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mark for the violent hand of persecution. Though this great man appears to have been first chosen to serve (or supply) the tables of the Grecian widows, yet he was designed for far higher work. He boldly encounters a whole host of adversaries, the synagogue of the libertines, or freed citizens. They banded with certain others against him, to try to reason him down, but they could not resist the wisdom and the spirit with which he spake. So they went away mortified and silenced, but not convinced or humbled. Then it appears they suborned men, who were willing, from hatred, or for a bribe, to make a false charge against him. He is therefore seized and arraigned upon their deposition, and is now to be set before the council and confronted by the witnesses. Who can tell whether they were not the same as had witnessed against Jesus; for they utter the very same calumny, and declare themselves to have been witnesses of the same crimes, as were alleged against him. let us turn away from the execrable band of persecutors and murderers, to look on this holy and eminent Christian. "All that sat in the council beheld his face as it had been the face of an angel." What could have imparted this celestial glory to his countenance? There was nothing in the scene before him to animate and transform it. It was evidently a divine and supernatural lustre. Probably his ordinary intercourse with heaven might have spread a sort of settled calm or smile upon his face, a living and resplendent image of the peace within. If habitual sorrow will mar the countenance, so habitual peace and goodness will illuminate it. But all his natural benignity, all his habitual serenity was heightened on this occasion. The near approach of heaven's glory sheds a still higher lustre, as good men often have a

But

presentiment of their approaching end, so he might already be seeing the Son of Man on the right hand of power and glory, and it might spread that angelic brightness which struck the attention of the whole council. They had before them one of the servants of that Jesus, the lustre of whose true character had been veiled from their view, but whose glory they now saw by reflection-one for whom heaven was even now opening its gates-one on whom the angels were gazing with intense desire, and towards whom the Son of God had directed the glory of his countenance-one that was to start first in the race of martyrdom, to win the first laurel, and to sit down with the Lord on his throne. How wonderful is that Gospel which can prepare human nature for such an arduous hour, and put upon the head of mortal men so glorious a crown. Stephen was now as well prepared to die as before he had been to argue. He could do both with equal composure and dignity. The wonders he did among the people, and the wonderful words he spake among the disputers, and the wonders he displayed in his countenance and at his departure, alike attest the divine excellence and power of the Gospel. He stands like a rock in the midst of the angry and dashing element, lifting his head above the sky of darkling storms and tempests, into that purer element above, whose glory settles on it like an eternal sunshine.

Now, without dwelling upon the narrative of his sufferings, so simply and affectingly told in the sacred history, let us look at the bearing which his martyrdom had upon the rising cause of Christianity. In him was evinced the validity and truth of the doctrines he defended. He had proclaimed them divine, and asserted that a divine influence attended them to make their subject a conqueror

over sin, the world, and death, and now he proves it. But his death, while it thus reflected the glory of his principles, was the highest triumph that could possibly be effected over his opponents. The truth was ennobled, enshrined by his sufferings. It gained a victory by his death, not less complete, and far more splendid and affecting than by his arguments. Here his enemies suffered a tenfold defeat. Their infidelity had been confounded by his wisdom, now their malice was thwarted by his meekness and magnanimity; his arguments had been like arrows in their hearts, now his piety and his prayer were like coals of fire

upon their heads. Their arms were proved as powerless against the martyr's spirit, as their tongues against his cause; and that scene which demonstrated them to be the agents of that power which is from beneath, proved him to be allied to that which is above. Thus every stone they hurled, with the intention of silencing his voice and subduing his testimony, opened a new wound to proclaim his victory, and made his blood speak louder than his tongue.

The martyrdom of Stephen was distinguished, not merely as being the first; it has had an influence over the whole history of Christianity since. It has made hundreds and thousands of martyrs happy. It has contributed to elevate the spirit and enhance the triumph of all subsequent confessors to the Gospel, and probably scarce one has died in the same cause without distinctly recognising the influence of this scene. It has supplied consolation to those who might otherwise have drawn back, and corroborated the faith of multitudes as by a distant, but not indistinct or doubtful light, revealing the Son of Man on the right hand of power, and teaching how to make the spirit within a conqueror over the exulting foe

without. This fact and the doctrines it displayed have formed an impenetrable shield around the sufferer's spirit, or spread for it the invisible but soaring wings of faith, on which it has taken its flight, while the stingless and disappointed foe has been left to feed his malice on the ignoble flesh. Stephen had the victory, they the shame. His cause was illustrated and confirmed, as well by the subjugation of all the revengeful passions of human nature which he evinced, as by the deep concern he displayed for the salvation of his enemies. Though the church lost an ornament, yet the crown of Immanuel gained one of its brightest jewels; and though the cause lost an able advocate, yet it gained an argument, which lives, and must live invincible through every age. Nature made the martyr mortal, but persecution has made his name and victory immortal.

FOXIUS, JUN.

A HINT TO THE YOUNG ON
MR. FAUNTLEROY'S CASE.

Ir is now abundantly obvious to the public, that the degradation and untimely end of this once highly respectable individual began in the vain pursuit of pleasure, and in association with sinners who had not the fear of God before their eyes. A more impressive lesson has not of late years been afforded to the world; and it is singularly calculated to show the bitterness and death which dwell in sin, which, though sweet for the moment, in the end biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder. A very large proportion of the vice and misery which are in the world proceed from the intercourse of the wicked. For though the human heart is naturally depraved, and of itself disposed to vice, yet the degree to which it goes is to be attributed to the as

sociation of the ungodly, by which means passions comparatively dormant are roused, and thoughts and purposes still in embryo are matured. Hence it is wisely said, "Evil communications corrupt good manners;" "One sinner destroyeth much good." For there is a power of propagation in evil, arising from the congenial soil it finds in the human heart, inconceivably and incalculably great. It increases, as by a law, more certainly, and much faster than goodness. It is of such a nature that it is always accumulating and growing, and spreads with the fierceness of flame, and the subtleness of poison or contagion, through the human heart, Its fascination seizes in a moment, and it clings round the passions like the coils of a serpent. It is a disease soon caught, but hard and long of cure. Perhaps few, or none, are adequately aware of the mighty in fluence of the society of evil, or of the disastrous victories it is capable of accomplishing by familiarity and habit. Many mighty men have fallen through the seductive influence of evil company. Let the young then beware; the avenue of that path which leads to death and hell may be fair and pleasant. Beauty on the one side, and pleasure on the other, may stand at its entrance, and promise us their cheerful and bewitching company. False reasoning may vindicate our preference of this alluring road to the plain, straight forward, and honourable, though rugged, road of virtue and piety, whose end is life everlasting. But the one is infallibly the way of shame, misery, and death; the other is the way of peace, life, and eternal joy. Let the young pause and think before they enter any path where pleasure, unattended with religion, invites them. A BROTHER.

NEW SERIES. No. 1.

A FOURTH LEAF FROM "MY SCRAP BOOK." GENTLEMEN,-Your kind admission of three leaves from my "Scrap Book" into your Magazine emboldens me to send you a fourth; and though altogether of a miscellaneous character, it may impart instruction, and afford amusement, to some of your readers; especially to those who possess a predilection for the literature of former times. I have taken the liberty of altering a few antiquated phrases, and have substituted in their place others, perhaps more agreeable to modern readers. I do not, however, forget what one of your correspondents has written upon this subject in your November Number, and should this catch his eye, he must forgive me this liberty; and if he should not, I am happy to know, that I am at present out of the reach of the lex talionis of which he speaks. But now to my scraps.-It is no small grief to the true Christian to observe how utterly unanswerable the character of many is, who bear the Christian name, to the character and example of the Saviour. He was humble and meek, they are proud and insolent; he enjoins the love of enemies, they can hardly love their friends; he, who had the command of all, and a right to all, was satisfied with little; while they who have a right to nothing, would possess all things; he bade us turn the cheek to him that smiteth, while they can give two blows for one; he commands that we give our coat to him that takes our cloak, they take away both cloak and coat; he went about doing good, spending the day in preaching, and the night in praying; they trifle away their time, revelling away the night, and sleeping away, or misspending the day; he bade us make friends of the mammon of unrighteousness, they make mammon their God; he bade us take D

up his cross, they impose their own. In a word, his business was to save, theirs is to destroy.-A Christian in all his ways must have three guides, truth, charity, and wisdom. Truth to go before him, charity and wisdom to walk on either hand. If either of the three be absent, he walks amiss. I have seen some do harm by folJowing a truth uncharitably; and others, while they would heal an error with love, have failed in their wisdom, and offended against justice. A charitable untruth, and an uncharitable truth, and an unwise managing of truth, are all to be carefully avoided of him that would travel aright in the narrow way. Truth hath a face both honest and comely, and is seen to the greatest advantage in her own colours; but, above all, divine truth is most fair, and most scorneth to borrow beauty from man's wit or tongue. She loveth to come forth in her native grace, like a princely matron, and considers it the greatest indignity to be trifled with. She looks to command reverence, not pleasure. To attire her in vain dresses and fashions, is most abhorrent to her nature, They know her not who give her such entertainment, and shall first know her angry when they do know her. The golden infancy of some hath proceeded to a brazen youth, and ended in a leaden age. All human maturities have their period; grace only has none. I durst never rest too much hope on the forward beginnings of wit and memory, which have been applauded in children. I knew they could but attain their vigour, and that if sooner no whit the better; for the earlier their perfection of wisdom, the longer shall be their witless age. Seasonableness is the best in all these things which have their ripeness and decay. We can never hope too much of the timely blossoms of grace, whose spring is perpetual, and whose harvest

begins with our end.-Affectation of superfluity is, in all things, a sign of weakness; as in words, he that useth circumlocutions to express himself, shows want of memory, and want of proper speech; and much talk argues a feeble and distempered brain.What good can any earthly thing yield us besides its use? And what is it but vanity, to desire that which can do us no good? And what use is in that which is superfluous? It is a great skill to know what is enough, and great wisdom to care for no more.

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DR. WILLIAMS'S LIBRARY, Red-cross Street, London, DANIEL WILLIAMS, D. D. the enlightened founder of this Institution was born at Wrexham, in Denbighshire, in 1643 or 1644. Although he did not enjoy the advantage of a regular academical education, yet "from five years old, he had no employment but his studies, and at nineteen, he was regularly admitted a preacher." His unusual application, united to great vigour of mind, soon raised him above all adventitious circumstances, and eventually secured him that rank amongst his contemporaries, which is conferred alone on real worth. His early resolution to devote himself to the Christian ministry amongst the nonconformists, formed at a time when all the severities of an intole rant government were called forth against them, is a striking proof of his decision of character, which is yet more developed by the fact, that he was amongst the very first young men who had the courage to identify themselves with those venerable confessors, who had been ejected from their respective

charges by the act of uniformity. This conscientious devotion of himself, to an unpopular, and apparently a sinking cause, was rewarded by a gracious Providence, in a manner at once unexpected and distinguished.

Prevented by the persecutions of the times from public preaching, he received an invitation to become chaplain to the Countess of Meath, in Ireland. This he gladly accepted, which led the way to his settlement as the pastor of the Presbyterian congregation in Wood Street, Dublin; the duties of which office he discharged for near twenty years, with great reputation to himself, and general acceptance to the people. It was while in this city, to which he came almost an exile for conscience-sake, that he married a lady of honourable family and distinguished piety, with whom he received a considerable estate. The troubles of Ireland in 1687, led him to resign his pastoral charge in Dublin, and retire to London, where the following year he had the happiness to witness that glorious Revolution, which gave permanence to English liberty. Memoirs of this excellent minister are, however, within the reach of almost every Dissenter,* and it is therefore only necessary to add, that in 1701, having been some time a widower, he again formed a matrimonial alliance with a lady of considerable fortune. Although he now possessed an ample estate, yet he exercised great frugality in his personal expences, that he might better execute those liberal designs, one of which it is the immediate object of this paper to

narrate.

His own extensive collection of books, probably first suggested to his mind the idea of forming a PUBLIC LIBRARY, for the use of

* Palmer's Nonconformist's Memorial, vol.ii.p.640. Wilson's Dissenting Churches, vol. ii. p. 198. Bogue and Bennet's History, vol. iii. p. 417.

that body for which he had suffered, and to which he owed so much. His friend Dr. Bates had also been, during a long and studious life, as Mr. Howe expressed it,* "an earnest gatherer, and as the phrase is, devourer of books," with which he had so great an acquaintance, that an eminent divine and dignitary of the church, said, "That were he to collect a library, he would as soon consult Dr. Bates as any man he knew.-He knew how to chuse, and was curious in his choice.-Nothing mean was welcome to his library, or detained there." Such a collection was in course most desirable, and on his decease, Dr. Williams bought them for £500. or £600. to be added to his own valuable library.

By his last will, dated 26th June, 1711, Dr. W. appointed his books, after duplicates and useless volumes were removed, to be for a public library, "whereto such as his trustees appoint, shall have ac cess for the perusal of any book in the place where they are lodged."† He also directed his trustees to purchase some cheap freehold edifice to receive the library, but if not able to obtain eligible premises, they were empowered to erect them, but they were to be "not pompous or too large."

* Bates's Works, fol. p. 962. † As some of our readers may wish to know how they may gain access to the library, we extract the following informa

tion from the Rules" of the establishment:

"I. The library shall be open from ten o'clock in the forenoon, till three o'clock in the afternoon, on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday in every week throughout the year, except Christmas

and Whitsuntide weeks, and the month of August; and the librarian, unless prevented by illness. shall constantly attend the library at such times."

"II. All persons shall be admitted during the appointed hours, upon producing to the librarian a written order from one of the trustees, specifying their names, places of abode, and proper additions."

"VII. The librarian shall not receive any money, or other gratuity, from any person for the use of this library."

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