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had, wherever he lived, a garden; but it seemed that just as its fascinating plots grew into order and beauty the money matters got into confusion.

Such was the state of affairs about the year 1790, when already for some time he had been preacher among the Baptists, and was trying as he best could, first at one village and then at another, and in the face of sorest poverty, to make a livelihood, with hands and a mind that all the while were longing for far different employment. For, as he paced the lanes of Northamptonshire, selling his shoes, or ministered on Sundays to his little congregation at Moulton, his heart had already conceived the great idea of his life. At a meeting of ministers at Clipstone in 1791, when Dr. Ryland asked some of the younger ones to propose a subject of discussion, and when no one responded, Carey at length propounded the question of the duty of the Church to endeavour to give the gospel to the whole world. These were not the days of missionary meetings, and even the good old President frowned on the young enthusiast; but if Carey had any quality it was resoluteness, and at another meeting, and again another, joining like-minded friends with him, and himself impelled by absorbing longing, he urged the mighty plan, till at length, at a memorable meeting held in Kettering in 1793, the Baptist Missionary Society was formed, and William Carey, along with a Mr. Thomas, a genial and eager, though eccentric man, were appointed its first missionaries.

What follows is a story which has often been told, but never can it grow uninteresting to any mind touched even lightly with the sympathies and the love of Christ. How Mrs. Carey, sadly unfit companion for her husband, refused to go; how Mr. Thomas, enthusiastic but blundering, spoiled their plans; how money failed; how a thousand people criticised and opposed, and only a few generously cheered them on; how they got on board only to be ordered off again, owing to anonymous letters which led the captain. to get rid of his suspicious passengers; how at last, when

all seemed hopeless, another ship was found; how they sailed down the Channel that memorable summer day of June, 1793, and at length, after more than five months, saw the Indian coast and touched its long-dreamed of strand: how when they embarked, though for a week or two all seemed promising, it was only to be succeeded by a more complete gloom-all this has been told again and again, and may be read in its own place. It is a touching story of great suffering and discouragement, borne by one of the bravest of hearts, and all and really for the sake of the Lord Jesus. How little have those good people who live at ease at home, and smile at mission enterprises, to parallel the quiet force and heroism of men like these!

In truth Carey had no accurate knowledge of the country, nor a single helper, nor any adequate support. What scanty means the missionary party possessed were soon lost. The miserable fear of physical want was gathering round them: the Government was hostile; everything was perplexing. Seldom has there been a more trying task than that which fell to the man who, amid the malarious jungles of the Sunderbunds, strove to make straight paths for his feet while inspiring the failing hearts of his own household, and finding such cheer as he might for his own. At length a devout Englishman, an indigo planter, offered Carey a situation as inspector of his works, with a salary which removed fears of poverty, and with such leisure as gave time for study of the language and evangelistic labour among the natives. And here, some forty miles north of Calcutta, Carey remained for five years. And at the end of this time, after many a difficulty, but with ripening scholarship and enlarged experience-now also with help from England, for Ward and Marshman had joined him-the Baptist Mission removed to its headquarters and now famous home at Serampore.

From this time till his death in 1834, it is a record of the most various and the most unvarying labour. Poor Mrs. Carey, for many years hopelessly ill, at length died. Mr.

Thomas died. The letters from England told in successive messages that Ryland and Fuller and Sutcliffe were all dead. But new friends came in the place of the old, and, like the flowers in his beloved garden, life was renewing itself from year to year. And, whether the sky was clear or clouded, Dr. Carey toiled alike. His noble aim was to translate the word of God into all the languages of the East, and, to a certain extent, he saw the near fulfilment of his plan. Seldom has there been a scholar who knew so many languages; seldom a simpler or humbler man. His versions and grammars in Bengali, Sanskrit, Gujariti, Telugu, Mahratti, and a score of other tongues, are the linguist's wonder; his sermons, if noticeable for little else, were remarkable for their simplicity. So long as he had strength he delivered occasional lectures on botany, and our knowledge of the flora of India is based on labours in which he bore a large and honourable part. During these latter days his own salary, and the income derived from a boarding-school kept by the Marshmans, amounted to some £2000 a year; but, after deducting their modest household expenditure, it was all given, one generous subscription, to the funds of the Baptist Mission.

As the years wore on the work prospered wondrously. There were difficulties, but still the word of God grew and prevailed. Very near the end, Dr. Carey wrote to one of his sons: "I am this day seventy years old, a monument of Divine mercy and goodness, though on a review of life I find much, very much, for which I ought to be humbled in the dust. My direct and positive sins are innumerable; my negligence in the Lord's work has been great. I have not promoted His cause, nor sought His glory as I ought.

I trust for acceptance with Him to the blood of Christ alone, and I hope I am received into the Divine favour through Him. . . . I trust I am ready to die, through the grace of my Lord Jesus, and I look forward to the enjoyment of the society of holy men and angels, and the full vision of God for evermore."

With such hopes illuminating the closing days, with a radiance not of earth, but of an approaching heaven, it was easy to await the end. It came at length, and in June -the month when, far away, the English summer was in its early prime, a cool and gentle memory of flowers and soft gales tempering the sultry Indian fires, and making all the more mellow the dying thoughts of home. He fell asleep in complete peace. Before his death he had, with a noble and characteristic simplicity, arranged his epitaph, and his tombstone accordingly bears this inscription alone :

"WILLIAM CAREY.

"BORN AUGUST 17, 1761. DIED JUNE 9, 1839.

"A wretched, poor and helpless worm,

On Thy kind arms I fall.""

GEORGE WILSON, M.A., F.L.S.

The Hindoo and the Missionary.

A

BY REV. DR. H. BONAR.

HINDOO came to the missionary Carey. He wanted the man of God to tell him how he was to pray. "What would you do," said Carey, “if you were going to the governor to petition for pardon on account of something you had done?"

"I should put on a very sad face, and tell a great many lies to excuse myself," said the Hindoo.

"Would the governor not find you out?

be right to deceive him?"

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Why not tell lies? Our gods do this." "But our God is the God of truth."

And would it

The way in which this Hindoo prepared to treat the governor is the very way in which most men treat God when they pray. They are not honest with Him. They tell lies to excuse themselves, and to make Him think they are not such great sinners after all. Instead of telling Him the plain and honest truth about themselves, they endeavour to

make out as good a case as they can, in order to recom mend themselves to Him, and to persuade Him to grant their petitions. But it won't do. A Hindoo governor may be deceived, and listen to lies; but the God of truth cannot. He must have honest dealing.

We are told of one who had read many memoirs of eminent Christians, that being struck with the awful convictions of sin through which some of them passed, and with the strong confessions of sin set down in their diaries, that he set himself to imitate them: using their very language, and adopting it as his own. But it would not do. He got no response, and seemed to himself as one acting a part in order to gain an end.

He thought with himself—What is this that I am doing? I am trying to make God believe that I feel convictions and contritions which I do not. What shall I do? How shall I confess sin at all in such a case? He answered his own question--I shall tell exactly how I feel and how I don't feel. Looking into himself, and looking back upon his past life, he saw clearly and felt deeply, this much at least the absence of all goodness, in thought, word and deed. He could honestly tell God this, though he could not speak of alarms or self-abhorrence. With this his felt want of all goodness he went to God; and ere long found that in this honest dealing with the Searcher of hearts he had found the true way of approach and the certainty of an answer in peace. Again and again, when depressed and desponding, as the absence of deep convictions made him doubt his acceptance, he fell back on this, and went to God, not with his convictions, or repentance, or tears or sighs, but simply with his want of goodness. What a relief he found!

But was not this plea with which he went to God just as likely to become purchase-money in his eyes, so that he would be inclined to take his felt want of goodness as a recommendation of himself?

Not so. He was by this honest confession simply putting himself in the only place or attitude in which God can bless—

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