Recollections of the late J. G. Bellett.

by his daughter, L. (Letty) M. Bellett.

Preface

It may seem strange that after so many years have elapsed since my dear father's death, I should now print these notes of his life; and I feel that some explanation may naturally be expected.

From time to time I have been reminded that he is still held in loving, remembrance by friends, and also, that many who never saw him feel almost as if they had known and loved him from being familiar with his writings, some of which, I believe, are even more read than formerly. Within the last year or two I have met with more than one whose acquaintance with him was very short; "but his loving spirit, and still more, his abiding sense of the presence of his Lord, and his exceeding love to Him," made an impression which time has not effaced.

To such friends I have thought that this little book might be welcome. It does not profess to be a life of my father. The manuscript from which it is taken was written several years ago for my own comfort, and without any thought whatever of publication; and the recollections are quite fragmentary.

I am glad to be able to add extracts from some of his letters to myself, and also to different members of his family, which have been given to me, as well as some remembered words, so that my father will himself speak through these pages.

At the end* will be found a short account written by him of my brother; and as I feel that it tells much about himself as well as of the son he so loved, I think that many friends may like to read it. But it was not written for publication.

*[This is a separate page]

To prepare these pages has been almost a sacred work. I am deeply conscious of their defects, and can but entrust them to the kindness and sympathy of those who may read them.

Poor as are my words about my dear father, I trust they may convey some idea of his character, and (to use the words of one of his nieces) "of his steadfast faith, his sweet humility, his child-like simplicity, and above all, the depth and breadth of his love, shown to all who came under his notice, but which centred in the Lord Jesus Christ, and which shone out so pre-eminently the last few weeks of his life."

If this little record should lead any one to love more fervently his dear Lord and Master, and to prize more highly His holy Word; or if it may be the means of strengthening any wavering faith, I shall indeed be thankful to Him to Whose blessing I commend it.

L. M. BELLETT.

CLIFTON, NOV., 1894.

Contents

1. EARLY DAYS

2. DOMESTIC LIFE — JOYS AND SORROWS

3. CHARACTERISTICS — REMEMBERED WORDS

4. LETTERS, THOUGHTS ON PASSAGES OF HOLY SCRIPTURE

5. INTEREST IN THE "REVIVAL" — HYMNS

6. LOOSENING OF EARTHLY TIES

7. CLOSING DAYS

THE MEMORY OF A DEARLY LOVED AND ONLY SON (onlyson.doc on CD)

INTRODUCTION

THE LETTERS

CONCLUSION — REFLECTIONS AND EXPERIENCES

Recollections of the late J. G. Bellett.

CHAPTER 1. EARLY DAYS.

My earliest remembrance of my dear father is connected with our home in Herbert Place, Dublin. Our family consisted of himself, my mother, brother, and great aunt, Alice Dyer, who lived with us.

Long before I can remember, he had retired from his profession as a barrister, and had given himself entirely to the ministry of God's word, in the meetings of the Brethren.

Before giving my recollections of him, I should like to mention a few things about his early life, gathered from his own lips, or told me by others, and also to quote from some of his early letters which have come into my possession.

He was born in Frederick Street, Dublin, on July 19th, 1795; but the chief home of his early years was "North Lodge," a country house about ten miles out of town. He was the eldest of my grandfather's children, and had two brothers and one sister. Between him and his brother George, who was a little younger, there was the tenderest affection.

The following little incident, related by my uncle in his autobiography,* shows what his feeling towards his brother was. After mentioning his strong attachment to him he writes:

"I well remember when I was about three years old, conceiving this very strongly. Johnny had been naughty, and was sharply reproved for being so, whereas I was praised for being good. Instead of being flattered by this comparison, I burst out crying, and passionately exclaimed, 'I won't be good if Johnny isn't good!' A closer bond than that of nature, I trust afterwards linked us together."

*See Memoir of Rev. G. Bellett, by his daughter.

When they were about seven and eight years of age, they were sent to school at Taunton, and while there spent their holidays at the home of their grandmother — "Whyte's Cottage," Sampford-Arundel, Somerset — and this place was loved by them almost as a second home. There they had not only pleasant holidays, but also the wise training and heavenly example of "Aunt Roberts."*

* This is the title of a short memoir of her written by one of her great nieces.

One day during my dear father's last illness, when we were sitting together, without anything apparently leading to it, the image of "Whytes" and the ground around it seemed to rise before him, and he described so distinctly the little "goyle"* at the bottom of the orchard, that when I was there a few years after, it was easy to recognise the scene his memory had retained.

*The Somersetshire name for a small stream between high banks.

Sampford-Arundel was a meeting-place for different members of the family; and there was frequently one there from London, whose influence for good was ever felt by my father and uncle; this was their cousin, Mr. Richard Baron Bellett. They felt great affection for him, and used to recall with pleasure the delight with which he dwelt on the words of Holy Scripture. He was some years older than they were, but felt much interest in them, and not only imbued their minds with his own reverence for sacred things, but, with his refined and cultivated tastes, led them to appreciate all that was pure and good.

He afterwards settled in Sampford, and took the greatest interest in the poor people, entering into their joys and sorrows, and ministering to their wants. My father used to say that he reminded him of the poet Cowper, so identified was he with the life of the village.

After being at school for some time the brothers were separated, my father being removed to Exeter; and here I again quote from my uncle's Memoir:

"John, whose talents began to develop themselves, was sent to the Grammar School at Exeter, to be under the care of Dr. Lempriere. I was very proud of him, for his abilities and diligence were making him a good scholar, and he was much in esteem with his master. He was making great advance in scholarship, always taking the lead of his friend, W. Follett, who afterwards became one of the most eminent lawyers of the day, and Attorney-General under Sir Robert Peel's Government."

My uncle also writes, referring to school days at Taunton:

"They" (their school-fellows) "were delighted with John's singing. I can recollect even now the surprise and delight I felt in hearing him; for, as in early childhood, anything which seemed to distinguish him, or do him honour, brought joy to me."

After a few years the brothers entered Trinity College, Dublin, and my uncle writes:

"John thought he might venture on the entrance examination without much preparation, and he passed. I rejoiced indeed. The first examination after this, he carried off the classical prize, which was considered a great honour, for, having entered late in the year, he was thrown among the Sizars, who being generally the best scholars, to carry away an honour from them was quite a feather in his cap. He obtained in the January following a prize for general answering. After this he did nothing to distinguish himself. What the reason of it was I do not exactly know. It is likely that the strong religious feelings which he afterwards, through God's mercy, so deeply imbibed, may not only have made him indifferent to honours of this sort, but have caused him to look upon them as unlawful.

"For the first two years in which we were in college we were frequently at parties. I remember well the disappointment I used to feel, on coming home from, lecture at college, at not finding on our table an invitation to a dinner, or to a ball, but the invitations were very frequent. Dear John was an acceptable guest at most places, he was so agreeable, and his power of conversation very great."

The next few paragraphs, also taken from the Memoir, and connected with some remembered words of his own, indicate that it was soon after this time that my father's mind (as well as his dear brother's) underwent a change.

Some friendships formed at this time were specially helpful to both.

My uncle writes:

"I became acquainted with John Darley, and to our acquaintance with his family which soon after ensued, my dear brother and I felt that we owed very much.

"Mrs. Darley was a truly devout woman; the religion of Christ was evidently the uppermost thing in her thoughts, and she often made it the subject of her conversation. She was anxious, I have no doubt, to impress our minds with the same truths which were so precious to her; nor did she wholly fail. She certainly made us think more of our Lord Jesus Christ than we had been wont to do, and of the necessity of seeking salvation through Him rather than by our own works."

A little further on he speaks of another friend:

"In 1817 Mr. Kearney was appointed to the living of Kilgobbin" (the parish in which, 'North Lodge' was situated), "one of the most remarkable men I ever knew — remarkable for the saintliness of his character and the amount of heavenly wisdom with which he was endued. He was thoroughly unworldly — not a tinge of the world seemed to soil him, nor a desire for the honour which cometh from men to affect him. Mrs. Kearney was one almost as remarkable as himself, though not in the same way, of a very warm and affectionate nature, full of zeal for the honour of Christ and of loving interest in the souls for whom He died. Two persons of such excellence, the one glowing with the fervour of charity, the other endued with the wisdom which is from above, pure, peaceable, gentle, easy to be entreated, to a greater degree than I ever witnessed in anyone, could not but have their influence on others, and through the grace and goodness of God, that influence was felt in our family."

The words of my dear father, to which I have referred, were said to me one day when he took me to see the old home. We were in the garden at, "North Lodge"; and he told me to look up at one particular window, and said that one day while studying in that room the words came into his mind — "What will be the end of it all?" This thought kept repeating itself; and that, he believed, was the beginning of new life to his soul.

My grandfather was at first much displeased by the seriousness produced, or deepened, in all his children by Mr. Kearney's teaching. His displeasure was patiently borne, while the truths they had received were unflinchingly held. Nor was this without its reward in later years, for after his father's death, my uncle wrote as follows:

"I was called up to Dublin by the alarming illness of my dear father, then ninety-one years old; and I found him declining fast. His mind, however, appeared as clear and strong as ever. His spiritual state during, his last illness, affords delightful evidence how graciously God had dealt with his soul, bringing him to a thankful acknowledgement of truths which he once had too lightly esteemed, and to a firm belief in that Saviour, whom at one time he had well-nigh rejected."

After his college course was finished my father went to London, to prosecute his studies for the law, which he had chosen as his profession.

Though I have no clue wherewith to trace the working of his mind during the interval that had elapsed between this time and the day when the thought of eternity first pressed itself upon him, the following letter written to his dear brother from London, (which was lovingly preserved for sixty years), will show something of what he was in heart and mind at the age of twenty-seven.

One can, I think, feel in reading it, his fresh delight in the things of God, as well as the purity, and humility, and singleness of purpose which breathe throughout it. Before many years had passed, his mind had changed on some important subjects referred to; but the one object of his heart from first to last was the same — the love and presence of his Lord.

The letter is a long one, written on old-fashioned letter paper:

"MY DEAREST GEORGE, — I have been expecting a letter from you almost every day since I heard that you had left Dublin for Magherahamlet.*

*My uncle had been ordained to the curacy of this parish, in the north of Ireland.

While I am writing, I am quite ignorant of the fate of your examination, and even the manner in which you have been spending your time with Mr. and Mrs. Boyd, who, I understand, were so kind as to insist on your remaining with them till the bishop held his ordination. Of all these circumstances I shall be glad to hear, and of everything connected with you, my dear brother. My poor acquaintance and fellow-student, Harvey, whom you have heard me mention, was visited about a fortnight since with a paralytic stroke, while at dinner. We met together the evening before, and he as little anticipated the affliction then as I did, but I continue in the full enjoyment of my mind and body, and he has been suddenly deprived of both. My dearest George, every day shows me how much I have received at God's hands, and how I have in my reach all the means of living to Him and His service, and therefore all the means of happiness — the use of reason to contemplate Him, a tongue to praise Him and tell of His wonders, hands and feet to do Him active homage — the blessed word of His grace to give me a knowledge of His holy will, and the free use of the ordinances and privileges of His Church.

I hope that my heart, though dull indeed to learn the saving, blessed truth, is knowing more and more of the fulness that there is in our God for all our desires, and the utter poverty in everything beside Him.

I have been studying with much attention the life of Henry Martyn, a book which I found was not to be read merely to know the circumstances, but that there was a treasure in it which would not be found unsought. It at first gave me some mournful impressions of the nature of Christianity, it taught me to regard it as a most severe process, by which the mind was to undergo some important revolution, but of the happy effects of which it was allowed to taste but very rarely.

The first part of his life in almost every page exhibits some strong marks of great despondency, and I can assure you I had for some time occasionally haunting me, a most gloomy picture of the religion of our blessed Lord.

You will remember that his sensibilities were most acute; his attachment to his friends and family very great indeed, so that he must have experienced the propriety of those strong images — cutting of a right arm, plucking out a right eye — and it was the bringing my mind more directly to contemplate this, and to see it put in practice, which so pressed upon me. But when I brought him onward as a minister and a missionary, and beheld his fervent spirit in active service of his Lord, and at the same time his humbled, broken frame of mind, when secretly with his Lord, I feel at this time, my dear George, that I have reason to rejoice at having read it, and trust it may show me many things we cannot learn too well. If heaven is won by works, where Martyn is I never can go; but as all my unworthiness is not too great for the cleansing of a Saviour's free love and mercy, may I prize such a Saviour with new delight and gratitude.

I confess, my dear brother, that my mind has been brought, I trust, more and more to see that without the Cross I must perish, for I am at best an unprofitable servant.

O may our gracious Lord keep us both ever in a broken, humbled spirit; from the dust in His presence looking up and beholding the Cross, and the ever-blessed words, 'Look unto Me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth.' This is the posture for us, and I believe it to be the directest way to attain, even in this life, the peace that passeth understanding. The more of this broken spirit we attain to, the more will be our thirsting for sanctification, and looking to the Cross is the great transforming process.

I find it safe to have heaven occasionally brought secretly to my mind, and so do you, I know, my dear George; and when we go out into the world, let the Cross be before us that on it we may crucify the world to us, and ourselves to the world.

But O, while I am writing, I feel how little right I have to talk of the mysteries of the Saviour's kingdom, for my heart testifies against me, that I have not made Him my all in all; that I am still deriving much of my present and of my anticipated enjoyments from the world, and as dear Mr. Kearney observed, 'if we prized sanctification as much as we say we do, we would willingly suffer any privations or sorrows by which we might attain it'; but such privations and sorrows if they were to visit me, I fear they would leave me but a portion of that happiness which I feel, and which I was in hopes was connected with my interest in a Saviour's love.

You know that I get but little spiritual conversation in London, but I have not fully acquainted you with the delightful and decided change that has passed in our cousin Charlotte's mind, so that, at Chigwell, with her I enjoy the happiness of seeing the workings of a renewed soul thirsting after the riches that never fade away. She is a humble, spiritual Christian, and with her and Mr. and Mrs. West, I sometimes have cause to remember our dear circle at Kilgobbin.

But I must tell you that Charlotte has certainly in heart become a Dissenter, though I know very well that Mr. West* has made it no object with him, and I believe, never in the least said anything to influence her, but can it be wondered at when all the spiritual consolation she receives is from members of Mr. West's congregation, having continually before her the worldly life and worldly conversation of their own parish clergyman.

*He was a Congregational minister.

If she had been of your parish, my dearest George, I think it would not have been so, but being as it is, you cannot wonder at her, or be less disposed to love her as a sister in Christ Jesus.

I have lately heard two delightful sermons from Mr. Simeon, for the Jews, and indeed, he convicted me of having impiously and inhumanly disregarded them He showed from Scripture that God appeared to have always sympathised with the sufferings of Jerusalem, even while denouncing vengeance against their sins, which is particularly exhibited in our Lord's lamentation over her while predicting her ruin.

What little love have I to my fellow creatures! O if there were not a Saviour, I must perish with the most ungodly.

I have not much news for you. I have commenced an attendance in the King's Bench, where I mean to go while I remain here. I see the public men of the day — Brougham, Denman, etc. — and hear some interesting trials, which familiarise me with practice; and give me a view of that course of life which at present appears will be mine.

I like my studies very well, and fear not the many temptations which will surround me, if the Lord keep my spirit in a praying frame and enable me, as Martyn says, to sit loose to all my engagements, so that I should be ready to depart at a moment's warning.

I saw our City address go up to the King, who, I understand, gave them a most affable and flattering reception, and promised the Lord Mayor that he hoped soon to see their City.

Just as I reached this point I received your most welcome letter. May God bless you, my dear, dear George. I need not tell you to be honest in declaring all the counsel of God.

With the greatest sincerity I can say, O that I were like you. But, whether Calvinist or not, give Christ the glory, and fear neither those who would excommunicate you for not holding high Calvinism, nor those who would shun you as a saint for professing even the doctrine of the new birth.

"If on my face, for Thy dear name,

Shame and reproaches be,

All hail reproach and welcome shame,

If Thou remember me."

On Sunday, being at Chigwell, I stayed in Mr. West's chapel while the Sacrament was administering, as a visitor, which they allow to any one.

He spoke as to his friends and brethren on the Saviour's love, and alluded to the transports which the Israelites must have felt when the rock yielded them water in the wilderness.

May the Lord bless and keep you, and enable you to feel that you are His minister.

Ever your most affectionate brother,

J. G. B."

The next letter, to his friend Mr. Reynolds,* though without date, must have been written about the same time:

*Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds had made acquaintance with my grandfather some years before, when they were visiting in Ireland, and were ever after the loved and valued friends of the whole family.

"MY DEAR FRIEND, — I could wish that, on my return for the summer vacation, I had the prospect of taking some drives with you and our most valued friend Mrs. Reynolds, but it is our wisdom and our happiness to look upward, rather than either forward, or backward.

Matron speaks of the 'Solemn troops and sweet society' in heaven. The language and sentiment are beautiful; but, my dear friend, it will be more than even Milton's rich genius could compass, to speak adequately of that blessed communion and intercourse which the redeemed of the Lamb enjoy before the throne. The poor, if 'rich in faith,' know something of it, much more than the wisest in the wisdom of this world. May God cause you, and me, and those dear to us, so to live that we may attain it in its fulness of joy!"

Soon after the date of these letters my father returned to Dublin to begin his work as a barrister; and a year or two after he was married to my dear mother, Mary, the fourth daughter of Admiral Drury. Their early married life was clouded by the death of four little ones, to one of whom my father refers in a letter to his cousin Richard:-

"MY DEAR COUSIN, — We have just closed a week of almost uninterrupted grief. Poor Mary, you will not be surprised to hear, has felt much more deeply our bitter loss than she did the first day or two; last week she remembered our darling boy in his sickness, but she is now remembering him while he was in health, and all his endearing little ways.

He is missed at almost every turn, and truly do I see the propriety of those words speaking of Rachel's sorrow for her children — 'because they are not.'

But sure I am that a day will come that shall prove not only the wisdom, but the infinite grace and goodness of all God's dealings, and equally sure that I see the necessity of His chastening, and I trust I pray in sincerity that it may accomplish its good purpose in both of us. Surely Cowper's words may be used -

'Then in a nobler, sweeter song

I'll sing Thy power to save,

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue

Lies silent in the grave.'

Our dear child, no doubt, has joined this sweet and noble song, and shall we regret it? Shall we lament that his poor lispings in our ears have been changed for hallelujahs in our Lord's? — indeed a naughty world he has left, as a friend said to me the other day, 'He just looked on it, and seeing that it was so naughty, left it.'

Like dear children, may we all follow him — may the oldest among us, and the wisest among us, become is little children.

Farewell, my dear cousin, much love to all around you."

In the next letter my father refers to his two other boys, "little Richard and Johnny" — the first, delicate almost from his birth, was taken from him when about three years old. "Johnny," who was about a year older, lived to the age of nineteen to be the occasion of calling forth his father's tenderest sympathy during months of suffering, and also his wondering and adoring thankfulness for the grace given to this dear son. His letters at the end will show this fully.

"MY DEAREST GEORGE, — Our dear James* has been with us since Friday evening, but indeed not to find dear sister by his side is a great miss to us all.

*His much-loved brother-in-law, Rev. J. Richey.

Perhaps you remember Henry Martyn's reflection in a moment of disappointment: — 'Who is it that makes friends, and sleep, and food pleasant to me? Cannot He also make solitude, and hunger, and weariness so many ministering angels to help me on my way?'

It is so indeed. He can make the wilderness blossom as the rose, or turn the fruitful field into barrenness. He can give songs in the night, or turn the morning into the shadow of death, and we are called upon to be learning more and more that without Himself nothing is day, and with Him nothing is night. The good Lord give us all this blessed experience of Himself continually.

'It won't do,' says dear Rutherford, 'to be living amid the rumbling of the wheels of second causes, saying, "if it had not been for this circumstance," or "if this had not happened"; we must get out of the hearing of that jarring and din of confused noises, and run up at once to God with "It is the Lord: let Him do what seemeth Him good," before the soul will find her rest.'

This is beautiful, I can admire it; would that I could do more. May you abundantly prove it to be true, to your great and endless comfort.

Last week our dear little Richard had a pretty violent attack, but now, thank God, though a good deal weakened necessarily, we consider the complaint subdued. Johnny is very well.

Farewell, my very dear George; the Lord be with you, is the affectionate prayer of my poor heart.

Ever your loving brother,

J. G. B."

The following letter was written when my uncle was in some anxiety and trouble:

"MY DEAREST GEORGE, — We know not what is good for us, but this we know, that, if not thwarted by our own wilfulness, all things will work together for good in the Lord's hands, for good in conforming us to the image of His dear Son, and in that image imparting to us a share in all the glory which has been provided for Him, and which is to be revealed in His day.

'Till that day may you be enabled to dwell under His shadow, and prove the sufficient virtue of that abiding-place even in the heaviest, dreariest tempest: the present is one indeed to put it to the proof, and all I know is, that were it my case, I should not come through it without leaving me to see much of my weakness, which might well confound me.

But let us trust, 'and not be afraid.' We are to hope that we shall be found able to do all things — Christ strengthening us — His strength being fitted to our day.

I know a lady — whose husband, from bad conduct, is obliged to hide himself — I believe with eleven children, all but two apparently destitute, after living in comfort, and disease lately discovered to be working in her, drawing on certain death, it may be after years of suffering. But yet, with all these things against her, I learn that she was never in the enjoyment of such peace in God. She has found sweet sympathy in her Christian friends, and abundance in her blessed Saviour.

It is well to mention such cases to the praise of Him, who sticketh closer than a brother, and who in spirit is as near to us now as He will be in manifested glory hereafter."

The next two letters are addressed to my father's very dear and only sister.

"MY DEAREST Bessy, — How is dear James? I often think of you both; and the bustle, and the 'noisy folly' that surround one in a city like this, hurry me in imagination, and memory too, to the stillness of Culmstock,* but, dearest sister, the poetry of the shade is not the religion of faith, and when spirit, soul, and body are accounted not our own, but the Saviour's, in virtue of the purchase of His blessed sufferings, occasions for serving Him may be presented to us everywhere, and it is our duty to enter upon those occasions in humbleness, and faith, and love.

*At that time my aunt's home, in Somersetshire.

'What is that in thine hand?' says the Lord to Moses, and that which was in his hand, and which he had not to go far to look for, was to be employed as the instrument of his ministry."

The second letter refers to the illness of Aunt Roberts:-

"It is very comforting to know of our dear aunt. My love to her, and kiss her, and remind her while you do so of the last verse of the 2nd Psalm — 'Kiss the Son' — and may she and you, dearest sister, and all of us, enter more into the enjoyment of that full and free love of the Saviour, which that gracious invitation proposes to us.

How plainly do we see the hand of a tender Father in that stroke which laid her on a bed of pain, and her outward man perishing, but for the renewal and strengthening of the inner.

Our blessed Lord says, 'Lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh.' There is much now in the power of temptation, in sorrow of various kinds, in the witnessing of sin all around one, to cause the head to droop, and the heart to wither a bit, but once lifted up at the day of redemption it is lifted up for ever.

How happy that our dear brothers* separated from us, find Bandon is more palatable to them. They meet with much friendship and affection, but I hope, and believe, that their work itself, so truly blessed and great as it is, will be found sufficient to give the scene of it no common interest in their esteem.

*Both my uncles were curates at Bandon, in the south of Ireland. I shall often have occasion to speak of my uncle George; but my father's youngest brother lived only a few years after this. I never knew him, but heard him spoken of as one who loved his Lord most devotedly, and lived a saintly life; yet he suffered from great spiritual depression.

It is written, 'How beautiful upon the mountains.' Bleak, untamed mountains might seem beautiful when they become the scene of the labours of the gospel.

I feel so satisfied that, through His free and full love to you, God will so order all your ways for good, that I cannot exactly say that I should feel unqualifiedly sorry at any of His dispensations towards you, but I do trust, in His disposal of you, He may see fit to keep you, dear, in good health, that you may wait on those around you and minister to God in your place without interruption.

How does generation succeed generation, and how quickly does the place that now knows us know us no more! Our life is a hand-breadth, the journey of a day, but the end is the presence of God.

I think my gracious Lord has given me sweeter thoughts of death for a few months past than ever I had; it has appeared to me better to depart than formerly, and though I feel how weak my faith is to reach forth and take eternal joys, yet I have had some few earnests, that as I approach the confines of the two countries, my God will strengthen me and give me grace to sing the conqueror's song over death and the grave.

Surely we both entirely say that all our hope is exactly that which the dying thief had — the grace of the Saviour. I know no other. Let us serve and wait for years; still the beginning of my confidence must continue with me to the end, that the Lord has freely forgiven me all trespass, and loved me with an unchanging love.

Everything that helps us to see the glory of the Lord reflected in the pages of His Holy Word is so much pure gold, and better than thousands of silver.

"Cleave close to the Word, dearest Bessy. Is it not the way to cleave close to God? May the remembrance of it become, increasingly precious to you. If you love it as. well as I love you, you will often think of it with ever new delight."

Some of the following extracts are from letters to the Rev. J. Richey:-

"MY DEAREST JAMES, — I enclose a short answer to dear W.'s note which you sent me, and which was very beautiful indeed; truly and simply, I am sure, speaking the desires of his heart which appear all directed to the dear things of our Lord's Kingdom.

May you and dearest Bessy have much cause to rejoice in the work of your hands. I think of you all pretty often, and if you be bringing forth a hundred fold, while I yield twenty, I shall rejoice with you for the abundant grace bestowed upon you, and that God is glorified thereby.

Give my love to our dear aunt. Tell her I only trust that the same rod and staff may be supporting us all when we are summoned to follow her, and that we may find the valley, as Henry* says valleys generally are a fruitful place.

*Matthew Henry, the Commentator.

We desire again to hear of dear Baby. I fear that she must be an object of some painful solicitude to you and dearest sister, but you will both learn, I am sure, by the effectual teaching of God Himself, to repose your little darling in the arms of the Lord. The sufferings of an infant deeply present the sinfulness of sin to us. We are ready to say, 'What hath sin wrought?' but you remember those comforting and, I believe, sound words, 'They die, for Adam sinned; they live, for Jesus died.'

You remember, dear James, how Milner tells of some African Christians who, on leaving their native town in time of persecution, went out singing, 'Such honour have all His saints' — I would that this mantle may fall on us both.

I often think of dear Culmstock. May the presence of our good God be much there.

Dear Mother is, assuredly, we trust, more and more under the holy power of the Spirit of God. May His kingdom be the portion of us all!"

In the following letters my father speaks of the illness and death of my grandmother (Mrs. Drury), and of a little daughter who lived but a short time, also of the death of little Richard.

"Dear Baby gives us hopes and fears at times. In complexion, as well as features, she has become to my eye so like Johnny,* that she brings his last month very forcibly to my mind. The Lord restore her if it be His will, but we are all very doubtful if she will ever number up twelve months.

*His first little son.

She is a sweet, engaging little pet to us all, but God may see that the world would prove too strong for her; and, to see her not triumphing over it, would truly be the saddest sight of all.

Our dear Mrs. Drury is much, much worse; there is a near connection, I feel more and more, between ours and the eternal world. May her spirit soon rejoice with the blessed angels. I shall miss her very, very much."

A few days later:

"My prayer for her has been gradually turned into praise, and the subject of my praise was that God has so visited her with His peace and strength, for she was entirely composed and never happier in all her life, though she was sensible that a few days must dismiss her hence — not one murmur from the beginning. But yesterday morning she appeared somewhat relieved.

My dear, dear M. has been a good deal tried, but she is docile under God's hand, I surely believe, and longs to know Him more and more.

You do not mention dear Aunt Roberts, for your letter was all affectionate interest about us.

How comfortable to know that that which distinguishes heaven is not intellectual power, or high and honourable attainments of any kind which our hearts naturally admire — but love — let us then live in love. 'He that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God.' Have we not some understanding of this? It is hard to delineate, but it way be proved in the soul."

Again:

"Our darling Mrs. Drury died this morning after twelve hours of laborious breathing, but without one painful struggle. The happy circumstances of her illness, the truly happy temper of her soul generally, almost entirely from first to last, greatly help to comfort us. Her death came as the most sudden surprise after her revival.

Farewell, my own dear sister."

MY DEAREST BESSY, — Dear Mother has told you of our sorrow, which has come in a moment most unlooked for, for Mr. Crampton told us, thirteen days before dear little Richard died, that he might outlive his disease. But he has followed his dear, kind grandpapa very speedily, and though he was a most delightful child to us, yet we see much mercy in his being freed from possibly long suffering. I feel, however, that it helps to show me that I have less reason to have my hold on this world.

He has been a most precious little son to me."

I think it must have been about this time that my father withdrew from the Communion of the Church of England. His friend Mr. Darby's* name first occurs in the following letter:

*It is perhaps needless for me to say that Mr. Darby was one of my father's dearest friends. They had been contemporaries at College, and afterwards they were almost entirely of one mind on the subjects most prized by both. I never knew the time when Mr. Darby was not a visitor in our house — sometimes for weeks together; and well do I remember the rapt attention with which his preaching was listened to by my father, and the pleasure with which he would afterwards tell Mr. Darby how it had delighted him.

January 31, 1827.

MY DEAREST GEORGE, — At times it is only the assurance that God is with you that makes me feel at all happy in our separation.* If we lived merely for this world, it would be better that we should be together even on bread and water, but we must not undertake to fix the bounds of our habitation. Circumstances will, please God, occasionally unite us.

*My uncle was still at Bandon.

I hope on Friday to see John Darby. You will be grieved to hear that be has been laid up for nearly two months from a hurt in his knee. His poor people at Calary miss him sadly."

My father used to say, "It I deserve any credit it is that I early discerned what there was in John Darby!"

The next few lines refer to the last illness of Cousin Richard:

"EASTERLAND.*

*Cousin Richard's home, near Sampford.

MY DEAREST SISTER, — I reached this yesterday, and found our beloved cousin much as I had expected. I should judge the time of his continuance among us is at present uncertain. I have had very delightful communications from him; he speaks in such a way as carries its own witness with it, that the Lord, the Spirit, has made Jesus very precious to him, and given him full peace through His blood.

Indeed, dear, dear sister, it is a matter of thankfulness to find him thus kept. He seems to be detained here by no recollections or desires whatever. I feel that we are losing a most pleasant and beloved friend."

To Mr. Reynolds:

"MY DEAR FRIEND, — Many persons are confidently anticipating sorrowful times for our land. The condition of the public mind here they think to be very alarming. I would that I felt myself more in an Abraham state, looking for a city that hath 'foundations.' You know none of the present kingdoms of the earth have foundations, they are all either shaken, or to be shaken. (Hebrews 12: 27, 28.)

In the first chapter of Ephesians the apostle says that we receive spiritual blessings in Christ. (v. 3.) He then enumerates these blessings (vv. 4-14), and they are election, adoption, acceptance in the Beloved, forgiveness, knowledge of God's purposes, inheritance in Christ, earnest of inheritance. It is instructive to consider the meaning of these blessings in detail, for each has its peculiar value for the Church.

How good it is to study the word of God with care, and how worthy it is of this study!

Give our love to Mrs. Reynolds. Tell her the prophets are still much in my thoughts, as we used to talk of them together."

To the same:

"MY DEAR FRIEND, — I was sorry to learn from your few kind lines that your general health was not better; it may be that the change from Fulham to higher ground may serve both you and Mrs. Reynolds, and I shall rejoice to hear that it does, if it be God's will concerning you, but I rather trust that He may dispose you both to leave your times in His hands, and go on to understand more and more fully that love of His which passeth knowledge.

Indeed I regret that you did not see dear John Parnell* before his leaving this country. He and the godly company with whom he purposes to labour left our port for Bordeaux on Saturday. They went off accompanied by the regrets and blessings of many of the Lord's people, who loved them much for His sake.

*He went with Mr. Groves and others on the mission to Baghdad.

It is better to rejoice that our names are 'written in heaven' than to be able to report that 'devils are subject unto us.' Graciousness of mind is better than endowments."

This is the last of the very early letters.

CHAPTER 2. DOMESTIC LIFE — JOYS AND SORROWS.

I HAVE now reached the point when I can first speak of my dear father from personal recollection. The very first thing, I can recall is the tone of his voice; and I can remember his playing with us, and can almost see him groping his way in blind man's buff; but perhaps nothing made a more lasting impression on my mind than the way in which, when bidding me "good-night," he would say some little word of a hymn or prayer. Sometimes it would be a short verse, such as

"Jesus, Thou our Guardian be

Sweet it is to trust in Thee."

Or,

"None but Jesus, none but Jesus,

Can do helpless sinners good."

Or,

"Jesus only can supply

Boldness if we're called to die."

But I think that most frequently it was some loving desire that the blessed Lord might draw me to Himself, and keep me from "the snares of this naughty world." (An expression he often quoted when mentioning children in prayer.) Whatever the parting word might be it reminded me constantly where his heart was.

My great-aunt, Alice Dyer, whom I have before mentioned, was my grandmother, Mrs. Bellett's, younger sister, and had come to Ireland with her without intending to remain. But she became so attached to my father, even from his birth, that nothing could induce her to leave him. Friends in England wanted her to return; but never, except for one short visit, did she leave Ireland again; and after the death of my grandparents she came to live with us. She used often to talk to me of the early days at "North Lodge." Her love for her sister's four children was great; and, when they each left the old home and made homes for themselves, her heart followed them; but it was most closely bound to her "dear John." I shall have occasion to speak of this aunt again.

As my brother and I grew older my father would sometimes sing with us; and used to enjoy the old psalm and hymn tunes with which he had been familiar. His voice was ever sweet and true. The first hymn that I remember his writing was composed to the tune of "Woodman, spare that tree," which we had learned to sing, and which my father much enjoyed.

"My heart is bounding onward,

Home to the land I love;

Its distant vales and mountains

My wishful passions move.

Fain would my fainting spirit

Its living freshness breathe,

And wearied feet find resting,

Its hallow'd shades beneath.

No soil of nature's evil,

No touch of man's rude hand,

Shall e'er disturb around us

That bright and peaceful land,

The charms that woo our senses

Shall be as pure, as fair;

For all while stealing o'er us

Shall tell of Jesus there.

What light! when all its beaming

Shall own Him as its Sun;

What music! when its breathing

Shall bear His name along.

No change, no pause those pleasures

Shall ever seek to know;

The draught that hills our thirsting,

But awakes that thirst anew."*

*This hymn was first printed by some one years ago without our knowledge.

I can remember the sorrow to which my father refers in the following letter, and my consciousness, when quite a little child, of how much it affected him. It was the death of my mother's youngest sister. She had been an invalid all her life, and was the object of tenderest love to all her family. With her two other sisters she lived next door to us.

"April, 1839.

MY DEAREST BESSY, — Our darling sister Louisa has been taken from the midst of us, after a short inflammatory attack of only six days, from the 18th to the 24th of April. But her mind was fully preserved throughout, and her peace flowed like a river from her entrance upon, till her close of, the dark valley. It was indeed a mingled scene of light and darkness. Darkness as to nature and the poor body, but God's light in the spirit all the way. But she has been very dear to me from the beginning, and for years our minds had been trained together in sweetest harmony. Scarcely a meditation of mine on the blessed Word that she was not familiar with. . . . I have felt abundant reason in my soul to thank my God with an especial note of praise for it, for it was all needed I am sure, and it will, I trust, be made a good and holy practical lesson to us. My poor Mary and sisters are in the deepest sorrow.

* * * * * *

"'Happy, quite happy,' were the first words dearest Louisa said to me; and many a sweet word passed between us. The whole was the most perfect peace, not broken for a moment. On one occasion saying to her, 'You shall behold His glory, and be raised in His likeness,' 'Sure of that,' she just said. When dear Aunt came in to see her, she was almost too weak to say anything, but she lifted her hand to heaven as intimating that she was soon going there. She wanted nothing but the Lord Jesus. — He was her boast and holy confidence all through.

I said to her, 'It is a blessing to us, darling, to know that you are as safe in the hands of Jesus as the Apostle Paul.' She raised her poor arm and laid hold on my coat and said, 'I have such a grip of Christ.'

It is sweet to me to talk of her, dearest sister. My poor Mary has been left a little weaker by all this. She will never be fully strong again on her limbs, I judge, but she lays herself without a murmur on the Lord."

One of our pleasantest days each summer was when my father would drive out with my brother, my mother's two nieces and myself, to spend the day at Ballycorus (near "North Lodge"), the Dargle, and Powerscourt Waterfall, first going to breakfast with Mr. Kearney at Kilternan Glebe.

Mr. Kearney's love for my father was very strong; and their friendship was not the least shaken by my father's separation from the Church of England.

Visits to Kilternan Glebe were continued up to the time of Mr. Kearney's death; and on the last day of his life my father watched beside him for hours, and saw him breathe his last (1852).

This "day in the country" was continued in after years; and friends sometimes joined us. My dear father used to enjoy it with a sweet natural pleasure, especially if we had the company of any friend, to whom the beautiful scenery was new.

On these occasions we generally dined at Mrs. Walker's farm; and I think we were never there without his getting together whoever might be in the house, and either reading a little of the Bible, or speaking to them in his own happy, loving way. His kindly manner made all the tenants feel at ease with him.

I cannot remember much about my fathers work and ministry in those early days, but I think that then, as afterwards, a part of each day was spent in visits of Christian counsel and sympathy amongst the Brethren, or others.

He usually took part in the Sunday morning meeting, and frequently preached in the evening also, as well as on Thursday evenings. There were also occasional Bible readings at friends' houses.

He was always an early riser. On winter mornings he would have his table by the kitchen fire, with his Bible and writing materials on it, and there read, and meditate, and write, for some time before breakfast.

The Short Meditations on the Psalms, and On the Gospels according to Luke and John, were written before we left the dear old Herbert Place home, and also, no doubt, many other meditations which appeared from time to time in the Christian Witness.

In later years he would often sit with my dear mother and me, with his Bible open, and a pen in his hand, meditating and writing, always ready to answer any question, or to say some loving word; and I can truly say that I never remember his showing any impatience at being interrupted.

It was his habit to read aloud at breakfast and in the evening. The first book I remember his reading to Johnny and me when we were children was Uncle Philip's Conversations on Animals; and after the lapse of many years, when I alone was left to listen to him, the last he was able to read thus was The Land and the Book, by Dr. Thompson. He often chose history and biography to read, and would say that the reading of history was useful in a special way, to show how the bubble had burst," and to remind us that many things which may seem very important to us today will one day be as nothing.

One of the biographies he enjoyed was that of the Rev. H. Venn, of whom his physician said, it was impossible for him to die while in such a state of joy at the prospect. The thought of such experience as this greatly delighted my father. He used to repeat with much pleasure what Mr. Venn said about his solitary parish rides — "I rode along with no companion but my pocket Bible and its Divine Author."

When my dear father wrote of my aunt's death as being such a cause of sorrow, he little thought of the greater grief that was slowly but steadily approaching, nor of the eternal joy that was to spring up in the midst of it.

I refer to the illness and death of my brother, the only one of his three boys who lived to grow up.

The letters at the end of this little volume were written during his illness and after his death to Aunt Alice; and my father afterwards found comfort in putting them together. My own recollection of this dear brother (some years, older than myself) is a very bright one. Although often suffering and requiring care, he was full of life and spirits. His bright face and sunny temperament made him a most pleasant companion, while his love of poetry and music, and all the refined enjoyments of life, and his readiness for pleasure and society, might have been even greater temptations to him than they were, if it had not been that his love for our father had such an influence over him. I can remember hearing them speak of books in which Johnny found enjoyment, but which my father had laid aside. He had doubtless many anxious thoughts about his boy; but, while fearing to encourage too much his love for merely intellectual pleasures, he yet felt much sympathy with his tasteful mind. When my brother's illness assumed a serious aspect, the doctor advised a total change, and we left Dublin for Ryde, and other places. Those changes, however, were of no lasting service; but a greater blessing was vouchsafed to him than restored health. The prayers of so many years were answered, and Johnny was, as he himself expressed it, "Shocked out of a life of vanity into real life"; and during the months that followed, until his death, the change was indeed proved to be real.

The beauty of his mind expressed itself in new channels; and the things of God and the love of Christ were ever first in his thoughts. He was entirely free from religious phraseology; and, as far as his health allowed, enjoyed social intercourse, and entered into surrounding interests.

From the time when he became increasingly dependent (after the loss of his arm), our father's devotion to him was beautiful. Could I have taken note of it all then, as I now look back upon it, I should have been filled with admiring love. It is little to say, that at any hour, day or night, it was his one pleasure and comfort to wait on his suffering child. His own letters show something of this, but they do not, of course, convey the extent of his devotion. During all those months of gradual decline, he and our dear and faithful Mary Perrott, whose name is found in the letters, entirely nursed my brother. My dear mother's feeble health prevented her from taking her share in this labour of love.

This sorrow and loss did most deeply wound my father's loving heart. It gave occasion to his Meditations on the Book of Job, and doubtless gave colour to some of his other writings about the same time.

During his own illness, in 1864, he spoke of this dear son to some who, I suppose, had never even heard of him before, and gave them copies of one or two hymns written by him.

The following extracts are taken from letters written to my dear aunt, Mrs. Richey, who had been with us for some time before my brother's death:

"BATH, '48.

I esteem it among the sweetest mercies of a mere circumstantial nature, that we were so together in that dear and precious season — precious, I need not say, to the fondest recollections that can ever fill our hearts. . . . How little, when we traversed the Three Rock Mountain together in the freedom of young days, we counted on the style of the more serious and advanced stages of life. How little did I think that dear Mary's heart and mine would be linked by such a common sorrow.

I pray that the memory of him may never be a faded or distant impression on my heart, for I believe it has its virtue, and such virtue, I trust, as the Spirit sanctions. Did you ever meet with the beautiful rendering of Jer. 31: 20, in Tyndale, I believe, 'Ephraim, my dear son! the child with whom I have had all delight and pastime, since I first communed with him I have him ever in remembrance. My very heart driveth me unto him. Most lovingly and gladly will I have mercy on him, saith the Lord of hosts.'

How sweet that verse of Tersteegen's hymn is:

"'Mid conflict be Thy love my peace,

In weakness be Thy love my strength,

And when the storms of life shall cease,

And Thou to earth shalt come at length,

Then, to the Glory be my Guide,

And show me Him who for me died.'

To live to serve Him, is the highest desire.

To die, to enjoy Him as our portion."

During the summer of 1849, after my brother's death, we remained at Bath with my mother's sisters and nieces, who were then living there.

Much sympathy was shown by many friends, and very specially by those in Dublin. My father went back for a short time to attend a large meeting, and the tender and deep sympathy that awaited him there must have been very comforting.

He returned to Bath for a time, but before the winter he and my dear mother went back to the now shadowed home, where Aunt Alice was waiting for them with her most loving welcome. I remained with my aunts and cousins at Bath, and this gave occasion to my having letters from my father, some extracts from which I can give here.

"This is a new scene to its, without our darling children who once gave it, in our heart's esteem, its chiefest attraction — one 'is not,' and the other beyond the seas. May the blessed Spirit guide your heart as He did that of your loved and now happy brother! What can a father's fondest wishes desire more for you? We have heard of the death of Georgy T — by a fall from his horse. What recollections of our mercy this again gives its! What a different departure did our eyes witness, my child, just twelve months since!

I grieve much to hear of dear Mr. Jukes, and would indeed most sincerely pray and desire that he may be soon in health and strength again; but he has better possessions than either — conscious peace with God, and a well-known title to His presence and kingdom.

Think of the Lord and of all His love in the simplicity of a believing heart. May He be near to teach and keep you, my dear child.

I need not say, my love to your dear aunts and cousins they know how I love them, and so does my heart know it.

I have just come from the poor M.'s. Dear M.'s last hours were lovely. She said, 'Pray for me passing the dark place but no, it is not dark, it is bright, glorious light.'

She charged her husband to hold fast by the people of the Lord. 'Jesus, my light, my joy,' she said. Great comfort in thinking that her warfare is accomplished and her journey ended, and 'them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him.' The Lord bless you. Keep your heart open to Himself, and He will pour in only light, which, though at first it may rebuke, will for ever gladden.

The subject I had last evening was the brightness of Jacob's closing hours, as shown in Gen. 48. At the beginning (see Gen. 27) he had craftily got the blessing from his father, as though he were not satisfied with the promise of God. Through weakness of faith he sought to have his title to the inheritance sealed by his father's blessing, as it had been previously by God's promise. But now, at the end he listens to nothing but God's purpose, believing surely that he is blessed whom God blesses, and that nothing shall hinder. Therefore, though Joseph may plead for Manasseh, he puts the blessing upon Ephraim, because this is God's way, to set the younger above the elder, that all blessing may come through the grace of God, and not through the rights, or claims, or the efforts of nature. At the end all Jacob's undivided boast and confidence is in the sovereign grace of God.

How happy it is to know that we, in like measure, must be 'debtors to mercy alone'! We have no title in ourselves; we are like the younger child, not the natural heirs of blessing. But God gives to those who deserve nothing.

I sometimes remember our piano and songs; but the humming of a tune is never my custom now. We have, however, far better things to remember.

May His presence and approbation be our present joy, my dear child, and the assurance of His everlasting love, the spring of our constant confidence and hope."

Referring again to my brother's death, he writes:

"His dealing was marked by the most. signal tokens of His love. And when I consider what the world is and what it is becoming; the temptations specially which young men like our darling are subject to, and the thousands that go to the wide gate and the broad way, I am almost lost in admiration and praise in the presence of my Heavenly Father, though all the world could not repair the loss.

The Lord bless my dear, dear child; keep her in the midst of the corruptions and distractions abroad, under the shelter of the name of Jesus, for it is a strong tower, and they that trust in it shall never be confounded. . . . . I have been thinking a little this morning of the meaning we may attach to the 'talent,' or the 'pound,' which the Lord gave to His people to use till He return. We may, as a practical word for our conscience, say, that every circumstance may be used as a talent. I mean, if we seek to go through it, or to meet it, or to be exercised in it and by it, in reference to Christ. Every opportunity, every advantage we should learn to regard as an occasion of service to the Lord, not seeking to turn it to our own account, but to the account of His praise. And the more we love Him, the more this will be done. Where there is love, even amongst ourselves, we know this. We know how to prize an opportunity or a circumstance, if it can be made to serve the wishes or interests of a person we love. And this man in the parable who had no heart for the Lord, but who feared Him, never used His talent, never took up any opportunity or circumstance with love and desire, as a means of serving or pleasing Him.

And happy, my child, it is when the heart is so true to Jesus that it can regard all things that arise, not in their relation to ourselves, but as occasions of thus pleasing and honouring Him; to try to get out of every little event, something that may tell Him we love Him.

And then, when we discover our coldness in our best estate, and our short-comings in everything, to remember His covenant, everlasting, electing love, which made us His object in spite of all things, and will never leave, never forsake us."

My dear father and mother finally left the home in Herbert Place in the following summer, and returned to Bath for a time. He took me into Devonshire, and on the way we stayed for two or three days at Wellington, in order to visit my brother's grave in Sampford Churchyard, and to see the inscription which had been placed in the church to his memory.

The names of many relations are there also, among them some much loved and honoured.

While at Wellington we were the guests of Mr. Charles and Mr. Henry Fox. I can recollect the kindness and sympathy shown to my father by these friends, and after the lapse of thirty-five years I met again one member of the family, whose happy remembrance of him touched me very much. She had scarcely seen him, I think, since that visit when she was a girl of about fifteen, but the length of time had not dimmed her recollection. She loved to speak of him, and said, "I never saw anyone so full of love as Mr. Bellett."

Not long after we returned to Ireland, and during the next few years lived in the neighbourhood of Dublin.

It was either on that journey or on another, a year or two later, that, in conversation with a fellow-traveller, my father (as he was always ready to do, though without any undue effort) led the thoughts to higher things, and in answer to some remarks about the pleasures of travelling, said that life was too serious a thing to be spent in pleasure. The reply instantly was, "I think I know some friends of yours, sir; are you not one of the Plymouth Brethren? "

This surprised, and, I think, pleased him.

There is nothing special to mark the next year or two, except the remembrance of friends who gathered round my father, and who were welcomed to our house chiefly as guests at breakfast.

He used to quote a saying of Lord Macaulay's (I believe), "You ask a man to dinner because he knew your grandfather, or because he has done you some service; you ask a man to breakfast because you like him."

There are still some remaining who can recall, I think, the charm that he gave to these simple morning gatherings. He made them opportunities of friendly intercourse with some not belonging to the Brethren, whom he was always glad to welcome. At such times, whilst ready to converse cheerfully on different subjects (when too, his appreciation of humour would occasionally show itself), the one ever nearest to his heart would continually come to the surface, and the claims of Christ be felt as the words fell with persuasive power from his lips. Some of his choicest sentences were uttered in these happy moments of familiar intercourse, or at our family Bible reading from day to day. A few of these. remembered and written down afterwards, may not be out of place here:-

The more we live in expectation, the less we shall grudge another; and the less we shall seek to acquire for ourselves, for, even if obtained, what would it be but a vanity?

The gate of the domains of heaven is on earth.

I often think of the two worlds — the difference between them — victory here will be dignity there. (1 John 5: 4.)

That which disappears here in widow's weeds will re-appear there in bridal attire. (This sentence was explained to mean that the faith which has here been tried by 'manifold temptations' will there be found 'unto praise and honour and glory.' (1 Peter 1: 7.)

There is nothing like faith which attaches you to a victorious Christ.

By the bleeding hand of Christ we have received from God the reconciliation, that He might satisfy the mystery of God's eternal love for sinners, and satisfy the conscience for eternity.

He was numbered with the transgressors — He who had had Moses and Elias on either side of Him! (See St. Luke 9: 30-31)

The service that humbles you is true Christian service.

Love does not wait for great occasions, but buckles on its service-suit at once (like St. Paul preaching at Damascus).

What was the apostle's temper of mind in writing the Epistle to the Galatians? In Romans it was the calmness of a teacher. In Corinthians he was a pained rebuker, a disappointed father. In Ephesians all is elevation, looking around on a world of glories.

Justification by faith was no mere dogma to the man who wrote the Epistle to the Galatians.

Where is the blessedness ye spake of? We do not know the power of the thought that God's favour is towards us — the greatest lever which can be put under the soul. The Galatians knew it at the time to which the apostle looked back.

Thessalonians has a deep glow of pastoral devotedness throughout.

The God of all grace. How little do we let the majesty of such words in upon the soul!

It is a terrible thing to lay oneself out to be an object; it is like a worm at the root.

Heb. 10: 32-39. It is as if the Lord would remind them of His goodness in illuminating them, and ask if they so valued what they had in Him as to part with present things. It would not do for them to pass at once from 'illumination' to 'glory.' The time of 'patience' was necessary to prove that they did value what He could give.

Passages that may seem startling, read in the light of others, are found to be necessary truths. Such is the fearlessness of Scripture, an honest man does not fear to speak his mind." (In answer to some remark about what we might "expect" to find in the Bible, "It is a perfect book; I expect what I find there."

How minute the links between the different parts of Scripture are, and how many silent references there are from one part to another! How the divine writers provide for one another! Judges for Hebrews; Genesis for Galatians. How the volume rolls in upon itself! Paul rolls in upon Habakkuk. (Rom. 1: 17; 2: 4.)

Variety in unity; unity in variety — the dislocated parts of the volume carrying out one line of thought, or a single passage presented in different lights. It is a book of wonders, but the volume itself is a wonder.

Though we may not have capacity to put things together, Scripture has.

We should lean upon the Word as David leaned upon his harp, and press music out of it.

We must leave reason with God; believing is our's. God will take care of His own glory.

There is no citadel for the heart like confidence in God.

No accuracy of doctrine will give the soul rest; there must be the knowledge of a Person.

Christ was the manifestation of God to man, and of man to God. He was the man in whom God could delight.

If there is an entertainment for the heart this side the glory, it is tracking the moral glory of the Lord Jesus; as one says, 'The conception of such a character would be more wonderful than the reality.'

The story of the life of Christ as given by the four evangelists is an enlarging, living wonder to the soul from day to day."

After the lapse of many years, I had a touching proof of the impression left on the mind of one who occasionally joined us at breakfast, in some letters, from which I take the following extracts:

". . . . Your father's kind notice of me when a lad, his gentleness, his courtesy, his originality, have left with me an indelible memorial of him, but his love to his God and Saviour, and the light he was enabled to cast upon his Saviour's life in the gospels, endear him in an extraordinary manner to all who knew him, and I can say, with sincerity, to myself also.

He is at times vividly before me, as though no long period of time had passed since I saw him; his tone of voice, his warm, loving pressure of hand, his sweet, graceful, high-bred courtesy, above all, his unbounded faith, his realization of the person and character of the Lord Jesus, create before me an unspeakably precious and unique personality."

I shall have to quote from the same friend later on.

About two years after my brother's death another great trouble came into my dear father's life, caused by the division which took place amongst the Brethren who had hitherto been united in Christian love and service.*

*The controversy that arose about the writings of Mr. Benjamin Newton had already taken place; and this was consequent upon it.

It was at this time that my father wrote two papers in the Present Testimony, called "The Son of God." His mind was led to the subject (as he has explained) by thoughts concerning the person of our blessed Lord, which he felt to be erroneous, and which had been suggested by some whom he knew.

In looking back, I can see how great was the mercy which did not suffer this sorrow to visit him until the former wound was in a measure healed.

The controversy assumed a grave form. Decided judgments had to be formed and acted upon, and much sorrow followed in the separation (in many instances) of close and tried friends. My father's judgment was not shared by the greater number of those amongst whom he had ministered for so many years in Dublin, and by whom he was greatly beloved. Many meetings for conference were held — and I well remember the pain and anxiety he suffered.

His dear friend Mr. Darby was of the same mind as himself; but his visits to Dublin at that time were few; and at first my father stood much alone.

He felt it all most keenly; and the temptation must have been very great to silence his conscience, and remain, as before, united with so many whom he loved, and who wished still to have him as their friend and teacher.

The trouble began to tell upon his health and he was persuaded to leave Dublin for a time.

On his return, a separate meeting was formed by the few who felt with him, and whose numbers gradually increased. With them he resumed his ministry, and continued it with only occasional interruptions until his last illness began.

It was a comfort to him that living a few miles from Dublin, at Booterstown, he was spared the more frequent meetings with those friends from whom he differed, but whom he never ceased to love. But, by degrees, when the pain was in a measure softened, on coming home, he would sometimes say with a smile, "I had to run the gauntlet today!" and would then mention the familiar names of some of these friends whom he had met.

After a while these meetings became less painful, and he found it a happiness to see the old friends from time to time.

There is a circumstance which comes to my memory, as part of the refining process through which my dear father was called to pass, though not connected with this period of his life, that I may here mention. It was the gradual withdrawal from his ministry (in consequence of a difference in their judgment on another matter of some importance) of one who had been a constant hearer, who always took copious notes of his lectures, and who had given many proofs of his affectionate regard.

My father must have been deeply pained, but he had the full approval of his conscience in the matter, and no touch of wounded feelings seemed to remain.

CHAPTER 3. CHARACTERISTICS — REMEMBERED WORDS.