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account of the circumstance, and as a fuller detail may show more Providential dealings than those which he has mentioned, I have obtained the lady's consent to send you a more correct version.

Some years ago she lost her husband after a long and painful illness, during which, she now believes, from recollecting his soul trouble and subsequent joy and peace, he was savingly wrought upon. At this time she was utterly ignorant of divine things, but no sooner had the breath left his body than she fell on her knees in an agony of grief and attempted to pray, when these words, "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee," were spoken so distinctly and loudly that, being ignorant of such experiences, she at first thought somebody in the room had uttered them aloud, though at the time perfectly alone. Here, I believe, was that "true beginning, that beginning felt," for which I always desire to contend. She was brought into soul trouble and experienced some striking providential deliverances, but continued, as yet, in the Establishment. About this period my little publications on leaving the Church of England fell into her hands, and so wrought on her conscience as to cut her out of that formal system, though, humanly speaking, her bread depended on it. Not knowing where to go, she was drawn in to join a little knot of socalled Christians, who met together to read and pray, but was inexpressibly shocked to find, after a time, that their principles and practice were, on one point if not more, altogether contrary, not only to the gospel, but even the dictates of morality. Thus thrown back from professing separatists, she was half inclined to go back to the Church of England, when the circumstance mentioned by your correspondent took place. The name mentioned by the bookseller caught her ear in a moment, and she exclaimed, That is the very

man whose writings made me leave the Church." At this time the Lord laid her on a bed of sickness, and afforded her time and leisure to meditate on what she read. Seeing the Gospel Standard advertised on the cover of the sermon, she sent for it, and as she lay on the sofa expecting its arrival, she said to herself, "O! I wish I could see Mr. P., to ask his advice in my present difficulties. I wonder if he will ever come to London." In the midst of this soliloquy the servant brought in the Gospel Standard, and the first words that met her eye on the cover were these, "Mr. Philpot is expected at Zoar Chapel, Great Alie-street, the first four Lord's days of this month.' She was struck with surprise at this speedy answer to her inquiries, and ill and weak as she was, came next day to hear me, and in conversation a little time afterwards told me the above circumstances. I must again apologise for speaking so much of self, which I assure you generally stinks in my nostrils, but I trust a desire for God's glory has been my chief motive for writing the above. I may add that I have been less unwilling ever since to see my name and that of other ministers mentioned on the covers of the Standard, which I have at times felt to be a piece of parade, as if I were something when I am nothing. Yours faithfully,



Zion's Pilgrim; to which is added Zion's Pilgrim past Seventy, written a short time before his Death. By Robert Hawker, D.D.-Bennett, London. 12mo., 211 pages.

We have before expressed our opinion of Dr. Hawker, and that opinion is not altered by the perusal of the above work. It contains an outline of his experience, and as far as it goes, there is a vein of simplicity and sincerity running through it which is refreshing and interesting. We say, "as far as it goes," for the doctor seems not to have been led very deep under the law, nor is there any clear or decisive account of his deliverance under the gospel. He seems more to have been delivered by faith going out to Christ, than by any powerful manifestation of Christ to his soul-two distinct kinds of deliverance, and of which we need not add that the former is far inferior to the latter. This original want of a deep and clear experience runs through all his writings, and is the real root of many of those sugar-candy expressions which pall on the taste of spiritual beggars and bankrupts. Pause, my soul, over this sweet promise;" fold up in thy bosom this precious text concerning our most glorious Christ." If the doctor had had his bones well broken by the hammer of Moses, and had had them bound up by the Saviour's coming to him, instead of his going to the Saviour, such luscious expressions, containing in themselves a good deal of free will, would not have dropped from his pen. Yet we honour him as a bold champion of truth, and willingly bring forward the following extract to show that he was not unacquainted with the plague of his heart:

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"My God hath done the part of a spiritual anatomist; he hath dissected and laid open to my view my heart. He made in it deep incisions. He hath brought to my observation corruptions which, unknown to me, were festering there. And while performing this merciful office, he hath accompanied high divine operations with the most instructive lectures. And the consequence hath been, I have found his word (as the apostle described it) 'quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword; piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow; and a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.' Nevertheless, though every operation hath been humbling and painful, I have found the effects salutary; for thereby I have been brought into a better knowledge both of myself and the Lord. Indeed, had any hand but his Almighty hand proposed the work, I should have revolted; neither could any human eloquence have persuaded me that such depths of rottenness were lurking within me. I should have felt indignant at the bare suggestion, and like him of old, had any charged me with it, have replied as he did to the prophet, 'But what! is thy servant a dog, that he should do such things?' But before him, who searcheth the heart and trieth the reins,' I fall prostrate, and lie in silence in the dust. Yea, even more than these. Convinced, from such discoveries, that 'the half hath not been told me,' I can, and do, though with shame and confusion of face, most readily subscribe to that solemn decision of scripture, in which the Lord himself is the Almighty speaker, when he saith, 'The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?'"

Zion's Pilgrim past Seventy seems little advanced in experience, though much in doctrine and knowledge, beyond this extract. Indeed there are scattered passages where the doctor seems disposed to sink

all experience of sin and vileness out of his own as well as others' sight, and to view all lost and buried in the atoning blood of the Saviour. By doing this he has found favour in the eyes of unplagued, unchastened, unhumbled professors, whilst he has become a dry breast to mourners in Zion, whom God hath filled with bitterness and made them drunken with wormwood.

But though we have thus given our honest opinion of the doctor, we confess we like his Zion's Pilgrim better than most of his other works, and think that in it he walks less on stilts than in his other writings. It is not an unsuitable work for spiritual parents to put into the hands of their children, and the present edition, being small and neatly printed, would do for such a purpose.

A Sermon on the Dimensions of Eternal Love. By William Huntington, S. S.-London: Published for the Poor Man's Spiritual Book Society. 12mo. pp. 52.

What a difference between the two Doctors! between the University D. D., whose "Zion's Pilgrim" we have just reviewed, and the "Doctor," as his friends affectionately called him, who was so honoured as an under-physician to sick and sin-plagued souls! With what different feelings do we read their works! Hawker holds out truth, but truth at the top of a tree, or at the end of a tall pole, out of your reach. Huntington brings down truth, and puts it into our very mouths. Hawker's truth is dry, bony, skinny, and lean. Huntington's is rich, savory, unctuous, full of fat, juice, and marrow. Hawker makes a waxen image of truth, very pretty, very well dressed, very correct in features, colouring, and expression, and he puts it in a glass case, painted and gilded. Huntington gives us the real, warm, moving, living, breathing, and speaking man. Hawker furnishes the head. Huntington touches, penetrates, and enters into the very heart. His words are quick and powerful, sharper than a two-edged sword. Sometimes he wounds us, cuts us up, lays us bare to the very core, and then heals and comforts


We can't read him carelessly, and skip over whole sentences as we do the D. D.'s long periods; but if we can't read him profitably, we put the book down. It goes into our conscience, and so searches out every crook and cranny, and so opens up the secret depths of our heart, and traces out the hidden workings of nature and grace, that it enters like oil into our bones. We do not quarrel with it, however deep it cuts, but it is so commended to our conscience as the living truth, that we submit to it as true, though it rakes us fore and aft, and well nigh blows us out of the water. Nor are we tempted to throw it into the furthest corner of the room, nor ram it into the fire, as we have felt when reading Hawker's soft sugary morning portions. Huntington's writings solemnize the mind, draw it forth in groaning prayer, enlarge and fill the heart, and leave an abiding savour and influence behind. The comfort he gives is genuine. The faith which his writings draw forth is of a humble, soul-abasing kind. The realities he feeds the soul with are solid and firm, and such as carry with them an abiding evidence that they are heaven-born, and heaven-tending. In Hawker there is much to feed light, frothy, superficial professors, much to build up hypocrites in a dead assurance, much to engender a talkative, chattering, all-brain and no-heart profession. Like children with water in the head, Hawker's bastards are big in the skull, but

rickety in the limbs; their head grows at the expense of their body, and dries up their heart. We believe, that though a good man, he has begotteu hundreds of bastard Calvinists, and that the devil has made use of him and Dr. Gill to plague and pester the living family, by sending out his ministers as ministers of righteousness, whose flickering lamp has been entirely fed by the doctors' oil. And this has sprung from Hawker and Gill touching so little on that in which all religion centres, and without which it is all a frothy bubble-experience. We cordially recommend the present sermon, and are glad the Society for publishing spiritual works for the poor of the Lord's family, has taken this and other of Huntington's works in hand. We earnestly advise them to keep to experimental writings, and not take up with the shell of truth, when the Lord has in mercy provided works which possess the kernel.

A Word of Explanation addressed to the Inhabitants of Wymondham. By their Curate.-Ward and Co. 8vo., 8 pages.

It appears that the author of this pamphlet has suffered himself to be dismissed from his living, rather than constantly perform all the duties of the Church of England, some of which he could not go through for conscience' sake. So far, so good. We do not say the Curate of Wymondham has not come out the right way; we should be glad to hear more particularly that he has. The pamphlet, however, does not satisfy us on this point. It appears by it, that if he could have had his own way of attending to the services of the Church of England, he would have remained within her. It also seems that that which chiefly affected his conscience was the indiscriminate application of the church services to all. He considers them (the church services,) appropriate and significant when used congregationally. We confess we do not understand him. Does he think the application of her services to any is scriptural? Does he think written services of any kind are scriptural? and does he think a National Church established by the point of the bayonet, the edge of the sword, and the mouth of the cannon, is either scriptural or right? And yet such is the Church of England. She is corrupt from the lowest root to the topmost stem. She is corrupt in the beginning, middle, and end, and wholly opposed to a New Testament, spiritual church of Christ. What can he mean then by applying them congregationally, since it is unscriptural to apply them at all? We cannot see how any man's conscience can be rightly affected with the corruptions of the Church of England if he could stay in her, whatever reformation she might undergo. The pamphlet is too tamely and smoothly written. There is not that decision, boldness, and uncompromising spirit which is to be found in the writings of some who have rightly left the Established Church, and which we like to see, and which will be in all truly taught ministers of God.

A Friend in Need; or a Word of Consolation in the Hour of Affliction, from the Death of Friends.-Simpkin and Co., London; Heaton, Leeds. 32mo., 56 pages.

This is one of the many pretty little books highly prized by the great body of religious professors, and warmly patted on the back by the many editors of would-be religious publications. It is sufficient to say, it is not in our line of things, nor what we wish to deal in.


Messrs. Editors,-Indulging last night, to my shame, a murmuring feeling, envying the apparent ease and prosperity of the worldling, the Lord was pleased, in mercy to my soul, to cause his goodness to pass before me, giving me to see that the way he had in tender mercy brought me was the right way; which so filled my poor earthen vessel that it flowed over in praise to him again.

Arise, my soul, and spread thy wings
Unto their utmost bound;

And trace the wondrous love of God

Which circles thee around. There never was a time, when the Great glorious Three in One Begun to love the Son's elect;

'Twas love ere time begun.

Ere Adam sinn'd, ere earth was made,
He form'd salvation's plan;
Eternal, matchless love contrived

To save rebellious man.

There's not a sinner saved by grace,

But what's enroll'd above;
The time, the state, as well as place
Were settled all in love.

Then, O my soul, why dost thou fear,
Thinking thy God's unkind?
The very things you meet with here,
In love are all design'd.

How great soe'er our trials be,

Or sin, or Satan roar;

Ne'er shall they crush the weakest saint
Who lies at mercy's door.


These curb cursed pride, they keep down
And drive us to the Lord,
To seek for pardon and for peace

In Christ the living God.

How great that mercy, great that love,
That with Almighty grasp
Securely holds the chosen fold,

And lands them safe at last!
Immanuel, thou God with us,

Make known thy saving love;
Blest Spirit, descend, and do apply

Our Jesus' precious blood.

'Twas love that caused that blood to flow,
All at Jehovah's cost;

Its heights and depths can ne'er be known;
In wonder we are lost.

The doubts and fears we have while here, Then, O my soul, adore that grace

With all our foes combined;

If joy elate, or dread despair,
In love they are design'd.

That flows divinely free,

And let me, Lord, be swallow'd up
In love, O God, to thee.



See, from the pois'nous plains of sin, Our eyes put out, we know not where

The saints victorious made;

Sin craves its victim, me to win,
But Christ my forfeit paid!

Out of the net love plucks my feet,
Lord, oft I'm in the snare;

Sin gives me chaff instead of wheat,
The hook is seldom bare.

Our desp❜rate feet have got:
We tread the precincts of despair;
Dreadful is now our lot.

Did not the hand of sov'reign love
Pluck us forth from the net,
We ne'er on heav'n's bright fields above
Our happy feet should set.

Baits, traps, and gins,and pits,and hooks, Again, thus, and again we prove

To catch blind trav'llers by;
Sin lies asleep 'mid thousand nooks,
And wakes to make us die.
Our treach'rous feet do bend their way
All to his treach'rous haunts;
Sin's cable slipp'd, we're blown away,
Now guilt its arrows plants.

The rescuing hand of grace:
Again, thus, and again do love

Unveil'd fair mercy's face.

O may the love of Christ me spur
More to hate all my sins;
To keep Christ's precepts, love must stir
The heart that mercy wins.

I. K.

The whole election of grace, all the children of God scattered about in the world, all the Lord's people, that ever have been, are, or shall be, may truly be said to be the pearl of great price, which Christ came into this world to seek for, and found; and finding it, sold all that he had, shed his blood, parted with his life, and gave himself for it, and bought it.-Gill.

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