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into the habits of the country, and become half a minister and half a farmer, and, in the end, been in danger of sinking the minister of Christ in the man of the world. There ought to be much sympathy with the young minister who is placed over a poor, uneducated people, where he is tempted to eke out a living by some other means than the inadequate support of his congregation,

and he deserves the consideration and watchful inspection of ministers and churches in more favourable circumstances.

"His removal was from Tassagh to Drogheda, a large provincial town in a dense Roman Catholic population. He was its first Presbyterian minister, and he may be said to have found in it neither church nor congregation. He assembled a few who adhered to his ministry, in a room hired for the purpose. His eloquence attracted more to hear him, and the idea was entertained of erecting a church. Those connected with him contributed according to their means, but the funds fell far short of what was required. This circumstance served, in providence, to send him to England and Scotland, and was overruled to bring him into extensive acquaintance with some of the greatest men of their times. He has been at the tables and in the pulpits of Rowland Hill, Dr. Waugh, Mark Wilks, Robert Hall, and many such, when he was only a young and friendless minister, begging funds for the erection of a church in Ireland. He was occupied, more or less, for some years in this work. It had a happy effect on his enlargement of mind and acquaintance with men. And he never gave it up until, by the collection and expenditure of some thousand pounds, he secured a handsome church, a comfortable manse, and a convenient schoolhouse. The remainder of his time in Drogheda was occupied with his spiritual charge. God greatly owned his ministry there. And after a period of thirteen years, he left it a prosperous, healthful, and vigorous church.

"From Drogheda he came to Belfast. The church was built, but he had little more than the empty walls. Materials were, however, at hand, and he was not slow to begin his work upon them. His pulpit services proved to be exceedingly attractive. These were mightily reinforced by his domiciliary visits. The church was speedily crowded. It was enlarged, and still there was not room. He built a manse and a school-house, and then laid himself out exclusively for the spiritual building of the temple of the Lord. An extraordinary attachment bound him and his flock together. Nothing, while he remained, occurred to break the bond that united them. And at the end of nine years' labour he left behind him the largest congregation of Protestants in Belfast. His name is an household word there to the present time, and it never ceased to be universally honoured.

"He came to Islington from Belfast, at the earnest solicitation of some friends, who thought him specially qualified for such a post, and not at all from his own desire, and only by the acquiescence of his brethren in the ministry. Of his labours in London and England I will say nothing-you are witnesses to them. God spared him to do here what he was privileged to do in other places; he put the machinery in full operation, and then he was taken away. I have often heard him say, he thought his work was to gather a church. He did that in every place to which the Lord sent him. And so, having gathered this church, the Lord was not pleased to employ him farther, but took him to himself."

To this biographical sketch, we cannot forbear adding the touching and tender appeal of our friend, the Rev. James Hamilton, which must have been deeply affecting to the attached friends of Mr. Wilson:

"My dear friends, the last time I stood here was a happy day in this congregation's history. It was the day when, nearly doubled in its size, this church

was re-opened for God's worship and the preaching of his Word. It was a happy day to him who, coming a stranger to this capital, found himself, in a few months, encircled by an overflowing audience, and, what he loved more dearly, an affectionate flock. It was, doubtless, a day of bright prospects and high purposes; and when I viewed his ubiquitous activity, and envied his abundant strength, I little dreamed that the following year should bring a day like this. When I recall the fresh and expectant aspect of the reopened sanctuary, as of a place which counted on a long succession of pentecostal sabbaths, and when I think how suddenly your Bethel has darkened into Bochimwhen I remember the glow of friendly congratulation which shone from every countenance, and contrast it with those looks of sorrow which speak too plainly of a glory that has departed—and, above all, when I picture to myself that erect and joyous form which then stood upon these stairs; the conscious energy which exulted in every movement, and the cordiality which, from every line of that manly visage, beamed incessant and profuseand when I think that that noble heart will stir no more till it starts responsive to the Archangel's trump; and remember that the heavens will be fled before we see that face of love again-emotions rise, which, were we yielding to them, would defeat our object in coming now together. And, therefore, in fulfilment of the task assigned me, I would remind you of some specialities in the character of my beloved brother, which it would be well never to forget, and better still to follow; and I would speak a word of sympathetic exhortation to those to whom this grief comes nearest.

"And, first of all, you who loved him; do you consider the end of his conversation? It was Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. This Saviour was to his servant the same in the hour of mortal weakness, as in the days of his highest health and most abundant labours. During the three months of his last sickness, I had never seen him; but on the

last Monday morning of his life, obedient to the message of a friend, I hastened to his chamber. Feeble and worn as the body was, the mind was fresh and clear; and, whilst the light of his sunniest days sometimes sparkled in his eye, his words were singularly distinct and deliberate. He told me, 'I am resting on Christ, and I find him sufficient;' and he added, 'At communions and other seasons I have felt more rapturous emotion than at any time during this sickness; I have sometimes known what it was to be ravished with Christ's love. But I feel that he is with me, and he will go down into the valley with me.' Speaking of his experience, he said, 'To me it is a nail fastened in a sure place, that passage, "Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord." For long I feel that the Lord has been drawing me away from all that is unrighteous and unholy, and drawing me towards all that is Christ-like; and as I feel that he has been doing this in me, I have no doubt of what he has done for me, "and he will have mercy upon me; and our God will abundantly pardon." And even during this attack, he has done more in the way of drawing me to himself, than in any former illness. I have an ardent and impetuous spirit, and used to be impatient and hasty; but the Lord has at length given me a weaned spirit.' He then took an affecting review of his twentysix years in the ministry. Feeling that his work was done, it evidently comforted him to think that his labour had not all been vain. 'The Lord gave me souls at Drogheda, and he gave me souls in Townsend-street. I began at a little place called Tassagh, and though a great deal of it must have been sad stuff, yet the gospel was in it, and my heart was in it, and the old women of Tassagh looked up to their young minister as if he had been an angel from heaven.' As he said this, a quaint smile twinkled from his eye. Then, with great solemnity, he reverted to his labours here. Though many motives would mingle with it, the

great desire of my ministry was, that Christ should be exalted. And though I do not know many cases of conversion here, yet we have had blessed seasons in that house,' turning his face towards it, as if he were looking into it. 'There have been sabbath evenings, especially, when the Lord was assuredly with us.'

"The tone of his remarks during his closing days showed that the same Saviour whom he had proclaimed to others was to the end his own trust and treasure. On the last sabbath, when they were holding his aching head, he said, 'Christ had no one to hold his head. They all fell asleep. How often have I sinned against that holy Jesus; but his blood cleanseth from all sin.' And then he quoted the hymn,

'There is a fountain fill'd with blood,

Drawn from Immanuel's veins;

And sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.'

"He mentioned, that a few weeks previously, when left alone on a sabbathevening, he thought it right to see how his soul stood with God, as he felt his disease to be of a very serious nature. He said, that he had then had a very precious time with Christ; that he had got such views of the Saviour as had comforted and strengthened him ever since; and that he had been enabled to enter into covenant with God. That evening, his family sang the twenty-third Psalm by his bed-side. He joined in it with surprising fervour, and remarked, when it was ended, how many of God's children had gone down to the grave singing that psalm.

"Amidst all those recollections of the past which might have awakened complacency, he retained an humble and selfrenouncing spirit. He never alluded to his labours, but he also spoke mournfully of the self which had mingled with them; and on the Monday, something led him to say, 'Our sins are brought out in bold relief when we compare our advantages with those of the humble peasant.' And sin was the object of his sanctified abhorrence; as, on that same day he exclaimed

with vehemence, 'I could not live with sinners.'

"The severe sufferings of Monday night, brought forcibly to his mind the thought, 'Absent from the body, present with the Lord.' And amidst the exhaustion and frequent anguish of the following day, the words were often heard, Christ is precious; Christ is all in all.' During a violent paroxysm, he remarked, 'He is purging my soul from sense and sin.' And though his pain was great, his spirit was serene. When the 23rd Psalm was repeated, at the words, 'death's dark vale,' he interposed, 'The valley is not dark.' During the day he had often asked the hour, wishing to know when his medical attendants would come. When a fear was expressed that they could do nothing for him, he answered, 'Oh, dear! I don't mean that at all.' At last they came, and he energetically asked, 'How long will my sufferings continue? Is it one hour or two? For I have a desire to depart and be with Christ.' But the effort of this inquiry exhausted his remaining strength. His desire was instantly granted. His head fell back on the pillow; the prison opened, and his ransomed spirit was with Christ.

"Whilst it is our great comfort to know that Christ was the theme of his ministry, and the object of his supreme attachment, it is delightful to remember the love he bore to all around him. A kindly warmth pervaded all his disposition; and there is nothing friendly, and nothing affectionate, which did not largely dwell in him. He was catholic. It was no effort to him to hold out the hand of fellowship; the struggle would have been to hold it back. And whilst he felt a chivalrous enthusiasm for our own particular system, and was ready to defend it when occasion required, he liked better to stand forth the champion of the gospel. On a denomi national platform he was apt to feel the want of sea-room, and his kindly feeling was a continual caveat, hampering him with the fear of hurting others; whilst, in the service of other communions, he could spread a gallant canvas, and bear

away as fast as the breeze would fly. | And he was brotherly. To his associates in the ministry he clung with cordiality, as fellow-labourers in the kingdom of Christ; and, not content with official intercourse, he got the brethren of London Presbytery to spend the first Monday morning of every month together; and, whilst himself the soul of these re-unions, he was always anxious to make them subservient to our common ministry. And he was friendly. Good-will to man was an element in his character so abounding that he could no more hide it than the sun can make a secret of his light and heat. But he did not try to hide it, any more than he tried to exhibit it. He just went out and in, and a genial warmth went with him. There was an air of hospitality about his house, as well as in his open and ardent mien, which held out a welcome to all and disappointed none. The feeling of shyness and strangerhood was as unknown to him as was the sensation of fear to our great sea-captain; and he moved about as much at home everywhere as if he had come into the world on its own invitation. And, at the same time, his Christian courtesy, and his unmistakable sincerity, made it as winning as it was genuine, insomuch that the warmth of his disposition was the great facilitation of his work. Ice may be melted by sprinkling it with salt; but it may also be melted by bringing it near the fire. Sound doctrine may endear a minister; but whilst Mr. Wilson's doctrine was sound, his heart was warm; and when he heard of prejudices against the truth, or against himself, he always tried the hot and rapid fusion of his benignant personal intercourse. And just as he carried people captive by his kindness, so he retained them by his consistent character and untiring good offices. His liberality was great, and though his income increased he was none the richer, for he gave the more away. And in do

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mestic life he had all the radiant complacency and endearing tenderness of a man awake to his own happiness. The words of grateful fondness and saintly counsel spoken in that sick-room will remain in the casket of individual memory; and when the dying husband and father prayed, Holy Jesus, keep these two precious ones,' we doubt not that the trust was accepted, and that the Saviour smiled upon a love which breathed its last in prayer.

"And here I may name the distinguishing beauty of your pastor's ministry,--his affection for his flock. Brethren, he was 'gentle among you; and being affectionately desirous of you, he was willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also his own soul, because ye were dear unto him.' His flock was but his larger family; and as he laid himself out for you, so he lived amongst you, and in almost every thought and feeling mingled with you. I have no hesitation in saying that the idea most frequent in his mind was his people; and that his most obvious end in existence was to promote your good. On the day before he died he sent for the elders of the church, and, amidst many expressions of personal regard and gratitude, he said, 'As far as God has enabled me, I have endeavoured to preach the gospel. My object was to cast out the gospel net and win souls. Though all my discourses may not have been alike useful, they were all the result of previous study; and I now reflect with satisfaction on the doctrines preached in them, and hope the minds of some may be influenced by them when I am silent. I had great delight in my work among my people, and next to my own family they were nearest my heart... If God should now lay me aside, I think, brethren, you should fill the gap as speedily as you can. I have no desire to dictate, but you should look out for a man of God, a man of standing in the church, a godly man who would be acceptable to the people, and that without delay, that the congreAfter other gation may not scatter.' remarks to the same purport, he invited

one of them to pray; and when the prayer was ended, embracing them and commending them to God, he bade them solemnly farewell. All throughout his illness, and especially towards its close, his house was frequented by his anxious hearers, and during the last few days of his life some of them were never absent from his chamber; so that, as his dearest friend remarked, he died as he had lived, amongst his people.

rested on the grass. That was Highgate.' And so for Highgate he decided. I have quoted these words, for they show how his affection and warmth of feeling survived when the flesh was weak; and what composure and recollection his perfect peace imparted to his dying thoughts.

"Were I asked to name in a single word the characteristic of Mr. Wilson's mind, I would say that it was ARDOUR. It was this which fired his diligence, and made him a pattern of working alacrity; it was this which glowed in his social intercourse, and caused him to fascinate affection wheresoever he moved; and it was this which poured a molten stream in his

in fusion sterling principle, and finding outlets through the frankness and obligingness of his benevolent nature, his temperament, his very self was Ardour. Next to doing nothing he would have felt it the greatest misery to be doing things by halves; and it was this entireness and intensity of soul which made him a man of power. He had no idea of husbanding himself, and never knew any season more important or more convenient than the present. If called to speak at some second-rate meeting, or to preach to some scanty congregation, instead of contenting himself with a few casual remarks, judging by his physical and intellectual expenditure, you would have thought it, as he always thought it,

"Simple in itself, but the more illustrative of some features of his character, I may here repeat a conversation which took place on the last evening of his life. He began to speak about the place where he would like to be buried; and so amaz-eminently popular eloquence. Holding ing was his tranquillity, that he made all around him calm. Once he had wished to be laid beside his father and mother in their quiet resting-place in Ireland; but now that wish had left him. He then mentioned Norwood, as his relatives had there some ground, but said it was too far if any of his congregation wished to visit his grave. Then, turning to a friend who stood beside him, he asked, 'Where is your family's burying place?' His friend told him that he feared it might not suit, as it was consecrated ground, and required the burial service. • You see, dear friend, I would have liked to carry my social feelings to the grave.' And after alluding to happy days long since, when he used to nurse the little daughter of his friend, now the occupant of that consecrated ground-he added, with a pleasant smile, 'I am no bigot, but I would not like my own brethren excluded at my funeral. One day in Bunhillfields I saw a vacant space beside the grave of Dr. Waugh, and I thought I would like to be buried there, for, surely, on the resurrection morning it would be delightful to see first of all the happy face of Dr. Waugh. What would you think of Highgate, Mary?' In the confusion of grief his wife did not at the moment remember where Highgate was. 'Oh, don't you remember the fine day last summer when I was getting better? We took a drive out of town, and then

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momentous occasion. And in the same way, whatever he undertook, so far as it depended on himself, was sure to be consummated. Whether it was the opening of a new station, or the building of a church, or the still more difficult task of building a congregation, he threw his entire soul into it; and whilst his single exertions promised to achieve the object, it always happened that his transfusive zeal speedily gathered helpers round him. His work is not done, Of some of his labours the fruit is already safe in the garner of God, and it will be long ere the last has followed him. The souls quickened by his ministry, and the schemes which got impulse

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