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mitting to him the management of his private pecuniary affairs. It is interesting to find the royal brothers writing familiar letters to "Friend Allen."

The next year he went, along with some others, into partnership with Robert Owen, in the Lanark Mills, for the purpose of trying to advance the temporal and moral interests of the population there. By and by he found out that Owen was a Socialist and an Infidel, and they ultimately got rid of him. Allen went once or twice to Lanark, at various times, and was the means of doing much good there, as well as of preventing Owen from propagating to any extent his dangerous principles.

In 1814 he and other friends had interviews with the Emperor of Russia, and the King of Prussia, in London. The Emperor Alexander was a young man of high character, and pious. He received Allen most cordially and accompanied him to one of their meetings, engaging with them after wards in much private religious conversation and prayer, shaking hands with them when he went away, and adding, "I part from you as from friends and brethren."

In 1816 he made his first visit to the Continent. It was entirely a religious one, undertaken for the express purpose of visiting Societies of Friends at several places. They visited prisons and schools wherever they went, and exhorted whenever they had an opportunity. They went through Holland, part of Germany and France, and Switzerland, to Geneva. Here Mrs. Allen was taken ill, and in a few days breathed her last, in perfect peace. They laid her remains by the blue waters of the Lake of Geneva, and as they stood around the grave there was solemn silence. "The pause at the ground," wrote Mr. Allen in his journal, was very solemn, and on parting with the remains of all that was dearest to me in life, I had strength to say audibly, Thy will, O Lord, be done."

Home in October, he was at his work again. Never idle, always adding to the former some new labour of love. Lectures, the Bible, School, and African Societies fully occupied him. Again in June, the following year, we find him off to the Continent this time to France, on a second visit, and for similar purposes as the last. On his return in August it is that we find him beginning to speak "in ministry." It was at first in visiting from house to house that he did so, and afterwards in the Meetings. And now, also, we find him labouring for the reform of prison discipline. It is to him that we are mainly indebted for the first attempts to show that criminals may be reclaimed, and that the attempt to reclaim them ought to be made. His labours in this, too, were gigantic.

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In this year, 1818, his first visit to Lanark was paid, and in August he set off with his friend Stephen Grellet on a third conti nental visit. This time he was away nearly a year and a-half, from August 4, 1818, to February 26, 1820. He visited Norway, Sweden, Russia, Turkey, Greece, Italy, Geneva, and so home through France. He had interviews with the King of Sweden, the Emperor of Russia, and with all the principal people in the various towns they passed through; and they spent their whole time in works of mercy, urging the establishment of schools, provision for the poor, toleration of religion, and personal piety. It is wonderful to read the accounts of their labours and their success, and to mark the spirit of humility and humble dependance on God which characterized all their proceedings.

Early in 1821, he visited Ireland on religious purposes, and the rest of it was filled up with his usual pursuits. In February, 1822, his daughter was married to Cornelius Hanbury, and in the August following he went abroad, for the fourth time, for the purpose of meeting the Emperor of Russia. This he did at Vienna and Verona, and they had much religious intercourse. Mr. Allen was also very useful in forwarding the settlement of some of the public questions at that famous Congress of crowned heads at Verona in 1822. Yet was he withal so humble that when asked to dinner by the Duke of Wellington, to meet some of the influential people then assembled, he declined, observing that he believed he would be more in his own place to remain in the shade. The record of his interviews with the Emperor, their conversations on experimental religion, and their prayers, is most interesting, and would lead us to believe that the Emperor Alexander was indeed a child of God. Three years afterwards this Emperor died, and Mr. Allen's Christian spirit, grieving with acute anguish at his loss, could only contemplate him "as one of the just made perfect, and for ever centred in his Heavenly Father's rest."

In 1823, he was engaged in helping the poor Greeks and other good works, and ere the year was half out, mourning over the death of his only child. Yet he could rejoice in this, that "she knew her Redeemer lived." And he writes at the funeral,-"I felt bound to offer up thanksgiving for the belief mercifully granted, that the dear deceased had been admitted into the mansions of rest and peace-and to intercede earnestly on behalf of those young people standing round the grave, for whom her soul had often travailed that their steps might be directed into the way of peace: praying that to the end they

might unite with her in the everlasting | inner man may be renewed day by day." Hallelujah."

In the following year, 1824, Robert Owen was deprived of the managership of the Lanark Mills, the philanthropic part of which had proved a complete failure; but Allen believing that an experiment of a somewhat similar kind rightly conducted could not fail to be useful, took a farm at Lindfield, in Sussex, which he allotted into small portions, building cottages on each, and settling a poor man and his family. He built schoolrooms, and had the children educated and employed, and all this as a great experiment, to try what could be done for the poor. This was his favourite scheme for the rest of his life, though not his only work, and he partly lived at Lindfield and partly in town.

In 1827, he married a third time, being without any near friends, and the same year he started a new periodical called "The Philanthropic Journal:" this and the superintending of his colony occupied him the most of the summer and autumn.

On January 16, 1830, his mother died. "I was uncommonly affected," he wrote, "but sensible of strong inward support. I believe that the Master was with us, and the heavenly solemnity with which we were favoured seemed to proclaim in language louder than words, All is well, everlastingly

well."

Though now sixty-two years of age, he made several more visits to the Continent, the fifth being to Prussia, Austria, and Hungary in 1832, a sixth to Spain in the following year, and the seventh and last to Prussia in 1840, his seventieth year. His object in all these journeys was to advance the Lord's cause and the kingdom, and he writes at the close of the last one, "Oh, I have very distinctly felt that the power and ability were solely from Him, and that no merit attaches to my poor self; to Him be all the praise of his own work."

On the 15th June, 1835, he was again deprived of his partner by the hand of death. After this, two nieces stayed with him, and it has been remarked that "his house very much resembled that of Lazarus at Bethany. There the Saviour's presence was oft felt and enjoyed by the three favoured spirits who communed together of his love and grace." But this was not to last, and early in 1841 one of the nieces, Eliza Bradshaw, entered into rest. In the beginning of 1842 he writes, "I am now in my seventy-second year, and my bodily powers are gradually failing. Oh, that the

His biographer adds, " Every act of life seemed more than ever tinged with the celestial rays of his setting sun, and all who came in contact with him, heard and saw that his conversation was in heaven, from whence he looked for the Saviour."

In the October of this year he was seized with a severe illness, from which it was not expected that he would recover. He did recover, however, and wrote regarding it, "I believe this illness is sent in mercy to me, to wean me more and more from all things here below, and to make me look more steadily to the end of time."

For a twelvemonth more he was permitted to resume some of his occupations. His last illness commenced in October, 1843, and terminated on the 30th of December.

He had been at Meeting, and had remarked it was a good time. A little after his return, he observed to his niece how particularly comfortable he felt, adding, "I am afraid, my dear, we are almost too happy." It was the day after this he was taken ill. Towards the end he said, “I have been sustained in this illness beyond what I could have expected-nothing but a sense of the Lord's presence could support at such a time." On another occasion, when there appeared a little struggle against despondency, he exclaimed, "The Lord never will forsake those who trust in Him." And with an energy peculiarly his own, he added, "He never will."

The last recorded words he uttered, with tears of joy rolling down his cheeks, were, "Oh, how often I think of those gracious words of the Saviour, that they may be with me, where I am.'

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So he departed to be with Christ for

ever.

This simple record carries its own lesson on the face of it. It is a commentary on, and an illustration of, the precept, "Be ye up and doing." "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might."

All have not the opportunities of doing good that William Allen had, but each has some opportunity of serving the Redeemer and benefiting his fellows. Whatever it may be, or however small, let it be done. If only a cup of cold water, given in the name of a disciple, from love to Christ, it shall not lose its reward. Diligent in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord." If these things be in you and abound, ye shall neither be barren nor unfruitful in the way and work of the Lord.

Miscellaneous Papers.

HOW SHALL I FEEL MORE?

Nor by direct efforts to feel. Here is the rock where many make shipwreck in their endeavours to return to God. At the communion-table, or elsewhere, they are smitten of conscience by their unsanctified life. They know they are not as in months past, when the candle of the Lord shone round about them. They do not love Christ enough, nor saints enough, nor the souls of sinners enough. They know they ought to feel more. They go home, and determine that they will feel. They try violently, by a direct effort of the will, to call forth emotion. They walk the room, and groan within themselves, because all is dark, and thick, and troubled. They cannot draw near to God when they pray. They do not love God, in the sweet, gushing, real sense of the word "love. By and by, exhausted with a fruitless toil, the commotion within subsides into a feeling that they have tried, and they cannot help their coldness; they must wait for a revival-till God will make them feel.

But a man might as well try to feed himself by looking at his food, as to try to feel by a direct volition of the mind. The emotions are not under the immediate control of the will; the will can only reach the affections circuitously, through the thoughts. Suppose I go to a man who has never heard of Hungary, and tell him to hate Haynau. Let him summon up all his inward powers, he cannot hate a man whom he knows nothing about, any more than he can hate one of the fixed stars. But let me sit down and tell him who Haynau is-let me recount the deeds of brutal and infamous atrocity which this Austrian has done and his heart will swell with indignation while I speak, and all unconsciously to himself he will hate Haynau, because he cannot help it when the mind portrays hateful details before the sensibilities.

The way to feel, then, is not to rise up in the majesty of volition, and say, "Now I will feel" but to sit down in the calmness of the closet, and think, not about feeling, but about those objects which are calculated to excite feeling. If a man think of God, carefully separating the elements of His glorious character,

He

and, as it were, laying his own mind for the time in contact with God's omniscience, his omnipotence, his justice, his holiness, by the very nature of that mind emotions will unconsciously arise. will, before he knows it, find himself loving or hating that omniscience, omnipresence, justice, holiness-that God who combines these attributes into his perfect and infinite self. If he is God's friend, his whole soul will dwell with rapture upon the perfections of his Maker, and his lips break forth in the language of old, "As the hart panteth after the waterbrooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God!" "Thou art my portion, O Lord; thy testimonies also are my delight and my counsellor." If he is God's enemy, his emotions will find utterance in those other words, “When I consider, I am afraid of Him." The way to feel more, then, is to think more-to think more of God and Christ, and heaven and hell.— Christian Witness.

MY MOTHER'S LEGACY.

I WAS five years old when my mother died; but her image is as distinct to my recollecit was at the time of her death. I retion, now that many years have elapsed, as member her as a pale, gentle being, with a smile and a voice that was soft and cheerful when she praised me; and when I erred— for I was a wild, thoughtless child-there was a trembling mildness about it that always went to my heart. And then she was so kind, so patient: I can now see her large blue eyes moist with sorrow, because of my waywardness, and hear her repeat, "My child, how can you grieve me so?" I recollect that she had for a long time been pale and feeble, and that sometimes there would come a bright spot on her cheek, which made her look so lovely that I thought she must be well. But then she sometimes spoke of dying, and pressed me to her bosom, and told me to be good when she was gone, and to love my father a great deal, and be kind to him, for he would have

no one else to love. I recollect she was horse and whip were laid aside, and I tried one day very sick, and my little hobbyto be quiet. I did not see her for the whole day, and it seemed very long. At night they told me my mother was too

sick to kiss me, as she always used to do before I went to bed, and I must go without it. But I could not. I stole into the room, and, laying my lips close to hers, whispered, Mother, mother, won't you kiss me?" Her lips were very cold; and when she put her arms around me, laid my head upon her bosom, and one hand upon my cheek, I felt a cold shudder creep all over me. My father carried me from the room, but he could not. speak. After they put me in bed, I lay a long while thinking. I feared my mother would indeed die, for her cheek felt as cold as my little sister's, when she died. But the impressions of mortality are always indistinct in childhood, and I soon fell asleep. In the morning I hastened to my mother's room. A white napkin covered her face. I removed it; it was just as I feared. Her eyes were closed; her cheek was cold and hard; and only the lovely expression that always rested on her lips remained. In an instant all the little faults for which she had so often reproved me rushed upon my mind. I longed to tell her how good I would always be, if she would remain with me.

She was buried; but my remembrance of the funeral always remained indistinct. I only entertained the impressions which her precepts and example left upon my mind. I was a passionate, headstrong boy; but I never yielded to this turn of my disposition without fancying I saw her mild eye fixed upon me, just as she used to do in life.

My whole character underwent a change, even from the moment of her death. Her spirit was for ever with me, strengthening my good resolutions, and weakening my propensity to do evil. I felt that it would grieve her gentle spirit to see me err, and I could not, would not, do it. I was the child of her affection; I knew she had prayed and wept over me, and that even on the threshold of eternity her affection for me had caused her gentle spirit to linger, that she might pray for me once more. I resolved to become all that she could desire. This I have never forgotten. It helped me to subdue the waywardness of childhood, protected me during the temptations of youth, and will comfort and support me through the busier scenes of manhood. Whatever there is that is estimable in my character I owe to the impressions of goodness made upon my infant mind by the exemplary conduct and faithful instructions of my excellent mother.

A WORD IN SEASON. SOME years ago, a clergyman, travelling in the depth of winter in the south of Eng

This

land, found that, one day, his only companion inside the stage was a gentleman, who on entering the coach muffled himself up in one corner, without noticing his fellow-traveller, showing no disposition to be sociable, so that not even an ordinary salutation passed between them. They had not proceeded many miles when a heavy storm of snow came on. The clergyman had observed, as they were setting out, seated on the front of the coach, a young woman rather thinly clad, having no cloak to shield her from the inclemency of the weather. He wished to propose to his companion asking her to come inside, but hesitated for fear of giving offence. The storm increasing, however, he determined to make the attempt: and had no sooner expressed his desire, than the gentleman said eagerly, "Let us stop the coach instantly, and ask her to come in; I wish you had mentioned it sooner." was accordingly done, when the poor woman gladly availed herself of the timely shelter. Both gentlemen apologized for allowing her to remain so long exposed to the storm; but she replied, "I thank you for your kindness; but Oh I have gone through too much to feel any annoyance from so trifling an inconvenience, and have always experienced the truth of that promise, He will stay his rough wind in the day of his east wind.' " This answer interested the pious clergyman so much, that, after a little more conversation, he begged her to relate her history, as from what she had already said her life appeared to have been an eventful one. With this request she willingly complied, saying, "My story is soon told. Many years ago, I providentially became servant in a godly family. My mistress's first inquiry, on my entering on the duties of my situation, was, if I possessed a copy of the Scriptures; finding I did not, she begged me to procure one, offering to become the depositary of a small weekly sum for that purpose. This I accordingly did, not from any desire to have the Word of God, but merely to please my mistress; and when the Bible was purchased, I put it into my box, and thought no more about it. Soon after, I left that place, and went to another, from which I was shortly married. My husband, who resided in a pleasant country village, I found everything I could wish; he was kind and attentive, steady and industrious; and as he was in full employment, I had plenty of this world's goods. Thus I continued for some years in the enjoyment of every earthly happiness, till typhus fever came to the village, and took away two of my children (for by this time I had three). In all the anguish of a mother's heart, I knew not where to fly for comfort. At length,

thought of my Bible, and went up stairs to look for it, and found it in the same box

I had laid it in some years before. I eagerly opened it, and diligently perused its sacred contents, until I found that peace my almost broken heart sought for-yes, peace and joy in believing. And so wonderfully did the Lord manifest himself unto me, that for a whole year I experienced little variation from high spiritual enjoyment, till disease again visited the place, when my husband and only remaining child fell victims; but having found the source of true consolation, I could say in the midst of these heavy dispensations, The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.""

Just as the poor woman had finished her tale, the coach stopped at the place of her destination, when, wishing the gentlemen good day, she alighted. As soon as she was gone, the traveller who had at first shown no disposition to converse, and who during the whole of the interesting recital betrayed signs of uneasiness, instantly exclaimed, "How simple and touching a story!" He then, after a pause, added, "I acknowledge I feel rebuked by it. My Bible has lain unopened for many years; and I was on the very eve of avowing myself an Infidel."

This led to much confidential conversation, and the result was, that the sceptic requested his astonished and delighted companion to correspond with him. This was done; and the clergyman, who heard from him frequently, says, he believes him to be a true convert to the faith of Christ; for, besides his own testimony, he has that of the pastor of the parish where he resides, who says his whole walk and conversation is that of a consistent Christian.

Might we not hope that such conversation as the last narrated would cease to be a rare or remarkable occurrence, were the people of God more ready, on every fit occasion, to make known what the Lord has done for their souls ? There are times, when even the well-meant rebuke, or pointed exhortation, may only wound, without healing, while the simple, unostentatious declaration of what grace has wrought for ourselves might arrest the most stouthearted. And yet it is lamentable that Christians," in the house and by the way," are withheld by sinful bashfulness from speaking even to their fellow-Christians on this delightful theme. The fire of Divine love burning within them may be fanned into a flame whilst they muse on the way the Lord has led them, and yet the mouth refuse to speak. How different the conduct of this woman! The opportunity was no sooner given than embraced, and what was the result? The arrow "shot at a venture" proved, in the hand of the Spirit, mighty through God to the pulling down of a stronghold of Satan ;" and speedily

would be heard through the courts above, angels striking their harps in joyous strains, over a sinner returning from the error of his way."-Scottish Christian Journal.

I FIND NO LIGHT.
Tho' long I've searched within my heart to see
I FIND no light,
One filial act, one proof of love to thee.
Yet all is dark, or but a flickering ray,
Which, self-deceiving, leads my feet astray;
I've sought to keep thy law, but thoughts of sin
Are ever present, and I look within
And find no light.

I see no light-
Tho' I have prayed, I still have vainly sought
To gain a victory o'er the sin I fought;
Upon a sea of doubts I'm tempest-tossed,
Despairing to be saved, yet fearing to be lost.
I hate, and yet indulge them still,
Rebellious passions and a stubborn will
And find no light.

I'll seek no light

In my own darkness guidance for the blind;
For I deserve none-I have sought to find
But now I'll seek no longer peace within.
I come to thee, bless'd Saviour, filled with sin,
Tho' I am vile, I pray that thou wilt dress
My soul in thy fine robe of righteousness,
And be my light.

Be thou my light-
Tho' sin and darkness only reign in me,
Yet to thy cross I cling and my salvation see.
Completed there, Oh help me to receive
Thy gracious fulness, faith in thee to live;
Save me from sin, and in life's darkest hour,
In death's cold waters, may my spirit soar
With Christ, my light.

WORLDS OF DREADFUL MEANING. How single circumstances convey worlds of dreadful meaning we sometimes see developed in a striking manner. And how many more instances, and how much more extraordinary and powerful, there are to be known in eternity, we cannot even imagine. We remember the story of a hardened wrecker on the coast of England, whose son went from him to a distant country, and was gone for years. Meantime the hardened, wretched parents, pursued their career of crime, watching for wrecks, sometimes causing them by false lights, stripping the dead bodies cast on shore, sometimes killing their victims when but half dead. At length one night, after a long cessation of storms, there came a dreadful gale, and in it a large ship was cast upon the shore. The wrecker hastened to his work, and encountering a body with jewels and riches upon it, to make sure of his prey, he stabbed the unfortunate victim, and then, among other things, drew from his finger a costly jewel. When, after his midnight work, he

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