very low; but I hope the time will come when it shall blossom like the rose. Most of the people in the town appear to be going the church-way, blindfold, to hell. The King has his residence at this place; and the people, like the Romans, must worship like their King. But I pray that the churches may be supplied with gospelpreachers; and then they will be filled with gospel-hearers. May the Lord hasten that happy day!"

On his return to London, where it is probable his stay would have been still protracted, he found a summons from Yorkshire, requesting his presence, to discharge a debt of friendship. Mrs. Pullein, of Follifoot, had exacted a promise from him, that in the event of his surviving her, he should preach her funeral sermon. On her demise, the family wrote to Samuel. His friends told him it was not necessary he should go then, -that he should go on purpose, or even take a journey at all of such a distance, at his age, and during such a season, to preach a single sermon, particularly as there were preachers in Yorkshire who could supply his lack of service. But though they knew the nature of a promise, they felt nothing of its responsibility pressing upon their consciences, and could therefore satisfy themselves with what they were not personally called upon to discharge. Samuel felt it in all its weight, and connected with it all the solemnities of the occasion, and said, "When I meet Mrs. Pullein in the morning of the resurrection, and she asks Sammy, did not you promise to preach my funeral sermon?' what shall I say? I have promised, and must go." He obeyed the call. He took for his text Num

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bers xxiii. 10., "Let me die the death of the righteous;" on reading which he closed the Bible, and said to the people, "Now, if you will live the life, you shall die the death of the righteous; and much more than this I cannot tell you, if I were to preach to you ever so long." Though he had travelled upwards of two hundred miles to preach this occasional sermon, he only spoke about ten minutes.

His warm and kindly feelings, and the utter intractability of his nature to bend to the becoming gravities, whether real or assumed, of funeral occasions, would sometimes disturb the serious aspect of a whole company. As he knew no feelings, except those which he ordinarily carried about with him, so he had but one face, one attitude, one mode of expressing himself, whatever might be the event or the circumstances in which persons might be placed. His sincerity, and his ignorance of all etiquette, would admit of nothing else. Thus, several years prior to this, he was invited to attend the funeral of Mrs. W., of Garforth, on the occasion of whose death, a sermon was preached, and afterwards published, by the Rev. J. Wood. cold collation was provided for the friends on the day of interment, which, as the company was large, was served up in a malt kiln, where one party succeeded another, returning, when refreshed, to a large room. Samuel, with others, had made preparations for a funeral sermon. His text, he told the friends, was given to him in sleep; on which occasion, he had roused Martha, as he had done in reference to the dream which sealed his call to the ministry, and to which she paid equal attention, when the in

A

formation was communicated. The text was, "I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat. But honest Samuel, not being favoured with a concordance, was unable to advert to the book, the chapter, and the verse, where it was to be found, and therefore had to institute an enquiry among his friends for his further satisfaction. He had a heart to receive the impression which truth made upon it, and memory sufficient to retain the sentiment, and often the form of expression; but, like many others, of much more reading, the common-place book of his recollection, could not in every instance carry the penman's title and his page. The mind being set at rest, as it regarded the text, and the excellencies of the deceased being the subject of conversation, Samuel wept, and in the midst of his tears, sent forth the smile of joy at the thought of another soul having weathered the storm of life, and obtained firm footing on the opposite shore, where the heaving surges are smoothed down to a sea of glass. He intimated his intention to preach a sermon on the occasion of her death, in one of the chapels; and stated further, with his usual artlessness notaware that the disclosure would subject him to a little concealed pleasantry, that he had penned his thoughts on the subject, placing his hand to his pocket, with a still further intimation, that he had the MS. with him. Some of the friends, who were less the subjects of sorrow than the immediate relations of the deceased, perceiving that he only required an invitation to bring the production to light, and knowing the singular character which his thoughts assumed in the dress in which they were generally arrayed,

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requested him to read what he had penned to the company,-hoping withal, that some gems might turn up that would interest the hearers. Samuel took hold of his pocket with one hand, and the MS. with the other, and drew it forth, a good deal sullied, and cramped, as though it had been forged in the smithy, and lain in his pocket with other things since it had been written. He sprung from his chair-proceeded across the room-placed his glasses in order— turned his shoulder to the window, and the MS. to the light-looked and looked again-occasionally contracting his eyes, and adding to the adjustment of his spectacles. Not succeeding to his wishes, he turned the other shoulder to the window-permitting as much of the light to fall upon the paper as possible,-hemming, and stammering, and shuffling-till at length in a fit of impatience and disappointment, and without being able to work his way through a single sentence, he threw it down on a table before the Rev. J. Wood, saying, "There, Mr. Wood, -I cannot read it-take it, and try what ye can do with it," smacking his glasses into their case, and stalking across the room again to his When it is remarked, that this was too much for the gravity of Mr. Wood, the reader is left to conjecture the effect produced upon others. Yet, with all this, Samuel was left the subject of weeping, smiling, unsuspecting simplicity.

CHAPTER XII.

Takes a tour through different parts of Yorkshire-low state of the work of God at Warter-gives the preference to vocal music in a place of worship-goes into the Snuith circuitmeets with old friends-is affected with early recollections, on visiting the scene of Martha's juvenile days—returns to Yorkshire-labours in the Easingwold circuit-is again cheered with the sight of old associates-his increasing popularitymeets with a serious accident by a fall from his horse-his conduct when under medical attendance-is visited by Mr. Dawson--his partial restoration to health-visits the West Riding-proceeds into Lancashire—is attacked by an infidel while preaching out of doors at Bolton-is summoned by letter to Grassington-becomes seriously indisposed-witnesses the happy death of his niece-returns home-declines rapidly in health-attends to some funeral arrangements-his state of mind-his triumphant death-the general sympathy excited on the occasion-conclusion.

On his return home, he continued with the same diligence which had previously distinguished his conduct, to benefit his fellow-creatures. The great religious institutions of the nineteenth century, were styled by him "the seeds of the Millenium;" and every act of his own viewed as an effort to force the shoots ;-a tree this, which will throw its mighty shadow over every nation under heaven.

was

'The year (1828) was begun in the spirit in which its predecessor had closed-a spirit purely devotional. Having been at home a short time, he again left it, and went into the Pocklington circuit, tarrying a night on the road, at the house of his old friend, Mr. Peart. One of the travel