discovering him by hearing his groanings in the hayloft, induced him to enter the house; but he could neither eat, drink, nor sleep, and for three days the conflict went on, his darkness the while deepening, his anguish growing more keen, and his burden more intolerable, as he lay bemoaning himself and crying with a piteous voice for help.

In company with my friend Mr. Campbell, I went to see him, and found him in a darkened room, alone and upon his knees, panting and pleading for mercy like one who had not five minutes to live. Like many an awakened sinner he was evidently seeking peace with God by trying to pray himself into a better state of heart, instead of looking out to Jesus as "the LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS."

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Robert," said we to him, "you are looking for a sign from heaven. You think if you heard a voice assuring you of salvation, or felt some strange thing within you, you would then believe and rest on Jesus. God gives you His word; why will you not rest on that? The Gospel of Christ

is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.' Believe, and it will be the power of God unto salvation to you. 'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.' Jesus says, 'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.'"

Robert confessed he had been seeking a sign from heaven; and had in fact, but a little before we entered, listened in the hope of hearing a voice say, Robert, your sins are all forgiven. It is difficult to convince an unconvinced sinner of sin; and it is equally hard to convince a convinced sinner of salvation through the blood of the Lamb. But this is the work of the

Holy Spirit. Robert was near the kingdom, but he did not at that hour enter in. We left him where we found him, at the mercy-seat. At the end of three days he was enabled to lay hold upon the word of Jesus, "Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." (John vi. 37.) There he cast anchor, and although in after years he encountered many a storm, no blast was ever able to drive him from his moorings. He was safe on the Rock.

Thus the grace of God obtained a victory over this stout-hearted sinner. And the victory was complete. The man of iron nature became soft and impressible as melted wax. His fierce, turbulent, and ungovernable passions were hushed into a settled calm: the lion had become a lamb. His proud, fighting, desperate temper was changed to meekness, and a little child could lead him. The mainspring of sin in his heart was broken. What pains and penalties, military and naval discipline, imprisonments, bonds and brands, hunger and thirst, poverty and nakedness, good resolutions and solemn vows, moral reform and remorse, the labours and prayers of the godly, the tears and entreaties of parents, narrow escapes from death and the smitings of God's providence, had utterly failed to effect, was accomplished as in a moment by the power of the Holy Ghost. The fierce wind, the earthquake, and the fire assailed this stronghold of Satan in vain; but when the still small voice of pardon, bringing peace, stole in upon the rebel's ear, immediately the citadel

was won.

Robert Annan began to employ his talent in the Master's service on the very day of his conversion. "Give

me some tracts," he said, after telling me how he had found salvation through the blood of the Lamb; "I wish to do something for Christ." That night he took his stand at the door of a hall in which a certain sceptic (since converted to Christ) was to lecture against the religion of Jesus and the revelation of God, and distributed his tracts among those who entered, fearing not to testify for the truth, whilst his very face, radiant with the joy of salvation, preached the Gospel to all who knew him. The change in his spirit, character, and life, was so marked that all the people took knowledge of him that he had been with Jesus. The new-kindled light of grace he could not conceal, and if he could have concealed it he would not. He was henceforth an epistle of Christ, which even men of the world could read and understand.

How he laboured for Christ and souls, and with what success for seven years, the reader will find in the little volume from which we take this narrative. His end came in a painful and unexpected manner. He was a powerful swimmer, and often successful in saving life. He was presented with the Dundee Humane Society's silver medal, and the resolution of the Society printed on parch

ment, in acknowledgment of his heroic efforts. When his wife expressed a fear that he would one day lose his life in saving others, he replied, "Dear Jeanie, could I look on a fellow creature perishing, and not endeavour to save him?". About twelve o'clock (July 31, 1867), a boy, eleven years old, fell into the water, and Robert, hearing the cry, plunged in to save him. Having reached the spot where the boy was struggling for life, he laid hold of him, and bidding him "hang on by his neck," he made way for the shore. But the current proved too strong for even the strong swimmer, and two boats put off to his assistance. The child was saved, but the man of God went down. He might have saved himself by letting the boy go. But he did not so. The self-sacrificing and Christ-like man would save another if he perished himself. Waving his hand, as if bidding farewell-so says a spectator of the scene-and with a smile on his face, he laid himself on his back and went down. Down! did I say. No; not down, but up; for the man himself, the nobler part, washed in the blood of Christ and clad in the beauty of holiness, went up to be for ever with his God.

mill also existed at the Wick, wherein about 700 persons found employment. After the Hanoverian Succession the village lost its prestige as a fashionable suburb, but continued a favourite retreat for wealthy families amongst the middle classes; so that, in 1761, it con

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tained a hundred householders who kept their coaches. The healthiness of the vicinity doubtless attracted settlers. By way of illustration, it may be mentioned, that during the fifteen years ending in 1809, twenty-eight persons were buried whose ages ranged from ninety to ninety-nine years; and in the latter year an inhabitant was flourishing in her 103rd summer.

Our new borough having been, in the seventeenth century, so favourite a fashionable resort, received frequent visits from that prince of gossips, Samuel Pepys. One summer's day, in 1661, attended by a servant, he saw his wife safely off as far as Barnet, upon a health-seeking excursion. The pair having returned homeward, riú Hackney, were so fatigued that an early bed became the day's crowning luxury. In the succeeding spring, the licentious buffoonery of the effeminate Court had, for the moment, its smooth course interrupted, whilst the profligate crowd was panic-stricken at the near prospect of a Dutch invasion. The King proclaimed a fast, so that Heaven's direction might be sought amidst the national crisis. De Ruyter's menaces occasioned Pepys little uneasiness, and he made the day an opportunity to ride out into the bracing air of Hackney Downs, and a course of rural pastimes was supplemented by a pullet dinner. Our chatty historian possessed a friend in the village—one Cutler-the quality of whose wine and viands he ever considered as unexceptionable. We also learn, that in those Puritan days, the church of St. Augustine possessed an organ, sweet-toned, and of great power, which earned for the place some reputation; the parishioners then being regarded as peculiar people for displaying this refined and singular taste. Pepys records, with admiring surprise, how the organ played whilst the people sang. The instrument attracted a large and elegant congregation; and when cur friend, one Sabbath visited the sanc

tuary, he could only obtain accommodation for his party by bribing the sexton. The melodious effect of the service so enchanted the visitor, that he nearly decided upon providing his own church with corresponding advantages. A larger than usual proportion of girls imparted a pleasing aspect to the assembly. These emerged from the schools, for which the village was widely renowned, and the collection of young female faces Pepys considered "Very pretty."

Allusion may just be made to Pepys' contemporary, Adoniram Byfield, one of the earliest Puritan teachers who entered Hackney, accompanied by Phillip Nye. Like his compeer, Byfield was regarded with extreme contempt by the Cavaliers, whose friendship, however, would have more dishonoured him. The Royalists' hatred may have arisen from the preacher having lived under Cromwell's patronage, from whom he had received the living of Fulham in 1657. He had acted as secretary to the Assembly of Divines, and such action his enemies most likely construed into a grave offence. For such a name, therefore, it was only meet that a celebration should be written in Hudibrastic doggrel:—

"Their dispensations had been stifled, But for our Adoniram Byfield."

A celebrated Puritan Dissenter, a friend of King William, and a contemporary resident in Hackney with Henry and Barker, was Robert Fleming, who died an octogenarian, in the spring of 1716. In 1793, when public attention became engrossed over events attending the French Revolution, a sudden interest was manifested regarding some strange predictions relating to the extinction of monarchy in France, which Fleming had written nearly a century before, the European Magazine first inviting attention to the circumstance. The author, it would seem, thought deeply about politics and Divine revela

tion, and brooded over national wrongs and rulers' crimes-those of Louis XIV. being an especial trouble to him. Melancholy influenced his writings, and he acknowledged that his scriptural interpretations were often merely the guesses of shrewd observation. Analogy supplied the inference, that as the French King had scorched others he would himself be consumed. Fleming's work on the Apocalypse, published in 1701, did not at the time create more than average interest; but, ninety-two years subsequently, England, all at once, grew curious to know more of the author and of his books. Dr. Oldfield's funeral sermon contained the chief portion of the little known respecting the once eminent preacher, and therefore it was disinterred to satisfy the popular craving.

Fleming belonged to an aristocratic Scotch family, who claimed as a relation the redoubtable Knox; and his father had roughed the darkest days of episcopal tyranny in Scotland. He resigned his pulpit for conscience' sake, and, from experience, knew what a lodging in the Tolbooth included. He retired with his family into Holland, where his children grew up copies of his own example of pious rectitude. His celebrated son pursued his academical course with diligence, and began to labour both in Leyden and Rotterdam. When a child, he had shown great seriousness of disposition, and in after life he habitually retired three times a day for reading and devotion. He anxiously watched the leadings of Providence, and confirmed a resolution to enter the ministry amidst a storm while crossing to Holland. Other passengers about paralysed with terror; but Fleming stood composed and happy, assured of his high destiny to preach the Gospel. Strong ties of affection bound him to friends in the Dutch cities; and after his final removal to London, his most delectable holidays were passed with his early pastoral connections. This partiality was here

ran

ditary, his father having diminished his fortune by munificence to English refugees seeking shelter from the Stuarts' persecution. In his young days, whilst staying in Holland, Fleming took to reading prodigiously in philosophy, morals, and history, besides which he went through the classics and Christian Fathers. After patient perseverance had conducted him through this intellectual maze, it was found that incessant application had begotten a nauseation for any reading whatever beyond the inspired writings. He, nevertheless, prospered in ministerial labours by first serving a congregation in Leyden, and next settling over the Scots' Church in Rotterdam. Responding to earnest solicitations he returned to England in 1698, and connected himself with the people who assembled in Founders' Hall, in the city of London, and he was pastor of this Society when he died, in 1716. He grew into high esteem during this metropolitan sojourn, and in his circle of friends included the King, whom he frequently visited. He was likewise acquainted with men of first rank, both lay and clerical; but his brilliant connections occasioned no neglect of his own people, whose hearts he won by an affable temper and genial disposition.

Fleming's marriage was peculiarly happy, and while passing his days in the enjoyment of domestic comfort, his contemporaries regarded him as a man with remarkable characteristics. His learning was unusually extensive, and included an acquaintance with Oriental languages and rabbinical lore. Besides the dignity conferred by literary qualifications, he had upon several occasions, it was supposed, been a marked object of Divine support. There were persons also who remembered instances wherein Providence had shielded him from impending danger. He is likewise said to have received premonitions of future events, which either affected his family or the political world. Our divine's

veneration for William III. was excessive. When the King died Fleming so realised his personal and the national loss, that the shock to his nervous system created a melancholy which threatened to unbalance reason. Whenever ills thus encircled the pastor his people habitually met to pray for his deliverance; and recovery in the present instance he attributed to these efficacious intercessions. Reduced in strength, Fleming once more sought change and rest in Holland, and during his last visit he anxiously conferred with persons, high in power, relative to the continued prosperity of the States General and the Protestant religion. To his judicious advice, given upon this occasion, he was enabled to add some important State secrets, direct from the English Foreign Office. The divine returned to London; but the dreary political and religious aspect of the country when George I. ascended the throne further depressed him, and family afflictions increased his melancholy. Whilst delivering one of his last sermons, the people became suddenly sensible of the rapturous words the preacher used, in speaking about unseen glories; his language fell as an omen of mortality. The pastor's last illness immediately succeeding, his people, as usual, set apart a day for special prayer; but before the morning dawned, surrounded by the wonders of another sphere, Fleming was safe in his Saviour's bosom; and, upon the 24th of May, 1716, his remains were laid in Hackney churchyard.

For very many years, Hackney and its neighbourhood was quite a chief centre where Nonconformist students resorted for their academical education. The old institution at Homerton dated its origin from about the time of Anne's accession. In its earlier years it was substantially aided by the King's Head Society, a mixed club that assembled in the Poultry. In the first instance the promoters fitted up Plaisterers'

Hall for their scholars; but removed thence to Mile End in 1754, finally settling at Homerton a few years later. A vigorous Socinian effort, in 1786, founded a new college. The mansion occupied stood a short distance from the church, northward, and the estate had been inherited by the Hopkins' family, to one of whom, and his £300,000, Pope alludes:

"When Hopkins dies a thousand lights attend The wretch, who living, saved a candle's end."

The names of Price, Kippis, Rees, and Priestley were connected with the movement, which, for a time, the denomination most liberally sustained. Some youths, however, of the fast kind, obtained admission, and their indecorum disgraced the college, besides occasioning the inhabitants' interference. Thus the scheme collapsed after eleven years' duration. The theological seminary in Well Street, which, for an early patron, had Rowland Hill, was estab lished in 1802.

A professor in the new college. whose department included history and rhetoric, was Andrew Kippis, who, in the latter half of the century, maintained an eminent place amongst the literati of London. He was born at Nottingham in 1725, both his parents being descendants of ejected ministers. When sixteen he entered Dr. Doddridge's academy at Northampton. Throughout his after course he sincerely revered his tutor's memory, and eventually wrote his life, at great length, for the Biographia Britannica. After five years' preparation, Kippis engaged to serve a church at Boston. Four years later he settled in Dorking, and married Miss Botts, to whose intelligent companionship and sprightly nature he became largely indebted. In 1753 he removed to Westminster to occupy a pulpit wherein Edmund Calamy had preceded him; and henceforth his life became one of immense industry, for, in addition to regular duties, he gave lectures to the