he did not despair of bringing into order a waste so miserably uncultivated; and, by resolution, diligence, prudence, and perseverance, he finally succeeded in producing an astonishing change, not only in the character and manners of his own parishioners, but of the savage inhabitants in other northern districts. On his arrival among them, the people crowded about him, and listened to his discourses with great attention, perceiving him to be a teacher of a very different kind from those to whom they had hitherto been accustomed; and by his truly pastoral and affectionate treatment of them, he quickly gained their confidence, respect, and attachment. Gilpin had not been long settled at Houghton before Bishop Tonstal was desirous of still further improving his fortune, by presenting him to a vacant prebend in the Cathedral of Durham. But resolving not to accept it, he told the bishop that, "by his bounty, he had already more wealth than he was afraid he could give a good account of. He begged, therefore, that he might not have an additional charge, but rather that his lordship would bestow this preferment on one by whom it was more wanted." In these perilous times, (the reign of the sanguinary Queen Mary,) his steady, though mild and temperate, adherence to the reformed religion, involved him in many dangers and difficulties, from which he was often happily extricated, under Divine Providence, by the favour of Bishop Tonstal, and by his own judicious conduct. The malice of his enemies was probably increased by his unaffected piety and exemplary life, which formed a striking satire on their negligence and irregularities. They determined, therefore, to remove, if possible, so disagreeable a contrast and so able a reformer. After many unsuccessful attempts to disgrace and destroy him, their hatred so far prevailed that they procured an order from the merciless Bonner, bishop of London, to have him arrested and brought to that city, where, the bishop declared, he should be at the stake in a fortnight. Gilpin was speedily apprized by his friends of the measures determined against him, and earnestly entreated to provide for his safety by withdrawing from the kingdom. But their persuasions were ineffectual; for having been long preparing himself to suffer for the truth, he now determined not to decline it. He, therefore, with great composure, waited for the arrival of the bishop's messengers, after having ordered his servant to provide a long garment for him, in which he might go decently to the stake. In a few days he was apprehended; but before he reached London, an account of Queen Mary's death was received, by which event he was delivered from any further prosecution. Thus providentially rescued from his enemies, he returned to Houghton through crowds of people, who expressed the utmost joy, and rendered thanks to God for his deliverance. On the accession of Elizabeth, he was offered the bishopric of Carlisle; but this he modestly and firmly declined to accept. Not long afterward, the provostship of Queen's College, Oxford, was tendered to him. This honour and emolument he likewise declined. He believed that he could be more useful in his present charge at Houghton than elsewhere; and this was a consideration superior to every other in the mind of the pious and benevolent Gilpin. After the lapse of many years spent in the cheerful, but laborious discharge of duty, this pious man perceived, from his many infirmities, that his end was drawing near. He told his friends his apprehensions; and spoke of his death with that happy composure which usually attends the conclusion of a good life. He was soon after confined to his chamber. His understanding continued perfect to the last. Of the manner of his taking leave of the world, we have the following account : A few days before his death, having ordered himself to be raised in his bed, he sent for the poor; and beckoning them to his bed-side, he told them he perceived that he was going out of the world. He trusted they would be his witnesses at the great day that he had endeavoured to do his duty among them; and he prayed God to remember them after he was gone. He would not have them weep for him. If ever he had told them anything good, he would have them remember that in his stead. Above all things, he exhorted them to fear God, and keep his commandments; telling them, if they would do this, they could never be left comfortless. His speech began to falter before he had finished his exhortations. The remaining hours of his life he spent in prayer, and in broken conversations with some select friends. He often mentioned the consolations of Christianity; declared that they were the only true ones, and that nothing else could bring a man peace at the last. He died in 1583, and in the sixty-sixth year of his age. 11. HENRY MARTYN. "An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; Ir is truly said, that they live long "who live till life's great work is done." Such was the case with Henry Martyn: his years were few, and the years of his religious life much fewer; yet in those few he laboured successfully for the glory of God, and grew fully ripe for eternal happiness. He was born in Cornwall, in 1781. In 1797 he went to the University of Cambridge; but was at that time a stranger to real piety. Providentially, he possessed a pious sister, whose frequent addresses to him on religion were not lost; and on the unexpected death of his father, in 1799, such deep impressions were made on his heart as appear to have been never effaced. He now began to inquire for a better world; and became anxious that others should do the same. One instance of his success in reproving vice deserves notice. Going to visit the daughters of a person who lay in dying circumstances, he found them apparently cheerful, and was thunderstruck to behold a gownsman, from one of the colleges, reading a play to them. He rebuked this person sharply, and the reproof was so much blessed that it proved the cause of a lasting change; and Mr. Martyn afterward had the happiness of labouring in India with this very student. In 1805 he went out as a chaplain to India. There, besides attending to the duties of his station, he produced a version of the New Testament in the Hindoostanee language. He afterward visited Persia, for the sake of translating the same sacred volume into Persian; and not long after this entered his eternal rest. When in India, he wrote in his journal: "I am happier here in this remote land, where I hear so seldom of what happens in the world, than in England, where there are so many calls to look at the things that are seen. How sweet the retirement in which I live here! The precious word, now my only study, by means of translations! I sometimes rejoice that I am not yet twentyseven years of age, and that, unless God should order it otherwise, I may double the number in constant and successful labour. If not, God has many, many more instruments at command, and I shall not cease from my happiness, and scarcely from my work, by departing into another world. O what shall separate us from the love of Christ? neither death nor life, I am persuaded. O let me feel my security, that I may be, as it were, already in heaven; that I may do all my work as the angels do theirs! and O let me be ready for every work! be ready to leave this delightful solitude or remain in it, to go out or go in, to stay or depart, just as the Lord shall appoint. Lord, let me have no will of my own!" Actuated by these feelings, he went forth to preach the Gospel to the heathen, and it was his fixed resolution to live and die among them. When he left England, he left it wholly for Christ's sake, and he left it forever. Yet he felt the parting from all he loved: but he did not regret having resigned the world; life he knew was but a short journey-a little day, and then, if faithful unto death, his gracious reward would begin. On his voyage he wrote in his journal, September 23: -"We are just to the south of all Europe, and I bid adieu to it forever, without a wish of ever revisiting it, and still less with any desire of taking up my rest in the strange land to which I am going. Ah! no,-farewell, perishing world! For me to live' shall be 'Christ.' I have nothing to do here but to labour as a stranger, and by secret prayer, and outward exertion, do as much as possible for the Church of Christ and my own soul, till my eyes close in death, and my soul wings its way to a brighter world. Strengthen me, O God my Saviour, that whether living or dying, I may be thine!" When in India he deeply felt the misery of those who were perishing around him. On one occasion, when ill, he wrote: "I lay in tears, interceding for the unfortunate natives of this country, thinking with myself that the most despicable soodar of India was of as much value in the sight of God as the king of Great Britain." At another time he remarks: "My soul, much impressed with the unmeasurable importance of my work, |