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of the barn, in as much distress as himself. Their cries brought in the father and mother, the elder sister, and her husband, and all being in the same condition, they all lamented together. pose," says Pawson, "if some of the good Christians of the age had seen or heard us, they would have concluded we were all quite beside ourselves." However, " though the children were brought to the birth, there was not strength to bring forth." One Saturday evening, when "there was a mighty shaking among the dry bones" at the meeting, his father received the assurance, and the preacher gave thanks on his account; but Pawson was so far from being able to rejoice with him, that he says, "his soul sunk as into the belly of hell." On the day following the preacher met the Society," in order to wrestle with God in behalf of those who were in distress." Pawson went full of sorrow, panting after the Lord as the hart after the water-brooks." When the prayer for those in distress was made, he placed himself upou his knees in the middle of the room, if possible, in greater anguish of spirit than ever before. Presently a person, whom he knew," cried for mercy, as if he would rend the very heaven.”. Quickly after, in the twinkling of an eye," says Pawson, "all my trouble was gone, my guilt and condemnation were removed, and I was filled with joy unspeakable. I was brought out of darkness into marvellous light; out of miserable bondage, into glorious liberty; out of the most bitter distress, into unspeakable happiness. I had not the least doubt of my acceptance with God, but was fully assured that he was reconciled to me through the merits of his Son. I was fully satisficd that I was born of God: my justification was so clear to me, that I could neither doubt nor fear."

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The lot of the young man was now cast. He was shortly afterwards desired to meet a class; it was a sore trial to him; but obedience was a duty, and he was obliged to take up the cross." "From the first or second time I met it," he continues, "I continually walked in the light of God's countenance: I served him with an undivided heart. I had no distressing temptations, but had constant power over all sin, so that I lived as upon the borders of heaven." Henceforward his progress was regular. From reading the homilies, and explaining them as he went on, he began to expound the Bible, in his poor manner. The people thrust him into the pulpit. First he became a local preacher, then an itinerant, and, finally, a leading personage of the conference, in which he continued a steady and useful member till death.

ALEXANDER MATHER was a man of cooler temperament and better disciplined mind than most of Wesley's coadjutors. He was the son of a baker, at Brechin, in Scotland; his parents were reputable and religious people; they kept him carefully from evil company, and brought him up in the fear of God: but the father was a rigid and severe man; and probably for this reason, while he was yet a mere boy, (according to his own account not thirteen,) he joined the rebels in 1745. Having escaped from Culloden and the pursuit, he found that his father's doors were closed against him on his return. By his mother's help, however, he was secreted among their relations for

several months, till he thought the danger was over, and ventured a second time to present himself at home, The father, more, perhaps, from cunning, than actual want of feeling, not only again refused him admittance, but went himself and gave information against him to the commanding officer, and the boy would have been sent to prison, if a gentleman of the town had not interfered, and obtained leave for him to lodge in his father's house. The next morning he passed through the form of an examination, and was discharged. From this time he worked at his father's business, till, in the nineteenth year of his age, he thought it advisable to see the world, and therefore travelled southward. The next year he reached London, and there engaged himself as a journeyman baker. Because he was, as he says, a foreigner, his first master was summoned to Guildhall, and compelled to dismiss him. This unjust law was not afterwards enforced against him, and he seems to have had no difficulty in obtaining employment. Before he had been many months in London, a young woman, who had been bred up with him in his father's house, sought him out : they had not met for many years, and this renewal of an old intimacy, in a strange land, soon ended in marriage.

Mather had made a resolution that he would live wholly to God whenever he should marry. For a while he was too happy to remember this resolution; he remembered it when his wife was afflicted with illness; it then lay heavy on his mind that he had not performed his vow of praying with her, and yet some kind of false feeling prevented him from opening his heart to her. Day after day the sense of this secret sin increased upon him, till, after loss of appetite and of sleep, and tears by day and night, he "broke through," as he expresses it, and began the practice of praying with her, which from that time was never interrupted. Her education had been a religious one like his, and they did not depart from the way in which they were trained up.

Though Mather had no domestic obstacles to overcome, and never passed through those struggles of mind which, in many of his colleagues, bordered so closely upon madness, he was by no means in a sane state of devotion at this time. It was not sufficient for him to pray by himself every morning and every afternoon with his wife; he sometimes knelt when he was going to bed, and continued in that position till two o'clock, when he was called to his work. The master whom he now served was an attendant at the Foundry, but, like all others of the same trade, he was in the practice of what was called "baking of pans" on a Sunday. Mather regarded this as a breach of the Sabbath it troubled him so that he could find no peace; and his flesh, he says, consumed away, till the bones were ready to start through his skin. At length, unable to endure this state of mind, he gave his master warning. The master, finding by what motives he was influenced, and that he had not provided himself with another place, was struck by his conscientious conduct; he went round to all the trade in the neighborhood, and proposed that they should enter into an agreement not to bake on Sundays. The majority agreed. He advertised for a meeting of master bakers upon the subject; but nothing could be concluded. After all this, which Mather acknowledges was more than he could reasonably expect, he said to him,

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"I have done all I can, and now I hope you will be content." ther sincerely thanked him for what he had done, but declared his intention of quitting him, as soon as his master could suit himself with 'another man. Bat the master, it seems, took advice at the Foundry, and on the following Sunday staid at home, to tell all his customers that he could bake no more on the Sabbath day. From this time both he and his wife were particularly kind to Mather. They introduced him to the Foundry, and he soon became a regular member of the Society..

It was not long before he had strong impressions upon his mind, that he was called to preach. After fasting and praying upon this point, he communicated it to his band, and they set apart some days for the same exercises. This mode of proceeding was not likely to abate his desire; and the band then advised him to speak to Mr. Wesley. Wesley replied, “This is a common temptation among young men. Several have mentioned it to me; but the next thing I hear of them is, that they are married, or upon the point of it.". "Sir," said Mather, "I am married already." Wesley then bade him not care for the temptation, but seek God by fasting and prayer. He made answer that he had done this; and Wesley recommended patience and perseverance in this course; adding, that he doubted not but God would soon make the way plain before him. Mather could not but understand this as an encouragement; he was the more encouraged, when Wesley shortly afterwards appointed him first to be the leader of a band, and in a little time of a class. In both situations he acquitted himself to the satisfaction of others; his confidence in himself was, of course, increased, and he went once more to Mr. Wesley to represent his ardent aspirations. "To be a Methodist preacher," said Wesley, "is not the way to ease, honour, pleasure, or profit. It is a life of much labour and reproach. They often fare hard-often are in want. They are liable to be stoned, beaten, and abused in various manners. sider this before you engage in so uncomfortable a way of life." The other side of the picture would have been sufficiently tempting, if Mather had been influenced by worldly considerations; the danger was just enough to stimulate enthusiasm; the reproach of strangers would only heighten the estimation in which he would be held by believers; no way of life could be more uncomfortable than his own; and what a preferment in the world for a journeyman baker! The conversation ended, by allowing him to make a trial on the following morning. After a second essay, he received information nearly at ten at night, that he was to preach the next morning at five o'clock at the Foundry. This was the critical trial. All the time he was making his dough he was engaged in meditation and prayer for assistance. The family were all in bed, and when he had done, he continued praying and reading the Bible to find a text till two o'clock. It was then time to call his fellow-servant, and they went together to work as usual till near four, preparing the bread for the oven. His comrade then

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retired to bed, and he to his prayers, till a quarter before five, when he went, in fear and trembling, to the meeting, still unprepared even with a text. He took up the hymn-book, and gave out the hymn, in a voice so faint, because of his timidity, that it could not be under

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stood. The people, not hearing the verse, knew not what to sing; he was no singer himself, otherwise he might have recovered this mishap by leading them, so they were at a stand, and this increased his agitation so much, that his joints shook. However, he recovered himself, and took the text upon which he opened. The matter after this was left to Mr. Wesley, to employ him as his business would permit, just when and where he pleased. When first he began to preach, there was a considerable natural defect in bis delivery; and he spoke with such extreme quickness, that very few could understand him; but he entirely overcame this.

He says, "In

The account of the exertions in which this zealous labourer was now engaged, may best be related in his own words. a little time I was more employed than my strength would well allow, I had no time for preaching but what I took from my sleep; so that I frequently had not eight hours sleep in a week. This, with hard labour, constant abstemiousness, and frequent fasting, brought me so low, that, in a little more than two years, I was hardly able to follow my business. My master was often afraid I should kill myself; and perhaps his fears were not groundless. I have frequently put off my shirts as wet with sweat as if they had been diptin water. After hastening to finish my business abroad, I have come home all in a sweat in the evening, changed my clothes, and ran to preach at one or another chapel; then walked or ran back, changed my clothes and gone to work at ten, wrought hard all night, and preached at five the next morning. I ran back to draw the bread at a quarter, or half an hour past six; wrought hard in the bake-house till eight, then hurried about with bread till the afternoon, and perhaps at night set off again."

Had this mode of life continued long, Mather must have fallen a victim to his zeal. He was probably saved by being appointed a travelling preacher; yet, at the very commencement of his itinerancy, his course had been nearly cut short. A mob attacked him at Boston; and when with great difficulty and danger, he reached his inn, bruised, bleeding, and covered with blood, the rabble beset the house, and the landlord attempted to turn him out, for fear they should pull it down. Mather, however, knew the laws, and was not wanting to himself. "Sir," he said, "I am in your house; but while I use it as an inn, it is mine-turn me out at your peril." And he compelled him to apply to a magistrate for protection. It was more than twelve months before he recovered from the brutal treatment which he received on this occasion. The mob at Wolverhampton pulled down a preaching house; an attorney had led them on, and made the first breach himself. Mather gave him his choice of rebuilding it at his own expense, or being tried for his life; of course the house was rebuilt, and there were no further riots at Wolverhampton. He was of a bardy constitution and strong mind, cool and courageous, zealous and disinterested, most tender hearted and charitable, but possessing withal, a large share of prudence, which ena bled him to conduct the temporal affairs of the Connexion with great abiy The account which, in his matured and sober mind, he gives of his experience, touching what Wesley calls the great salvation, bears with it fewer marks of enthusiasm, and more of meditation,

than is usually found in such cases.. "What I experienced in my own soul," he says, 66 was an instantaneous deliverance from all those wrong tempers and affections which I had long and sensibly groaned under; an entire disengagement from every creature, with an entire devotedness to God; and from that moment I found an unspeak. able pleasure in doing the will of God in all things. I had also a power to do it, and the constant approbation both of my own conscience and of God. I had simplicity of heart, and a single eye to God at all times, and in all places, with such a fervent zeal for the glory of God and the good of souls, as swallowed up every other care and consideration. Above all, I had uninterrupted communion with God, whether sleeping or waking." It is scarcely compatible with buman weakness, that a state like this should be permanent ; and Mather, in describing it, after an interval of more than twenty years, exclaims, "Oh that it were with me as when the candle of the Lord thus shone upon my head!" Yet he had not failed in his course; and, after much reflection, and the surer aid of prayer, had calmly satisfied his clear judgment," that deliverance from sin does not imply deliverance from human infirmities; and that it is not inconsistent with temptations of various kinds."

THOMAS OLIVERS was born at Tregonan,a village in Montgomeryshire, in the year 1725. Being left an orphan in childhood, with some little property, he was placed under the care of the husband of his father's first cousin; which remote relationship comes under the comprehensive term of a Welsh uncle. Mr. Tudor, as this person was called, was an eminent farmer, and did his duty by the boy; giving him not merely the common school education, but bestowing more than common pains in imparting religious acquirements. He was taught to sing psalms, as well as repeat his catechism and his prayers, and to attend church twice on the Sabbath day. But the parish happened to be in a state of shocking immorality :-there was one man, in particular, who studied the art of cursing, and would exemplify the richness of the Welsh language, by compounding twenty or thirty words into one long and horrid blasphemy. As this was greatly ad mired among his profligate companions, Olivers imitated it, and in time rivalled what he calls his infernal instructer. The other parts of his conduct were in the same spirit; and he obtained the charac ter of being the worst boy who had been known in that country for the last thirty years. When he was about three or four and twenty he left the country, not having half learned the business to which he had been apprenticed, The cause of his departure was the oute cry raised against him for his conduct toward a farmer's daughter; he was the means, he says, of driving her almost to an untimely end. It was the sin which lay heaviest on his mind, both before and after his conversion; and which, as long as he lived, he remembered with peculiar shame and sorrow.

He removed to Shrewsbury, and there, or in its neighbourhood, continued a profligate course of life, till poverty, as well as conscience, stared him in the face. He said within himself, that he was living a most wretched life, and that the end must be damnation, unless he repented and forsook his sins. But how should he acquire