at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning: lest coming suddenly, he find you sleeping. And what I say unto you, I say unto you all, Watch."

V.

Reminiscences

O F THE REV. W. J. R. TAYLOR

THE lamented death of our dear friend and brother, George R. Williamson, has deepened the shadows which darkened my home and heart, that had so often been cheered by the sunshine of his ever welcome presence, the tones of his familiar voice, and the gushing sympathies of his warm and holy heart.

Fifteen years ago, God brought us together, under circumstances of peculiar interest, as students of that venerated college around which the affections of many kindred spirits, and of our whole Church, are clustering. We were but boys-the youngest in the institution. The Spirit of the living God had been there kindling a new life, and building up many temples for Himself, the

great inhabitant. Like a rushing mighty wind, He had been shaking the whole city with Pentecostal power. The history of that marvellous revival has yet to be written. Many of the subjects of it have passed triumphantly" through glory's morning gate." Many are now ministering at God's altar in our own and other churches and lands. We met just as the gracious shower was passing over-just under the fringes of the cloud of glory. And if ever some mercy-drops fell upon our young hearts, it was then. Well do I remember the look of sympathy that beamed upon me from his eye, on a Sabbath morning, as I sat beside him on one of the benches of the chapel, trembling and weeping under the convictions produced by hearing a powerful sermon from our venerable father and leader so lately gone to rest-Dr. Cannon. That look was not in vain. It assured me of one congenial soul at least. Soon he spoke the words of love and kindness for my poor sinful soul, and from that

moment we were friends. We unbosomed each to the other our inmost religious exercises. He took me by the hand; and thus hand in hand we walked, until, like Elisha, I was left alone on the banks of the river, after he had been "rapt by violence into heaven," as in a chariot of fire.

Memory runs back to those early scenes with fresh delight. The frequent and earnest interchange of doubts, and fears, and hopes; the little upper room where two young disciples regularly met and prayed; the college prayer meetings, then marked by so much holy fervor; the Sabbath evenings, on which we used with others lovedsome of whom are now wept and gone-to crowd around the mercy seat, in the cottage just over the little vale, where the missionary's aged parents dwelt, and where, fragrant as the spices which he brought there, was the memory of David Abeel; the prayer which so often rose from that altar for the herald of the cross when on the sea or in the

"land of Sinim ;"—these are a few of those religious associations which endear our brother's precious memory, and which bound our young hearts by indissoluble ties. Our subsequent course was strikingly parallel, through college and seminary, and in the holy ministry. My impressions of his character are interwoven with our personal histories, which blended in many points; his friendship was one of the delights of my life, and to him I owe many religious benefits.

Without attempting a portraiture of his character, it will be sufficient here to note one of its most prominent and valued features the remarkable strength and purity of his friendship. How he valued a true friend, and how he cherished with all a woman's tenderness the warm associations of his youth and manhood, is best known to those who lived in his confidence, and were cheered by his affectionate letters. He possessed many of those excellent social quali