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and now endeavoured to inveigle the youth into an abyss of vice and infamy, in which body and soul must have been ruined, but for that singular hand of providence which was over him for good. Though the worthy individual to whose care his childhood had been entrusted does not appear to have been a pious man, yet he was honest-hearted, affectionate, and just; and when the time came, he suffered not his young friend to leave him without intimating his fears that his relatives had other ends than those of kindness in drawing him to London. This too soon became apparent. The very uncle who had come from town to be his guide, as soon as he had got him from under the paternal roof of his friend Mr. Laver, endeavoured, by all the means in his power, to betray him into a state of intoxication. But our young friend, who appears even from his boyhood to have possessed an unusual degree of self-possession, was on his guard, and resisted every attempt. His uncle, while in Essex, took him on a visit to some relations at Colchester, where he was introduced to scenes of flagrant vice, which cannot be named. Indeed, it seemed as if Satan himself had assumed the person of his uncle, to draw an unthinking youth into his deadly snare. But the very grossness of the attempt to seduce him into sin revolted his feelingsopened to him the secret of his relatives' intentions-and thenceforward put him upon his guard. The snare was broken, and he escaped. He saw that they aimed at his destruction, and that the very aunt who had promised his dying mother that she would be a mother to the child, was longing to see his end, that she and hers might enjoy the property which they could not keep from him. But a gracious God watched over the youth as well as over the tender

babe. God girded him for the conflict against the false friends and seductive snares with which he was surrounded, although then he knew not from whence it came.

At length John Cooke and his uncle arrived in town. He was brought there under the pretence of forwarding his worldly interest; but he soon saw that his property, and not himself, was the object of their anxiety. They kept him without any sort of occupation for a year and a half, enjoying the income of his little estate. At length his aunt died, and the wretched uncle remained his sole guardian. His friends had spent his money which they had received on his account; and now he was left to roam at large about London, without occupation or object, except that he himself was earnestly set upon procuring some situation in which he might be industriously and honestly engaged. The length of time that elapsed, and the wretched state of his uncle's home and affairs, together with disappointment in many attempts to procure a situation, produced an uneasy and painful state of mind. His thoughts turned inward, and every thing appeared gloomy. He wandered for many months about town an idle, unhappy, friendless youth. One day he entered casually a place of worship. A Scotch minister was preaching upon an awful subject; but our friend felt it to be appropriate. The terrors of condemnation impressed his mind; conscience said "Amen" to all the terrible things the preacher proclaimed. The effect wore off, but the hand of God led him soon after to the Tabernacle in Moorfields. Mr. Kinsman, from Plymouth, was preaching. The sermon made a deep impression. Speaking of it, Mr. Cooke says-" I dare not presume to say was or was not converted before this sermon. My mind, before this, had been en

lightened, but not so much impressed."- "But before I heard any gospel sermon, many circumstances prepared for it; for not long before my aunt died, I was terrified with the most alarming dreams for near three full weeks, until I feared the bed as hell. 1 dreamed but one thing every night, namely, as soon as my senses were locked in sleep, I thought I felt the devil with two hands on my neck, and his knees on my breast; and when I awoke from this hell upon earth, so strong was it upon my imagination, that I could but cry out with all my strength, Murder! murder! This method God took with Job, to hide pride and selfsufficiency from him. (Job vii. 14.) This immediately set me to pray. Sometimes I read nearly all the Psalms through before I entered my bed, and thus became a Pharisee of the strictest sect. But this not answering the end, he suffered me not to rest here, but sent another messenger, more alarming, with heavy tidings' to me, even to me."-From this period he became a regular attendant at the Tabernacle, and continued so until he had obtained some knowledge of the way of salvation, and some comfort from his knowledge. He then applied to the minister for a ticket of admission to the Lord's Supper. The minister made particular inquiries into his situation and employment in life. This led to a full disclosure of his affairs, and the relation in which he stood to his uncle. This conversation induced the minister to procure an interview between the young John Cooke and the Rev. Matthew Wilks, of which we must speak, after noticing some remarkable and distressing circumstances which occurred about this time.

After the death of his aunt, it appears, that through intemperance and imprudence, his uncle's affairs became embarrassed, and at length he was thrown into pri

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son for debt. "In which place,' says Mr. C., "I kept him long as my purse would last. While I did so, all was well; but no longer. My whole substance was his artful aim." It appears that this infamous man first took a false oath against the innocent and generous youth, by which he endeavoured to prove against him a debt of £200.; this scheme failing, to the disgrace of the uncle, after being brought into court, he next proceeded to employ two unprincipled lawyers, if possible to take his life ! the charge was, he had robbed his uncle. At this extraordinary crisis, unknown to the unprotected youth, a gentleman, with whom he was unacquainted, went to see his uncle in the Marshalsea Prison, to whom he told his intention of prosecuting his nephew for a robbery. This gentleman asked him, what John Cooke had robbed him of? After long hesitation, he could give no satisfactory answer, and the gentleman left him, saying, that "if he did not prove his nephew guilty of the crime charged, he would himself lose his own life thereby." This sentence alarmed the base wretch, and he proceeded no further in his design. the unprotected orphan was again delivered by an unseen hand, and all the plans of his cruel foes, who ought to have been his best friends, utterly frustrated.

Thus

His interview with Mr. Wilks, to which we lately referred, terminated in a recommendation of him to the Rev. Mr. English, of Woburn, Bucks, who at that time kept an academy. Mr. Cooke accordingly removed from London, and took up his residence as an assistant with Mr. English. This was one of the most important steps in his whole life, as it subsequently led to his engagements in the ministry, and to his settlement at Maidenhead. This event took place in the end of the year

1779, when he was about nineteen, or perhaps a little more. While engaged with Mr. English, his thoughts were powerfully inclined to the work of the ministry. In determining the path of duty, and the call of providence, he experienced many hard struggles and severe conflicts of mind. In about a year and a half after his removal to Woburn, we find Mr. English relinquishing his school, and Mr. Cooke carrying it on for a short time; but in August 1781, he entirely declined his concern in the school, and lodged in a neighbouring house. Here he continued till providence directed his way to Maidenhead. He supplied the congregation for six months. But during this period, an unpleasant, altercation arose between our friend and Mr. English. This greatly disturbed his mind, and was the cause of much uneasiness among his friends at Maidenhead. The Lord, however, gave him acceptance in the eyes of the people, and he maintained his standing and integrity through great discouragements and trials. He complains severely, in his private memoranda, of the treachery and instability of some of his first friends; but records with lively gratitude the Lord's goodness in raising him up others, who proved to be worthy of the confidence he reposed in them. His ordination took place in 1784, and from that period to the day of his death, he continued faithfully and affectionately to discharge the duties of his ministerial office. His first labours at Maidenhead commenced in the year 1781, and were protracted till 1826, a period of labour including nearly half a century.

As his own memoranda of his life, after the year 1781, are not very orderly, and as no change took place as to the sphere of his labours, we shall not attempt to present a regular history of his

remaining years; but occupy the attention of our readers, in our next number, with some miscellaneous anecdotes and extracts, and conclude this article with a passage from his meditations, and an anecdote of his early efforts at village preaching. It is necessary, however, to premise here, that our excellent friend, soon after his settlement at Maidenhead, was sorely tempted by infidelity, and passed through a long and fiery trial, from which, however, at last he came forth as gold more refined for the Master's use. The following extract is dated June 26, 1784.

thus!

"June 26.-How many bars of love has my sinful soul broken to backslide The times of refreshing in my first love, where are they? Come back, ye precious moments, and reproach my guilty soul, for breaking such binding obligations. Retura once more, if it is but to witness the most base and uncommon ingratitude of my heart in thus requiting such a God of unbounded tenderness. O my sinful soul, where are all thy professions of love-supreme love to him, a precious Jesus? If thou dost not love him, why dost thou profess it? Why dost thou preach it? If thou dost, then why prefer something, yea, any thing, to him? 0 my inconsiderate heart, thy backslidings now reprove thee. How unequalled, how aggravating is my guilt! Never sin was like unto my sin; it is of a hell-like bue! Remember, O treacherous soul, from the most early dawn of

life, thy God has been thy sanctuary. In

times of ignorance and stout rebellion, still, still mercy followed thee. Has not the Lord been my friend when friendless? A father to my fatherless soul? What

unnumbered youthful follies has the Lord borne with? What merciful preventions in providence have I experienced! How easily can I trace thy wise and gracious footsteps in leading me hitherto! And sinned, wilfully sinned against Godyet, notwithstanding these things, I bave against so good, so gracious a God! O that I had gone to the height of my folly in what my pen has marked down! crimes. How many friends in an unexBut still there is a great addition to my pected, undeserved, but seasonable moment hast thou raised up for me! Their love, care, and tenderness, is but thy own, poured out through their hands! Thou hast called me in a very signal manner to the knowledge of thyself, and exalted me

to the greatest dignity in this world, even to be thy mouth to fellow sinners. Against this knowledge and honour I have sinned; and oh, that this were all. But I have broken the most solemn promises of loyalty to thee. I am guilty of the breach, nay repeated breach of the most sacred engagements. After having the load of guilt taken from my soul, that had depressed me, as if a ponderous millstone hung upon it, still, still, still I have left Thee; and in the face of all these witnesses I have violated all my most endearing ties. Though in keeping thy commands I have found great reward, yet have I foolishly left these comforts to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a moment. And what gives a deep colour to my crimson crimes is thy goodness, that even now follows me. O how justly, without the least hesitation, should I condemn the man that had thus acted to his father, or prince; and in this I do but condemn myself; for my guilty conscience says, thou art the man; thou art the ungrateful man. How often hast thou regaled my heart with the choicest dainties of thy gospel; told me the thoughts of thy heart towards me; and yet I have dealt treacherously, yea very treacherously! How often have I basked in thy life-giving smiles, and tasted the rills of divine consolation and yet have left these, even these refined joys for the peace-destroying pleasures of sin! The nature of my sin is truly of the most aggravating kind. It is against light in my understanding, the love of thy heart, innumerable mercies, the checks and reproofs of my own conscience. 'Tis a disbelieving and slighting thy promises; and to obtain a sordid, short, and painful pleasure. I have climbed over the high mountains of thy love, or I could not have reached it."

Mr. Cooke's early efforts to introduce the gospel into the villages in his vicinity, were attended with violent opposition, and often with great personal peril. His prudence, courage, and self-possession, gave him, on all such occasions, an eminent advantage over his enemies. When he planted the standard of the cross at Burnham, in Buckinghamshire, Satan's agents were in an uproar;

the house was surrounded, the hearers were pelted with rotten eggs; and so great was the malice of the enemies, that when these failed they employed good ones. Mr. Cooke was burnt in effigy by an immense crowd one evening while he was preaching there, and after service, having to

pass through the mob, there was a general outcry. A large band of straw, which had been formed into a ring, and thoroughly soaked in pitch was prepared, and being lighted, was to be thrown by some skilful hand over his hat as he passed along, so as to fall upon his

shoulders. mob, and was getting over a stile, when this malicious and most perilous outrage was committed. The ring of fire was thrown, but it went over his head and beyond him; the conscious hand of guilt, in this instance, could not take a steady aim; another, and a mightier hand turned aside the injurious missile. The wretch ran to hide his guilty head among his companions. Mr. Cooke stood calmly and courageously upon the stile, and with a firm and exalted voice exclaimed, "Why does he run away? why is he afraid? The guilty alone are cowards-I do not run. He then addressed the multitude in a strain

He had passed the

of kiud, bold, and winning eloquence; they were ashamed, melted away, and opposition so public and noisy ceased. Still the devil was not quiet. The present place of worship was built in the village, and the children of darkness could not bear to see the light of gospeltruth beaming, and the day advancing around them. Petty and secret malice now began to work paltry interruptions. Birds were let loose to put out the candles, &c. On one occasion a young man disturbed the worship by the barking of a puppy, which he kept concealed in his pocket. This was borne with at first; but being repeated, Mr. Cooke's keen eye detected the offender. He closed the Bible, and descending out of the pulpit, went directly up to the young man, and said, with a calm, but resolute tone, " Sir, I desire that you will take that dog out of your pocket, whose ears you have been pinching to make him disturb the worship of God." At first the

young man denied, and seemed obstinate. Mr. C. said, "I insist upon your standing up; he did so, and the little dog was found in his pocket; the youth was overwhelmed with confusion. Mr.Cooke then addressed him to this effect:"You are by profession a gentleman, and the son of a magistrate; and I am sure your father would be greatly grieved at your illegal conduct. You have broken the laws of your country, by which we are secured in the peaceable worship of God, agreeably to the dictates of our own consciences; and your offence is highly aggravated by your station and profession. It is not,

however, our wish to punish or to exact penalties. We only desire to be permitted quietly to worship God; and on one consideration I will overlook your offence; that is, that you and your companions sit quietly there till the service is closed, that you solemnly promise never to disturb us again, and that you beg pardon of the congregation by saying that you are sorry you have interrupted them." The terms were gratefully accepted, and submitted to, and it is believed that from that time no dog has dared to move its tongue in that village against John Cooke.

(To be continued.)

ORIGINAL ESSAYS, COMMUNICATIONS, &c.

ON PERNICIOUS PRINCIPLES.
PART III.

Universal Restoration. "Because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil."-Eccles. viii 11.

Ar the commencement of this series of papers, it was proposed to institute a careful examination of those principles in the sentiments and intentions of men with regard to religion, which appear to be the most prevalent and influential, while they are, in the highest degree, false and pernicious. Already have been considered two of these common and ruinous prejudices. The duty of investigating a third awful delusion, which, there is reason to believe, is spread very extensively in all ranks of society, and especially among the more cultivated classes of persons, who are not willing to renounce all profession of respect for Christianity, must now be undertaken. This is, that, should they be cut off in their sins, without repentance and conversion in the present life, their

case will by no means be hopeless; but that, on the contrary, they will enter upon a course of discipline and purgation in the future life, which will at last have the happy effect of purifying them from all their vices and corruptions, and reclaiming them to perfect virtue, so that they shall then be admitted to immortal happiness. This expectation is encouraged to the very utmost, by a numerous body of persons who profess to have restored the Christian religion to its original simplicity; and who are labouring with much zeal and assiduity, and with no small measure of apparent argument and persuasive eloquence, to propagate the belief of a final restitution of all mankind to the perfection of virtue, and to bliss supreme and everlasting. Well does the writer know the impression upon human feelings, of this agreeable and soothing doctrine. It is inexpressibly pleasant to the partial hearts of those who wish to feel more at ease, both for themselves and for others, in the contemplation of a world to come. In his earlier years he felt this impres

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