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When Mr. Bull was still a boy he betrayed remarkable tenacity of memory. At twelve or fourteen years

of age he was taken to Weston Flavel to hear Mr. Harvey preach, on the condition of his repeating the sermon on his return; a task he fulfilled without difficulty.

He early discovered an ardent thirst for knowledge. He obtained

possession of a Hebrew Bible, but he had no tutor, grammar, or lexicon ; and all the aid he could secure was that of an old Bible, which had the Hebrew letters heading the different sections of the 119th Psalm. "He at once saw that the Hebrew Bible

began at what to us is the end. The first word he knew must be either 'in,' or in the beginning.' He looked in his Concordance' for other places where the word beginning occurred, and finding the same letters, he wrote down the word, Berasbeeth (in the beginning), and thus, with amazing pains, proceeded to make out the text word by word, till he had formed for himself a rude lexicon, and at length a grammar, and was able to read his Hebrew Bible tolerably well—a marvellous proof of his thirst for knowledge and of his skill in its acquisition. It is no wonder that the Hebrew was always afterwards a favourite study with him."

After his conversion he desired to devote himself to the public service of the Church of Christ, and he was admitted to the Theological Academy at Daventry, in 1759, then under the charge of Dr. Ashworth, who had succeeded Doddridge as tutor. While a student he was brought to the gates of death by an attack of brain fever. This affliction seems to have been greatly blessed to his spirit, but it

was the means of permanently enfeebling his intellectual and nervous power. His first attempt at preaching was under interesting circumstances. The minister at Newport Pagnel had been taken ill, and was in urgent need of a substitute. It was then the law at Daventry that no student should preach till he had commenced his fourth year at the academy; and though it was vacation time, Mr. Bull would not violate the rule. "At length it was agreed that he should go to Newport, and after informing the congregation of the illness of their pastor, read a printed sermon of Dr. Watts's. He read the sermon with so much propriety and animation, that the attention of the people was aroused to a degree not very common with them; and when, spite of college law, he could not refrain from concluding with an extempore appeal to his audience, his congregation was still more impressed. And thus Mr. Bull most unexpectedly preached his first sermon in the pulpit he was destined of Providence to fill with such benefit to many for fifty years of his life."

When Mr. Bull entered the "preaching class," his pulpit services were generally very welcome, and as his college career drew to a close, several congregations, it is believed, would have welcomed him to the pastorate. Ultimately he accepted the invitation of the then obscure church at Newport Pagnel, perhaps influenced in the decision by the nervous depression from which he suffered.

Soon after Mr. Bull's settlement at Newport Pagnel, he arranged to receive pupils, and in a short time gathered a highly respectable school. Among his scholars was Sir John

At

Leech, late Master of the Rolls. that time it was illegal for a Dissenting minister to keep a school without a license from the bishop, and he was threatened with prosecution. It is worthy of notice that it was not till 1779 that this statute was repealed. In June, 1768, Mr. Bull married Miss Hannah Palmer, a daughter of an excellent deacon of the Old Meeting at Bedford.

Mr. Bull's residence at Newport Pagnel early brought him into connexion with a select circle, whose names are identified with the religious history of that period. Only five Only five miles from Newport was the town of Olney-the most northerly in Buckinghamshire-its one long street of stone houses, and large church with lofty spire, being seated in the midst of "pleasing and picturesque" scenery. About the time that Mr. Bull settled at Newport a new curate came to Olney. He had been the captain of a Liverpool slave-ship; and after much suffering and many deliverances had become a sincere Christian, and had taken orders in the Established Church. He was no other than the Rev. John Newton. The vicar of the parish was one Moses Brown, who had been a pen-cutter by trade, afterwards a dramatist, and always a poet. He was also, according to Mr. Cecil,

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Next door to the vicarage, and communicating with the grounds by a doorway in the garden wall-through which they could communicate without going into the street-lived the poet William Cowper, and Mrs. Unwin.

With these interesting family circles, and their friends, Mr. Bull became intimate. At first there appears to have been some misunderstanding between Mr. Bull and Mr. Newton, but their friendship soon became most real and ripe, and their correspondence continued till Mr. Newton's death. As an indication of the frankness of their relation to one another, it may be mentioned that Mr. Newton was frequently a hearer at the Dissenting chapel, and that he was habitually present at the gatherings of the Baptist Association at Olney, and at ordination services. He records in his diary in May, 1776, that the ministers of the Baptist Association breakfasted with him. "We seemed," he writes, "all mutually pleased. I thank Thee, my Lord, Thou hast given me a heart to love Thy people of every name. And I am willing to discover Thine image without respect of parties."

At the vicarage at Olney, Mr. Bull met Mrs. Wilberforce, the aunt of the statesman and philanthropist, and sister of the benevolent John Thornton. We are not surprised to learn how Mrs. Wilberforce was impressed by the conversation and prayers of the Nonconformist minister; that Mr. Bull visited her in London; and that there arose a friendship which ended only with her life. "I never receive a letter from you," she writes, "but it affords me pleasure and profit." Again she says, "You are inquired of by very many;" and subsequently, "I

know it will greatly rejoice your heart to hear that many say they had great revivals while you were at Greenwich. I bless the Lord that I can say it was a useful season to my poor soul."

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It is pleasant to see Mr. Newton's thoughtful consideration for the health of his friend, as he begs Mr. Bull to force himself "to ride and chat with some friend; and," he adds, " among all the friends you treat with your company on such occasions, be sure none will be more glad to receive you than your friend at the vicarage, Olney." We see Mr. Newton's affectionate relationship to Mr. Bull's family in the single sentence-" Give my love to the dear mistress of your nest." We observe the piety of his heart in the quaint plea—“ When you are with the King, and getting good for yourself, speak a word for me and mine." Subsequently Mr. Newton disclosed to his friend the fact of his intended removal to London. "My race at Olney," he writes, "is nearly finished. I am about t form a connexion for life with one Mary Woolnoth, a reputed London saint, in Lombard Street. I hope you will not blame me.

think you

would not, if you knew all the circumstances." And when Mr. Newton had gone to London life and labour, we see that he did not forget his friend. "Come May! come June!" he writes, "that we may trot down to Olney, Weston, Newport, Bedford . Then, if we shall be spared, be alive, well, and have money in our pockets, and the Lord's good leave, away for Bucks; and then I shall hope to share

A Theosophic pipe with Brother B., Beneath the shadow of his fav'rite tree, And then how happy I! how cheerful he!'

The state of Cowper's health had induced in him the strongest reluctance to seeing strangers; but before Mr. Newton left Olney he had so far prevailed with his friend as to introduce to him "The Reverend William Bull, a Dissenting minister," says Southey, "who was settled in the adjacent town of Newport Pagnel. Feelings of compassion induced Mr. Bull to consider it a duty to visit him once a fortnight;' he soon became attached to Cowper, and by his own amiable disposition, congenial taste, and cultivated understanding, gradually gained his cordial and confidential esteem."

The estimate which Cowper formed of Mr. Bull is expressed in a letter the Olney poet writes to a friend. "You are not," he says, "acquainted with him; perhaps it is as well for you that you are not. You would regret still more than you do that there are so many miles interposed between us. He spends part of the day with us to-morrow. A Dissenter, but a liberal one; a man of letters and of genius; a master of a fine imagination, or rather not master of it-an imagination which, when he finds himself in the company he loves and can confide in, runs away with him into such fields of speculation as amuse and enliven every other imagination that has the happiness to be of the party. At other times he is tender and melancholy in his disposition, not less agreeable in its way. No men are better qualified for companions in such a world as this than men of such a temperament. Every scene of life has two sides-a dark and a bright one; and the mind that has an equal mixture of melancholy and vivacity is best of all qualified for

the contemplation of either. He can be lively without levity, and pensive without dejection. Such a man is Mr. Bull. But he smokes tobacco! Nothing is perfect. Nihil est ab omni parte beatum.' "Yes," adds

his grandson, "Mr. Bull smoked tobacco three pipes a day; but he was always a dry smoker." Perhaps he found the anodyne a relief to his nervous irritability, and his friends were very considerate of his infirmity.

The fifty years of Mr. Bull's ministry at Newport were not diversified with events of romantic or tragic importance, but they were filled with incidents of quiet Christian life and service, many of which are full of interest and profit to the reader. His evangelistic labours in the rural districts his preachings in barns and in the open air ("airy pluralities," as George Whitfield called them)-his services at the Tabernacle and at Surrey Chapel-his correspondence with Rowland Hill-his tutorship at the Evangelical Institution, at Newport-his "parlour expositions" in the homes of his friends-his popularity as a preacher of the Gospel— his travels-his playful title from Mr. Newton of "Rev. and dear Taureau"-his son's entrance into the ministry-his interview with the Algerine Ambassadors-his affectionate solicitude for his grand-children, and his closing days, the "memorials" these may all be perused with pleasure and profit, though upon them our space forbids us now to dwell.

The manners of that age were homely and quaint. On one occasion Mr. Bull was preaching at the Tabernacle, and thinking, perhaps, that old age might in his case be garrulous, he desired the clerk to come up to

the pulpit and inform him when he had preached for five and forty minutes. The clerk obeyed, and Mr. Bull thanked him aloud, and said he would conclude immediately. At that time afternoon congregations were always large, and sometimes drowsy. Observing this, he once said in a loud voice, "My chest aches very much, and I will sit down and rest till you are all awake, and then I will proceed." Another time, under similar circumstances, he paused, took up a Greek Testament and began to read. The sleepers were at once aroused. Looking up from his book, Mr. Bull added, "Well, I thought you could understand Greek as well as English when you were asleep. Now I will put this aside and go on with my sermon."

Mr. Bull's preaching sometimes produced a very powerful impression. "His addresses," says his grandson,

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were often very original, sometimes very elaborate and well reasoned, always more or less eloquent, and characterized by a remarkable depth and earnestness of feeling. His quaint touches of thought and occasional familiarity of illustration added to this impression. Closely did he follow the example of the Apostle in preaching Christ and Him crucified. His love to the Saviouras is evident from his letters-was most ardent. Once, in the pulpit, he quoted the words, 'About the ninth hour, Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani,' he covered his face with his hands and burst into tears. Unable to conclude the sentence, he said, 'You know the rest.' Often he would speak of the blessedness of the heavenly world in the most glowing terms. It is only a few weeks since I was told by a very

old lady, who distinctly remembered his preaching, that when he spoke of heaven it was as if he carried you there.""

There was much of natural dignity in the appearance of Mr. Bull in the pulpit, and great impressiveness, especially in his devotional exercises. The Rev. W. Spencer mentions that after his Own settlement in the ministry at Holloway, a female somewhat advanced in life sought admission to his church, and stated that she had been in the habit of worshipping at Surrey Chapel. "On one occasion," she said, "the Rev. William Bull was the preacher, and I was so much struck with the manner in which he repeated that petition of the Lord's Prayer, Forgive us our

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debts, as we forgive our debtors,' that the impression never left me, and from that time I date my conversion to God."

Mr. Bull's piety was eminent. "Much religious thought, much reading of a devotional character, and much prayer, with the subduing influence of almost constant affliction, seem to have contributed to this blessed result."

On the 23rd of July, 1814, in his 77th year, he "fell on sleep." "Bless the Lord," were the last words he uttered, and he then breathed his soul away without a groan. "It was," said one who stood by, 66 more like a translation than a death."

F. S. W.

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BY THE REV. GORDON HALL, MASSACHUSETTS.

WE are apt to suppose little things to be of little consequence. But faithfulness in little things often proves to be, literally, faithfulness in much. By this I mean that little things are, in their connexions and consequences, of immense importance. A heedless young man does up and delivers, in a small package, not the substance called for, but another closely resembling it. A slight mistake, one might think. An unpractised eye would not detect it, but instead of a useful medicine he has substituted a deadly poison, and life is the forfeit, the destruction of a family perhaps.

There is a man whose business it is to keep a light burning; that friendly light is to be constant, reliable; it is to shine along a dangerous coast, and when the sky is dark and the winds

tempestuous, and the waves are rolling the angry flood, the bewildered mariner may see that light, may know his position, may sail clear of rocks and quick-sands into a desired haven. But on some stormy night, the keeper of the lighthouse is indolent or sleepy, he trims not his lamp, lights it not in season, or lets it go out during the night watches. He fancies the disappearance of his light for an hour or two is a little thing. But just at that time a vessel is on the dark waters; the voyagers look anxiously after that light, they lose their bearings; the ship strikes, and is wrecked. Just then that light was missing. It was but a little thing, but it caused the dread calamity.

Enter a certain workshop, where is heard the sound of the hammer. The

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