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LETTER-CARRIER.

LETTERS FROM THE LATE MR. W. DAWSON TO MISS

Barnbow, May 1st, 1809.

RESPECTED FRIEND,

THE awful importance of your situation in both body and soul, justifies the friendly interference of a stranger, when he apprehends a fellow-immortal appears in danger of forfeiting her claims to the everlasting and increasing joys of heaven, for a mere momentary trifle; and, strange to say, against the remonstrance of the most rational and scriptural conviction. Methinks I see the cup of poison in your trembling hand. The most opposite resolutions alternately rack your breast. Now you feel determined to swallow the tempting draught; and then again you feel equally resolute that the cup and its contents shall be hurled upon the floor. Sometimes you think that you have forfeited the favour of God so far, that it is rather improbable you will recover it, and therefore you may as well fully enjoy the pleasures of the world; and at other times a lucid interval of divine drawings beams upon your soul, and your dying hopes revive, and a faint and pleasing expectation whispers, "Your Father is waiting, is looking for, is gone out to meet with welcome heart the return of his wandering child." Yes, my dear friend; and this is "not the voice of a stranger:" it is the voice of truth, your Shepherd's voice. Lend it your willing ear. Lend it, nay, give it, your obedient heart; and arise, "prisoner of hope, arise," "shake thyself from the dust;" arise, and "loose thyself from the bands of thy neck, O captive daughter of Zion." Haste to your Father's house: there is love enough in your Redeemer's heart; there is bread enough in your Father's house, and to spare; and for you, my friend, for you. Leave the swine to feed upon the husks of mere earthly good: your famished soul wants nobler satisfaction. Though you have wandered from the "central point of bliss ;" and though one grand cause of your departure has proceeded from professors of religion; though you may have spent many a painful hour in reviewing the causes, with all their aggravations; and such reviews have opened a door for the enemy to urge you entirely to renounce all connexion with religious characters, and to cast yourself into the arms of a man of the world, as you cannot be worse treated than you have been by those who have made a profession of religion ;"-yet, I humbly entreat you, do not take the tempter's advice; do not wantonly follow his reasonings, however specious. Let your attention be awake to the cautions and directions suggested to you by the Scriptures of truth, by the ministry of the

word, and by the people of God, both as it regards your temporal and spiritual concerns. Cast in your lot with Christ's followers, and, Moses-like, esteem the reproach of Christ greater treasures than the riches of Egypt;"choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season." Open your mind to some pious, sensible persons, whose gifts and graces qualify them to furnish you with suitable advice in every important occurrence of life. Take no step of consequence, even in your worldly business, without weighing the matter seriously in the impartial judgment of your friends; and when they seem to decide differently from your own inclinations, pause a little, and exercise your own judgment also

(The MS. is here a little injured, which makes the sentence incomplete.) But, above all, Miss -, turn your eyes to the throne of grace, and fix them there. Secure the direction and blessing of the sinner's "wisdom and righteousness," &c. Once more, yield, freely yield your all to God, reconciled to you in Christ. Venture soul and body into his hand. Venture did I say? Forgive me. It is not a venture. It is an act of the most absolute propriety, attended with the most inevitable security. You cannot lose by it; only take eternity into the account. You cannot lose by it: only calculate by the best and most correct "ready reckoner," the Bible,-I'll warrant you the Holy Ghost will come upon you; difficulties will vanish; impossibilities will become possible; and you will be "more than conqueror through Him that loved you." My paper fails, else I might say even more to prove that I am

Your sincere well-wisher,

W. DAWSON.

If the knowledge of my address will be of the least service to you, a letter would find a candid reader, if directed to be left at the White Swan, Market-place, or Mr. Reinhardt's, Druggist, Leeds.

Barnbow, May 15th, 1809.
MY DEAR FRIEND,

I READ your epistle, with the painful feelings of a sympathizing heart. I really believe your perplexity is very great. Your soul seems agitated by different views and passions, so that all within is as restless as the ocean in a storm. I perused your letter with a mixture of wonder and pain. I am surprised at your confidence, which so freely unbosoms itself to an entire stranger. But then, again, I see your readiness to communicate is from the pungency of your sufferings, from the tyranny of your crossing

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SKETCHES OF OLDEN TIME.

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. 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."

Let

Courage, Miss -, courage! Safety and happiness await you in the mount: escape thither immediately, and your soul shail 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.

SKETCHES OF OLDEN TIME.

OLD LONDON BRIDGE. THOUGHTS of the energy of commerce, the transience of human life, and the dark end of

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

SKETCHES OF OLDEN TIME.

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waggon, porter, and dray, are all there to represent the activities of trade. Human forms are rapidly coming into sight, and rapidly passing out of it, to tell you we are all rushing on towards a new shore. And, as you look on the solemn river gliding darkly beneath the noble bridge, your heart feels chilly by the recollection of those unhappy beings who, overtaken by woes they had not grace to bear, came to take one wild leap from that parapet; that in the cold tide below they might for ever bury their mortal anguish and their eternal hopes.

History shows that the loss thus caused was soon repaired; for Canute, on invading the country only eight years after, found a bridge standing, and managed to get his ships past it by sinking a canal on the south side of the river. The next occasion on which London Bridge figures in our annals, is that on which (Nov. 16th, 1091) a furious wind threw down six hundred houses; and the tide rose with such violence as to bear the bridge clean away. We next read of "the bridge that was nearly all afloat," in the reign of Rufus (1097); but we hold not ourselves bound to interpret for posterity those words of an ancient scribe. About a century and a half later, London had the sorrow of seeing its bridge completely burnt down. Still adhering to wood, this bridge was replaced by one of the same material; but after a few years the same architect began a stone structure. He was a Monk, called Peter, of St. Mary Colechurch. His new bridge consisted of twenty arches, having a roadway of forty feet in width from parapet to parapet. It occupied thirty-three years in building. The worthy Monk had gone to his long rest three years before the completion of the great edifice that has caused his name to come down to our days.

In Charles Knight's "London" is to be found a detailed and highly-animated description of the various historical stages through which the great Thames-bridge has passed. As early as the year 1008, in the reign of Ethelred, a curious battle took place at London Bridge. The Danes possessed both it and the two towns on each side. The Saxon King attacked them by land, and his ally, the Norwegian King Olave, at the same time led on an assault by water. He rowed up the river against the tide, and, attaching his

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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 five elliptic arches from one shore to another, and stands in sober majesty, while the Thames rolls its tide below, 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 Monarch, 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 scene; and that London Bridge we see standing to-day, with all the thousands who are pouring across it from morn to midnight, will one day be like the former bridge and former crowds, laid low among things that are gone.

BIOGRAPHY.

MEMOIR OF MR. SMITH,

OF ST. GEORGE'S EAST, LONDON. The following very interesting Sketch was prepared 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 occupation 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. immediately joined the Wesleyan society, receiving his first ticket from the late venerabie 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

He

BIOGRAPHY.

permitted to enjoy these privileges; for his regiment was almost immediately recalled to the seat of war. Here he proved the reality and blessedness of the religion which he had so lately embraced. Amidst the horrible tumult of battle, it diffused over his soul a celestial serenity equally removed from sullen insensibility and ferocious excitement.

A few days before his death, he informed the writer of this sketch, that, on the eve of the sanguinary battle of Vittoria, he read the ninety-first Psalm; and as he was meditating on the verse, "A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee," a blissful consciousness of the divine presence and protection was imparted to him, which abode with him throughout his subsequent military life. On the morrow, which was fatal to so many thousands, his soul rested beneath the shadow of the Almighty. At the memorable sieges of Pampeluna and Toulouse, and in the perilous pursuit of Marmont over the Pyrenees, the same hallowing, elevating, and tranquillizing consciousness of Jehovah's guardianship maintained a perpetual sabbath in his breast.

For

He received his discharge in the year 1821, when he returned to London, and was, for a few months, connected with City-road chapel; but, obtaining a situation in the Docks, he came to reside in this locality, and connected himself with the St. George's society. From that time to the day of his death, he maintained an unimpeachable character, and an ever-increasing zeal. about seventeen years he fulfilled, with exemplary assiduity and pre-eminent faithfulness, the arduous and responsible office of ClassLeader. Though the subject of the most depressing, protracted, and heart-searching trial, yet his confidence in God was unshaken, his joy in the Holy Ghost was undiminished. This is to be attributed, in a great measure, to his constant and cheerful activity in the cause of God. It gave a robust and healthy habit to his piety, and supplied him with meat which the world knew not of. His is not the infamy to die and not be missed. He has left a vacancy in our ranks which it will not be easy to fill.

The last few years of his life were profoundly peaceful. Consolation succeeded to conflict. He dwelt in the land of Beulah; the light of the celestial city streamed upon his soul, and often irradiated his looks. Shortly before his death he said to the writer, "The greatest blessing is, that my last days are by far my best ;" and stated that the enjoyment of God's perfect love was the source of all his happiness and all his strength.

His death was not so sudden to himself as to us. He had many physical premonitions, and many mental presentiments. For the last few months he had expressed, at the band

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meetings, a conviction that his term of service was nearing its close. Almost the last time he met his Sabbath class, he said, he could not tell what his Master was about to do with him, and entreated them, at all events, to "keep together." The energy and animation which he threw into the work of God concealed from others the decline of which himself was conscious. What we mistook for physical vigour and vivacity, was, in reality, the indication of a "health that pain and death defies." He never spoke after his fatal seizure; but every one who knew him, had perceived for some time past that he was a "shock of corn fully ripe."

It would be superfluous to expatiate largely on the virtues of our departed brother: they were too brightly conspicuous to be overlooked, too divinely authentic to be misunderstood; "they were known and read of all men." To imagine any member of this church unfamiliar with his character were a severe reproach: such a one must be a forsaker of our assemblies, a neglecter of our social means of grace, and a stranger to almost every path of evangelical activity. The constancy, punctuality, and joyousness of his attendance upon the sanctuary, evinced that love to the house of God was his ruling passion. To him no pathway was so pleasant as that which led to the house of prayer. Though often exhausted by the duties of the day, yet he felt that no cordial could exhilarate the spirits, and restore the tone of languid nature, so potently as the droppings of the sanctuary. Duly as the Minister of God entered, he was seen in his well-known place, as if "planted in the house of the Lord," and on his countenance sat "praise waiting for God in Zion." As the gracious and promised results of this, he still brought forth fruit in old age; his spirituality never became sere, sapless, and unproductive. In all the venerable maturity of age, it retained the dewy freshness and fragrance of its youth.

A kindred passion to his love for the house of God, was his cordial esteem of God's Ministers for their work's sake. His heart clave to the Ministers of truth, not on account of the massiveness and brilliancy of their endowments, nor on account of their peculiar adaptation to his own personal tastes, but simply because they were the heralds of God's glorious Gospel, and the Ministers in holy things. He received "a Prophet in the name of a Prophet."

But his piety was no languid sentimentality: it was an ever-active principle of laborious, self-denying love. It was not exhausted in the praises of the sanctuary, and the fervours of social devotion: it sought out the victims of destitution and disease; it loved to bend beside the dying man, and to wipe away the chill, faint dew of dissolution, and tell of Him who drew the sting of death.

Another characteristic of his piety, which would be truly enviable, were it not the

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