the unsearchable riches of Christ. If the Lord intend you for that glorious work, he will fit you for it, and make your way plain before you. At the same time, it is a great and solemn work, on which no man should dare to enter without a clear call from God. The advice I would give you with respect to that subject is,—to give yourself to the Lord without reserve; to pray and wrestle for repeated baptisms of the Holy Spirit; to read, meditate, and pray, begging of the Lord to direct you in all your ways; and as you have Mr. Hulett at hand, make him your friend and counsellor. This will not hinder your duties in the school and family—no: I will venture to say, you will be more punctual, correct, and cheerful in every relative duty, in proportion as you enter into the spirit of piety, and attend to those duties which tend to qualify you for future usefulness in the church.

"My dear William, if grace reign in your heart; if you are saved from yourself, (which I hope will be the case;) if you are blessed with power from on high to walk with God day by day; I am not without hope, that at some future time, he may employ you in this work. I am greatly comforted by the account you give me of the work of God in your soul. O hold fast whereunto you have attained. The comfort of my future life will be greatly increased by your steady, vigorous, growing, diffusive piety. Fulfil my joy. * * * * I am, Dear William,

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The painful and long-continued exercises of my father's mind had seriously affected his health, which now began perceptibly to decline, so that though under engagements to the Sheffield Circuit for the next year, he sometimes thought he should be compelled to retire from the itinerant work at Conference. His former cheerful

ness had given place to habitual depression; the rosy hue for which his fine, open, benevolent countenance had been remarkable was gone; and he had begun to look pale, dejected, and shrunk. It was probably this marked change in his appearance that called forth from some kind-hearted unknown friend the only anonymous letter which my father preserved and mentioned to his family

and friends. His general practice was, after reading them, silently to commit them to the flames, not allowing even his most intimate friends to know that any such letters had been received. Many such productions are intended, like the assassin's knife, to wound in the dark; he never allowed the perpetrators of such deeds to enjoy the wretched satisfaction of knowing that their missiles had reached their destination. The letter now referred to was evidently dictated by the opposite spirit. It was dated on the outside, "April 7th," and contained a Bank of England One Pound Note, and these words :— "1 Tim. v. 23.

Under which my father wrote:

"This letter enclosed a pound note. I do not need much wine. However, it was kindly intended: the Lord reward the anonymous donor."-To which the writer of this Memoir adds his hearty Amen. Had all the writers of anonymous letters been actuated by the same spirit, which dictated this, many of them would have much less to fear from the disclosures of that great day when the Lord "both will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels of the hearts." How few of them "then shall have praise of God."

On his birth-day, April 15, he as usual awoke early, and entered upon his fifty-second year with feelings of peculiar solemnity, and renewed acts of self-consecration to the divine service. Referring to his late painful trials, he says:-"My soul rises a little above its sorrows. may I cast my burden upon the Lord, and he will sustain me.

It was in much mercy that he was enabled for a season to rise above his sorrows, for yet heavier trials awaited him. The brief respite, however, was continued until the business of the District Meeting was over, and until he had fulfilled his engagements to attend the annual Missionary Meeting at Birmingham, held on Monday, May the 18th. On the following day, Tuesday 19th, he received intelligence of so afflictive a character as to cast into the shade all that had gone before. The melancholy tidings overwhelmed him. His distress was aggravated by the circumstance that he was from home at the time,

and necessarily much in company. To weep and pray in solitude might have afforded some relief. On the following day he makes this brief and affecting entry in his pocket book:-"Last night restless; this day overwhelmed. Oh! my poor heart is almost broken; yet I am obliged to be in a large company to tea, and to preach.

Sunday, May 24th, was a silent and sorrowful sabbath to my dear father. He could not get up his spirits to appear in public. His place at City Road Chapel was kindly supplied by one of his colleagues; and he spent the day in solitude and prayer. The following touching record of his feelings on this mournful sabbath is found in his diary:"Sunday morning, eleven o'clock, my study, New Chapel, London.-Here I sit in silent, solitary sorrow. My dear wife, Mary, and Joseph are in the chapel my poor John * * * * It is like a

frightful dream. I can hardly believe it real. I will not say, 'All these things are against me.' No: I will trust in the Lord, though he slay me. O Lord, hold thou me up, and I shall be safe. Amen."

After four weeks of deep distress and torturing suspense, we were all struck with the altered appearance of my dear father, when he came down to breakfast on the 19th of June. His countenance,-the faithful index to his mind,-which had long borne the impress of sorrow and deep depression, had strangely recovered its former expression, and once more beamed with peace and joy. He had been pleading with God; and had received such an answer of peace, that his fears which had long alternated with his hopes, were all silenced; and he expressed a full persuasion that the Lord would appear in our behalf. The event justified his confidence. That very day the house of mourning once more became the house of praise and thanksgiving to God. The following evening, my father writes with a heart overflowing with gratitude :Glory be to God! My habitation is in peace.

Four

of my children are about me. John, I hope, is resolved to live to God. My dear wife and I, though enfeebled and enervated by late exercises, are pretty well. Now, I will endeavour to pay my vows unto the Lord. He is my help and my shield. O Lord of hosts, blessed is the man that trusteth in thee."

After frequent consultations with his father, and with his full consent and approbation, my brother determined to go to the United States of America. Before his departure he went into Yorkshire, to visit his relatives at Thorner and elsewhere. About three weeks after, my father attended the Conference at Leeds, where he had the opportunity of one or two interviews with him.

On Wed. July 29, my father rode to Thorner, to see him for the last time before his embarkation, and as the event proved, for the very last time in this world. Although he felt some relief in the hope that in America, at a distance from the injurious connexions he had formed, and by whom he had been ruined, John might again become a respectable member of society; and, when a stranger in a distant land, remember his father's counsels, return to his father's God, and recover his forfeited peace; yet, when the parting hour came, it was almost too much for his shattered, enervated frame.

"At four o'clock, on Winn-Moor, near Thorner," he says, "I took leave of my poor John. It is certain I shall see him no more for years, perhaps never. I wept bitterly. Oh! my almost broken heart! O Lord, support me. O enable me to cast all my care upon thee. A dark cloud seems still to hang over me. How mysterious are thy ways, O Lord; clouds and darkness are round about thee; but righteousness and judgment are the habitation of thy throne. May I trust in thee, and do good. And O my God, remember in thine infinite mercy my poor unhappy son. O save him, I beseech thee, from the world and sin. He seemed much melted

at parting. O Lord, after all, let me have comfort in

him."

CHAPTER XIV.

FROM THE CONFERENCE OF 1818 TO THAT OF 1820 THE SHEFFIELD CIRCUIT.

It was gratifying to Mr. Entwisle's feelings that his old and intimate friend, the Rev. Jonathan Edmondson, was elected President this year: he had a high esteem for him, and considered him well deserving of that honour. His notices of the proceedings of this Conference were few and brief. On the 3rd of August he says,"Our Conference business goes on with much peace and brotherly love an excellent spirit prevails. Twenty-four preachers have died this year? How loudly does this call upon me to be always ready. I find my health and spirits are not what they were some years ago. Perhaps I am ten years older in my constitution, in consequence of the painful exercises of the last two years. Well, I am the Lord's. I am not concerned about the length or shortness of my life. My great concern is, that 'whether I live, I may live to the Lord; or whether I die, I may die to the Lord.""

"Thurs. 13.-Last night about half-past ten o'clock, our Conference concluded its deliberations. Mr. James Wood, Mr. Gaulter, the President, and myself prayed. It was a solemn time. My mind was deeply impressed with the idea of some of us being called hence before another Conference.

"This morning at three o'clock died of apoplexy, William Bramwell. Awful breach! It is about thirty years since I first became acquainted with Brother Bramwell, since which time an intimacy has been kept up between us. We have frequently laboured in neighbouring circuits; and we spent one year together in London. He gave himself' continually unto prayer and the ministry of the word;' and few men have been more devoted to God, or more useful than he.