the Lord," &c. After having described the blessedness of the Christian in his glorified state, he proceeds, "And this is the bliss in which our dear departed friend now shares. In support of this declaration the following account will be sufficient, and it will be interesting to those who knew him. It cannot be expected that I should say much about our departed brother, because my continuance with him has been so short. On my being an inmate of his house, I felt peculiarly attached to him, and was frequently pleased with his pious conversation, and with the proofs I had of his devotional feelings. These enjoyments were short-lived. In the midst of our pleasures he was laid aside, and now I am called upon to improve the sorrowful event,— sorrowful to us, but joyful to him.

"I believe for some considerable time our friend Mr. (Samuel) Davey was truly acquainted with religion, and those who knew most of him will testify to the truth of this statement. At the commencement of his afflictions he lamented, as he frequently did afterwards, that he had lived to so little purpose. On inquiring if he realised the joys of religion, he replied, 'I hope I do; I am not conscious of anything to the contrary, but I have always been afraid of saying too much;' so diffident was he, and so fearful of exceeding the bounds of truth. On another occasion he said, 'I have not indulged in any known sin. If I regard iniquity in my heart the Lord will not hear me. I should have wished to have lived a few years longer that I might glorify God. I feel,' said he, 'conscious of my situation;' and on one occasion conversing with him, he said, 'I have been eminent in nothing; I have not been eminent in religion.' Referring to a person whom he highly esteemed, he said, 'I should expect that he would die triumphantly; but it cannot be expected of such a poor insignificant worm as I am.' I mention this to show the humbling views he had of himself, and I am persuaded they were genuine feelings. On inquiring if he did not feel a serenity of mind from what he had known of religion, he replied, 'I do at times.'

"He desired to be resigned to the will of God, and inquired if he had been impatient. He was reminded of the danger of his circumstances, and he seemed much affected. He said, My confidence is, that I have been sincere in my profession, and I have endeavoured to glorify God in what I have done.'

"He expressed much pleasure that family worship had been regularly conducted during his illness. 'Oh, sir,' said the dying man, this is the spring of all; this is of the greatest im. portance; everything goes irregularly without this. I want,' said he, to have more comprehensive views of God, and to be delivered from childish notions:' yet he rejoiced in what he did know; and before now that knowledge has been increased. He said, with a great deal of emphasis, 'I want the religion of the Bible.'

"After some reference had been made by him to the state of his afflictions, he was reminded of that world where sickness and death will be no more known. 'I look forward,' said he, 'to that habitation. I expect it through the grace of Jesus Christ. Here I lie ripening for glory.' On the Friday before his death, he was very unwell. He was quite overcome by the kindness he had experienced from his friends. To

a young friend who visited him, he said, 'Remember the end; never mind a rough passage if there is safety at last,' He expressed a desire to depart, and yet desired to wait the Lord's time. 'I have been thinking,' said he, 'what religion has done for me, and I find it has brought me into a tranquil state.'

"On the Sabbath previous to his death he observed to a friend, I find religion does tranquillize the mind amidst afflictions, and I mention it to encourage you.'

"On the Tuesday and Wednesday he said but little. On the Thursday he requested me to pray with him, and he joined me with much fervour-especially when I prayed that his afflictions might be sanctified to survivors. This was the last time he engaged in prayer here.

"I was with him on the Friday, about eleven o'clock; he was much depressed with his afflictions, but was perfectly sensible. On approaching his bed-side, he said, 'The state of my breathing will not allow me to converse with you.'

"These were his last words to me. He continued about till two o'clock, when he reclined his head, and gently breathed his last. To him we may apply the words of the poet:

'One gentle sigh his fetters breaks,
We scarce can say he's gone;
When the departed spirit takes

Her mansion near the throne." "

On the 17th of January, 1819, the church was formed, and thirteen individuals professedly gave themselves to the Lord. The Rev. William Gilson presided on the interesting occasion. Mr. Tennant was ordained to the pastoral office on the 22nd of September, 1819; and the service occupied about six hours. The Rev. John Paul Briscoe, of Burnham, introduced the service, the Rev. James Arrow, of Lynn, delivered the introductory discourse, and asked the usual questions; the venerable Rev. John Sykes, of Guestwick, offered up the ordination prayer; the Rev. Isaac Sloper, of Beccles, gave the charge; and the Rev. Alexander Creak, of Yarmouth, preached to the people. The Revs. John Hall, of Chesham, Richard Fairbrother, of Dereham, and Robert Drane, of Wymondly, gave out the hymns; and the Rev. John Abbott, of Wymondham, concluded with prayer. In the evening, Mr. Fairbrother read and prayed, and Mr. Hull, of Norwich, preached from Psa. cii. 25-28. During the interval between the services, the ministers and friends dined together at the Crown and Anchor Tavern.

Although by no means of a robust constitution, Mr. Tennant soon proved himself to be no idler in his Master's work. He diligently gave himself to the ministry of the word and prayer, and was in labours abundant. He found himself in a place where, with the exception of the Wesleyan Methodists, who had afternoon and evening services, no Gospel was preached. In the Establishment, that Gospel which gleamed forth from the reading-desk met with no response from the pulpit; and a veil of thick darkness, like one vast funereal pall, enshrouded the town and the benighted neighbourhood. Such a state of things could not fail to arouse the attention, awaken the tenderest anxieties, and engage the warmest exertions of such a man as Mr. Tennant. His heart was grieved at the depravity he witnessed, and the profanation which surrounded him, and like his Divine

Master, he had compassion on them who were as sheep having no shepherd. In addition to the stated labours of his own place, which he never neglected, he licensed a cottage in the village of Stiftkey, during the first year of his ministry, and continued to preach there once a fortnight, on Tuesday evenings, till his death, while the Sabbath day services there were conducted by the late excellent Mr. Peter Thurgur and Mr. J. V. Fryer, till the growing infirmities of age compelled the former to desist some little time before his departure to his heavenly rest, since which time the services have been and still are continued by Mr. Fryer every Sabbath afternoon and evening in a place fitted up as a chapel, to a congregation of about a hundred hearers. In 1821, Mr. Tennant succeeded in forming a Benevolent Society "for the relief of the sick poor at their habitations, together with the communication of religious instruction."

This institution was open to all who were willing to join, and towards its funds the Wesleyans annually preach a sermon, while some of their body co-operate in their labours. A committee was formed, which met on the second Thursday evening in every month, in the vestry of the Independent Meeting, to attend to cases presented for relief, and general business. To this Society Mr. Tennant acted as secretary, and in the first Annual Report he says, "It is a melancholy fact, that the persons who have been relieved by this Society, with one or two exceptions, were found remarkably ignorant of true religion." This deeply affected him, and he ever continued to maintain a high estimate of the labours of this society, whose efforts, there is every reason to believe, have been abundantly blessed to the spiritual welfare of the poor of that town.

In 1822, a Religious Tract Society was formed through Mr. Tennant's instrumentality, and has proved of incalculable benefit to the town and adjacent villages, where many thousands have been freely and widely distributed; in addition to which, Mr. T. greatly exerted himself to promote the reformation of the seafaring population, among whom profane swearing prevailed to an alarming extent; and he was eminently blessed in that holy work.

The attendance upon the public means of grace, which from the first had been highly encouraging, continued to be maintained; and it was thought that by providing additional accommodation by the erection of galleries, others might be induced to attend who imagined that they could not obtain sittings. Acting upon this conviction, galleries were erected in 1826. On their completion, the Rev. John Alexander, of Norwich, preached, and the anticipations of the pastor were realized by the further increase of his congregation.

Meanwhile, the hand of death had removed some of Mr. Tennant's earliest and most zealous members from a community upon which a still heavier stroke was about suddenly to fall, that should fill the hearts of all with the most pungent sorrow. Endeared to his people in a far more than ordinary degree, it could not escape their observant eyes, that their beloved pastor was ripening for heaven; but, although his health had been frequently delicate, his 80 speedy removal was far from anticipated. In the spring of 1834, he left his home to visit his family in London, probably intending to be

present at the anniversary May Meetings; but on the 5th of May, almost without a warning, his Master's summons reached him—“ Friend, come up higher." And he was well prepared, and could cheerfully obey. A few minutes before he expired, holding his brother William by the hand, he broke into the following raptures: "Farewell, my brethren!-farewell, father and mother!-farewell world, with all thy vain delights! Welcome God and Father!-welcome sweet Lord Jesus !-welcome death-welcome heaven! Amen!" Then, with a low voice, he said, "Lord Jesus, come Lord Jesus," and so he fell asleep in Christ, and obtained an abundant entrance into the everlasting kingdom of our God and Saviour. In the Congregational Magazine the following notice of his death appeared at the time:

"On Monday, May 5th, 1834, the Rev. John Tennant, pastor of the Congregational Church at Wells, Norfolk, entered into his rest. From the suddenness of the event, and the fact that the deceased was eminently prepared for it, he might almost be said to be translated without seeing death. He had, for sixteen years, occupied an important sphere in the Church of Christ, and under the full proportion of trials and discouragements incident to the faithful discharge of such an office. The Divine blessing which manifestly attended his labours, proved that they were not in vain in the Lord. In the character of Mr. Tennant, qualities were combined which, when existing singly, command respect; but when bestowed to the degree in which he enjoyed them, attach a value to the man and the Christian, which gives him weight and influence in any sphere. With a power of mind of no common order was connected a Christian humility which rendered him always unassuming. An uncompromising faithfulness in enforcing the claims of the Gospel was invariably connected with a kindness and affection which convinced the sinner how he longed for him in the bowels of Jesus Christ. His zeal for the promotion of the Saviour's cause furnished a bright example to his brethren in the ministry, while his kind disposition and sound judgment, universally qualified him as their adviser."

The sudden removal of such a pastor, so lovely and so beloved, could not fail to make a deep impression upon the people among whom he had so affectionately and zealously laboured. In testimony of their respect, a marble tablet was erected over the pulpit in which he had exercised his ministry, on which is the following inscription:

"This tablet is erected to the honoured me. mory of the Rev. John Tennant, who during sixteen years faithfully and successfully discharged in this place the duties of the Gospel ministry. He showed his flock the path of life, and led himself the way. He was suddenly removed to his rest, May 5th, 1834, aged fortytwo years. The righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance.'”

He only published a sermon, occasioned by the loss of a vessel and her crew belonging to the port of Wells.

It is very remarkable that the day fixed upon for the ordination of his successor was the anniversary of his decease, a circumstance totally unknown to the individual who fixed the day. It was, therefore, on the 5th of May, 1885, that

the Rev. John Theodore Barker, of Highbury College, grandson of the late Rev. J. T. Barker, of Deptford, was ordained upon the unanimous invitation of the people.

The congregations were large, and the services peculiarly solemn and interesting.

In 1836, Dec. 6th, died William Nettleton, Esq., brother to Mrs. Gardner, a gentleman of large wealth, who, having lost his only son in 1817, at the age of fifteen, and subsequently a favourite nephew, during the latter part of his life distributed largely that wealth which he had early amassed. In his will he bequeathed the sum of £500 to provide a residence for the minister, but his death occurring before twelve months had elapsed from the date of the execution of the will, the bequest became void in law, and the trustees of his will were unable to apply the money as directed. However, they handed it over to the residuary legatee, and he gave it to his widow, who, to her honour, faithfully executed the intention of her husband, and it was put in trust.

On the death of his father, which happened about a year and a half after his settlement, leaving a widow and family unprovided for, Mr. Barker resigned his charge, and left Wells to carry on his father's school for the benefit of the survivors; but subsequently became pastor of the Congregational Church at Louth.

Several students were sent from Homerton to supply, and a Mr. Mirams, who had been a mis

sionary, was recommended by Mr. Wilson as a pastor. He remained about twelve months, and was succeeded by the late pastor, the Rev. Simon Martin, formerly of Newbury, who accepted the unanimous invitation of the church, and entered on his labours Sept. 9th, 1838; but was never publicly recognised, although he enjoyed, in no common degree, the affections of the people among whom he laboured, and by whom he was considered greatly to resemble their first and most tenderly-beloved friend and pastor, Mr. Tennant. For some months past Mr. Martin has been in a declining state, and after a lingering and painful illness, through which he was sustained by the strong consolations of the Gospel, his happy spirit winged her flight to the realms of eternal bliss on the 7th of August, 1851, in the forty-fourth year of his age, leaving a sorrowing widow and three orphan children to be cared for by Him who has said, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my little ones, ye have done it unto me."

Of Mr. Martin, personally, I had no knowledge, but from me he needs no comment. By those to whom he was known he was beloved; and happy will it be if by them he be also imitated. His remains were interred by the Rev. R. Drane, of Guestwick, and his funeral sermon preached by the Rev. John Alexander, of Norwich, whose pen will doubtless supply a brief but interesting narrative of the departed pastor.

THE exemplary life and unwearied diligence of the inspired penman of this striking passage, were a practical comment upon it; and contributed not a little to recommend and enforce the lessons which he taught while living, and to perpetuate the "remembrance" of them "after his decease." And while he was not at all concerned to be himself remembered, yet the holy and active life of this distinguished man, has served to enshrine him in the memory of men, and in a sense to perpetuate his very presence in the Church. It can hardly

be said of such a man that he dies at all. If death is to be regarded as removing a man from usefulness and putting an end to his services in the cause of Christ, and on behalf of the Church and the world, then the apostle is not removed, and his services are not ended. still moving among men, teaching the Church and warning the nations; and will continue to do so until the time of "the appearing of the Lord Jesus." And the same may be said of the other

He is

apostles and evangelists, and, in a less degree, of the confessors and martyrs and ministers of subsequent ages, and of all who have lived and laboured for God and for the good of souls. It is scarcely figurative to say that God has many more servants on earth than appear in visible form. "His militant, embodied host," are but a part of the mighty throng who are engaged in his service. "The glorious company of the apostles-the goodly fellowship of the prophets the noble army of martyrs," and all "the spirits of the just made perfect do still 66 praise "God and serve him on earth. The "" remembrance" of what they did and what they were, is perpetuated, and along with it their usefulness. And in view of this, it should be an object of earnest, constant and prayerful “endeavour," with all Christians, that they may so live and labour on earth, that they may be increasingly useful after their deceasethat their example may become more efficacious when their bodily presence is

withdrawn, and that their lessons may operate with greater power when the tongue which uttered them is silent in the grave.

The death of the apostle corresponded with his life, as may be inferred from the admirable composure of mind with which he anticipated its approach, and this notwithstanding he knew that he was to die by the hand of violence, "even as the Lord Jesus Christ" had "showed" him. He looked forward to it as that which was to confirm his teaching, and to produce a lasting impression on the minds of men of the worth and power of the doctrines which he taught. Tradition says that this, his last lesson, was taught from the cross, and that when this holy and humble man was led to the place of crucifixion, he craved permission to be crucified with his head downward, feeling that he was unworthy to suffer in the posture in which his Lord suffered. Nor is this an improbable story; for we know that in that martyr age, men were wont to welcome death in its most fearful forms, so certain were they, on the one hand, that their sufferings could never approach the measure of their master's; and, on the other, that the reward was near, and would be more than a recompense for their deepest disgrace and severest sufferings. Whether he suffered thus or not, we are sure that by his death he confirmed, and so recommended and enforced the truths which he had spent his life in teaching.

This is one of many instances in which Christians and Christian ministers have given impressiveness and power to Christian truth by the manner of their dying. The death of the righteous is often of great practical value. It is a striking testimony to the power and preciousness of Christian principles. If, when the Christian is about to "put off" his earthly "tabernacle," he is composed and tranquil, and not only "ready to depart," but exulting in the prospect, then he does more to convince men of the truth and reality of religion than he did even by his life. This is a kind of testimony from which men cannot turn aside. It requires no great power of intellect, and no intense application of mind, to comprehend its meaning and to feel its force. It addresses itself to the senses, in the manifest tranquillity of the departing saint, and the language of triumph which falls from his lips; and it leaves those to whom such testimony is addressed utterly without excuse, if they remain indiffe

VOL. VIII.

rent to the claims of religion and the concerns of the soul.

These remarks are especially applicable to the death of Christian ministers. When the man who has spent his life in preaching the Gospel, finds it precious to him in the hour of death, and is enabled to bear testimony to its powers in sustaining and comforting him in the prospect of departure, then men will not fail to feel a deeper sense of the reality and importance of the Gospel; and there will come upon their hearts afresh from the grave of the preacher those lessons to which they listened from his lips while living; and not a few will be more impressed by the remembered words of the departed than they were by their first utterance. Of how many

The

may it be said, "He being dead, yet speaketh"-speaketh by the very manner of his death, and by the memory of his former faithful instructions. confessors and martyrs of the Church are examples of this. They did much by their exemplary lives and devoted labours, to spread the knowledge of the truth, and to speed the triumph of Christianity, but they did even more by the magnanimity with which they met and triumphed over death in its most frightful forms. It was in view of this that one of England's martyrs said to his companion in sufferings as the flames were being kindled to consume them, "Be of good courage, brother! there is lighted up this day a candle in England which, by God's help, shall never be extinguished." This expiring man judged, and rightly, too, that if the torch of their teaching had done much to shed a moral illumination over the world, the torch of their triumphant death would do more; for what they had laboured to inculcate while living, would be so confirmed and enforced by their martyrdom, that thousands would be constrained to do homage to the truth, and to espouse the cause, for which they rejoiced to suffer and to die.

We are not called to die as martyrs; for "such honour have" not "all the saints." But who would not desire to meet death with tranquillity and triumph, and so to bear testimony to the worth of those principles which were professed in life? Oh! it is delightful to see the dying Christian with placid countenance and expectant eye, calmly awaiting the approach of the last enemy, not afraid to speak about his departure, nor to make arrangements with a view to it, but

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