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you choose to toil and drudge all your life, as you have done these few days past, living on coarse food, clad in frieze clothes, and with brogues on your feet; or to apply to your books, and eat and drink, and be dressed like your brothers here?"-pointing to his brothers, who, as it was vacation, had just come down from the University, decked out in choice Dublin finery. Poor Philip, whose bones ached with the hand-barrow, said, he would readily go to school, and be attentive to his studies in future. He kept this resolution, and continued studious ever after.

After the death of the father, the means of subsistence for so large a family were not abundant; but this was in part supplied by the care and prudence of the mother in managing her affairs. Skelton was thus still kept at the grammar-school; and though his parts did not seem quick or retentive, his diligence and zeal enabled him to overcome every obstacle. When he was at a loss for candles to read at night, which frequently happened, he made use of furze, which he gathered for the purpose, and throwing it piece by piece upon the fire, read by the glimmering light. Such was the expedient suggested by his ardent desire for learning. He liked to tell in after days, that when he was at school, he and some of his schoolfellows, who were also remarkably studious, used to meet together in the fields, and examine each other most strictly for half-pence. He who could not answer the question proposed was forced to give a half-penny to the boy who examined him; and this made them prepare themselves with great care, for halfpence were scarce in those days.

he said to him, "Child, I'll ruin you for
ever!" "V
"Will you ruin my soul, Sir?"
Skelton replied. "No," he said; "but I'll
ruin you in the college here." "O, Sir,"
Philip observed, "that is but a short 'for
ever.'

The same year in which he took his degree of B. A., being then at home, in the parish of Derriaghy, a remarkable circumstance occurred, which he ever after regarded as an instance of the Divine judgment. He was then twenty-one years of age, and since he was eight years old, he had never once omitted, morning or evening, to offer up his prayers to God, until one morning two or three of his companions broke in upon him, while he was in bed, and carried him off with them "to play long-bullets." While they were engaged in this exercise, a three-pound ball, thrown by one of his companions, hit a stone, and leaping back struck him above the left eye, flattening the projecting part of the skull. He fell to the ground as one dead, and was taken to the house of a woman who knew something of surgery: she stitched the wound in five different places, and kept him for some time at her house. A small splinter of bone came away from the skull before he quite recovered; and he always considered that an originally excellent constitution had been much shattered by this hurt. Connecting this circumstance with the fact that for this morning only, during so many years, had he omitted prayer to God, he always regarded it reverently as a warning judgment, and special providence towards him.

Not long after this (in 1729) he entered the University, on a nomination to the curacy of Newton Butler, in the county of Fermanagh; but this did not prove a congenial sphere, and two or three years after we find him in another curacy at Monaghan, where he was enabled to give full scope to his ardent longings for ministerial usefulness. longings," says his biographer, "were all spiritual, and he only desired an opportunity of being more extensively useful: for long ago, he had fixed his thoughts upon the rewards of a better world than the present."

"His

On leaving school, Philip entered as sizar at Dublin University. He there applied himself with great diligence to the studies of the place, and acquired the reputation of a good scholar. He also cultivated an acquaintance with what are called "the manly exercises;" and, excelling himself in conversation, he even thus early evinced that fondness for congenial society which characterized the whole of his long life. And here it may be remarked that he became a tall, handsome, and powerful man,-capable He entered upon the cure of Monaghan of feats of strength which few others durst with that eager zeal for the salvation of souls, attempt. The provost of the University in which a warm sense of duty only could inthose days exacted great servility from the spire. He deeply felt the obligations imposed students; and Philip's indisposition to ren- upon him. Well assured that he must be der this, soon made the reigning provost accountable hereafter for his discharge of the his enemy. On one occasion he accused the awful trust committed to him, he resolved youth of being a Jacobite; and, without to act as one whose hopes and fears were heeding Skelton's firm but respectful denial, placed beyond the grave. He gave up all

he spent.

answerable to God for every penny
And yet, with all this, he contrived, after
paying his board and lodging, to present his
mother with ten pounds a year, towards the
support of herself and children. He visited
her annually at Christmas, and then gave her
this sum in return for a pair of stockings of
her own knitting.

Eighteen years he pursued this course, with manifest advantage to the parish, and, doubtless, with corresponding blessing to his

his thoughts and all his time to the instruction of the people. Their spiritual and temporal welfare was the sole object of his cares. He laboured earnestly in the ministry; he visited the parishioners from house to house, without distinction of sect; he conversed with them freely, striving to mingle entertainment with instruction. The children he catechised every Sunday evening in the church; and when they became thoroughly acquainted with the original catechism, he made them learn the proof catechism, which confirms and illus-own soul. trates the doctrines of the other by texts of Scripture. On a particular evening in the week, which he appointed, he invited people of every age to his lodging, that he might instruct them in religion. By the blessing of God upon these various labours, the objects of his care became so well grounded in religious knowledge, that it used to be said that the children of Monaghan knew more of religion than the adults in any of the neigh-examine it, and judge if the sale would quit bouring parishes.

In the pulpit Mr. Skelton displayed that strong and manly eloquence which arrests the attention of the hearers. "He explained to them," says his biographer, "in plain and powerful language, the threats and promises of the Gospel; he declared to them the indispensable conditions of salvation; he placed, like a faithful servant of the Lord, heaven and hell before their eyes, and left them to make their choice for themselves." His large, gigantic size, his strong expressive action, his clear distinct delivery, his power of changing the tones of his voice and the features of his face, to suit his purpose, and above all the sincerity of his heart, made an irresistible impression upon his hearers. They were insensibly carried away with him,—they were astonished,—they were convinced.

Towards the close of this period he had finished his important work, "Deism Revealed,” and made a journey to London to arrange for its publication. On his arrival in London, he took his manuscript to Andrew Millar, the bookseller, to learn if he would publish it, and print it at his own expense. Millar requested that he would leave it a day or two, and he would get a gentleman of great abilities to

the cost of printing. This "gentleman of great abilities," who sat in judgment upon "Deism Revealed," was no other than David Hume, the infidel. He came, it seems, to Andrew Millar's shop, took the manuscript into a back parlour, examined it here and there for about an hour, and then said to Andrew, Print." This is a remarkable incident, and reminds one of the parallel fact, that Dr. Reid's attack on the ideal theory, was examined by Hume, and received his commendation before it went into print.

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The publisher allowed the author a large number of copies of the work for the manuscript; and these he readily disposed of among the citizens; for, during his stay in London, he acquired great reputation as a preacher, and the churches in which he preached were crowded by attentive hearers. "The citizens of London," he said himself, His life was entirely conformable to his with some simplicity, "were, at that time, preaching. "It was a pattern of every virtue, excellent men, and admirable judges of preachbeing decorated with piety, chastity, humility, ing." In this way he made about two hunand charity." For this last amiable quality, dred pounds by his work, some of his adhe was during all his life most eminently mirers taking several copies off his hands. distinguished. At this time his curacy Having this money at command, Skelton afforded him a fixed salary of forty pounds a spent great part of his time in going about year,-equal perhaps to about twice the the city, purchasing books at a cheap rate; sum at the present day. This income may and thus, at the cost of nearly all the money, seem but barely sufficient for the mere sub-except just enough to take him home again, sistence of a clergyman. Yet, with it Mr. became the possessor of "a good library for a Skelton contrived to do wonders. He dis- curate," though not perhaps so good a library bursed the greater part of it among the poor as might now be had for the same money; for of his flock, and scarcely allowed himself among many things that have become far even the necessaries of life. He avoided all dearer, books have become much cheaper than unnecessary expenses, accounting himself they were in those days.

"Deism Revealed" acquired a high reputation, and a second edition was called for in less than a year. It is reported, that soon after its appearance, the Bishop of Clogher, happening to be in company with Dr. Sherlock, Bishop of London, the latter asked him if he knew the author of this book. "O, yes," he answered, carelessly; "he has been a curate in my diocese these twenty years." "More shame for your lordship," replied Sherlock, "to let a man of his merit continue so long a curate in your diocese."

In fact, not long after his return to Ireland with his precious cargo of books, the Bishop of Clogher did give him the living of Pettigo, in Fermanagh, a parish fifteen miles long, and ten broad; but it yielded no larger income than two hundred pounds a year. This, however, was wealth to one who had so long been

"Passing rich with forty pounds a year."

tage to cottage, over mountain, rock, and heath. He was then a witness to many scenes of sorrow, deeply felt by his tender and sympathising soul. In one cabin he found the people eating boiled "prushia”* by itself, for breakfast, and tasted this sorry food, which seemed nauseous to him. But the next morning he gave orders to have prushia gathered and boiled for his own breakfast, that he might live on the same sort of food as the poor. He ate this one or two days; but at last, his stomach revolting against it, he set off immediately for Ballyshannon to buy oatmeal for them, and brought thence, with all speed, as much as appeased the hunger of some of them. He also entrusted a person with money, that he might go through the parish and distribute it among those who were in great distress. By this supply many of the poor who were so weak with hunger that they could not rise out of their beds, speedily grew so strong as to be able to get up. Having thus afforded present relief, the good rector journeyed to Ballyshayes, in the county of Cavan, where oatmeal was selling at a cheaper rate than nearer home, and bought up a large quantity for the use of his people; and then, having personally investigated their degrees of want, he distributed as every one had real need,—giving to some a peck, to others more, and allowing some who could afford to pay a little, to purchase at about half the value. He thus, like his Great Master, went about doing good.

He found his parishioners sunk into a state of such profound and barbarous ignorance, though many of them were nominally Protestants, that he declared they knew no more of the Gospel than the Indians of America; so that he might regard himself as a Missionary sent to convert them to Christianity. In this vocation he laboured diligently, pursuing much the same course as in his curacy, but with greater labour and travel, the parish being so much larger. The demands upon his enlarged income were increased in proportion. In Pettigo the greater number of the inhabitants were poor Catholics, living in wretched hovels, among barren rocks and heath; among whom there were many real objects of charity, requiring the assistance of the humane and charitable. In such a station the benevolent disposition of Mr. Skelton found full exercise; and it may safely be said, that no human breast ever overflowed with more genuine charity than his. "His won-husband, who was a herdsman, took from derful acts of goodness," says his enthusiastic biographer, "will be remembered for ages in that remote corner of the north, and be transmitted from father to son for successive generations."

The most striking instance of this occurred during one of those dreadful famines with which Ireland has, even to our own day, been almost periodically visited. Such a dearth occurred in 1757; and the effects of it were felt most severely in the rough and barren lands of Pettigo. Mr. Skelton then went out into the country to ascertain the real state of the poor; and travelled from cot

One day, when he was travelling on this business through the country, he came to a lonely cottage in the mountains, where he found a woman lying in childbed, with a number of children about her. All she had, in her weak, helpless condition, to keep herself and her children alive, was blood and sorrel boiled up together. The blood, her

the cattle under his care, for he had none of his own. This is said to have been a usual sort of food in that country, in times of scarcity, for they bled the cows for the purpose, and thus the same animal often afforded both milk and blood. We find that Bishop Gleig, in his edition of Stackhouse's "History of the Bible," mentions the same revolting custom, as subsisting "not many years ago," in the highlands of Scotland; and regards it as illustrating the ancient usages in the employment of blood for food, which are interdicted * A weed with a yellow flower, that grows in corn-fields.

in both the Old and the New Testaments. Leviticus vii. 26; Acts xv. 20.

At the same time, Mr. Skelton, and one James Good," a strong man," undertook to regulate the Pettigo market on a Monday, to prevent the meal that was brought for sale from being seized by force by the people of the neighbouring parishes, made desperate by hunger. The two, covered with flour, posted themselves among the meal-sacks, each armed with a huge club, and presenting a most formidable aspect to intending depredators. By his rigorous measures, and his discreet but boundless liberality, Mr. Skelton was tolerably successful in keeping his people alive. But, at length, his means were utterly exhausted; and he knew that the dearth must continue many weeks more, before the new crop could afford relief. The apprehension that he should see them perish, after having kept them alive so long, drove him to his last resource;—and the sacrifice which it involved will be keenly appreciated by every minister and every educated man; especially when he reflects, that at Pettigo the rector was cut off from all congenial intercourse. He used to call it his Siberia, and to say, that he was banished from all civilized life. He was often, in after life, heard to declare, that he was obliged to ride seven miles before he could meet with a person of common sense to converse with! His highly-prized books were, therefore, the only real companions of his many solitary hours; and these he now resolved to sell, in order to find means of relieving the wants of his flock. He, therefore, sent them off to Dublin to be sold, where they were forthwith advertised for sale; but as purchasers were tardy, and the wants of the poor very urgent, the bookseller to whom they were consigned, bought them himself for eighty pounds. It happened that the advertisement attracted the attention of two ladies, who, guessing the reason for this sacrifice, sent him fifty pounds, requesting him to keep his books, and relieve his poor with the money. However, with many expressions of gratitude, he informed these good ladies that he had dedicated his books to God, and they must be sold. Consequently, their contribution, with the money he obtained for the books, were both applied to the relief

of the poor.

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Such," says the biographer, were the exertions and extraordinary charities of this exemplary clergyman for the preservation of his poor parishioners. He was, indeed, like an angel sent down to visit them in their

distress. A few such primitive apostolic Christians in this kingdom, might almost be sufficient to avert the Divine judgment, which God knows how soon may overtake us for our sins." (To be continued.)

PASTORAL VISITS.*

“EDWARD,” said Henry, "do let me go with you to see your sick people."

"If you have any particular fancy for it, you may, Henry; at least, into those houses where there is no infectious disease.”

"Why! do you visit people who have infectious diseases?"

"Of course I do."

"Are you not afraid of taking the infection ?"

"We were talking just now of Providence. If I, from fear of infection, avoided visiting persons whose maladies are of that nature, I should plainly show that I have not the faith in God's providence that I profess to have” "But is there not such a thing as tempting Providence?"

"There is: but when we go into circumstances of danger in performing our duties to God and man, we may expect and count upon God's watchful care; besides this, I believe implicitly that my time and manner of death are already determined upon by God, and that nothing can have power over me until that time arrive."

"And yet, Edward, persons, and clergymen too, do take infectious diseases and die."

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They do, Henry; and they account for it in the language of one of old, 'It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good!""

"Do you make use of precautions before entering houses where there are infectious diseases?"

"Invariably."

"Why so, if, as you say, you are so completely dependent upon God's care?"

"Because God requires us, in things spiritual as well as temporal, to make use of all the means afforded us for either strengthening the soul or preserving the body. If I were ill, I would send for the doctor, although perfectly aware that my cure would rest in God's hands alone. I preach the Gospel every Sunday, and visit during the week; but, at the same time, I know that 'Paul may plant, and Apollos may water, but it is

Taken, by permission, from "The Unseen Hand," by the Rev. Stopford J. Ram, M.A. Bath: Binns and Goodwin, 1853.

God alone that giveth the increase.' And now we must go."

The cousins proceeded for some little distance along the main street, in which Stanhope's lodgings were situated, and then, turning to the left, they entered a rather narrow by-street; along this they proceeded for about a hundred yards, and turning again to the left, they entered a square court, surrounded by wretched-looking houses, in a fargone state of dilapidation; one or two of them, indeed, being so much out of repair, that at first sight they appeared perfectly uninhabitable. To one of these latter houses, however, Edward bent his steps, and motioning Henry to follow him, he began to ascend, with considerable caution, the ricketty staircase. As they reached the top of the second flight, they were met by a man of respectable appearance, dressed in a simple suit of black, and carrying under his arm a book which looked like a well-used Bible. Edward accosted him.

"How is he to-day, Wykes?"

"Almost gone, Sir. Mortification has set in, and will soon reach a vital part.” "And how about his soul?"

Wykes shook his head mournfully, and proceeded down the staircase, at the same time giving vent to a deep sigh.

"Who is that, Edward?"
"Our Scripture-reader."

They entered the room, which, although of considerable size, felt hot, close, and heavy. A bed and an old box were the only articles of furniture it contained. Upon the bed lay what at first sight appeared to be a mass of filthy rags, but upon their entrance it showed symptoms of life. They drew near the miserable pallet, and Henry gazed upon the most wretched object, without exception, that he had ever seen. The face was that of a man in extreme old age, though, from the manner in which the features were concealed with matted hair and filth, it was almost impossible to discern the form or expression of his countenance. The clothes which he had worn before he took to his bed, two days before, were still upon him, and no power would induce him to have them removed. The only signs of comfort about him were two warm blankets sent to him from the clothing club of the parish. He turned his head, and fixed his eye upon Edward.

"Do not you know who I am, John?" "Eh?-No.-Yes I do; it's the minister, ain't it?"

""Tis, John: how are you to-day?” "How am I? look here!"

And he with his right hand removed the covering from his left, exposing to view a hand and arm in the last state of mortification, fearful to see: Henry almost sickened at the sight.

"Now I think you know how I am, don't you?" he continued. "And the doctor, him, might have stopped it if he'd come in time. May the "

"Hush, hush! poor old man; curse not in what may be your last hour here on earth:

-think of yourself, your soul that can never die, and must live either in heaven or hell for ever."

"He'd have gone to a rich man, who could have paid him for the job, fast enough; but it's not likely he'd hurry himself to come to the likes of me: hundreds such as me may die for all he cares, so long as he gets his guineas from the rich."

"Will you listen to me, my poor friend, while I say a word to you?"

"Yes, I'll listen to you,-you're a gentleman, and a minister, and you speak kindly to me; yes, I'll listen to you."

"The soul that sinneth, it shall die.'" "We must all do that." "The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the people that forget God.'”

"And a many of them there will be: I've been bad enough, but no worse than most."

“And in hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torment. "

"Ay, and there's many has torments on earth, God help 'em!”

"Amen. God help them."

"O, my poor arm hurts me so bad. can hardly bear it!"

I

How, then, could you bear the pains of

hell?"

"God knows, Sir, I don't."

"Nor I. Why not try to escape it?"

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Escape it! I hope I'm not going there.

I hope God 'll be merciful to me."

"Not when you refuse to listen to His offers of mercy, as you did the other day; not when you wilfully blaspheme God's name, and pray for the damnation of your fellowcreatures; not when you think that you may continue to the last in open wickedness. You know that you are at this moment guilty before God because of these very sins, and how can you expect mercy?"

"I don't know, I don't know! I'm a poor scholar; the Lord have mercy upon me!

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