things for himself." So he hastened home, fell to prayer, fancied twice that he heard a voice distinctly saying that his sins were forgiven him, and felt, in that instant, that all his load was gone, and that an inexpressible change had been wrought. "I loved God," he says: "I loved all mankind. I could not tell whether I was in the body or out of it. Prayer was turned into wonder, love, and praise." In this state of exaltation he joined the society.

Mr. Oliver was a man of violent temper; he loved his son dearly; and thinking that a boy of sixteen was not emancipated from the obligation of filial obedience, his anger at the course which John persisted in pursuing was strong in proportion to the strength of his affection. He sent to all the Methodists in the town, threatened what he would do if any of them dared receive him into their houses. He tried severity, by the advice of stupid men; and broke not only sticks but chairs upon him, in his passion. Perceiving that these brutal means were ineffectual, and perhaps inwardly ashamed of them, he reproached his undutiful child with breaking his father's heart, and bringing down his gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. The distress of the father, and the stubborn resolution of the son, were now matter of public talk in Stockport. Several clergymen endeavoured to convince the lad of his misconduct. One of them, who had been his schoolmaster, called him his child, prayed for him, wept over him, and conjured him, as he loved his own soul, not to go near those people any more. The father, in presence of this clergyman, told his son, that he might attend the churchprayers every day, and should have every indulgence which he could ask, provided he would come no more near those "damned villains," as he called the objects of his violent but not unreasonable prejudice. John's reply was, that he would do every thing in his power to satisfy him as a child to a parent, but that this was a matter of conscience which he could not give up.

Mr. Oliver had good cause for apprehending the worst consequences from that spirit of fanaticism

with which the boy was so thoroughly possessed. The disease was advancing rapidly toward a crisis. At this time, his heart was "kept in peace and love all the day long;" and when his band-fellows spoke of the wickedness which they felt in themselves, he wondered at them, and could discover none in himself. It was not long before he made the discovery. "Having," he says, "given way to temptation, and grieved the Holy Spirit of God," all his comforts were withdrawn in a moment: "my soul was all over darkness: I could no longer see him that is invisible: I could not feel his influence on my heart: I sought him, but could not find him. I endeavoured to pray, but the heavens seemed like brass: at the same time such a weight came upon me, as if I was instantly to be pressed to death. I sunk into black despair: I found no gleam of light, no trace of hope, no token of any kind for good. The Devil improved this hour of darkness, telling me I was sure to be damned, for I was forsaken of God. Sleep departed from me, and I scarce eat any thing, till I was reduced to a mere skeleton." One morning, being no longer able to endure this misery, and resolving to put an end to his wretched life, he rose very early, and threw himself into the river, in deep water. How he was taken out, and conveyed to the house of a Methodist, he says, is what he never could tell; "unless God sent one of his ministering spirits to help in the time of need." A humbler Christian would have been satisfied with gratefully acknowledging the providence of God: he, however, flattered himself with the supposition of a miracle; and Wesley, many years afterwards, published the account without reprehension or comment. That evening, there was preaching and praying in the house; but, in the morning, "Satan came upon him like thunder," telling him he was a self-murderer; and he attempted to strangle himself with a handkerchief. It was now thought proper to send for Mr. Oliver, who had been almost distracted all this while, fearing what might so probably have happened to the

poor bewildered boy. He took him home, promising to use no severity; for John was afraid to go. Ă physician was called in, whom Oliver calls an utter stranger to all religion. He bled him largely, physicked him well, and blistered him on the head, back, and feet. It is very possible that the bodily disease required some active treatment: the leaven of the mind was not thus to be worked off. The first time that he was permitted to go out, one of his Methodist friends advised him to elope, seeing that he would not be permitted to serve God at home. He went to Manchester: his mother followed him, and found means to bring him back by force: the father then gave up the contest in despair, and John pursued his own course without further opposition. Now it was, he says, that his strength came again: his light, his life, his God. He began to exhort: soon afterward he fancied himself called to some more public work; and, having passed through the previous stages, was accepted by Wesley upon trial as a travelling preacher. At the year's end he would have gone home, from humility, not from any weariness of his vocation. Wesley's reply was, "You have set your hand to the gospel-plough, therefore never look back! I would have you come up to London this winter. Here is every thing to make the man of God perfect." He accepted the invitation ; and had been thirty years an active and successful preacher, when his life and portrait were exhibited in the Arminian Magazine.

Oliver describes himself as having always been of a fearful temper-a temper which is often connected with rashness. During part of his life, he was afflicted with what he calls a scrofulous disorder. A practitioner in Essex, to whom he applied for relief, and who began his practice by prayer, told him his whole mass of blood was corrupted, and advised him to a milk diet: he took daily a quart of milk. with white bread, and two table-spoonfuls of honey. In six months his whole habit of body was changed, and no symptom of the disorder ever appeared afterwards.

JOHN PAWSON was the son of a respectable farmer, who cultivated his own estate, at Thorner, in Yorkshire. His parents were of the Church of England, and gave him a good education according to their means; and though, he says, they were strangers to the life and power of religion, brought him up in the fear of God. The father followed also the trade of a builder, and this son was bred to the same business. The youth knowing the Methodists only by common report, supposed them to be a foolish and wicked people; till happening to hear a person give an account of his wife, who was a Methodist, he conceived a better opinion of them, and felt a wish to hear them. Accordingly he went one evening to their place of meeting; but, when he came to the door, he was ashamed to go in, and so walked round the house, and returned home. This was in his 18th year. He was now employed at Harewood, and fell into profligate company, who, though they did not succeed in corrupting him, made him dislike Methodism more than ever.

Two sermons, which had been preached at the parish church in Leeds by a methodistical clergyman, were lent to his father when Pawson was about twenty. These fell into his hands, and convinced him that justification by faith was necessary to salvation. He went now to Otley to hear a Methodist preach; and from that hour his course of life was determined. The serious devout behaviour of the people, he says, struck him with a kind of religious awe: the singing greatly delighted him; and the sermon was, to use his own phraseology, "much blest to his soul." He was permitted to stay, and be present at the Society Meeting, and "had cause to bless God for it."

There was nothing wavering in this man's character: he had been morally and religiously brought up; his disposition, from, the beginning, was good, and his devotional feelings strong. But his relations were exceedingly offended when he declared himself a Methodist. An uncle, who had promised to be his friend, resolved that he would leave him no

thing in his will, and kept the resolution. His parents, and his brother and sisters, supposed him to be totally ruined. Sometimes his father threatened to turn him out of doors, and utterly disown him: but John was his eldest son: he dearly loved him; and this fault, bitterly as he regretted and resented it, was not of a nature to destroy his natural affection. He tried persuasion, as well as threats; beseeching him not to run wilfully after his own ruin; and his mother frequently wept much on his account. The threat of disinheriting him gave him no trouble; but the danger which he believed their souls were in distressed him sorely. "I did not regard what I suffered," says he, " so my parents might be brought out of their Egyptian darkness." He bought books, and laid them in his father's way, and it was a hopeful symptom that the father read them, although it seemed to no good purpose. The seed, however, had struck root in the family: his brother and some of his sisters were "awakened." The father became more severe with John, as the prime cause of all this mischief: then again he tried mild means, and told him to buy what books he pleased, but besought him not to go to the preachings: he might learn more by reading Mr. Wesley's writings, than by hearing the lay-preachers; and the Methodists, he said, were so universally hated, that it would ruin his character to go among them. It was hard work" to withstand the entreaties of a good father; and it was not less hard to refrain from what he verily believed essential to his salvation. There was preaching one Sunday near the house, and, in obedience, he kept away; but when it was over, and he saw the people returning home, full of the consolation which they had received, his grief became too strong for him: he went into the garden, and wept bitterly; and, as his emotions became more powerful, retired into a solitary place, and there, he says, bemoaned himself before the Lord, in such anguish, that he was scarcely able to look up. In this situation his father found him, and took him into the fields to see the grass and