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met a man of deep conversational powers on New Church subjects, nor, excepting a family connection of mine, the late William Harrison, of Manchester (an intimate friend of Richard Jones, and the "T." of the old Repository), had I ever met with an accurate and ready writer on such subjects. Harrison wrote beautifully, but he could not converse; the pen was his only medium of spiritual intercourse; and those who most admired his intelligence, and loved him for his affectionate and generous nature, were sorely tried by his silence in society. Not so Mason; in him I found everything which I then seemed to need, and our intercourse very soon became the communion of intimate friendship. Frequent visits gave me the advantage of a conversation which had the singular characteristic of taking the mind out of the world, and placing spiritual principles before it in their own reality and form, so that, for the time, things visible seemed unreal, and things invisible the only realities. A long and frequent epistolary correspondence well made up for the want of daily personal intercourse; and it is just possible that I may sometime review the whole of it, and give to the church a permanent memorial of this profound and accurate thinker. Meanwhile, something is due to the present. Such a man should not leave us without some notice from those who knew him longest, and who loved him best; for however a less complete acquaintance may have sufficed to interest and instruct many others, a penetrating and thorough appreciation of him is possible only to a mind which he moulded and formed by the sunshine and the storm of many years; and if in the end the storm prevailed, and that once beautiful and salutary friendship suffered the fate of most things earthly, may my right hand forget its cunning' if it is not ever ready to do full justice to the instructor of my youth, and the creator of states of thought and powers of intelligence which had remained comparatively crude but for him! So many memoirs, and so many epitaphs, are substantially false, that of the latter it has been said "If the dead were to rise again and read them, they would fancy they had got into the wrong graves;' but if I were to write the epitaph of William Mason, there would, I trust, be no ground for such a thought. He

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would not then learn for the first time, if he read it, that I did not think him perfect, though he might learn for the first time then how profoundly I knew and esteemed him.

Let me now say a few words on some characteristics of the departed. Mr. Mason was the first New Church preacher I ever heard, excepting, indeed, one discourse from Mr. Bradley when I was about eleven years old, and one from Thomas Goyder some years afterwards. With these exceptions, the simple sermons of Clowes, read by my grandfather to a small assembly of my relatives, were the only specimens of the New Church pulpit which had reached me; their purity, and love, and innocence were delightful, and must have been highly instrumental in nourishing the "remains" of goodness and truth implanted by my mother; but on my first visit to Melbourne, in Derbyshire, where Mr. Mason was then residing, as the minister of a small society, of which the late William Haimes was the benignant founder and chief support, the powers of spiritual demonstration were first revealed to me, and I seized every opportunity of profiting by them. How can I describe Mr. Mason's preaching? There is nothing like it in any printed book; and I suppose if he had written a sermon, that sermon would have been utterly unlike the sermons which he preached. Everyone knows that the writing state and the speaking state are usually so different that it is easy to tell whether a preacher is giving you thoughts which he has written, or thoughts which now first take form. Some gifted minds, indeed, can do either so naturally and so well, that whether previously written or not, every word seems to come at once from the warm heart and the fervid tongue; but this faculty is very rare, and is never found in the pulpit amongst gentlemen who hunt after fine words. The most favourable condition for it there is, when the subject itself engrosses every power, when self is nothing and the Lord is all in all. Then we hear the voice of the charmer, charming more wisely than the harp of David which laid the evil spirit of Saul; then our evils are laid to rest, and we are yielding instruments of the Divine Teacher; the words come, and the pen itself is but the tongue of a ready writer.

Mr. Mason would, I believe, have

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failed as a sermon writer,-failed, I mean, in comparison of the sermons which he spoke; for as a writer he could not fail in any other comparison: witness the numerous beautiful essays which were the chief ornament of the "Repository " for many years. The states in which this great preacher shone with peculiar lustre were those from which a stranger would have expected the least. Let me describe one such, of not very rare occurrence. Subject to nervous and irritable conditions which sometimes made less than the grasshopper a burden, he retires on Saturday night to try to sleep; but sleep does not come, or if it do come, it comes too late, and by short uneasy snatches. When he comes down in the morning he is thoroughly prostrate. Listless, haggard, woe-begone, apparently it is not possible for him to perform the duty of the day. Having been unwell during the week he has put off study, and now it is too late. We go to church; the place is small, an upper room, capable of holding a hundred persons, and the congregation the same well-known faces; but among them some deep read, earnest souls, not unworthy of their minister. He opens the Word at the book of Psalms, and now, for the first time, lets fall his eye upon the text "O Lord, Thou hast searched me and known me. Thou knowest my down-sitting and mine uprising; Thou understandest my thought afar off. Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with my ways." He does not see much in it; but the hymns and the prayer compose his spirit. There seems to be more light. The weight of a solemn duty is upon him. Among that "two or three" the Master's presence is realised; and it is for him to shew what the Lord has done for his soul, and what He will do for theirs. This is gathered by implication from that revelation of his own states which his sermon evidently embodies. The languor and monotony of the beginning wear gradually away as the spiritual sense opens and expands. The text which at first was but as a grain of mustard seed, grows into a great tree, and the fowls of the air sit among its branches. There is nothing remarkable in the preacher's words; they are simple and very clear, because their truth is the truth of good. There is no action, or, if any, but a slight

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movement of the hand or the finger; but the want of it is not felt, for though we look at the preacher, we scarcely see him. We see the truths which he is speaking, and feel them enter the soul; their quality, order, and sequence are so exactly what experimental religion requires, that it seems as though, if the speaker were to leave off, we could continue the discourse before the echoes of his voice died away. We do not want the trick of words, or the gestures of passion, or the roll of rounded periods. We are far beyond all that; we have nothing to do with sensation. Thought, intelligence, introspection seem to spiritualise us. We are communing with God through His Word; and the spirit of God, and the mysteries of regeneration, and the revelations of a wounded spirit, and the temptations which purify, and the despair which annihilates selfdependence, and the struggling light of better hopes, and the tears which gush when our deliverance is wrought out by Him who alone can save us, and the joy when our feet are again established on a rock, and our goings are once more in the way of life; these are the entrancing themes; these the solemn subjects which engross our minds and move our hearts. We are as though "caught up" and set in some serene atmosphere, from whence we can survey in safety the great republic of pride in which every man owns no superior, and the despotism of self-love which destroys spiritual liberty, and the love of the world, that great monarchy which girdles the globe, and enchains body and soul in its service. Yet do we also see fairer scenes, and melt under influences not less than heavenly. If, on the one hand, the valleys of humiliation seem sterile and dark, and our spirit sinks within us as the preacher leads us through them, yet a little while and they are changed into fertile meadows, in which the Good Shepherd leads forth His sheep by the still waters, which flow "fast by the oracles of God." We seem to tread the holy sward, and to drink the stream of life. There is no conflict there; it is a realm of peace, and the Prince of Peace lays His hand upon us with a blessing. We feel stronger, but it is not our own strength; more calm and devoted to duty, but not self-confident; deeply conscious of sin and frailty, but conscious also that they who are for us are more

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than they that be against us, and that as our day so shall our strength be. "Cease to do evil; learn to do well." The work is before us, and we gird ourselves to it. "This is the way, walk ye in it," saith the Lord. We hear, and resolve to obey.

Is it ended? Why, it is nearly an hour by the watch since he began, but the flow was so easy, and the absorption so complete, and the self-examination so searching and so solemn, and the time so sacred to all that is good, and the world so thoroughly shut out, that we took no note of it. We feel that we have been in the spiritual world, where the measures of this world are unknown. Who can tell the value of those hours? Who that ever knew them would willingly forget them? Who that knew them frequently but must bear about him some impress of their power? And yet it may be doubted whether Mr. Mason's best sermons were equal to his best prayers. In private family devotion nothing could be more concise, simple, and child-like than his addresses to the Fountain of blessing; but in public worship the outpouring of his spirit was copious, not methodical, but various as his states of life, and exhibiting every phasis of the striving spirit so truly, that they who prayed with him were often startled by his taking. their thoughts upon his lips, and presenting upon the altar of repentance, of which he was the minister, that sacrifice which their hearts had already prepared.. Some, indeed, would complain of his "long extempore prayers;" but his habitual hearers did not complain, and for the most part such complaints were the bad effect of set forms upon minds whose piety was cramped by them. Without doubting the utility of set forms, where there is nothing better, I presume that the prayers in heaven are extempore, and that that prayer which proceeds from the fulness of the regenerating heart, is absolutely superior to any verbal music to which human skill can set its varying emotions.

To return. I could imagine that Mr. Mason's prayers were not unlike Robert Hall's; unpremeditated, without rhetorical arrangement, the discursive utterances of a broken spirit and a contrite heart. They were not orations made to the living God as if He were "a God afar off,” or a many-headed multitude,

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swayed by passion, and to be taken by a storm of language; nor were they skilful pleadings set curiously in order, to convince an unwilling ear. The God to whom he spoke was the God that heareth prayer, and who is waiting to be gracious; not an awful Potentate whose rigours could be softened by pleasing phrases, or subdued by the mighty fervours of a rushing eloquence. The unapproachable simplicity of the Lord's Prayer was his model, and the spirit which prompted the publican to say"God be merciful to me a sinner!" was the emotion which chiefly animated those addresses which took his fellowworshippers with him to the Throne of Grace, and bathed them in the light of the Mercy-seat. The Lord was there, and His train filled the temple. The place itself was small and simple, but nevertheless it was none other than the House of God, and the minister had power to enter within the veil. That such power is very rare in our church we are bound to confess, and perhaps we may allowably think that until it is more common and more generally appreciated, the regenerating affections will not be represented as they ought to be in the crown of all the churches. We may hope that Divine worship will not always be a secondary thing in the House of Prayer, and that "Ye people, pour out your heart before Him" will not always mean, Repeat a set form of words with more or less devotion, and then hear an oration. Is not this what we are fast coming to? Did we not in past years yearn for the literary and the eloquent, and are we not getting them now with a vengeance? Is not the fine gold becoming dim with us, and do not the gew-gaws of affected eloquence make one sicken for the tender herb which once nourished the perceptions of simplicity?

While William Mason lived, there was a tower of strength among us, to which sincere piety and common sense might continually resort. Upon whom has his mantle fallen? Who now shall take his place, and save us from the inundation of "tinkling ornaments about the feet, and the cauls, and the round tires like the moon, and the chains, and the bracelets, and the mufflers, and the rings, and the nose jewels, and the changeable suits of apparel, and the mantles, and the wimples, and the crisping pins," and all the bravery of corrupted Zion? The

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solemn duty is on some one, and I venture to call upon him to stand up and do it. Cry aloud, and spare not," that the plague may be stayed, or a day of burning will come upon our finery, and we shall sit among the ashes of desolation.

I have spoken of Mr. Mason's sermons and of his prayers, and am tempted to add a few other reminiscences, but must defer it for the present.-Believe me, my dear Sir, very truly yours,

J. W. HANCOCK. Berlin, Canada West, July 22nd, 1863.

NOVA SCOTIA.

To the Editor.

My dear Sir,-An application to the friends of the church for books, to be sent to the Rev. A. Mc.Arthur, Nova Scotia, having been made through the Magazine, I have thought it desirable, through the same medium, to state that a large number of books and tracts were sent to me by a number of friends, many of the works of Swedenborg, in excellent bindings, with some from the Swedenborg Society; the whole forming a valuable, and will doubtless be found, in the hands of our rev. friend, an exceedingly useful collection. Through the liberality of the Missionary and Tract Society, the freight and all the expenses were paid, so that it is hoped they will reach their destination uninjured, and prove valuable, though silent, missionaries in the distant northern regions. Yours most truly,

TORONTO.

R. GUNTON.

The following extract from a letter received from Toronto may interest the readers of the Intellectual Repository:"We went up to the Park this evening (Sunday), where we found several men preaching to the people-one a woman, and a second-adventist. After these had argued with each other, a youngish, very respectable Englishlooking man got up, and put both them, and also persons in the crowd who questioned him, to confusion, and pleased a great many who were there. Among them was old Mr. Tisson, and a soldier in the Commissariat Staff Corps of the R.A., who told me he was a New

Churchman. He had the Indian and the

French and English Crimean medals.

He said that there were a great many belonging to the church in Lucknow, at the time of the siege.

"The man who was preaching turned out to be a New Churchman from London, who is about to begin business. He is a very well read man evidently, and thoroughly acquainted with the doctrines, and just the one to push the church along. He is much in favour of having regular service here, if there could be only five or six members of the church got together. He has only been out about four months, and was very sorry he did not know about the Conference. He is well acquainted with Dr. Bailey.

"The soldier told us the following story:-The Brahmins were offered, by an Hindoo institution, a prize for the best essay on the True Object of Worship.' One of them got hold of a New Church tract, treating on that subject, translated it, and got the prize! This shows how receptive the Hindoo mind must be of New Church truths."

Marriage.

On the 2nd of September, at the New Jerusalem church, Argyle Square, London, by the Rev. Dr. Bayley, Wm. Mather, Esq., of Lower Broughton, Manchester, to Emma Jane, second daughter of Thomas Watson, Esq., of Highbury Crescent, London.

Obituary.

Departed into the spiritual world, at 28, Regent Quay, Aberdeen, on the morning of the 1st of August, aged 37 years, Elizabeth Nicolson, the loving and lamented wife of James F. Kellas. Her illness was severe and protracted; but she was graciously enabled to bear all with Christian fortitude and resignation. Everything was done which medical science could suggest to save a life so valuable to her family. She twice visited London for advice, and on one of these occasions underwent a most dangerous surgical operation, knowing that it might terminate fatally within a few hours. Notwithstanding this, and trusting submissively to the Divine providence, she parted from her husband and a beloved sister, who were present, with the utmost composure; and a few days

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after, when her medical attendants believed her to be dying, one of them could not help remarking that he had never, under similar circumstances, beheld a countenance so calm and peaceful. To the surprise of all, however, she so far recovered as to be able to return home, where she rejoiced to meet her dear family again, as one restored from the grave. She gradually seemed to advance towards convalescence for more than two months, when a sad relapse soon convinced her sorrowing friends that she could not long remain with them. When made aware of this unlooked-for change, she calmly said"It is the Lord's will; let His will be done! I expected to have been spared a few more years of usefulness among you; but since the Lord has otherwise determined, and although I am sorry to part with you all, still I am content and happy at the prospect before me.' All were astonished at the cheerfulness and patient resignation which she evinced in passing through so lengthened a period of sore trouble. She continued sensible to the last, and was frequently cheered before her departure with a sight of the beautiful scenery of the spiritual world, and also of its inhabitants, with whom she seemed often to be conversing. On these occasions, an indescribably radiant and pleasing expression lighted up her countenance, and remained imprinted there long after she had gently breathed her last.

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It is now about nine years since the subject of this notice first became acquainted with the heavenly doctrines of the New Jerusalem, and her intelligent perception of these was the source of her remarkable composure under peculiarly severe suffering, and of her calm and peaceful end. Her case is a delightful illustration both of the mercy of the Lord and of the power of Divine Truth to illuminate the passage from the natural to the spiritual world.

Departed this life, August 7th, 1863, aged 78, Mrs. Susanna Munson, of Colchester, relict of the late Mr. Arthur Munson, the first New Church preacher of the Brightlingsea society, fifty-four years ago. She came from Colchester to Brightlingsea to visit her son and daughter-in-law, and also to enjoy the pleasure of attending the services of the church. This pleasure she had the

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privilege of enjoying two Sabbaths; and she more than once expressed to several friends how thankful she felt that she had been enabled again to join in the worship of her Lord and Saviour, for his unspeakable goodness to the children of men. The day after her last attendance at the church, she was taken ill; and from her first attack of illness, she felt that nature was gradually giving way, and that her earthly tenement would soon be mingled with the dust. The writer of this notice visited her three times, read each time a psalm, and offered up a short extempore prayer, for which she expressed her thankfulness. Previous to the writer's last leaving her, she said, in a faint voice, "I shall not be long out of the spiritual world," which was verified, for she left her frail tenement of clay at five o'clock the following morning. From all that the writer can learn of her character, she was a pious, just, and consistent person. And last, though not least, she was always ready to do kind acts to the sick and afflicted. She seemed to realize the full force of these words of James: "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world," i. 27. Religion with her was not a mere abstraction, but it was a religion founded on the two great principles of love to God and charity to man. Judging from her life, she was a person in whom the work of religion had made considerable progress. She seemed to have left first principles, and gone on to a state of perfection. Let us hope, then, that she has rested from her labours, and that her works have followed with her. S. T.

Departed on the 8th of August, 1863, Mr. William Barlow, a native of Burslem, and by trade a potter, aged fifty-eight years. When about twenty-three years of age, be joined the Wesleyan Methodists, and was for twenty years a consistent member of that body of Christians. Fifteen years ago he met with, read, and cordially received the doctrines of the New Church, and became one of the most zealous New Churchmen in the Potteries. He was a man in whom there was no guile;-straightforward, simple, affectionate, and honest. The heavenly doctrines were his supreme delight; and

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