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self as a watchman on Zion's walls, saying, "For Zion's sake I will not hold my peace; and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest, till the righteousness thereof go forth as brightness, and the salvation thereof as a lamp that burneth." Or like Moses, when desiring the spiritual welfare of Israel, "Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil. Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children. Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us; and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it."

"Would I describe a preacher such as Paul,

Were he on earth, would hear, approve and own,
Paul should himself direct me. I would trace
His master-strokes, and draw from his design,
I would express him simple, grave, sincere;
In doctrine uncorrupt, in language plain,
And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste,
And natural in gesture; much impressed
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge;
And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds
May feel it too; affectionate in look,
And tender in address, as well becomes
A messenger of grace to guilty men."-Cowper.

THE FAMILY AT BROAD OAK.* In the reign of Charles I. there was an orchard at Whitehall, and the keeper of it was John Henry, a Welshman. His wife, Magdalene Rochdale, was a pious woman, who took great pains with her children, and instructed them carefully in "Perkins' Six Principles," and the other lesson-books which preceded the Shorter Catechism. When dying, she said, "My head is in heaven, and my heart is in heaven; it is but one step more, and I shall be there too." The name of their only son was Philip. Having become a thoughtful boy at Westminster school, and at Oxford, under such teachers as Owen and Goodwin, having grown into an enlightened Christian and an accomplished divine, he became a minister, and was settled in Worthenbury, a little parish of Flintshire.

The playmate of princes-for Charles II. and James II. were near his own age, and, when children, were often in his father's house-a gainly suavity marked the demeanour of PHILIP HENRY all his days; and the memories of his boyhood mingled with the convictions of his manhood, and without diluting his creed softened his spirit. When a Presbyterian and a Puritan, he still remembered Whitehall; how he used to run and open the water-gate to Archbishop Laud, and how his father took him to visit the Primate in the Tower, and how the captive prelate gave him some pieces of new money. He recollected the crowd which assembled before the palace that dismal 30th of January, when a king of England lost his head. And he treasured up the keepsakes which the

From Preface to Select Works of Matthew Henry, by the Rev. James Hamilton, London. Thos. Nelson, London and Edinburgh,

royal children had given him. His father died a sturdy Royalist; and though he himself loved the large gospel and strict religion of the commonwealth, with a filial tenderness he always cherished these personal recollections of the reign.

The people of Worthenbury were very few. Though a popular preacher, Philip Henry never counted eighty communicants. And his parishioners were poor; they delved and ploughed, and made the most of hungry little farms. But though they were neither numerous nor learned, their minister felt that they were sufficiently important to demand his utmost pains. He visited and catechised them till he diffused a goodly measure of Christian intelligence; he took an affectionate and assiduous interest in all their concerns, and by the amenity of his disposition as greatly endeared himself as by the blameless elevation of his life he commended the gospel; and, though destined for a small and homely congregation, he laboured hard at his sermons. Indeed, this latter part of his work was hardly felt as a labour. He had an instinet for sermon-making. To his quaint and ingenious mind there was the same enjoyment in a curious division, or a happy plan, which an enthusiastic artist feels in sketching a novel subject or a striking group; and it was a treat to his methodical eye to see accumulating in his cabinet piles of clear and evenly written manuscript, and systems of pungent theology.

Few have surpassed Philip Henry in that trim antithesis and exact alliteration which were so prized by our ancestors. If it were asked, "What are the Promises?" the answer was, "Articles of the Covenant; Breasts of Consolation; Christian Charter:"-and so on through all the alphabet down to "Wells of Salvation; 'Xceeding great and precious; Yea and Amen in Christ Jesus; Zion's peculiar." And even his common conversation shaped itself into balanced sentences and proverbial maxims. "If I cannot go to the house of God, I will go to the God of the house." "Forced absence from God's ordinances, and forced presence with wicked people, is a grievous burden to a gracious soul." "Solitariness is no sign of sanctity. Pest-houses stand alone, and yet are full of infectious diseases." "There are two things we should beware of-That we never be ashamed of the gospel, and that we may never be a shame to it." "There are three things, which, if Christians do, they will find themselves mistaken-If they look for that in themselves which is to be had in another, viz, righteousness; If they look for that in the law, which is to be had only in the gospel, viz., mercy; If they look for that on earth, which is to be had only in heaven, viz., perfection." In defiance of modern criticism, we own a certain kindliness for this old-fashioned art; it has a Hebrew look; it reminds us of the alphabetic psalms, and the "six things, yea seven," of Solo

mon.

THE FAMILY AT BROAD OAK.

And we believe that it has a deep root in nature-the love of alliteration and antithesis being, in another form, the love of rhyme and metre. We never see in an ancient garden a box-tree peacock, or a hemisphere of holly, but we feel a certain pleasure; we cannot help admiring the obvious industry; and we feel that they must have been a genial and gayhearted people who taught their evergreens to ramp like lions, or flap their wings like crowing cocks. And, more especially we feel that but for this grotesque beginning we might never have arrived at the landscape gardens of later times. Though they were the mere memorials of what amused our fathers, we could tolerate these conceits in cypress and yew; but when we recollect that they were the first attempts at the picturesque, and the commencement of modern elegance, we view them with a deeper interest. Doubtless this alliterative and antistrophic style was eventually overdone, and like the Dutch gardener, who locked up his apprentice in the one summer-house, because he had secured a thief in the other, the later Puritans sacrificed everything to verbal jingles and acrostic symmetry. But Philip Henry was a scholar, and a man of vigorous intellect, and in the sense most signal, a man of God. Translated into the tamest language, his sayings would still be weighty; but when we reflect that to his peasant hearers their original terseness answered all the purpose of an artificial memory, we not only forgive but admire it. Many a good thought has perished because it was not portable, and many a sermon is forgotten because it is not memorable; but like seeds with wings, the sayings of Philip Henry have floated far and near, and like seeds with hooked prickles, his sermons stuck to his most careless hearers. His tenacious words took root, and it was his happiness to see not only scriptural intelligence, but fervent and consistent piety spreading amongst his parishioners.

When he had settled at Worthenbury, Mr. Philip Henry sought in marriage the only daughter and heiress of Mr. Matthews of Broad Oak. There was some demur on the part of her father; he allowed that Mr. Henry was a gentleman, a scholar, and an excellent preacher, but he was a stranger, and they did not even know where he came from. "True," said Miss Matthews; "but I know where he is going, and I should like to go with him:" and she went. There is little recorded of her, except that she was very kind-hearted, devout, and charitable, "and always well satisfied with whatever God and her friends did for her." Five of their six children grew up; and when Bartholomew-day banished Philip Henry from his pulpit and his people, his wife's inheritance of Broad Oak supplied a better home than was found by the families of most ejected ministers.

Seldom has a scene of purer domestic happiness been witnessed than the love of God and

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one another created there. Ensconced in his well-furnished library, transcribing into his folio common - place book choice sentences from Cicero and Seneca, Augustine and Ambrose, Calvin and Beza, Baxter and Caryl, or writing out courses of sermons which he yet hoped to preach, the industrious divine improved his abundant leisure. And whilst his partner looked well to the ways of her household, the thriving fields and tasteful garden proclaimed their united husbandry. Standing hospitably by the way-side, their house received frequent visits from the most renowned and godly men in that vicinity-visits to which their children looked forward with veneration and joy, and which left their impression long on youthful memories. And on all the inmates of the family the morning and evening worship told with hallowing power. Seldom has this ordinance been observed so sacredly, or rendered so delightful. Alluding to the words chalked on plaguestricken houses, Philip Henry would say, If the worship of God be not within, write, Lord have mercy on us,' on the door; for a plague, a curse, is there." And as he deemed it so important, he laboured to make it instructive and engaging to all. In the morning he arranged it so that the bustle of the day should not infringe on it, and in the evening so early that no little girl should be nodding at the chapter, nor any drowsy servant yawning through the prayer. "Better one away than all sleepy," he would say, if occasionally obliged to begin before some absentee returned; but so much did the fear of God and affection for the head of the household reign, that none were wilfully missing. And with this "hem" around it the business of each successive day was effectually kept from "ravelling." It was his custom to expound a portion of Scripture, and he encouraged his children to write notes of these familiar explanations. Before they quitted the paternal roof, each of them had in this way secured in manuscript, a copious commentary on the Bible, which they treasured up as a precious memorial of their happy early days, and their heavenly. minded father. In the hands of his only son, these simple notes became the germ of the most popular English commentary..

Though younger than her brother, SARAH was the oldest sister. When six or seven years of age, her father taught her Hebrew, and among other good customs she early began to take notes of sermons, so that before she reached her threescore and ten, she had many fair written volumes-the record of sweet Sabbaths and endeared solemnities. Married to Mr. Savage, a substantial farmer and a pious man, in the abundance of a farm-house she found ample means for indulging her charitable disposition; and whilst blessed by the poor, to whose necessities she ministered, she was beloved by grateful friends, to whom her Christian composure and tender sympathy made her

a welcome visitor in seasons of anxiety or sorrow. Through life she retained the bookish habits which she had acquired at Broad Oak, and found time to read a great deal, and to copy for the use of her children many of those Christian biographies which were then circulated in manuscript, and not intended for the press. But her superior understanding and elevated tastes did not disqualify her for the more irksome duties of her station. She verified the remark, that "Educated persons excel in the meanest things, and refined minds possess the most common sense." She made all the better farmer's wife for being Philip Henry's daughter; and the main difference betwixt the cultivated lady and the vulgar housewife was, that she did more things, and did them better. In the morning she visited the dairy, the kitchen, and the market, and then it seemed as if she was all day alike in the parlour and the nursery. Besides clothing her household, she found time to make garments for the poor; and by lying down with a book beside her, she contrived to improve her mind, and read the works of such theologians as Owen, and Flavel, and Howe. Like her father, and most of the Puritans, she possessed a serene and tranquil spirit, and during the forty years of her married life, was never known to lose her temper. Doubtless much of her successful industry, as well as the quiet dignity of her character, must be ascribed to this meek self-possession; for whilst her notable neighbours deemed it needful to screech commands over all the house, and follow each blundering menial in a perpetual fluster, the simplicity and forethought of Mrs. | Savage's directions saved a world of trouble, and all things appeared to adjust and expedite themselves around her calm and gentle presence. Her new home was near her parents, and, besides frequent visits, she was often getting a word in season from the pen of her loving father. "If you would keep warm in this cold season (January 1692), take these four directions:-1. Get into the Sun. Under his blessed beams there are warmth and comfort. 2. Go near the fire. Is not my Word like fire? How many cheering passages are there! 3. Keep in motion and action-stirring up the grace and gift of God that is in you. 4. And seek Christian converse and communion. How can one be warm alone?" Along with the piety of her father she inherited much of his observant eye and spiritual mind; and many of her remarks are not only striking in themselves, but derive a charm from the little things which first suggested them:-"Seeing other creatures clean and white in the same place where the swine were all over mire, I thought it did represent good and bad men in the same place; the one defiled by the same temptations which the other escape through the grace of God and watchfulness." "I was affected lately when I saw our newly-sown garden, which we had

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secured so carefully, as we thought, from fowls, and had closely covered it, yet receive as much hurt by the unseen mole, which roots up and destroys. Lord, grant this be not the case of my poor soul! Many good seeds are sown. Line upon line. Daily hearing or reading some good truths. And, by the grace of God, with my good education, I have been kept from many outward sins; but I have great reason to fear the unseen mole of heart-corruption, pride, covetousness. These work secretly but dangerously. Lord, do thou undertake for me." The coals coming to the fire with ice upon them at first seemed as though they would put out the fire, but afterwards they made it burn more fiercely. I had this meditation-It is often so with me. That which seems against me is really for me. Have not afflictions worked for my good? Sometimes I have gone to an ordinance, as these coals to the fire, all cold and frozen, and there I have been melted. My love and desire have been inflamed. That it hath not oftener been so has been my own fault." But no extracts from her journals can set in a more interesting light this admirable woman than the following lines, recording the death of her only surviving son:-“ 1721, Feb. 15.-My dear Philip was seized with the fatal distemper, the small-pox. Many, many fervent prayers were put up for him, both in closets and congregations, but on Monday, February 27, between one and two o'clock, he breathed his last; the blessed spirit took wing, I trust, to the world of everlasting rest and joy. The desire of our eyes, concerning whom we were ready to say, 'This son shall comfort us;' once all our joy, now all our tears. Near twentytwo years of age, he was just beginning to appear in public business, sober and pious. A true lover of his friends, of whom he said on his death-bed, 'I lay them down as I do my body, in hope to meet again every way better.

... I do not think the worse of God, or of prayer, for this dispensation; yet, sometimes I am much oppressed. I find that deceit lies in generals. How often have I in word and in tongue given up and devoted my all-yokefellow, children, estate-and all without mental reservation! and now, when God comes to try me in but one dear comfort, with what difficulty can I part with him! Oh this wicked heart! Lord, I am thine. Though thou shouldst strip me of all my children, and of all my comforts here, yet if thou give me thyself, and clear up to me my interest in the everlasting covenant, it is enough. That blessed covenant has enough in it to gild the most gloomy dispensation of Providence. I have condoling letters daily from my friends. Their words, indeed, do reach my case, but cannot reach my heart."

The second sister was CATHARINE, who be came the wife of Dr. Tylston, a pious physician in Chester; but we have failed in obtaining any further information regarding her.

THE FAMILY AT BROAD OAK.

The third was ELEANOR. Her gracious disposition was easily seen through all the timidity and diffidence of her retiring nature; and after her death her papers exhibited the same anxiety to cultivate heart religion, and to grow in knowledge, which distinguished all her family. Like her youngest sister, she was married to a tradesman in Chester, and then took the name of Radford.

That youngest sister was ANN. The sweetness of her temper, and her aptitude for learning, made her a special favourite with her father, and he used to call his Nancy "the diamond in his ring." As she grew up, her early dispositions took the form of a cheerful activity and obligingness, which exceedingly endeared her to her friends, whilst her happy and contented piety was constantly reminding them that wisdom's ways are pleasantness. She used to spend much of the Sabbath in singing psalms of praise; and the kindliness of hier nature, and her loving confidence in the goodness of the Lord, made her visits a peculiar comfort in the house of mourning. And, lest God's mercies should slip out of memory, she used to mark them down. The following is one list of "Family Mercies:"-" The house preserved from fire, June 1690; the family begun to be built up; children preserved from the perils of infancy. Two of my near relations' children taken off quickly by death; mine of the same age spared, March 1693. One child of a dear friend burnt to death; another neighbour's child drowned lately; yet mine preserved. One of the children preserved from a dangerous fall down a pair of stairs into the street; the recovery of both of them from the small-pox, May 1695. Both recovered from a malignant fever when they had been given up; at the same time two servants brought low by it, yet raised up. Ourselves preserved from the same distemper, when two dear relations, mother and daughter, fell by it. Wonder of mercy not to be forgotten." It was of this fever, and within a few weeks of one another, that Mrs. Hutton and her sister Radford died, in 1697. It was a time of heavy trial in a once happy circle, for their venerated father had lied the year before. "Yet God is good," was he dying testimony of this meek believer, and he entreated that none would think the worse of family religion for the afflictions which had followed so fast on them. "I am not weary of iving, but I am weary of sinning. I would ive as Christ lives, and where Christ lives; and that I am sure will be heaven."

This was the pious family in which MATTHEW HENRY was born. Of these intelligent and affectionate sisters he was the only brother, and of those godly parents he was the eldest surviving child. He was born at Broad Oak, Oct. 18, 1662.

When three years old it is said that he could read the Bible distinctly, and he early showed

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a strong passion for books. Lest he should injure his health by excessive application, his mother was frequently obliged to drag the little student from his closet, and chase him out into the fields. He had for his tutor Mr. Turner, a young man who then lived at Broad Oak, and who afterwards published a folio volume of "Remarkable Providences;" but whether Mr. Turner had then acquired his taste for extraordinary narratives, or whether the imagination of his pupil was inflamed by their recital, we cannot tell. There is no love of the marvellous in his writings. But in the formation of his character, and the direction of his studies, by far the most influential element was veneration for his learned and saintly sire. The father's devotion and industry inspired the son. And surely this was as it ought to be. Though love to a pious father is not piety, yet with the children of the godly the fifth commandment has often proved the portico and gateway to the first; and perhaps theirs is the most scriptural devotion whose first warm feelings towards their "Father who is in heaven," mingle with tender memories of their father that was on earth. No character could be more impressive than Philip Henry's, no spirit more impressible than that of Philip Henry's son. Till an upgrown lad he was in his father's constant company. He witnessed the holy elevation and cheerful serenity of his blameless life. He was aware how much his father prayed in secret; and besides occasional sermons, he heard his daily expositions and exhortations at the worship of the family. And from what he saw, as much as from what he heard, the conviction grew with his growth, that of all things the most amiable and august is true religion, and of all lives the most blessed is a walk with God. A hallowed sunshine irradiated Broad Oak all the week; but like rays in a focus, through the Sabbath atmosphere every peaceful feeling and heavenly influence fell in sacred and softening intensity. On these days of the Son of man, the thoughtful boy was often remarkably solemnized, and when the services of the sanctuary were over, would haste to his little chamber to weep and pray, and could scarcely be prevailed on to come down and share the family meal. On one of these occasions his father had preached on the grain of mustard-seed, and, wistful to possess this precious germ, he took the opportunity of a walk with his father to tell his fears and anxieties about himself. The conversation is not recorded, but he afterwards told his confidante, his sister, that he hoped he too had received a grain of grace," and that in time it might come to something. With his young sisters he held a little prayer-meeting on the Saturday afternoons; and amid the sequestrated sanctity of their peaceful home, and under the loving eye and wise instruction of their tender parents, these olive plants grew round about the table.

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FOR PARENTS MOURNING THE LOSS OF

CHILDREN.

and knew many of the fundamentals of religion above many of his age. While he lay on his sick-bed, I frequently conversed with him about the affairs of

I. EBENEZER ERSKINE'S REFLECTION ON THE his soul; and he gave me great satisfaction by ex

DEATH OF HIS CHILDREN.

(From his Life and Diary.)

April 27, 1713, being Monday.-My dear, sweet, and pleasant child, Ralph, died on Thursday last week, about a quarter after seven in the morning. His death was very grievous and affecting to my wife and me; but good is the will of the Lord. He takes and gives; blessed be the name of the Lord. My dear child died of the measles, which did appear to come fully out; but no sooner were they at the height but they did strike in again to his heart. That which I think memorable about his death is, 1. The affecting trouble my dear babe was brought into. For about twenty-four hours before he died, he was exceedingly tortured. 2. Having sent off my servant to Kirkaldy, as he returned he came in by Mr. Currie's house about eight P.M., and there Mr. John Frew, being informed of the providence in my family, immediately came off, and stayed with me all that night. His company was most refreshing and comfortable to me and my wife. Mr. Frew and each of us prayed three or four times before the child died; my dear friend, Mr. Frew, was wonderfully helped to pray for the child. 3. About half-an-hour before the child's breath went out, he felt perfectly calm, and was relieved from the sore tossings he had, and being laid down on his back in the cradle, his eye appeared quick and lively, his countenance serene and pleasant. He looked round upon the company with his eyes, sometimes casting them up towards heaven, as if nothing had ailed him. An air of heaven and glory appeared in his very face, and his countenance, in a manner, thus addressed the spectators:-" Now, farewell father and mother, farewell brother and sisters, farewell friends and spectators; now I am at ease, I behold glorious Christ, glorious angels, receiving me into their abodes of joy. Farewell weary world; welcome Christ, welcome heaven, welcome angels, welcome the spirits of just men made perfect." His countenance invited all that beheld him to follow him to glory, and to prepare for that inheritance he was going to. 4. After his breath was gone and his body swathed, the company having taken a little refreshment, I was called to return thanks, which I did; but, towards the end, when I came to take notice of the present providence, that God had plucked one of the sweetest flowers of the family, my heart burst out into tears, so that I was able to go no further. 5. I find that since the death of the child my soul has been more quickened in the way of duty than formerly, more lively in prayer, more resolute to follow the Lord, and to cleave to him. I find that I needed this spur of affliction to excite me to my duty; and it has made me more importunate with God on behalf of my poor child Henry, who is a-dying, these four or five months, of a decay.

July 1, 1713.-Since the last time I have here marked, I have been sadly, sadly afflicted with the loss of other two pleasant children. My dear child, Henry Erskine, my first-born, having died by the will of God, June 8th, being Monday, about two o'clock in the afternoon-about eight years of age. He took his disease with the measles, about half-a-year ago in Dunfermline, which did cast him into a decay; and having brought him home, the small-pox came into the family, which carried him off about two or three days after the height. He was a blooming, pleasant child; and, according to his age, had an excellent capacity, was profiting exceedingly in his learning,

pressing a desire for Christ, and a desire to be with him rather than with father and mother, and friends and relations, here in this world. And that same day that he died, he frequently desired me to pray with him, and would frequently cry out when he saw me, "O father, father, pray, pray, pray for me!" And I thought it observable that, although all the day he died he was almost continually raving, yet, about half-an-hour before his death, having desired me to pray, he lay perfectly calm and silent during the whole time of prayer. All these things I take as grounds of hope that my sweet Henry is now praising and triumphing with Christ in glory. my sister, Mrs. Balderston, and Catherine Lockhart, another Christian, living about two miles from this, told me that they got great assurances of his life; which I, in charity, think has been of his eternal life, though they had understood it of a temporal.

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Upon the 20th day of June, being Saturday, about four in the morning, the Lord was pleased to take away from me another pleasant pledge-a child of five years of age, his name Alexander. My affections were exceedingly knit to him, and I was comforting myself in naving him, after his brother Henry's death; but it seems the Lord will not allow me to settle my affections on anything here below. I cannot express the grief of my heart for the loss of this child, the other two strokes being so late. I thought I got faith exercised on his behalf upon that word of Christ, "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." The Lord inclined my heart to bring my sweet child unto him, and I could not allow myself to doubt but he would accept of him. The Lord make me content with his dispensations, and give me the sanctified use of the repeated breaches that he has made upon my poor family. I hope to be gathered unto Christ with my little ones ere long. I have had a sore parting; but they and I, I hope, shall have a joyful meeting. They will welcome me to those mansions of glory above; and they and I, with all the ransomed on Mount Zion, will join in an eternal hymn and hallelujah of praise unto Him that sitteth on the throne, and to the Lamb for ever and ever. O to be ready and meet for that inheritance! O to have sanctification perfected, that I may be fit for the work which my pleasant babes are now employed in! If I get the eternal Son of God into my heart, I will not be at a loss for my three sons that are gone. O Lord, let me find upmaking in thyself. I am content to be bereaved of all I have in the world, if thou wilt give me thyself as my sure portion. I will wait for the Lord, and he will strengthen my heart. I dare not deny that he has given secret sup porting grace; otherwise these deep waters had come into my soul, and utterly overwhelmed me.

Upon the 7th day of December, my dear, sweet, and pleasant child, Isabel Erskine, died of the smallpox, on the ninth day of the eruption. I got freedom during her sickness, particularly the same forenoon! before she died, to present her before the Lord, and to plead his covenant on her behalf. The Lord enabled me to quit her freely unto him on this account, that he had a far better title to her than I. She is mine only as her earthly father; but she is his by creation, by preservation, by dedication to him in baptism, and his also, I hope, by covenant and by redemption; and therefore I am persuaded that she is now his by glorification; and that she is with the Lord Jesus and with her dear mother, triumphing with God in glory. I had a particular affection for

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