On Thursday, September 8th, 1727, a man of the name of Shepherd came to Barnwell near Cambridge, to exhibit what is commonly called a puppet-show; and, bills of the performance having been previously circulated, a number of people assembled, to the amount of one hundred and forty. The place of exhibition was a barn; in one part of which was a large quantity of straw bound up in trusses reaching as high as the walls, but not so high as the roof. Adjoining to the barn was a large stable, over which there was a large hay-loft full of oatstraw, upon which many of the people assembled were seated. About nine o'clock in the evening, one Richard Whitacre, an hostler belonging to the owner of the barn, came to feed his master's horses, bringing with him a candle and lantern ; and, finding the entertainment was begun, he endeavoured to gain admittance without paying a penny, which was the sum demanded from the rest of the company. Being refused, he went into the stable, and from thence into the hay-loft, with the candle and lantern; and, after throwing down into the rack some fodder for the horses, hastily climbed over the straw, where there was an opening into the barn, from whence he could see the show. In some way which could not be made out, the straw took fire, so that the hostler had only time to give the alarm of fire, and immediately escaped through the stable.

A person who was seated at the time on a beam that ran across the barn, and from thence beheld the fire, described it as appearing so small that he thought he could have put it out with his hand; but quickly communicating with the other combustibles, it soon reached the roof, and in an instant spread itself all over the barn. The scene of dreadful · confusion which followed is utterly indescribable. The whole assembly of people rushed towards the door in the greatest terror, to avoid the devouring flames, and to escape being hurried into eternity by a violent death. In the act of self-preservation, when there is an appearance of immediate death, every distinction is forgotten, and every tie is commonly broken,—every thought being absorbed by the desire of life or the fear of death; and as the danger becomes more imminent, and hope declines, the vigour of desperation puts

forth its boldest efforts, and even in the last despairing agony of dying, the man clings most tenaciously to life.

Nature, her bravest efforts broke,
Would fain resign the strife;
But ah! our souls at dying shook,
And shiver'd back to life.
See all before us, wild we cried,
The' eternal ocean rolls!

Tremendous gulf,-unknown, untried!
And thither haste our souls!

Into that gulf we cannot penetrate; but this we know, that there is a fire which is unquenchable,—and there are weepings and wailings more terrible than these.

When the multitude rushed to the door, which was only three feet broad, including the posts, they found it opened inwards, but was fastened by an iron staple; and a large oval table, on which the merry andrew had been exhibiting his tricks, was placed against it. The door being thus fastened, and the passage to it obstructed, the pressure of the people soon became so great that they were thrown in heaps upon each other. In this awful and critical moment, a person who was on the outside succeeded in breaking open the door, and, at the risk of his own life, pulled out as many as he was able, till the other inhabitants of the town came to his assistance; and so eager was that worthy person to save the lives of his fellow-creatures, that the hair of his head was singed; and he pulled out one man whose metal buttons were melted by the flames. In a little while, however, the thatched roof, which was one general flame, fell in upon the poor helpless creatures lying in heaps one upon another; and the trusses of straw being all on fire, the conflagration became such that no person could give them any assistance. The cries and groans of horror and anguish of the sufferers were inexpressibly fearful; but they were soon closed in silence and death.

But what a melancholy spectacle did the morning present, when the parents and other relatives came to gather up the relics and ashes of the deceased! It must be left to the imagination to picture, that the heart may feel. Eightyone persons perished by this dreadful calamity; there being scarcely a family in the town or neighbourhood, but what

lost one or more. The mangled limbs, sculls, and ashes were put into carts, and thrown promiscuously into two holes dug for that purpose in the church-yard; and on the Sunday following the Rev. Mr. Edmonson, the Vicar of the parish, preached an excellent sermon, suited to the melancholy occasion, from the words of Jeremiah, Lament. iv. 8: “ Their visage is blacker than a coal; they are not known in the streets: their skin cleaveth to their bones; it is withered, it is become like a stick."

One providential occurrence ought not to be omitted: Mr. Royster, the dissenting minister, having some suspicion that his daughters were to go to the puppet-show, locked them up in their rooms, by which they were preserved from death, and left to admire the wisdom and goodness of God who suggested such a thought to their father.

It being conjectured by some that Whitacre, the hostler, had wilfully been the occasion of this disaster, he was taken up, and brought to trial at the assizes on March 27, 1728, -but acquitted. The following entry in the parish register expresses the opinion of the times as to the immediate cause of the fire :- -"The fire was occasioned by the negligence of a servant, who set a candle and lantern near the heap of straw which was in or near the barn."

Such are the principal particulars of this melancholy occurrence. And who that shall read the account, and mark the series of causes which led to so fatal a catastrophe, will not hesitate to regard the circumstances as merely accidental, without acknowledging the interposition of the hand of God And what thinking and reasonable mind would not shrink back from the risk of provoking such another judgment? God sometimes teacheth in wrath. Let us hear and fear, and learn righteousness; that when his judgments go abroad in the earth, we may have a hiding-place in Him!

A. G. J.

ROGER HOLLAND.

Martyr in Smithfield, June 27, 1558.

ON May-day, 1558, about forty persons were assembled in a retired field, or part of St. John's Wood, near Islington,

occupied in the meditation of God's holy word," when they were discovered, and the greater part of them carried before Sir Roger Cholmley and the Recorder of London, who committed twenty-two as prisoners to Newgate; of these, seven were burned in Smithfield, on the 27th of June, and six at Brentford, on the 14th of July. Among those who suffered in Smithfield on this occasion, was Roger Holland; his history is given at some length by Fox, and may be interesting to our readers. In it is included also a pleasing anecdote of one, who, though only a servant, was willing to bestow her little property in the hope of turning a sinner from the evil of his ways.

Roger Holland was apprenticed to Mr. Kempton, a merchant tailor in Watling-Street, and was much addicted to bad company and evil practices; besides which he was a bigoted Papist, and no one would have supposed that he was ever likely to be a martyr in the cause of truth.

One day he had received a sum of money on his master's account, amounting to thirty pounds; but, falling into bad company, he lost every farthing at dice; and, having no means to replace it, he determined to run away and take refuge either in France or Flanders.

Having determined upon this plan, he rose early in the morning, and went to a respectable female, his fellow-servant, who professed the Gospel, and conducted herself in a manner conformable to its precepts; she had also frequently spoken to Holland in serious terms, reproving him for the life he led, and his blind attachment to Popery. "Elizabeth," said he, "I would I had followed thy persuasions and friendly rebukes, which if I had done, I had never come to this shame and misery which I am now fallen into; for this night I have lost thirty pounds of my master's money, which to pay him and make up my accounts I am not able. But this much I pray you,—desire my mistress that she would entreat my master to take this bill of my hand, that I am thus much indebted to him, and if I be ever able I will see him paid; desiring him that the matter may pass with silence, and that none of my kindred nor friends may ever know of this very ill conduct; for if

it should come to my father's ears, it would bring his grey hairs over soon to the grave:" having thus said, he was about to depart.

Elizabeth seeing that he was on the brink of ruin," Stay," said she; and having some money which had come to her by the death of a relation, she brought him thirty pounds, saying, "Roger, here is the money; I will let thee have it and keep thy bill; but since I do this much to help thee and save thee from ruin, thou shalt promise me to forsake all evil and wild company, all swearing and ribaldry talk, and if ever I know thee to play for one twelvepence, either at dice or cards, then will I show this thy bill unto my master. And thou shalt promise me to resort every day to the lecture at Allhallows, and the sermon at Paul's every Sunday; and to cast away all thy books of papistry and vain ballads; and get thee the Testament and book of service, and read the Scriptures with reverence and fear, calling unto God for his grace to direct thee in the truth. And pray unto God fervently, desiring him to pardon thy former offences, and not to remember the sins of thy youth; and ever be afraid to break his laws or offend his Majesty. Then shall God keep thee, and send thee thy heart's desire."

This kind behaviour and good advice appear to have wrought upon the prodigal. He attended regularly on the means of grace; and in less than a year he became an altered character, to the great surprise of all who had known him. When his apprenticeship was expired, he went home to his father in Lancashire, carrying with him several of the books lately published by the Reformers, and was the means of bringing his father and others to the knowledge of the Gospel. After some time his father gave him fifty pounds to begin the world on his own account, with which he returned to London, and going to Elizabeth, told her that he had brought back the money she had lent him; but that he owed her much more for her good advice, and the good-will she had shown him; and as the only recompence he could offer, he intreated her to become his wife.

To this she consented, and they were married in the first