tice of our great banking houses to balance their accounts every day; and if there be the slightest error, no one leaves his post, till all is rectified. So a Christian should always see to it, that all is clear before he sleeps.

The resolution you have entered into must be pleasing to God; for He calls us to do all the good we can. The great question is, how to do most good? Your queries are very important: I will answer them as well as I can. Perhaps I may be in some degree qualified to do this, because in early life I had to do with many persons of various characters. At the age of nineteen, I had the superintendence of a great concern, and had great numbers to deal with, though not exactly in circumstances like yours. But general rules will apply to many different cases.

1. Never lose sight of your object, the present and eternal good of those with whom you are connected. 2. Watch for opportunities of usefulness to them. 3. Do not speak too often to them; but remember, "A word spoken in due season, how good is it!" I do not think it well to speak very frequently to your pupils on religious subjects, in a direct and personal way, unless you perceive it is agreeable to them. But let your own general spirit and behaviour demonstrate the reality and excellency of religion; and embrace opportunities, as they offer, of giving advice and reproof. There are seasons when most minds are disposed to attend to advice, &c., and at other times, just the contrary. It requires recollection of mind, discretion, and heavenly wisdom to know when and what to say.

Reproof, in general, is best administered in private; for few will bear to be told of what they know to be faults before other persons. General advice may be given with propriety before all; but advice to an individual should be given in private. If you act prudently, there will be little danger of your driving the young gentlemen from the school; yet an injudicious and unseasonable attempt even to do good might prove every way injurious.

Sin is the moral disease of man; and even convalescents have need of medicine. The great art of healing seems to me to consist chiefly in watching and ascertaining precisely the state and stage of a complaint, and in knowing when to apply the proper remedy. So it is in morals. Keep your eye upon them, and you will see how and when to attempt their cure,-especially if you advert to what has occurred in your own case, and daily apply to HIM who giveth wisdom liberally. Get wisdom, get understanding; yet at the same time, beware of losing your zeal. Zeal without knowledge and discretion is like haste in the dark; a man is in danger of running against or falling over something to his hurt; while knowledge without zeal is useless.

The impression on your mind respecting preaching at some future time, may be of God; and I am sure nothing would gratify me more than to have a son to preach 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.................

ence.

I am, dear William,

Your very affectionate Father,
JOSEPH ENTWISLE.

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 thought he should be compelled to retire from the itinerant work at ConferHis former cheerfulness 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 weapon, 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.

"ANONYMOUS."

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 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 15th, 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. 0 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 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. Το 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. O, my poor heart is almost broken; yet I am obliged to be in a large company to tea, and to preach."

;

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 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!"

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. 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 Wednesday, July 29th, 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. O, my almost broken heart! O Lord, support me! 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 XIII.

THE SHEFFIELD CIRCUIT.

1818-1820.

:

Ir 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 3d 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. 13th.-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.

"As he and I sat together in the Conference, I had many opportunities of speaking to him. He had salt in himself, and I found the advantage of being so near him.