ness is but the shadow of Thy wing." There is to me an inexpressible wealth of comfort in it.' And so he would rise from trust to Christian triumph. The song which began in the slow minor key, ending in the joyous and confident major. Mr. Green says: All his thoughts of God were good. I think he never lacked either faith or clearness of vision here. "Clouds and darkness" were often round about the Divine name, but he always believed that "righteousness and judgment" were the habitation of the Divine Throne.'

A wise and gracious God compensated and relieved this sadness, by a sense of humour so quick, and in its play so frequent, that it often broke the snare. It lit up the eye and face; in its contest for a moment with the gloom, it tightened his lips, and then suddenly relaxed them as he burst into a light laugh which completely released him for a little while from the dreary spell his sense of freedom was all the happier for the previous bondage, and the light of his inner and social life all the brighter for the previous shadow, like the sunbeam bursting through the thunder-cloud after a shower. He says:

:

To have groped and walked trembling and fearful in the darkness awhile makes the break of day a gladsome sight. To cling to a noble purpose spite of dread and fear in many a long conflict with devilish suggestions, to cling to it in prostration in the hours of night upon the bed, to have held it fast when you seemed to yourself only sin and weakness, as well as when you have had the most confident hopes of God's help, can have only one result-to make you noble as your purpose; while the purpose itself, as a new life, possesses you, and accomplishes itself through you.'

In the garden of God we have not only the upright fruitful palm-tree, the rugged and well-rooted oak, the elm of luxuriant foliage, and the cedar with its exact horizontal lines, but also the tree with many tendrils: clinging, dependent, fruitful as the vine; or as the woodbine, beautiful in the hedgerow as in the parterre, and delighting to intertwine itself in the trellis or in the homestead window. Such was my friend; and by such helps he got himself lifted out of the shadow heavenward. But though clinging and climbing as the woodbine or the vine, it was not because he could not stand alone. He was 'every inch a man'; but when standing alone, it was as the willow, with drooping branches; which yet in their drooping dimpled the stream of life as it passed, and broke it into a thousand wavelets, each bright with the light of love and heaven.

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He was thus 'poor' and of a 'contrite spirit,' and to him the Lord looked; and gave him the wisdom from above,' which is first pure.' He ever read and thought much upon the subject of Christian holiness. He pursued it with an intense hunger, and often preached upon it with singular force. He was 'pure' in conversation. I do not remember any utterances of his not fit for a sister's ear; but I do remember the intense abhorrence with which he said years ago, 'It is far easier to soil the thought than it is to get the soil out when once there.' Mr. Green says: 'His mind was very pure. To him, more than any one that I have known, all things seemed to be pure. ever he came into contact with appeared never to pollute him.' Mr. Randles

What

says: 'He never threw away his power of reproving sinners and exhorting believers by indulging in doubtful conduct. The influence of his words for good was largely derived from the consistency of his spirit and behaviour. In public or private, his indignation would instantly take fire at the discovery of what he deemed wrong.' He had a very high code of honour, which made him chivalrous in many of the relationships of life, and placed him sometimes in circumstances which spirits of a lower temper would with difficulty understand.

He was 'peaceable.' He loved to be at quiet in the land, and by his spirit often prevented strife among diverse or discordant elements.

He was 'gentle.' He did not drive, exact, demand. He knew nothing of severity in bearing, but was compliant without sin; lenient as to duties owing to himself; always remembering, as he dealt with the faults of others, we ourselves were sometimes foolish.' He was gentle in his demands, in his judgments, and in his deportment; often so painfully conscious of the beam in his own eye that he made little of the mote in his brother's eye. Mr. Green says: 'He had great tenderness of spirit. It was not effeminacy. He was in no sense a soft man. It was a delicate sensibility as of a magnetic needle carefully poised.'

He was easy to be entreated.' Who ever knew him to remember long the faults of another towards himself? How willing to hear and to weigh fairly that which was most opposed to his own views, or censured his own action! Nay, he seemed to rejoice as much in the good retort or reply which wrecked his argument, as in that which bore it along. Self-assertion was foreign to his modest and lowly spirit.

He was full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy.' His pitiful nature could not pass by misery with indifference. Green says:

Mr.

'One of his noblest qualities was his fervent, piteous sympathy with all sufferers. His own sorrows taught him what suffering was. I think he held communion with a suffering, certainly a sympathizing, rather than with a triumphant Saviour. He sorrowed on account of the sins and pains of men around him. He made no mock of sin. To him it was an awful, overwhelming evil, which he did not merely deplore, but writhed under. Sometimes this threw him into the darkest night: no one knows what that spirit suffered on account of others. It was in this particular that his ministry was, I believe, most precious. It was especially marked by a power to descend to the depths of his people's sorrow and to give them strong consolation. I know how he thought of the sufferers of his flock, how he did them little acts of kindness when he could not render them great help, how he prayed for them weepingly in his own house, as well as with them in theirs.'

He was a true and loving friend. I do not remember the workings of envy or jealousy in him. His was an unselfish nature. 'I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.'

'He was not like the rainbow, present only with the sunshine; or the bee, when there was honey; or the swallow, when there was summer; but as true, and even more loving, when the winter and the storm came.' He was no parasite in his attachments, he

never strangled that to which he clung; but brought to it health and strength and beauty, for he cared most for the friendships where he could talk of Jesus and life in Him, and where he could be stimulated and strengthened in Christian toil. He knew no kinship so close as brotherhood in Christ.

'Why did we love him so?' says Mr. Green; ' was it not his own love that begat it in us? Why did we so highly esteem him? was it not because the estimable qualities of the human heart which shone so conspicuously in him were undimmed by contrary vices? If others had known him as we did they would rival us in their love for him. I think one of the most striking instances of his lovable spirit is found in the fact that he formed close friendships in his later life: some who did not know him five years ago now mourn for him as for a brother.'

As a husband and a father, he was most affectionate and devoted. Mr. Green writes again :

'O, how he loved his home! How he revelled in it! He poured out his full, large heart of love within it in broken song and boisterous laughter. He was perfectly unrestrained; he knew no law in his own house but the law of love, and he imposed none other. How he wept and cried in prayer when sickness intruded! He loved his little children with an almost wildly passionate love. His heart brooded over them.'

life was taken from

Of her he said (I place in your sym

Bitter was his grief when the companion of his him. The shadow of that sorrow he never lost. give you this that you may give the orphans a pathies and prayers as you remember their loss): 'Her love as a mother was a mighty passion; her prayers for the children were pleadings, cries, entreaties, tears; her time, her strength, her health, her life were theirs. They will surely grow up into the possession of the most blessed of all inheritances, those blessings she sought for them from God. God will not forget them for her dear sake.' We may say now, for his dear sake, God will not. Shall we? Again he says of her :

'The last year of our lives was the happiest of all. Her faith strengthened, her hope brightened. O, how sweetly and silently she grew! how bright and gladsome! How little did I think that all this was a ripening for heaven, not for earth; I was going to say, for God, and not for me; but I must not. He 66 gave," He "hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!"....How strange the ways of God! but shall I not say, He doeth all things well? One testimony I will bear of Him and of His grace in His people: He is love; and they are kind. O, the kindness of men! it has been like a revelation to me. Everybody seemed anxious to help me to bear the burden. Now that the first shock has passed and I look round, I think I can say, I see "Jesus only." He is with me. I feel myself cast on Him, I go to Him, I speak to Him, I am anxious that He should have His way, and that the "end of the Lord "should be answered in me.'

Such was the spirit in which he bore his great trial. And he continued in this spirit; for ten months later he writes: 'While feeling still the grief, God is good to me: my home is as happy as that of most in my circumstances. The dear children are as good as gold, and give me no trouble. The Lord has guided me in the matter of servants, and given me those who fear Him. The many prayers of my friends have been heard for me.'

Few scenes have been more touching than to see him in these later days surrounded with his six children, whom he regarded with fond affection,

seeking to be to them what both father and mother would have been. He was no adept in the details of domestic life; but he was himself greatly advantaged, his whole nature mellowed, enriched and strengthened by the new responsibilities which love led him so deeply to feel. And, as these extracts show, he made in these later years a steady advance towards mature spiritual life, and he now knows the blessedness of the man that endureth temptation.' Conflicts with the flesh, (for over this sinful body he often groaned); conflicts with the wicked one, (by whom he was often sore pressed); conflicts with himself; and conflicts with sorrow and trial in his personal and family life all these and other temptations he endured, and was 'tried' or proved. While we mourn the loss of an earnest and faithful Minister, of a true and loving friend; while we mourn with the little children whose home is wrecked and whose life is overshadowed, we will remember that he receives a ' crown of life' from His hands Whom he loved best, with words of approval that put for ever to flight his fears, his doubts, his gloom. He receives it in relations where he may pour forth the treasures of a wealthy imagination, of a large loving heart, without let or hindrance, without encountering anything that should wound the sensitiveness of his nature; where every fault and flaw is left behind at once and for ever, and where everything that was brightest and best about him is perfected and consecrated. He has received a crown of glory that fadeth not away.'

I am indebted to his friend and mine, the Rev. J. D. Tetley, and to Mrs. Sampson, of Kilburn, for the account of the closing days of his useful life:

'Mr. Balshaw had been more or less out of health since Conference. An affection of his left hand gave him much pain, and caused him to lose his sleep. Not many days before his illness, speaking of the death of Mr. Perks, he exclaimed, with solemn emphasis, "I shall very likely be the next." On Sunday, November 4th, he preached at Kilburn in much pain of body; but while discoursing on "Master, it is good for us to be here," a special sense of the joyousness produced by the Divine presence pervaded the congregation. In the vestry afterwards he said to the Rev. S. Beard, "I am in sach severe pain I do not know what to do with myself." On the Monday evening he complained of pain and weariness; he was worse on Tuesday, and on Wednesday sent for the doctor. On Friday his sickness was pronounced to be a slight attack of typhoid fever. He considered it slight, and did not communicate with any of his friends in London until ten days afterwards, when he supposed himself recovering. On Friday the 16th he caught a chill through coming down stairs too soon, which caused a relapse. From that time he sank rapidly.

He could scarcely bear the
When I sought to cheer him

On Monday the 19th I found him utterly prostrate. sound of a voice. His mind was calmly stayed on Christ. with assurances of the sympathy and all-sufficiency of the Divine Redeemer, he cordially endorsed them, saying, He "will not now His servant leave, But bring me through at last." He began to repeat the verse, "Though waves and storms go o'er my head, Though strength and health and—” He paused, and did not utter the word "friends,” but looking at me with one of his expressive smiles, and trying to shake his head, said, "No." I said, "You can fully realize the precious truth of the last couplet, 'On this my steadfast soul relies, Father, Thy mercy never dies'?" "O yes! O yes!" he answered, "thank God, 'Father, thy mercy never dies.'”

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'When the physician was called in, he exclaimed, "Doctor, you must do the best you can for me, for I have six little children." The Rev. J. Bonser arrived at eleven o'clock,

and prayed with him to his comfort. He repeated, “My body, soul, and spirit, Jesus, I give to Thee, A consecrated offering, Thine evermore to be.""

During the night, Mrs. Sampson, in great kindness, waited upon him, and ceased not her sisterly ministrations until his death. Of the last hours of his life she writes:

'After Mr. Bonser left the room he prayed in a wrestling spirit: "Lord, remember not our sins and transgressions. Lord, let the sighing of the contrite come up before Thee. Lord, in our manifold weaknesses have mercy upon us. Lord, deliver us in the hour of temptation." I said, "The precious blood of Jesus." With great emphasis he replied, "Yes, the precious blood of Jesus." I said, "He knoweth our frame "; he added, "He remembereth that we are dust." I said, "Like as a father pitieth his children"; he completed the verse, "So the Lord pitieth them that fear Him.' Yes! He pitieth; O yes! He pitieth." I said, "You do more than fear, you love Him"; he answered, "Yes I do, I love Him." I said, "And He loves you, and will love you to the end." "Yes, to the end; He loves to the end."

'Soon after he began to pray: "Lord, have mercy upon the young people! Lord, lead the young people to decision! Lord, help them to embrace the Saviour, now, at once!”'

Soon afterwards he cried out, 'It is the hour of temptation: Lord, save!' Mrs. Sampson observed, 'Jesus says, "I am with thee," to save thee.' He repeated, evidently with great comfort, 'To save thee; with an everlasting love,' adding with inexpressible fervour, 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee, nor forsake thee, I will not forsake thee.' He then attempted to sing. When she cited the words, 'Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in ' he struck in ""His own blood," yes, His own blood. After a time of quiet followed by restless moaning, as if from pain, he tried to sing, and the words 'Hallelujah!' 'Jesus!' were heard. Again he spoke of the young, saying, 'They need so much looking after, so much care.' She said, 'You wish them to be your crowns of rejoicing?' Yes, crowns of rejoicingfor Jesus, for Jesus.'

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He was then quite exhausted, and by and by said, 'Now I think we must say, Farewell! Strength was sinking; he whispered, 'You won't forget.' Then a slight struggle and the words 'George— children' were audible. She said, 'You want them all to be saved?' 'Yes, all to be saved.' There were tears in his eyes which she wiped away, saying, ""God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.' 'Yes, wipe all tears away.' She said, "The Eternal God is thy refuge; he repeated the words many times, adding, 'Steadfast and true, the Eternal God. The last Scripture quoted to him was 'Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty.' He replied, 'Yes, see the face of Jesus. From this time he was delirious or unconscious; he lay quietly, being mercifully spared any struggle. He entered into rest a few minutes past twelve on Wednesday morning, November 21st, 1877, in the twenty-sixth year of his ministry, and the of his age.

fiftieth

year

When dear John Lidgett was taken home, Mr. Balshaw said of his death, now so true of himself:

'God is gathering His saints together. Shall we say Nay? He gathers them from our homes, from our churches; we miss them from the world of business, from our