to evaporate in idle gossip; but his speech was with grace, seasoned with salt, to minister grace to the hearers." A sententious wisdom secured the respect of the intellectual, while the pious tendency of his discourse won the affections of the devout. When his eldest son, having been educated at Rotherham College, to which Mr. B. was a steady friend, took the charge of a church at Retford, Mr. B. addressed him with all the wisdom of a matured pastor, and all the sacred emotions of a Christian father.

In the latter part of his ministry, having continued to preach three times a day, till he was nearly seventy, his discourses became shorter, and for a brief period he had the assistance of a younger minister.

When the Missionary Society arose, Mr. B. was one of its best friends, and preached one of its anniversary sermons; maintaining, through life, his attachment to its noble object. The last anniversary of the Sheffield Missionary Society, at which he presided, was distinguished by an extraordinary effort to raise an additional hundred pounds, as a token of respect to the chairman, who was retiring from the field. He had been previously assisted by Mr. Miller, now of London.

In the spring of the year 1839, he resigned the pastoral charge, which he had held for about forty-three years. After a short time, he retired to Chesterfield, in Derbyshire, where he waited not long for the promised rest.

Of his last illness his relatives thus write It is to us a source of unspeakable consolation, to have witnessed the holy consistency of his character, and to have seen on his death-bed a beautiful illustration of that scripture, "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace." The disorder with which he was afflicted, produced considerable stupor, which prevented him from speaking much, but what he was enabled to say proved his unshaken confidence in his God, and his perfect willingness to trust his eternal interests into the hands

of his Saviour. During the intervals of consciousness, it was evident, from the raising of his eyes, and the movement of his lips, that he was communing with the Father of spirits. On the morning of the day on which he died, though almost unable to speak, he listened, with evident interest, to the reading of the latter part of the seventh chapter of the Revelation, and his favourite sacramental hymn,

"How sweet and awful is the place,
With Christ within the doors,"

soon after which he closed an illness of about nine days, by calmly and peacefully falling asleep in Jesus.

That the severity of the last winter of his sojourn on earth prevented his attendance at the house of God, was a great trial to him. On each succeeding sabbath morning he expressed his deep regret that he could not unite with the congregation in prayer and praise; for, though he could not hear much, owing to deafness, he loved to be present in the sanctuary, and as soon as the mildness of the spring permitted, he again, for a few times, bent his steps thither. Increasing weakness, however, soon obliged him to desist. The last time he made the attempt was on the first sabbath in May, 1841. On the succeeding sacramental sabbath, instead of having to lament his inability to join in the celebration of redeeming love with the church below, he was uniting with the general assembly and church of the first-born in heaven.

On the sabbath day before his illness, some one remarking, how beautifully the sun shone, his answer indicated the spiritual state of his mind, for raising his eyes, he said, with peculiar emphasis and sweetness,

"He is my Sun, though he forbear to shine, I dwell for ever on his heart, for ever he on mine."

It was a constant practice with him to give a devotional turn to the common occurrences and events of life. He loved to trace the hand of a glorious and benevolent Creator in all his works,

and frequently expressed his thankfulness for the temporal as well as spiritual mercies with which he was surrounded. He was eminently a man of prayer, which was his element. Seldom did his friends depart, even after an ordinary visit, without his pouring out his soul with and for them at the throne of grace.

He often expressed a deep concern for the prosperity of the church of Christ, and particularly for that portion of it with which he had been, for so many years, connected, and frequently uttered an ardent wish, that it might be blessed with a faithful and devoted pastor, and it was a source of high satisfaction and comfort to his mind that he had lived to see that desire accomplished.

His deep humility was evinced by frequent expressions of a sense of his own unworthiness, and often did he lament that he was able to do so little for his heavenly Master. He shrunk with abhorrence from the idea of ascribing any merit to himself; Christ was to him all in all.

One trait in his character as a Christian minister, was eminently conspicu ous; his constant kind attention to the sick and poor of his charge. To visit these he considered not only a duty, but a privilege and a pleasure, and many have had reason to bless God for the edification and comfort which his fervent prayers and kind sympathies afforded them in seasons of sorrow and distress.

As he was born in April, 1757, and entered the church on earth at the age of sixteen, and departed to that in heaven, June 4, 1841, in his eighty-fifth year, he must have been nearly sixty-nine years a member of the Christian church. If there were any living who had been longer in a communion that requires a profession of regeneration, how few must they have been! How pleasant to reflect that his path, so long stretched out, had been as the shining light, shining more and more unto the perfect day.

He was interred in the burial ground

belonging to the Congregational church at Chesterfield, followed by the deacons and other members of his former charge, and his funeral sermon was preached by his successor, who performed the same office, shortly after, for a daughter soon deposited by the side of her honoured father.

Called into the fellowship of the church of Christ, when the church was waking up from long slumbers, he never left her to fall asleep again. Faithful unto death, he turned not aside into divers and strange doctrines, but was a scriptural Calvinist, making a practical use of the doctrines of grace, preaching Christ crucified as the power of God unto salvation. Though he dealt not in abstractions, he had a clear discernment of the strength and weakness of each theological system, and saw far into their tendencies and defects.

But, like the rest of mankind, he partook of the character of his era, and bore the marks of one who entered into active life in the days of George the Second. He was a good speaker, because he was natural, and employed a pleasing voice with sufficient energy to be heard, and with so much devout and benevolent feeling as to be impressive and persuasive. He never pulled down with the one hand, what he built up with the other, and if more sacred fire would have improved his style and elocution, he flung abroad no unholy flames, nor diffused heat without light.

Mrs. Boden, whose piety and prudence rendered her eminently suited to the relation she held, survived her husband about a year and a half.

When disease had so far prevailed that she was unable any more to rise from her couch, and life appeared drawing rapidly to its close, those grand disclosures of mercy, which have been well styled the distinguishing doctrines of the gospel, were nearer and dearer to her heart than ever. Those who were most with her during her illness, know best with what humble faith, and deep

love, and holy joy, she clung to the promises of God's word; how amply her memory was stored with their sacred treasures, more precious in her estimation than thousands of gold and silver; and how often and with what appropriateness the words of the holy vo lume were upon her lips. Frequently, and with great feeling, would she repeat the words, “My Lord, my life, my love, my sacrifice, my Saviour, and my all." As when in health, so even in sickness and age, the Bible was her constant companion; she read it with deep feeling and intense interest; she fed continually on the bread of life, and with joy drew water out of the wells of salvation. Often, when hearing or reading of the sufferings of Christ, the tears would stream down her cheeks, while she expressed her wonder at the greatness of his love, and her joy that now there needed no more offering for sin, and that her precious Saviour would never suffer again.

Once, when complaining of thirst, and something refreshing being given to her, she said, "My adorable Redeemer, when on the cross said, 'I thirst,' and what did they give to him ?" When conversing with a friend, and alluding to the all-sufficiency of Christ, as a Saviour, she said emphatically, "Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God. He is Lord of all; we must begin with this, and end with it; yes, and end with it." She was anxious to impress upon all who came near her, and especially upon her children, the eminent importance of religion, often addressing them: " My dear children," she would say, "keep close to the truth as it is in Jesus," and point out the essential connexion subsisting between the divine atonement of Christ, and all vital godliness.

In the midst of pain and distressing weakness, she repeatedly broke out into singing and praise, and once after a very restless night, about four o'clock in the morning, she sang sweetly and feelingly that verse,

"Then let our songs abound,

And every tear be dry,

We are marching through Immanuel's
ground,

To fairer worlds on high."

She sang also with deep feeling,"Jesus, thy blood and righteousness

My beauty are, my glorious dress,' &c. adding, "Our righteousness is wellnamed filthy rags; but that, that is the robe for a poor sinner." She was fond of sacred poetry, and on an appropriate verse of a hymn being repeated to her, she would frequently finish the hymn herself.

She did not appear to be troubled with doubts or fears as to her acceptance with Christ, but seemed almost constantly to enjoy a holy triumph, mingled with the deepest humility; her heart was fixed, trusting in the Lord. A friend expressing pleasure that her mind was in so peaceful and happy a state, she said, "Yes; I have been highly favoured through Divine grace; whom he loveth, he loveth to the end." Family prayer was always held in her house; and, during her illness, in her room, so long as she was able to bear it. These social opportunities she enjoyed very much, and one evening, after the twenty-third Psalm had been read, she repeated with great feeling that verse, Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

A few hours before she died, one of the family asked her, if she was happy ; though scarcely able to articulate distinctly, she replied, "I am!" and then, being exhorted still to look to Jesus, she said, "Yes, I do, I do ;" and shortly after, without a groan or a sigh, her emancipated spirit took its flight to the bosom of the Saviour she adored.

THE Bible begins the story of the Redeemer's mercy; but it is only a beginning. The whole history of redemption can never be said to be published, till every name on the pages of the book of life has been read, and the leadings of God's mysterious providence, in regard to each one, have been unfolded in eternity.

A few years since I was called from my study to see a stranger. He brought a letter from a friend in Ohio, which stated that he was a man of the right stamp." His name was Joseph W. Barr, then a student at the Theological Seminary at Andover. He was out of health; had walked nearly thirty miles ; and there was nothing very prepossessing in his first appearance. But a few hours' acquaintance only was necessary to discover that he was a man of a strong, well-balanced mind, of deep piety, and of a breast full of benevolence. One great object of his visit was to restore his health, which had become impaired by study. But instead of lying upon the couch, taking gentle exercise, and "light medicines," he hired himself out, for the vacation, as a carpenter; and a better, or more diligent and faithful workman, seldom entered the shop. He received high wages, and the family in which he resided can hardly speak of him, to this day, without tears. On leaving us, he carried away a good stock of health; and more of the heart and good wishes, and pure substantial tokens of confidence from his Christian friends, than if he had spent his time in any other way. While in my study, one evening, I requested him to relate to me his Christian experience, and the dealings of God in regard to his soul. began at once, and did it with such simplicity and humility, that I was compelled more than once to turn away my head to conceal my tears. I wrote down the account just as he had related it, as soon as he had left me.

He

It

is not merely a true account of his conversion, but, as nearly as possible, in his own words :

Among my first recollections is the image of my sainted mother. We lived at the West, in what was then a howling wilderness, but is now the flourishing state of Ohio. My father was a minister and a missionary, and my mother was every way qualified to be his helper. My father was gone much from home in searching for the scattered sheep of Christ's fold, and could not do much towards forming my character. But my mother! she was an angel to me. We lived in a loghouse, and had but one large room; of course she had no closet there. But there was a beautiful grove a little behind the house, and there, as early as I can remember anything, I can remember that she took me by the hand and caused me to kneel by her side, while she prayed aloud for my absent father and for me. At first, I hardly understood it; but soon learned that God, who dwelt far, far above those high trees, could hear her prayer, and was hearkening to her sweet voice. She used statedly to lead me there, and always laid her right hand on my head while she prayed; and feelings of deep awe always came over me. She never omitted this practice whilst she lived; and I there had distinct and correct impressions made as to my character, as well as to the character of God.

She died when I was nine years old, and was buried near by. During the most giddy and wicked period of my life, I could never forget these impressions. The grove is cut down now, but the spot seems a hallowed spot. Even since the grove has been gone, and since my mother's grave has become level with the surrounding ground, I have stood on this spot, and her meek image seemed to be before me, and her voice, tremulous with feeling, seemed