued in the same happy frame of mind; and on one of the singers entering the room he said, "Come, see how a Christian can die. I shall soon," added he, "Be "Far from a world of grief and sin, With God eternally shut in." To another, with a sweet smile, he said, "We shall have glorious music in heaven." And to another of his companions he remarked, "If you should live till you are an old man, what a number of years I shall have been in heaven then." He most affectionately and earnestly urged all his young friends who came to see him, to give themselves to God, especially the singers; giving them to understand that it was awfully possible for them to sing the praises of God on earth and not to sing them in heaven; and then, with great effort, he exclaimed, "O do try to meet me in heaven!" Having recovered a little from a paroxysm of pain, with much animation he said, "There I shall bathe my weary soul, In seas of heavenly rest; And not a wave of trouble roll Across my peaceful breast."" The word "rest" seemed to lift him up. "Rest," he said, "is a little word, but it is a grand one. There will be no pain in heaven, no sickness, no sorrow, nor sin, Will there Sarah?" appealing to one of the females in the room. She replied, "No, it will be all assurance for ever." He then exclaimed, "There I shall have a crown of glory, and it is not for me only, but for all those that love his appearing." The friends now kneeled down, and, while engaged in prayer, it seemed as the gate of heaven. It was remarked by one, "This is a grand farewell." A little before he died he requested his mother, who was weeping by his side, to bring him the Testament, which he had often read at the family altar. It was handed to him, but it was too late; his eyes were dim, death had spread his gloomy mantle over him, he could not read; and finding himself unable to see, he affectionately pressed it to his lips and kissed it. His mother having removed it, he became rather restless, and in a few minutes his happy spirit winged its way homewards to the skies. The last words he uttered were, "Glory, glory." Thus died our young brother, on the 20th of June, 1850, aged nineteen years and eight months. His sorrowing parents may take encouragement from the fact that they have a son in heaven; and resting on the atonement, may look forward to the day when friends will meet to part no more. They will find consolation from the following lines, as they think of their dear William. "Thou art not dead, thou could'st not die; To nobler life new born, 66 THE design of sacred biography ought always to be to benefit the living, by showing the power of grace on the hearts and in the lives and deaths of the departed. Our late brother's mind was so impressed with a sense of his unworthiness, that it would have been very revolting to his feelings to suppose that he possessed any excellency; his language would have been, By the grace of God I am what I am.' He was born in the year 1793, in the parish of Hucknall, Notts, of poor parents, who paid little or no attention to his early training; so that, like a wild shoot, he grew up heedless of God and his soul, and brought forth nothing but the fruits of sin. His father died while very young, and before he was fifteen years of age he enlisted into the Nottinghamshire Militia, from that regiment into others; and in the year 1810 he embarked for Spain, and entered into all the dangers, hardships, and wickedness of the Peninsular war. When he was seventeen years of age, he was engaged in a fierce action against the French, on the borders of Portugal. After this, he had many hardships to encounter in the battles fought at Talavera, Badajoz, Ciudad Rodrigo, Salamanca, and others; through the whole of which he was mercifully preserved, amidst all his wickedness, from the gun-shot of the enemy. Once he was taken ill on the road during a retreat, and was left behind; but, having crept into a hayloft, he was found by an old Portuguese gentleman and lady, who took pity on him, and kept him until he was again able to join the regiment. At the termination of the war in Spain, our friend was engaged in military occupation in the East Indies for several years, where his health suffered very much from the climate, and obliged him to return home. After looking about him for some time, he engaged himself as a keeper in the Nottingham Asylum, where he con tinued for several years, greatly respected by his employers, and very useful to many of his afflicted patients, by whom he was much beloved. His circumstances now began to improve. He found from his steady and improved method of living much temporal benefit. His self-respect returned, and he now outwardly respected good men and good things. Having a slight acquaintance with some of our friends in Nottingham, particularly with Mr. Crisp and his family, he began occasionally to attend the services of our chapel in Parliament street. The word of God arrested his attention, and he soon found he had need to pay great attention to his soul. Mr. Crisp and his son frequently visited him, lent him good books, invited him to the private means, and, by their instrumentality chiefly, he was led to seek his soul's salvation. In a conversation the former of these friends had with him after the preaching one evening, he exclaimed with great emphasis, O, but I am such a sinner." From this time his heart was gradually broken and subdued; he began more and more to repent, to weep, to read the Bible, to attend the means of grace, until that saving change was wrought in his mind that led him to know himself as a condemned sinner, and to seek and find salvation in the crucified Jesus. Of the particular time and circumstances of this great change we cannot speak; suffice it to say, it was evidenced by good fruits both in his heart and life. 66 This attachment to God's word, ministers, and people, now became very conspicuous. The means were always edifying to him; all were good preachers and good sermons that he heard. In his little room adjoining his patients in the asylum, he spent many happy hours, in intercourse and prayer with numerous friends who often visited him. These exercises greatly sweetened his mind and temper, and prepared him not only for the conscientious discharge of his duty while there, but for ornamenting a Christian profession; for being useful to many around him, and, especially, in enabling him to endure with patience those months and years of weakness and affliction he had to encounter. His constitution having been materially injured by the fatigues of war, he was obliged, a few years ago, to relinquish his situation in the asylum, to retire into private life, and live upon his means. When health would permit, he frequently visited his friends in Nottingham, Hucknall, and other places; and by his pious humble deportment and conversation, edifying and pleasing all with whom he conversed. In the early part of this summer, he, in company with his most intimate friend Mr. Crisp, went to Leicester, to spend a few weeks with Mr. Crisp's son, hoping to be greatly benefited in his health; but the providence of God ordered it otherwise. His breathing became more difficult, his weakness more apparent, and there was evidently a change for the worse. Being himself somewhat conscious of this, he said to his sister, who was condoling with him, "I shall breathe hard no more when I get to my Father's house. I shall soon cross the swellings of Jordan." And it was so, for his departure took place very shortly after. He joined with his friends in the evening at the family altar. Mr. Crisp at his request stayed with him in his bedroom for half an hour, when he conversed very freely about the state of his soul, and his prospects for eternity; and, after prayer, again left him, not at all expecting ever to see him alive again. In the night his sister went to his room door, (as was her custom,) to listen to his breathing, but not hearing him, she found his spirit had taken its flight to the heavenly world. He died, June, 1850, in the fifty-seventh year of his age, and he has left an example in many respects worthy our imitation. liberality to the poor and to the church was very extensive. Many of the poor of Christ's flock will for sometime feel his loss. His devotional habits were very regular, usually spending about two hours every day in private prayer, and in reading the Scriptures; and he left such a testimony of his acceptance with God, and his prospects of heaven, that we have no doubt of his present and eternal bliss. Hucknall, October, 1850. His J. W. THOMAS BLACKBURN. OUR brother, the subject of the following brief account, was born at Long Benton, near Newcastle-upon-Tyne, December 20th, 1799. Soon after his birth his mother died, and, when quite a boy, his father also was taken from him by death. Without parental care or instruction, he was left to struggle as best he could with a corrupt and corrupting world. Under these circumstances, he yielded to youthful companions, who loved darkness rather than light, their deeds being evil; and he lived for many years a stranger to peace, and entangled with the yoke of bondage. Naturally he was of a lively, cheerful disposition, and fond of all the amusements commonly followed by the young, and thoughtless, and foolish. He loved the company of the tavern, the drunkard's song, and the merry dance. In these pursuits he was entertained, but not satisfied; he was diverted and pleased, but still unhappy; and he felt the force of those words, "There is no peace to the wicked." That which led to the reformation and conversion of our late brother was a serious conversation between him and our brother, H. Ridley, of Westmore. "A word spoken in season, how good it is!" From that period he resolved to live a religious life, and prepare for the eternal world. This conversation was shortly after renewed, and an invitation given to the chapel, and the Gospel almost immediately became the power of God unto his salvation. He now united with our church at Westmore, and for the space of twenty-three years was a peaceful, consistent, useful member. He felt his individuality and responsibility, and laboured like one that must give an account. Some points in his Christian character deserve notice. His attachment to the house of God and the means of grace was ardent and unbroken. He regularly, punctually, and conscientiously attended to the duties of the sanctuary. He "loved the habitation of God's house, and the place where his honour dwelleth." Except when prevented by sickness, or otherwise lawfully detained, his seat was never vacant. He spent many of his leisure hours in the chapel, repeating his favourite lines, "Here I find a settled rest, His labours in the Sabbath school are worthy of remark. In this noble institution, where so many are taught the first rudiments of letters, morality, and religion, he laboured with unwearied assiduity. His official services diffused a salutary influence upon the minds of the children, and it is believed the fruit of his toils will be seen after many days. He was also a liberal supporter of the cause. Being in humble circumstances, he has many times surprized his brethren, by the sacrifices he has made in support of the church. That his hand might be liberal, he adopted |