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passions, tearing your spirit to atoms; that your prospects at times are so gloomy that you see no haven where you may hide your poor shipwrecked soul for awhile, till clearer openings of a smiling Providence make your way more satisfactory to your own mind. Well, my friend, I assure you that the confidence you repose in me shall never be a source of self-reproach to you; and, as for my advice, what can I say, under God, to compose your unsettled spirits ? I perceive your state in a small degree. As for your temporal circumstances, my knowledge is very superficial indeed. All that I know is from a few hints dropped at Hunslet that day; and you may be sure they would be very little, as it was not a day proper for entering into such conversation. Besides, were I more fully informed, I do not know that I am a competent judge to furnish you with directions and cautions fully suitable for you. However, when I direct your soul to the Lord Jesus Christ, and a reconciled God in him, I know my directions are safe, and you may implicitly follow them. But, precious soul, why are you sanguine? Why such strong convulsions when your way is plain? Affection for the young man pleads for, and conscience remonstrates against, the union. An over-eager desire wishes for a comfortable livelihood in the world, and tormenting fear racks you lest you should lose a part of your all in the attempt; and thus your mind feels tortured with distress, bordering upon despair. You answer, " That is true what you say : but, O miserable I, what shall I do ?” My dear friend, with respect to your soul your way is plain. Return to your rest.

Your Saviour calls, " Come unto me, and I will give you rest." Turn your aching heart and weeping eye to your best Friend. Beg of Him to dissolve your heart in genuine, humbling repentance for your past folly in departing from Him. I am led to think part of your distress is "worldly sorrow," which "worketh death." The enemy endeavours to increase this kind of sorrow, in order to distract your thoughts, and discompose them from the holy sighs, the generous tears, the humble, hearty application to Jesus in prayer; and all the composed vigorous resolutions of “godly sorrow," which "worketh repentance unto life not to be repented of.” Fly back with hasty steps to the bosom of your Redeemer. Make Him the central point of your desires and

hopes. “Cast your care upon Him; He careth for you.” Let Him have your whole heart. Aspire after a martyr's love, which counts life a cheap free-will offering unto the Lord. Collect your scattered thoughts to this one thing needful. Banish these excessive worldly fears, and soul-rending cares. Listen not to reasoning, murmuring unbelief. “ Wherefore doth a living man complain," says the Prophet Jeremiah, "a man for the punishment of his sins? Let us search and try our ways, and turn again to the Lord.” (Lam.iii. 39, 40.) Follow the teachings of the Spirit in all the sacrifices and services which appear according to the Scriptures. Let your undivided heart be always your daily sacrifice to Him; and no doubt He will "accept you graciously, and love you freely." Trust in the Lord Jehovah, for in Him is everlasting strength;" and "they that put their trust in Him shall never be confounded." Courage, Miss

, courage! Safety and happiness await you in the mount: escape thither immediately, and your soul shall live. If you proceed in your worldly business as you think of, an entire devotedness to God will be very far from injuring it; nay, on the contrary, you secure His smile, and He engages to make all things work together for your good. Fear not; only believe, and you shall see the glory of God, both in providence and grace. He will watch over you with a Father's eye. “He will make darkness light before you, and crooked places straight unto you." Only take the holy boldness to commit your soul to Him, and He will never leave you, nor forsake you. You will say, on the threshold of both worlds, " I know in whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day." My soul yearns over you. My dear friend, do not reason so much with your nature, your situation, your prospects, or your fears. Resolutely and calmly commend your case to God; and the result will, I am sure, afford the highest of all pleasures to the heart of Yours, in deepest sincerity,

W. Dawson. Should you think it worth your time to write, I have only just to hint that you would add Barnbow to my name in the direction.


OLD LONDON BRIDGE. Thoughts of the energy of commerce, the transience of human life, and the dark ond of

the hopeless, naturally rush upon us when we look on the magnificent structure now known as London Bridge. Cart, omnibus,




ships to the piers which supported the bridge, made his men pull down the stream. The tide added to the impetus given by the oars’-men. The ships pulled with fearful force; the bridge was crowded with men, and laden with stones which they had collected to cast upon the Norwegians : this immense weight, added to the strain of the ships, was more than the structure could bear; the piles yielded to the force of the rowers, and the whole mass, with its defenders, was engulfed in the river. From this account, it is sufficiently evident that the bridge was a wooden erection.

History shows that the loss thus caused was soon repaired; for Canute, on invading the coun

try only eight years after, found a bridge waggon, porter, and dray, are all there to

standing, and managed to get his ships past represent the activities of trade. Human it by sinking a canal on the south side of the forms are rapidly coming into sight, and river. The next occasion on which London rapidly passing out of it, to tell you we are Bridge figures in our annals, is that on which all rushing on towards a new shore. And, as (Nov. 16th, 1091) a furious wind threw down you look on the solemn river gliding darkly six hundred houses ; and the tide rose with beneath the noble bridge, your heart feels such violence as to bear the bridge clean chilly by the recollection of those unhappy away. We next read of "the bridge that was beings who, overtaken by woes they had not nearly all afloat,” in the reign of Rufus grace to bear, came to take one wild leap (1097); but we hold not ourselves bound to from that parapet; that in the cold tide interpret for posterity those words of an below they might for ever bury their mortal ancient scribe. About a century and a half anguish and their eternal hopes.

later, London had the sorrow of seeing its In Charles Knight's "London" is to be bridge completely burnt down. Still adhering found a detailed and highly-animated descrip- to wood, this bridge was replaced by one of tion of the various historical stages through the same material; but after a few years which the great Thames-bridge has passed. the same architect began a stone structure. As early as the year 1008, in the reign of He was a Monk, called Peter, of St. Mary Ethelred, a curious battle took place at Colechurch. His new bridge consisted of London Bridge. The Danes possessed both twenty arches, having a roadway of forty feet it and the two towns on each side. The in width from parapet to parapet. It occupied Saxon King attacked them by land, and his thirty-three years in building. The worthy ally, the Norwegian King Olave, at the same Monk had gone to his long rest three years time led on an assault by water. He rowed up before the completion of the great edifice that the river against the tide, and, aliaching his has caused his name to come down to our days.

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The parapets of the bridge soon became covered with houses, so that it was really a narrow street, with this difference from other streets, that three openings gave the passer-by to see that his journey was not on terra firma, but above the course of a broad and noble stream. Pennant says, “I well remember the street on London Bridge, narrow, darksome, and dangerous to passengers, from the multitude of carriages : frequent arches of strong timber crossed the street from the tops of the houses, to keep them together, and from falling into the river. Nothing but use could preserve the repose of the inmates, who soon grew deaf to the noise of falling waters, the clamours of watermen, or the shrieks of drowning wretches." The houses overhung the bridge, so as to hide much of the arches, and leave little to be seen but the piers, thus appearing to be in constant danger of falling into the water. On the street-side, the upper stories projected, as we often see in old houses; and not unfrequently two vehicles, attempting to pass, got jammed between the houses, and interrupted the whole stream of communication.

On the centre of the bridge stood a rich Gothic chapel, dedicated to St. Thomas à Becket: nearer the Southwark side was a drawbridge, and by that a tower, whereupon were exposed the heads of those executed for treason.

About the middle of the last century, the houses began to be removed from the bridge, to make way for the increasing demands of traffic. It appears that the inhabitants of the bridge were principally small shopkeepers. “Most

of the houses," says Pennant, "were tenanted by pin and needle makers; and economical ladies were wont to drive from the St. James's end of the town to make cheap purchases."

This edifice, which for nearly six centuries had been the sole bridge across the Thames at London, was in its latter days exposed to the rivalry of Westminster and Blackfriars bridges. And, finally, notwithstanding the defensive efforts of the London Corporation, it was doomed by Parliament to disappear from the post of its long and valuable services. On the 15th of March, 1824, the first pile of a new structure was driven, and more than six years later, William IV. led his loyal citizens of London to rejoice in the opening of that superb bridge, which now casts its fire elliptic arches from one shore to another, and stands in sober majesty, while the Thaines rolls its tide belos, and English life and industry roll their tide above.

That Old London Bridge has echoed the step of many a nimble foot, and resounded to the applause of many a proud Monareh, and witnessed the ghastly figure of many a deathly head. The bravest pageant that ever crossed it is as clean passed away to-day, as the head of Wallace, the Scottish patriot, which was the first that grinned from its tower. Those that fell to be exposed, and those that lived to look, are equally gone from this seene ; and that London Bridge we see standing to-day, with all the thousands who are pouring befoss it from morn to midnight, will one day be like the former bridge and former crowda, laid low among things that are gone.



or ST. GEORGE'S EAST, LONDON. The following very interesting Sketch was pre

pared by the Rev. Benjamin Gregory, jun., and read by the Rev. John Scott, after a Sermon on the occasion of Mr. Smith's death.

The subject of the following sketch was born in the vicinity of Tower-hill, in the year 1780. He did not enjoy the privilege of a pious parentage. His father was a publican, and himself was brought up to the same employment; until, compelled by disgust of an oceupation which he felt to be uncongenial, he left home, and entered the army, in the year 1800. He served during several campaigns in the Peninsula, the Pyrenees, and the south of France ; was present at many great engagements and memorable sieges, and, of course, endured extreme hardships, and escaped imminent perils.

For the first eleven years of his military life, he was a stranger to the consolations

and restraints of true religion. In the year 1811, we find him again in his native country. Whilst his regiment was lying at Winchester, he paid a visit to his friends in London, and had an interview with a pious uncle, whose pathetic and penetrating appeals made a deep impression upon his mind. At the expiration of his furlough, while his heart was yet under the hallowed influences which accompanied the admonitions of his godly relative, he providentially became acquainted with Sergeant Hunter, a zealous and consistent Wesleyan. This intimacy speedily resulted in his conversion. He immediately joined the Wesleyan society, receiving his first ticket from the late venerable Joseph Taylor. That love to the communion of saints which so strongly marked his character, developed itself at the commencement of his spiritual history. He walked thirty miles to the first lovefeast he ever attended. He was not, however, long

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permitted to enjoy these privileges ; for his meetings, a conviction that his term of service regiment was almost immediately recalled was nearing its close. Almost the last time to the seat of war. Here he proved the he met his Sabbath class, he said, he could reality and blessedness of the religion which not tell what his Master was about to do he had so lately embraced. Amidst the with him, and entreated them, at all events, horrible tumult of battle, it diffused over to "keep together." The energy and animahis soul a celestial serenity equally removed tion which he threw into the work of God from sullen insensibility and ferocious ex- concealed from others the decline of which citement.

himself was conscious. What we mistook A few days before his death, he informed for physical vigour and vivacity, was, in the writer of this sketch, that, on the eve reality, the indication of a "health that pain of the sanguinary battle of Vittoria, he read and death defies.” He never spoke after his the ninety-first Psalm ; and as he was fatal seizure; but every one who knew him, meditating on the verse, “ A thousand shall had perceived for some time past that he fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy was a " shock of corn fully ripe.” right hand, but it shall not come nigh It would be superfluous to expatiate thee," a blissful consciousness of the divine largely on the virtues of our departed presence and protection was imparted to brother: they were too brightly conspicuous him, which abode with him throughout his to be overlooked, too divinely authentic to subsequent military life. On the morrow, be misunderstood ; "they were known and which was fatal to so many thousands, his read of all men.” To imagine any member soul rested beneath the shadow of the of this church unfamiliar with his character Almighty. At the memorable sieges of were a severe reproach : such a one must Pampeluna and Toulouse, and in the perilous be a forsaker of our assemblies, a neglecter pursuit of Marmont over the Pyrenees, the of our social means of grace, and a stranger same hallowing, elevating, and tranquillizing to almost every path of evangelical activity. consciousness of Jehovah's guardianship The constancy, punctuality, and joyousness maintained a perpetual sabbath in his breast. of his attendance upon the sanctuary, evinced

He received his discharge in the year that love to the house of God was his ruling 1821, when he returned to London, and was, passion. To him no pathway was so pleasant for a few months, connected with City-road as that which led to the house of prayer. chapel; but, obtaining a situation in the Though often exhausted by the duties of the Docks, he came to reside in this locality, day, yet he felt that no cordial could exand connected himself with the St. George's hilarate the spirits, and restore the tone of society. From that time to the day of his languid nature, so potently as the droppings death, he maintained an unimpeachable of the sanctuary. Duly as the Minister of character, and an ever-increasing zeal. For God entered, he was seen in his well-known about seventeen years he fulfilled, with exem- place, as if "planted in the house of the plary assiduity and pre-eminent faithfulness, Lord,” and on his countenance sat“ praise the arduous and responsible office of Class- waiting for God in Zion.” As the gracious Leader. Though the subject of the most and promised results of this, he still brought depressing, protracted, and heart-searching forth fruit in old age; his spirituality never trial, yet his confidence in God was un- became sere, sapless, and unproductive. In shaken, his joy in the Holy Ghost was all the venerable maturity of age, it retained undiminished. This is to be attributed, in the dewy freshness and fragrance of its youth. a great measure, to his constant and cheerful A kindred passion to his love for the house activity in the cause of God. It gave a of God, was his cordial esteem of God's robust and healthy habit to his piety, and Ministers for their work's sake. His heart supplied him with meat which the world clave to the Ministers of truth, not on account knew not of. His is not the infamy to die of the massiveness and brilliancy of their enand not be missed. He has left a vacancy dowments, nor on account of their peculiar in our ranks which it will not be easy to fill. adaptation to his own personal tastes, but

The last few years of his life were pro- simply because they were the heralds of foundly peaceful. Consolation succeeded to God's glorious Gospel, and the Ministers conflict. He dwelt in the land of Beulah ; in holy things. He received "a Prophet in the light of the celestial city streamed upon the name of a Prophet." his soul, and often irradiated his looks. But his piety was no languid sentimentality: Shortly before his death he said to the it was an ever-active principle of laborious, writer, " The greatest blessing is, that my self-denying love. It was not exhausted in last days are by far my best;" and stated the praises of the sanctuary, and the fervours that the enjoyment of God's perfect love of social devotion : it sought out the victims was the source of all his happiness and all of destitution and disease; it loved to bend his strength.

beside the dying man, and to wipe away the His death was not so sudden to himself as chill, faint dew of dissolution, and tell of to us. He had many physical premonitions, Him who drew the sting of death. and many mental presentiments. For the last Another characteristic of his piety, which few months he had expressed, at the band. would be truly enviable, were it not the



chartered privilege of all who believe and But, above all, he put on charity, the bond love like him, was a constant flow of hallowed of perfectness. This was the golden girdle cheerfulness and heavenly hilarity; the light- which gave harmony and completeness to heartedness of a home-bound pilgrim, who all his graces. Though “clad with zeal as is conscious that he is

with a cloak,” yet charity overmantled all. “Marching through Immanuel's ground, His ever-glowing ardour was tempered by To fairer worlds on high."

an ever-gushing gentleness. The military He rejoiced, and worked righteousness : he regularity with which he performed his own went to Zion with singing. Those who duties, was unaccompanied by the slightest have followed him in the street have heard military austerity towards the less rigorous him pouring out snatches of holy song. habits of others. He was a good man, and His step was so elastie because it kept time full of faith, and of the Holy Ghost. May to some sacred melody which his heart was the succession of such men never terminate making to the Lord.

in our church !

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CAMPHOR. In the Song of Solomon we twice read of camphire, among the many Oriental spices there poetically enumerated, and all of which are said to "flow out," when the south wind blows. Whether the camphire of Solomon means the laurus camphora, or the cypress, is matter of doubt. The former is the plant which yields the camphor of commerce. It flourishes all over the south of India, and possibly might have been transplanted by the botanical King to his gardens at Engeddi.

The camphor is obtained both from the

branches and flowers of the tree by distillation. It is esteemed not merely as a perfume, but because it is generally believed to possess a property of great value, as a disinfecting agent. Thus in many cases of exposure to contagious disease, camphor is resorted to as a defence. The camphor-wood also is prized, because it is believed to be repellent to insects, and therefore, in hot countries, where scarcely anything escapes their ravages, boxes made of this wood are bought eagerly. In Assam and Silhet is found the laurus cassia, the roots of which yield a considerable supply of camphor; and even the cinnamon-tree

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